Coming Home

by Gwen Kirkwood

  ‘Yes, there’s a house attached, behind the shop. It sounds ideal for mother. She plans to keep on her hens and sell her own eggs but she will have to stay at the farm until the end of November when the new tenants take over.’

  ‘What about the pigs?’

  ‘She says she can manage them until then. I try to go up every other day and I hope to buy the pigs from her in November. Ben has settled down in his new stable without any trouble. I expect he missed Daisy, especially when my father was not fit to work with him. He was a bit fresh and frisky but he’s a fine, fit horse and a bit faster than Daisy these days.’

  Hannah was anxious about Steven taking on so much extra work and she wondered how he had managed to pay her so promptly but she knew better than to question him too closely. After all, he was a man now and he had always been sensible. She was relieved to know she wouldn’t have the cows to milk and muck out, especially with winter coming on. There was always more work when cattle were housed all the time and cleaning out the byres was heavy work. ‘You’re a good laddie, Steven. I hope you’ll not be too overworked.’

  ‘I hope to be able to afford Johan full time once everything is sorted out.’ But he was beginning to realise that taking over the McGuires’ land and the upheaval at Willowburn meant he had too much to do. He hoped the increase in his monthly milk cheque would make it all worthwhile because he had decided, if it was a good time for Mr Turner to expand, then it was a good time for him too. Even his hens were laying well now and the income from them helped to pay for Johan’s labour. Shawing the turnips and carting them in from the field was hard work and took up a great deal of time. Johan hadn’t understood he meant him to cut off the leaves and stalks of the turnips. Instead he had spent an hour setting them up in neat rows before Steven went to see how he was getting on.

  ‘I show them off,’ he said. ‘Put best side up, yes?’ Steven threw up his hands in dismay, but then he saw the funny side and grinned. But he resolved to make doubly sure Johan understood him in future. It had been a waste of an hour’s labour.

  ‘I shall be glad when the owner collects the sheep I’m grazing for him,’ he confided to Megan. ‘The money will be useful but I shall not take on any more like them. Thank goodness they’ve all survived so he can’t quibble or dock the price we agreed. Have you time to help me move them onto the meadow? A fresh field will make sure they’re in good condition when he comes to collect them in a week’s time.’

  ‘We’ll move them now then before I go home for the afternoon milking. Shandy is getting quite useful at rounding them up.’

  ‘He is. I don’t know what I’d do without him – or without you.’

  ***

  A few days later Steven was running across the yard trying to avoid a soaking in the torrential rain. He heard Mrs McGuire calling to him over the dividing wall. ‘Have you any leaks in your ceiling, Steven? It’s dripping into our spare bedroom. There must be a tile off the roof.’

  ‘I think my roof is all right so far,’ Steven called back. ‘I didn’t expect the rain would continue as heavy as this at the beginning of October. It’s running like wee rivers between the turnip drills. It’ll be a wonder if it doesn’t wash my potatoes out o’ the garden.’

  ‘We often get floods when the tides are high, specially in March and late back end.’

  ‘You go inside and keep dry. I’ll have a look at your roof when it dries up,’ Steven promised. But as the day wore on the rain was heavier than ever and, with the wind howling and gusting through every crack and corner, it was more like winter.

  Steven was glad to get the cows into the byre but they were wet and several times he had a wet tail swished around his neck during milking. All day the sky had been grey and leaden and by the time he had finished it was as dark as a November evening.

  He was glad to make a dash for the house and strip off his wet clothes. Megan would be returning to college in a couple of days. He was going to miss her company and her lively conversation, and more than that. There was no denying that he loved her. His body ached for her. She had arranged to come down this evening but he didn’t expect her to venture out in this weather. Some of the roads could be flooded and there would almost certainly be trees or branches down in places. A gust and a howl of wind shrieked through the house. Steven shivered and huddled closer to the stove as he ate his supper. He turned on the radio to listen to the news on the Home Service. Towards the end of the announcements there was a warning of high tides with flooding in places. He remembered the man from the government offices mentioning the high tides and occasional flooding in Schoirhead meadow but…

  ‘The sheep!’ he yelled aloud. Surely the river wouldn’t be in flood when it had been low all summer? But it was affected by the tides and they had already had a lot of rain. ‘Dear God, I can’t afford to lose the man’s sheep now after grazing them all season,’ he muttered, already pulling on his boots and raincoat again. He reached for his flat cap and pulled it well down against the buffeting wind. Shandy watched, his brown eyes alert, ears pricked. Steven bent and patted him.

  ‘You don’t like the rain either old boy but I might need you to help me round them up if the river is rising.’ They hurried through the orchard, knocking on the McGuire’s door as they passed. He opened the door and called in, ‘I’m going to check the sheep. There’s warnings of floods. Your field is the nearest higher ground. Can I put them in there for tonight?’

  ‘Aye, they’d be safer there anyway and it’s as good as yours now, lad.’ McGuire said.

  ‘Be careful Steven. We’ve had a lot of rain already and the river can be dangerous. It will be high tide in an hour or so. Come in when you come back and I’ll have a hot drink ready,’ Mrs McGuire called.

  ‘Will do. Thanks.’ Steven smiled in spite of the wild weather. He’d been lucky to get such kindly neighbours. Shandy followed at his heels, head down, tail between his legs.

  Steven was relieved to see the sheep huddled together mid-way down the meadow. He sent Shandy to bring them towards McGuire’s pasture while he opened the gate. Shandy brought them along the line of the fence towards him. The sheep came willingly and he counted them as they passed. It was getting darker now. Could he have made a mistake? But he knew he hadn’t. ‘Three short!’ he muttered. He peered through the driving rain but it was impossible to see to the far end of the field. He sighed. He had to make sure. If he lost three there would be no profit left. Long before they reached the river bank he was wading. He could hear the roar and surge of the water. He was dismayed to see it spreading over the meadow like a lake. Surely there wouldn’t be any sheep down here? He was about to turn away when Shandy barked and began to wade towards the willow tree which grew on the bank of the river.

  ‘Come back here, boy!’ Steven called urgently. Then he saw them, three sheep huddled together amidst the swirling water. There was a ridge of higher ground where the water usually divided and washed around it. Less than a fortnight ago it had been possible to cross from one side to the other via the gravely bank but it was not even visible now. Steven knew the three sheep must be standing on it but the water was already up to their bellies and it was rising further with the tide.

  Cautiously he waded towards the willow tree. It was impossible to see where the river bank and the field merged but he knew the tree grew at the edge. Shandy began to bark in agitation. He sensed the danger too and he tried to go backwards and forwards along the edge of the river. Alarmed, as much by the barking dog as by the water, two of the sheep leapt towards the bank but their fleeces were thick and heavy. Steven was afraid they would submerge. He hung onto an overhanging branch of the tree and hauled one of them to firmer ground. It paddled until it reached higher ground then trotted off towards the rest of the flock. He glimpsed the gleaming eyes of the second one and grabbed blindly. The hog was a dead weight with his soggy fleece but he was desperate to survive and to join his mates. Steven heaved and he sprang. Steven fell backwards onto the flooded field and the ho
g made another desperate leap using his chest as a springboard before running off to join the rest. For a moment or two Steven lay winded and bruised, submerged except for his head. He was thoroughly wet to his skin now with little to lose and he hated the thought of leaving the lone sheep to be swept away by the fiercely flowing torrent. It was dark now but he could make out the darker shape of it and see two eyes shining. It was bleating pitifully for the rest. Shandy barked frenziedly.

  ‘One more try to get this one to jump old boy,’ Steven muttered. Shandy seemed to understand and for a few moments he was quiet. Steven edged forward then with one hand clinging to a low branch of the willow tree he leaned forward and waved his free arm wildly, giving an almighty bellow. As he intended, the startled hog lunged into the water. Steven grabbed at him and missed. He was being swept downstream now but his fingers fastened on the thick wool as he made a last frantic grab. It was enough to slow him and turn him sideways. Without warning he seemed to leap. Steven lost his grip on the branch and fell head first into the swirling river. He felt the hog’s small sharp feet on his back and then the weight was gone but he was left flailing helplessly. He could swim but he was not a strong swimmer and he was fully clothed. He felt himself being carried away.

  Even during the war, even that dreadful night when he and Sam had lain side by side waiting for darkness, he had never felt so terrified as he did now. He couldn’t see. He didn’t know where the edge of the riverbank was, he was completely disorientated. The words of the army padre came back to him reciting from some poet or other… “In the darkest hour even an atheist half believes in God.” He could hear Shandy’s bark growing fainter. He thought of Megan and fought again to keep his head up, gulping for air in rasping gasps, but the current was strong and he was being swept along like a match box.

  Eighteen

  Megan would not have ventured out on such a night but she would be back at college in two days and her heart was heavy at the thought of not seeing Steven again until Christmas. She was surprised to find Schoirhead in darkness. Few people bothered to lock their doors and she dashed to Steven’s door and pushed it open. The house was empty with no sign of Shandy either. Her heart beat faster. She switched on the lights. They flickered with the gusting wind. She hoped Steven would see the light and come in. The wind was frightening the way it whined and moaned around the corners of the house and through every crack. It seemed worse here than it had at home. She peered out of the windows but the buildings were still in darkness.

  She paced about unable to settle. Where could Steven be? She made up her mind, belted up her raincoat again and knotted a scarf around her head. Outside she listened intently, peering out into the stormy night. There was nothing and no one to be seen. In desperation she ran through the orchard and knocked on the McGuires’ door. It opened at once.

  ‘Steven! Thank the good Lord you’re back…’ Annie McGuire’s words trailed away. ‘It’s not Steven.’ Her voice trembled. ‘Come in, come in lassie.’

  ‘Where is Steven, Mrs McGuire? D-do you know? Please…?

  ‘He should have been back ages ago.’ Mrs McGuire was wringing her hands in distress. Mr McGuire had risen from his chair and his face looked pale and drawn.

  ‘He’s gone to move the sheep out of the meadow in case the river floods. He’s been gone too long. Far too long.’ His voice shook. Megan stared at them, her eyes wide and frightened now.

  ‘Then I must go search for him,’ she said her voice low and intense.

  ‘Aye,’ Mr McGuire didn’t try to stop her and she knew then they were even more frightened and anxious than she was. He was pulling on his cap and coat, taking up his stick, but he was so slow. He would hold her back. ‘Please…’ she put out her hand as though to keep him away. He ignored her.

  ‘Steven was using one o’ the horses today. He’s still in the stable. Take him lass. I’ll help you harness him.’ Megan wanted to run to the meadow but outside Mr McGuire shouted against the wind. ‘Ye must take a rope in case he’s in trouble. The horse will go faster than you can. The river must be over. The horse is taller and stronger than you lassie.’ He was doing his best to hurry.

  ‘Megan!’ Mrs McGuire called her back. Megan wanted to ignore her. She wanted to run to the field, but they knew this area better than either herself or Steven. She ran back to the house.

  ‘Take this bicycle torch lassie. It might be useful. He might see it. I’ve threaded a string through the back. Put it round your neck then ye’ll not drop it. Hang on tight to the horse, ma bairn. Promise ye’ll not let go.’ Mrs McGuire was near to sobbing and Megan’s alarm grew.

  ‘Yes. Right.’ Megan ran. She passed McGuire and by the time he arrived at the stable she had the collar over Ben’s head and the bridle in place but she was shaking with terror.

  ‘I’ll fix the rest and buckle the girth strap. You might need him to pull… or something.’ He muttered anxiously. ‘Can’t think what’s keeping the laddie. Must be in some sort o’ trouble. His life is worth more’n all the sheep in Scotland,’ he said as he reached for a coil of rope and tied one end firmly to the hooks on the horse’s collar then coiled it in a loop round the hames.

  ‘Keep that end tied to the horse,’ he warned. ‘You can throw the rope if ye need to. For God’s sake, lassie dinnae go near the river bank and dinnae take any risks. I’ve seen it wash away a horse and cart once, aye and claim a young life. Promise? Please God it takes none tonight.’

  ‘I-I promise.’

  ‘Here then…’ he set his sticks aside and cupped his hands. ‘Get on his back and I’ll lead him frae the stable.’

  ‘On his back? I-I can’t r-ride him…’

  ‘Ye can. He’ll be quicker than you. He has four legs. He’s solid against this wind. Come on, up with ye and hang on tight. I’d go myself but I’d be more hindrance than help. Steven wouldna want anything to happen to you though, lassie. You’re too precious to him. He told me he’d ask ye to be his wife if he’d anything to offer ye.’

  The words rang in Megan’s ears, over and over as she guided the horse through the deepening gloom. She was terrified perched so high on top of Ben but her knees clung tightly and she crouched low. So far Ben was behaving beautifully in spite of the wail of the wind and the thrashing branches of the trees. Then they were on the track and she urged him to go faster, clinging on as best she could.

  ‘Please God, keep Steven safe,’ she murmured aloud. As they drew nearer the McGuires’s field she saw the sheep huddled together in the gateway. Hope flared and she tried to guide Ben towards them but he stopped dead, almost causing her to slide off. His back was broad and she had no saddle. His ears were pricked.

  ‘Come on old boy,’ she urged desperately. ‘A wee bit further. He must be with the sheep.’ Ben refused to budge. His ears were twitching and Megan listened intently but she could hear nothing except the wind and rain, and could that be the roar of the river? She shuddered. Should she allow the horse to follow his instincts? He walked on more slowly now as though testing the ground as he put one foot in front of the other, sloshing through the water. He didn’t like it and it was already well up his legs. She was sure they were heading towards the river, away from the huddled sheep. It was like being in the middle of a lake and Megan began to shake with fright. She turned on the torch and shone it around but there was nothing but the swirl of the dark water all around her. She was terrified but she was even more afraid for Steven.

  ‘Please God don’t let him die,’ she whispered.

  It was impossible to judge where the edge of the river might be. She had to trust Ben and at least he had four feet and he seemed to be going cautiously. He stopped and pricked his ears again and this time she heard it, the distant barking of a dog.

  ‘Shandy…?’ she breathed. She urged Ben forward but he seemed to have changed direction. She couldn’t get her bearings. And then she saw the willow tree. She knew that was at the river bank and Shandy’s barking was clearer now. She wished she could whistle
like Steven. Instead she cupped her hands to her mouth and called but the wind seemed to blow her voice back to her and Ben set off again with a jerk, almost tipping her into the water. She prayed fervently as they splashed towards the willow tree. Then out of the gloom she saw Shandy doing his best to wade or swim towards them. He stopped, tried to bark, then turned and swam away from them.

  He was not going near the willow tree. Megan could only guess he was heading further down the river. They could only be a few hundred yards from the boundary fence and neither she nor Ben could go further than that, even if they could see anything in the darkness with the deepening water all around them. She uttered a silent thank you to McGuire for insisting she ride on Ben’s back. Shandy came towards them again, and again he turned and swam away as though urging them to follow. She drew Ben to a halt and shouted as loud as she could above the wind and the roar of the water but the thunder of the river in flood was deafening.

  ‘Ste-even!. Hall-ooo… Stee-v-en.’ The only reply was Shandy barking and Ben moved forward of his own will – slowly, carefully, his ears twitching nervously. Megan could feel the rain trickling down her back; her thighs and shoulders were soaked through but fear rendered her immune to the cold. Her heart was filled with dread. She called again. She thought she heard a faint “halloo”. Ben kept moving. She could see the tops of the fence posts now. They were almost at the boundary and her heart sank. She called again.

  This time she heard the words, ‘Water gate!’

  Megan knew that every water course had a swinging barrier across it where there was a boundary between farms. It was usually a wooden frame with vertical spars which allowed the water to flow on its way unimpeded but when the water was low it prevented the cattle from paddling along the river bed and climbing out onto a neighbour’s land. She guessed it must be in line with the boundary fence, but where was the edge of the river? They were close judging by the noise of the rushing torrents. McGuire had warned her it was powerful enough to sweep away both her and her powerful steed. She shuddered. What chance could Steven have against such a force?