by Anne Forsyth
Rona was no nearer knowing anything about Erika’s history. She tried asking Doug, and he said rather brusquely that it was none of her business. She had a feeling that Doug didn’t know either, but that it didn’t really matter to him either way.
One day when the shop was quiet, Erika appeared at the door and signalled to Rona.
‘When you are free,’ she said in a whisper, ‘can I talk to you?’
Rona looked surprised. ‘I’m not busy now,’ she said, because the shop was empty.
‘What is it?’
‘No.’ Erika shook her head. ‘It’s private.’
‘Then come round to the house—this evening,’ Rona offered.
Erika hesitated. ‘Could we speak alone?’
All right. Say the café. I could be there about half-past five.’
‘Good. Thank you.’
She was at the café promptly, but Erika was already waiting at a corner table, a cup of tea untouched in front of her. ‘You would like tea, coffee?’
‘Coffee, please.’ Rona took off her coat and sat down opposite Erika. She was concerned to see that the girl had been crying. What on earth could be wrong?
She leaned across the table and laid a hand on Erika’s arm. ‘Tell me what’s wrong?’
Erika fished in her bag and produced an airmail letter. ‘I don’t know. My English is not good enough.’
‘You want me to read it?’
Erika nodded. ‘I explain. My brother—he and I came from Vienna. He got a job in London, but he was always in trouble. For a bit he was in prison.’ She gave a little sob. ‘I love Franz. He is my brother, but he is not good—he steals, he takes money from his firm. When he got out of prison, he went to Australia.’
Rona was troubled. ‘So you want me to read this Is it from your brother?’
Erika shook her head. ‘No, he does not write much. He did not learn to read and write well. The letter, it is in English. My English is not good. I must know. Is Franz in trouble again? Is he in prison? Why should someone write to me from Australia?’
Rona turned the blue airmail letter over in her hand—she noticed that it had been redirected from London to an address in Dundee and then to Kirkton.
Erika twisted her handkerchief between her fingers. Her coffee was growing cold and she pushed the cup to one side. ‘I know you will help me, you will tell me the truth,’ she said. ‘I felt I could not ask Doug. If it is bad news I will tell him, of course.’
‘Dear Miss Erika,’ read Rona. She skimmed the letter, trying to make sense of the cramped unfamiliar handwriting. Then she read it more slowly. She looked up at Erika.
‘Oh tell me, please quickly,’ said Erika. ‘Franz, is he back in prison?’
Rona smiled at her. ‘No, he’s doing well. Listen, I’ll read it to you.,’
She began. ‘Dear Miss Erika. I write on behalf of your brother, Franz. He is anxious I should write to you to tell you his news. Franz came to us a year ago. I have a farm in this part of Queensland, and I wanted a strong man to help with the cattle and the horses. It is hard work and long hours and I wanted someone who was not afraid to roll up his sleeves and get down to it. Glad to say, Miss Erika, I found your brother, through an agency.
‘He told me just lately he had been in trouble with the law back home—that makes no odds to me, long as he’s a hard worker. He’s a wonder with the animals. In fact, just a few months ago we had a fire in a barn here, and Franz was great—he calmed down the horses. They were in a panic, as you can imagine. My wife likes Franz, too, and cooks big meals for him.
Now, Miss Erika, I’m not much of a one for writing letters, but I thought you’d like to know your brother is turning out OK.
Yours respectfully,
Will Jensen.
‘Oh, there’s something written at the bottom,’ said Rona. ‘Different handwriting. Herzliche Grusse von Franz.’
‘Oh, Gott sei Dank.’ Erika’s eyes filled with tears. ‘He’s written in German—loving greetings from Franz. He is well. I’d been afraid for him.’ She dabbed at her eyes. ‘I have been so worried.’
Rona folded the letter and gave it back to Erika.
‘It sounds as if he has made a new life,’ she said gently. ‘You have no need to worry any more.’
‘I will write to him,’ said Erika, her face lighting up. ‘Now I can tell him about Doug and you and your father and my good friends. And now I will work hard at learning English so I can help in the shop sometimes.’
‘You’ve been a great help already,’ said Rona. ‘And your English is improving all the time.’ She paused, wondering if this was the right moment. ‘Erika, have you no other family?’
Erika shook her head. ‘None. Only Franz.’
‘But your parents?’ Rona wondered if she was going too far.
‘They died—during the war, in a concentration camp,’ said Erika. ‘Franz and I, we were sent away. We got to Switzerland, kind people cared for us. Then we came to England after the war. We worked. I got a job in a café, Franz worked in a hotel. We had a little room, but we were poor.’
She told the bare facts of her story simply, without any striving for sympathy. But Rona’s heart went out to the girl sitting opposite her.
‘But now it is all right!’ Erika exclaimed. She beamed at Rona.
‘You must tell Doug,’ said Rona. ‘Show him the letter. You could . . .’ she paused, ‘you could have told him about Franz. He would have understood.’ She stopped. Doug could be maddening at times, but he was fair and kind-hearted. She tried to explain this to Erika.
‘I thought,’ Erika said in a low voice, ‘if he knew about Franz, he would give me up. If Franz was in trouble again I would have to go away somewhere else. I would not want Doug to know someone whose brother was,’ here her voice broke.
‘Oh, no, he’s not like that.’ It was hard to put into words what Doug was like—he didn’t care about anyone’s background. He was just Doug, honest and straightforward.
Suddenly she felt a wave of affection for him, and then she realised how lucky she was to have a family. Father, Doug, even Aunt Lizzie who had often been trying, but really cared about the family.
‘Well, don’t you worry any more,’ Rona said. She got up. ‘Time I went home. Listen, why don’t you come for tea? I’m making a sausage and apple and onion pie. Aunt Lizzie collected recipes, cut them out of the newspapers, all during the war and after, and she passed them on to me. It’s very tasty and there’s plenty for four. It’s all ready to go into the oven. Come on Erika, join us?’
The girl got up, her eyes shining now. ‘Thank you. I will be pleased to.’
TIME MOVES ON
Rona and Erika were becoming good friends. And what a difference in Doug! He was cheerful and full of energy nowadays. Rona liked the protective way he cared for Erika, and she saw the way they looked at each other. ‘If only,’ she thought, ‘someone cared about me like that.’
Then she pulled herself up sharply. Of course, there was lots to look forward to. There was Nancy’s wedding, for a start, and it looked as if Doug and Erika would be making their own wedding plans before long.
Now Erika fitted into the routine at the bakery, and helped there in her spare time. Customers would come into the shop and ask for the Danish pastries she produced. Now and then she would decorate a cake and Rona marvelled at her skill and artistry.
‘It is nothing,’ she would say, but you could tell that she was proud of her efforts.
And Angus? Often Rona would catch him glancing at her as if he was about to speak and then he thought better of it. Now too, he was beginning to come round to new ideas.
She said one day, ‘Father, it’s time we had a café. When Mr Grey retires you could do something with the space upstairs. Every baker has a café, even in small places round about, there’s a tearoom, and in towns like Cupar—look at Elder’s. People would come in for soup and rolls in the middle of the day, or afternoon tea.’
He would shake his he
ad and say, ‘Lass, you’ll be the ruin of me,’ but somehow she felt he was coming round to the idea. But Callum. Oh, she tried not to think about him What a life they might have had together! But he would meet someone else and be happy.
She tried to picture his future in Canada, maybe marrying a farmer’s daughter who was large and cheerful and competent, and bringing up a large family of boys who would follow in his footsteps whatever business he chose. And small, pretty, fair-haired girls . . .
‘Oh, stop it!’ she told herself firmly. ‘What’s the use of torturing yourself with what might happen in the future?’
Sometimes they met in the town and he’d greet her warmly, but they hadn’t talked again, not since that night in the shelter. ‘And that’s an end to it,’ she decided, and felt a wave of bitter misery sweep over her.
She thought that she had hidden her feelings, but other people noticed. ‘You haven’t been listening,’ Nancy told her a little reproachfully.
‘Yes, I have, honestly,’ said Rona, trying to summon up interest in her friend’s account of wedding plans.
‘I told you already,’ said Doug in exasperation after she’d asked him a second time whether he’d be in for his tea.
And Angus looked at her often, very thoughtfully.
* * *
A few days later there was a call from Mr Grey, the solicitor who rented the premises upstairs from the bakery.
‘Mr Maclaren,’ he said. ‘I’d like a word. Would it be convenient for me to speak to you when you’re less busy? Or maybe you could come upstairs?’
‘I’ll be up in ten minutes.’ Angus wiped his hands on a towel. ‘Just let me get this batch in the oven.’
He wondered what it could be about. Mr Grey was an ideal tenant—he hoped there was no trouble.
‘Good morning, Mr Maclaren.’ Miss Mackie, as neat and trim as ever, was at her desk.
She stopped typing and smiled at Angus. ‘Mr Grey’s expecting you.’
‘Good of you to spare the time, Mr Maclaren.’ The solicitor came out of his office ‘Come away in.’
Angus looked round him at the large roll top desk, the filing cabinets and a few prints of old Kirkton on the walls. This had not changed all the time he could remember. Mr Grey had not changed, either—yes, he had, thought Angus. He was grey-haired now with a slight stoop. How long had they known each other? He tried to recall but he thought with a smile, that they were still on formal terms. It was Mr Maclaren always, not Angus, and Mr Grey, not John.
‘Take a seat, Mr Maclaren,’ said the lawyer, gesturing towards the comfortable leather chair kept for visitors.
‘I hope there’s not a problem?’ Angus was a little anxious.
‘No, no,’ Mr Grey reassured him. ‘It’s just that . . . well, I’m retiring. In six months’ time, and I wanted to give you due notice that I’m giving up the lease.’
‘Well, now.’ Angus didn’t quite know what to say. He had thought somehow that the present situation would continue for many years.
‘I’m sorry to hear that. No,’ he paused. ‘No health problems, I hope?’
‘Nothing of the kind,’ Grey said. ‘No, it’s just I’m past retiring age and I thought it’s time to take life that bit easier. We’ve a wee cottage up near Aberfeldy and I’m keen on fishing. I’d like fine to have a bit more time to myself.’
Angus felt a little envious, but only for a moment. Then he told himself, he didn’t care for fishing and he’d no real hobbies. The bakery was his whole life, his only interest.
What would he do with retirement? It was different for Grey—he still couldn’t think of him as John. With his fresh, open-air complexion and sharp eyes, the solicitor seemed well suited to an outdoor life.
‘We’ll miss you.’
‘Likewise,’ said Grey. ‘You’ve been the ideal landlord, Angus, if I may be more personal.’
‘And what about Miss Mackie?’ Angus asked. ‘What about the practice?’
‘It’s being taken over by Wilson’s,’ said the solicitor. Wilson and Grey, it’ll be.’
Angus knew the name well—a large firm of solicitors on the other side of the town.
‘So Miss Mackie will be going there, and they’ll be very glad to have her. She’s a fine secretary, efficient, discreet, you couldn’t ask for anyone better.’
‘So you’ll be ending the lease?’
‘At the term,’ said Grey. ‘I have all the papers here. I think you’ll find everything in order.’
‘I’m sure I will,’ said Angus warmly. ‘Well, I’ll wish you all the very best in your retirement.’ He rose and they shook hands. ‘A very wise decision. Good luck, John.’
UPSETTING NEWS FOR RONAN
No-one quite knew how the news about Callum got round the town. But it was true—everyone said so.
‘What’s that lad of yours going to do now the farm’s sold?’ Agnes, who helped Callum’s mother in the house, was a forthright sort of person.
Callum’s mother shook her head. ‘Well may you ask,’ she said. ‘He’s talking about going to Canada. We’ve a cousin not far from Montreal. He’s always on at Callum to go out there, but we’ll see.’
Agnes was quick to pass on this piece of information to her friend, Jessie, when they met at the social club one evening.
‘That laddie, mind, we thought he was courting the baker’s lass. He’s likely to be going out to Canada to work for a cousin there.’
‘Is that so?’ said her friend. ‘When’s he going?’
‘I’m not sure,’ said Agnes. ‘I didna like to be nosey, but it’ll be soon from the way his mother spoke.’
Jessie liked a bit of gossip, so she passed on the information. By that time the story had grown. Callum was definitely going—he’d been across in Dundee to book his passage. Someone had seen him, and yes, it was all off with the baker’s daughter. A pity, said some folk. She was a bit harum-scarum still, but a nice lass for all that.
The rumours spread and the news reached Angus as he stood in a queue at the bank.
‘So how’s the family?’ asked an old friend, greeting Angus.
‘All grand, thank you.’ Angus replied. Though it wasn’t quite true. Rona was down in the dumps these days—he could well imagine why.
‘She’s doing a grand job in the shop,’ said his friend, who had a soft spot for Rona. ‘I’ve seen her sometimes with the lad from Harefield Farm, but I hear he’s going out to Canada—got a job there. Next week he’s sailing, so they tell me.’
‘Next week, eh?’ said Angus thoughtfully.
* * *
He told Rona and Doug as they sat at the table, finishing off second helpings of an apple dumpling.
‘I hear that Callum’s going off to Canada soon,’ he said. ‘George Young was telling me—I met him in the bank today. He says the lad’s away very shortly. Got his passage all booked.’
‘Is that right?’ Rona looked up sharply.
‘Well, that’s what I was told,’ Angus said, laying down his spoon. ‘That was grand. No-one makes a dumpling like you, Rona.’
‘Yes, well, that’s maybe all I’m good for,’ said Rona sharply. Angus and Doug stared at her. This was so unlike Rona. What had got into her?
‘Come on now,’ said Angus in a gentle tone.
But Rona suddenly got up, flung down her table napkin and rushed upstairs.
‘What’s all that about?’ Doug looked puzzled. ‘Is she not well or something?’
‘I’ve an idea,’ said Angus, suddenly understanding.
Doug shook his head, not knowing what was the matter. ‘I’ll do the dishes, then,’ he said getting up.
A little later, Rona appeared. Her eyes were red, and she gave a weak little smile. ‘Sorry about that,’ she said. ‘Now I’ll get on with the dishes.’
‘Doug’s done the washing up,’ said her father. ‘There’s tea in the pot. You sit down, lass.’
‘Doug washing up?’ Rona said. ‘I can’t believe it.’
‘He�
�s gone out to see that lass of his.’ Angus looked at his daughter. ‘Are you not going out yourself? Not to meet that young man?’
‘He’s not my young man.’ Rona’s voice trembled. She sat down by the fireside and picked up her sewing.
Angus opened the newspaper and scanned the headlines, but he was not concentrating, only trying to decide what he should say to Rona.
‘Oh, well,’ he began, ‘that’s a pity now.’ He was silent for a bit then he said all of a sudden, ‘There’s going to be changes—with Mr Grey retiring. I’d thought—and it’s all depending on what you feel—of bringing Erika into the business. She knows all about the bakery, and she’s got a nice manner with the customers.’
‘A good idea,’ said Rona warmly. She liked Erika and they’d worked well together.
‘And,’ Angus added, ‘you’ve been on at me to start a café—well, with John Grey retiring, there’s all that space upstairs. I’d have to find a cook, a professional cook who was used to catering.’
‘That’s a great idea!’ said Rona.
‘So Maclaren’s is expanding—a shop manager, a cook, and maybe if Doug decides to give up the garage, he’ll agree to be in charge of the vans.’
‘And,’ said Rona in a small voice, ‘what about me?’
‘That’s what I’m trying to say.’ Angus looked across at her. ‘You’ve done a grand job—taking over the house and the shop when your Aunt Lizzie left. But,’ he said slowly, ‘I don’t want you to feel that Maclaren’s has to be your whole life. You might want to go away—you’ve been talking about London long enough. You might want to get married.’
‘That’s not likely,’ Rona said, and there was a catch in her voice.
‘You’re a bonny lass,’ he said fondly. ‘There’s many a one would jump at the chance of a wife like you.’
‘I don’t see them jumping,’ said Rona.
‘What I’m trying to say,’ Angus went on as if she hadn’t spoken, ‘is that you’re not to sacrifice your life to us, to the bakery. There’s plenty out there you could be doing. I don’t want you to feel one day, that you could have had a better life away from Kirkton.’
