THE GREAT WAR SAGAS: Box set of 2 passionate and inspiring stories: A Crimson Dawn and No Greater Love

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  ***

  It took a week before Emmie was back on her feet. Flora stayed to help nurse her back to health, sharing the bed with her while Barny slept in a box bed that Rab had made him. Laurie helped cook, Philip and Rab worked the allotment gardens, Barny fed Cobbles and fished, Mabel mended clothes and instructed Laurie in the making of cordials and pickling onions. Little by little, Emmie was able to help the small band of comrades.

  After ten days, Flora took her farewell. Philip decreed he would be the only one to take her down the valley to the nearest station, to prevent attention being drawn to strangers. Barny protested at being left out of the trip and cried when the doctor hugged him goodbye.

  ‘You’ll be twice the size when I see you again,’ she joked. ‘I’ll bring your Uncle Charles to visit and you can teach him how to use that fish trap.’

  Emmie hugged her tightly. ‘Thank you for everything you’ve done for us,’ she gulped. ‘We owe you so much.’

  ‘You owe me nothing.’ Flora smiled in affection. ‘You and Barny have given me more pleasure than you will ever know - Charles too.’

  ‘Give him our love,’ Emmie said tearfully. ‘Tell him we’ll all meet again in peacetime.’

  ‘In peacetime,’ Flora echoed.

  They waved her away until the carriage disappeared into the trees. Rab gave Barny a ride back on his shoulders. The rest of the day, Emmie worked in the garden, chatting to Laurie as he shelled peas while Rab took Barny off to the woods to snare rabbits.

  Philip came back with flour and oats and a precious bag of sugar he had bartered with his wife’s cordial. That evening they cooked on an open fire by the riverbank and sat around in the long evening twilight, discussing the news from the newspaper Philip had brought. There was an upsurge of fighting on the Front at a place called Passchendaele, food riots in Germany, a resumption of war by the new Russian parliament against the wishes of Lenin’s Bolsheviks. They talked late into the night, Barny falling asleep in Emmie’s lap.

  Rab lifted the boy for her and carried him to his box bed, tucked in behind the stove. Barny hardly stirred.

  ‘So full of fresh air,’ Emmie mused. ‘It’s a little bit of paradise for him.’

  ‘And me,’ Rab said in a low voice. In the glow of a midsummer night, Emmie could see his searching look. She held it a moment, then looked away. Rab turned. ‘Good night, lass,’ he murmured, and left.

  Emmie’s heart raced. Had he wanted to stay the night, now that Flora was gone? Part of’her yearned to lie with him, yet she was wary. The thought of her miscarried baby still plagued her. She was not ready for intimacy, but did not know how to tell Rab. She went to bed alone, lying long into the night, listening to the bark of a fox in the nearby woods.

  July came and a group of gypsies appeared in the woods with brightly painted wagons. At first, Emmie and her friends were cautious of the newcomers. They did not want word spreading around the area of the nature of their community. But it was not long before Barny had made friends with a boy called Ned and brought him back for tea.

  Gradually they got to know Ned’s family. The Kennedys were tinkers from south-west Scotland, who relied on agricultural work. They moved about, picking up casual work as well as news. A socialist convention in Leeds had demanded negotiated peace, but their proposed mass meetings had been banned. There was a rash of strikes from the Mersey to the Clyde over long working hours and rising prices.

  ‘There’s talk of industrial conscription,’ Ned’s older brother said. ‘Fit lads that are in essential jobs are being pressured into wearing badges to say they’re able-bodied.’

  Rab was indignant. ‘Aye, and you know what that means? Next thing is they’ll be bringing in the old men and the unskilled to take their place.’

  Ned’s father, David, nodded. ‘And packing them off to the Front.’

  ‘It’s a wonder there hasn’t been revolution.’ Rab threw up his hands in despair.

  ‘Folk are too ground down with surviving,’ David grunted.

  ‘Dead or in prison,’ Laurie added bitterly.

  ‘Not all.’ Ned’s mother, Lily, spoke up. She told how she had been approached in Liverpool by some women factory workers. ‘Wanted me to join a peace crusade,’ she said, wide-eyed. ‘Said it was time working-class lassies got together and did something before we were left with a country of widows and orphans.’

  Emmie looked at Rab in encouragement. Later, as they stood watching the boys throwing pebbles into the chuckling river, she said, ‘I think the tide might be turning in our favour. People can only take so much.’

  They walked arm in arm along the riverbank as the sun set. Flies danced above the water. Rab pulled her down on to a sandy bank.

  ‘Emmie,’ he said, looking at her intently, ‘you know I want to lie with you.’

  Her heart jerked.

  Rab went on, ‘I don’t hold with marriage promises, only the ones made between lovers. A lass should be free to love who she wants, not be tied like a serf to a husband.’ He stroked her cheek. ‘But you, Emmie, I’m not sure what you want. Do you still feel tied to Tom by your vows? I know you’re more religious…’

  ‘No,’ Emmie said, ‘I believe in a loving God, not one who condones wife beating. I feel nothing for Tom - and I would risk my soul to lie with you, Rab.’

  ‘But something is holding you back?’ he challenged her.

  Emmie let go a heavy sigh and told him about miscarrying in the prison.

  ‘I’m frightened of intimacy - the risk of losing a babe again,’ she confided.

  Rab gripped her to him. ‘My poor Emmie,’ he groaned.

  They held each other for a long time. In the still evening, they could hear Barny chattering with Ned about fish and desert islands. Emmie broke their silence.

  ‘Has Barny ever talked about Tom to you?’

  ‘No,’ Rab answered.

  ‘Me neither,’ Emmie said, thoughtful. ‘Tom frightens him.’

  ‘And you?’ Rab questioned.

  Emmie looked at him. ‘What frightens me is the thought of having to gan back to Tom for Barny’s sake.’

  ‘You don’t have to,’ Rab insisted.

  ‘But what if he tried to take Barny from me?’ Emmie agonised. ‘As his father, he’s Barny’s guardian. I have no rights - especially if we …’

  Rab looked at her in bewilderment. ‘Are you telling me, if Tom survives the war, you’re prepared to go back to him?’

  Emmie looked at his overwrought expression and hated herself for the pain she caused him. ‘If it’s the only way I’ll keep Barny with me, then yes, I’ll gan back to Tom.’

  Rab turned from her in frustration. ‘My God!’

  Emmie quickly gripped his face between her hands.

  ‘Look at me,’ she urged. ‘I love you, Rab, and I’ll lie with you tonight. But you must know that this time together might be our only time. If Tom won’t let me and Barny go when this war is over, then I’ll stay with Tom till Barny’s old enough to choose for himself.’ She searched his handsome face for understanding. ‘Just so you know - so there’s no misunderstanding or bitterness later.’

  Rab’s expression was grim in the evening light. She thought she had hurt him too much and wished she had never mentioned Tom. He intruded into their haven like a storm cloud.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Rab said at last, ‘but I’ll accept what little piece of heaven you’ll give me, Emmie.’ He leaned forward and kissed her.

  In relief, Emmie’s arms went round his neck. She kissed him back with urgency. When they broke away, Rab smiled. ‘Haway, lass, it’s time for bed.’

  They stood up and hurried back to the cottage, arms linked around each other.

  Chapter 34

  As high summer arrived, Emmie and Rab became lovers. They lived each day as if it might be their last, working side by side in the garden, sharing their meals, talking, reading to each other and playing with Barny. At night, when the light was too dim for reading or mending, they would go g
ladly to bed and make love. Emmie was never happier than falling asleep cradled in Rab’s arms, the warmth of his breath on her hair.

  Daily, they expected the police to find their hideout or a military vehicle to trundle up the track with arrest warrants for Rab and Laurie. But no one came. Each day that ended peacefully in their cottage was a precious gift.

  September and the harvest arrived; the Kennedys, their best source of news, moved on. Occasionally, a letter would be left by the widower Calvert for the Runcies under a milk churn at the top of the bank. This was how news came from Flora and the MacRaes, addressed to the Runcies and their ‘family’. Flora’s letter told them little, save that she was working in a hospital and saw Charles once a month.

  ‘She must be frightened of its being opened and read,’ Emmie commented. ‘Your mam tells us more.’

  From Helen’s childish handwriting they learned that Peter was handling horses for the medical corps and that Jonas was working in the forge again because of a shortage of skilled blacksmiths. He was excited at the Labour Party’s break with the National Government, but furious at the refusal to let them attend the Socialist Peace Conference in Stockholm.

  ‘What Peace Conference?’ Rab demanded eagerly.

  Emmie shrugged helplessly. They were cut adrift from the world. She shared his frustration, yet feared the invasion of the outside into their Utopia. They were living as they had always dreamed the world should be, everyone equal and at peace.

  ‘Perhaps Philip could go up to the big house and ask what they know,’ she suggested.

  Their friend came back with the news of great unrest over shortages and a women’s peace crusade that was sweeping the large cities of the north. Labour leader, Henderson, a traitor in many socialist eyes for condoning the war, had resigned from the Government.

  That night Rab turned restlessly in bed. Neither of them could sleep.

  ‘Let’s go for a walk,’ Emmie whispered.

  Outside, the river moved like molten silver under a full moon as they followed its course.

  ‘We should be out there helping,’ Rab said in frustration.

  ‘I know,’ Emmie agreed, ‘but it’s too dangerous. As soon as you show your face, they’ll have you back in prison.’

  ‘Maybe that’s where I should be,’ Rab said grimly. ‘How can we change the world hiding here?’

  Emmie took his arm. ‘We’ve already changed it. Look at the way we live!’

  Rab sighed with impatience. ‘But it’s not enough!’

  ‘It is for me,’ Emmie said with passion.

  ‘We need to change things for the millions who are suffering the effects of this war,’ Rab insisted.

  ‘And how does ganin’ back to prison serve any purpose?’ Emmie demanded. ‘I need you, Rab. Barny needs you!’

  Rab stared at her in the moonlight. ‘Good God, Emmie, have we grown that selfish?’

  ‘Why is it selfish to want you to live?’ Emmie cried. ‘Didn’t you say that year in prison nearly finished you? Next time it could be for longer. COs have died from hard labour, you know.’

  ‘Of course I know - and I’m prepared for that,’ Rab said stubbornly.

  ‘Well, I’m not,’ Emmie retorted. Rab pulled away from her.

  Emmie felt herself growing tearful and a familiar queasiness gripped inside. ‘Please, Rab, you’ve done your bit - done more than most. There are others to take up the cause - thousands of others, by the sound of it.’

  Rab was uncompromising. ‘We’re burying our heads in the sand. We can’t stay here while others are risking their lives for us - at least I can’t.’

  ‘And if it means ganin’ back to prison?’ Emmie challenged.

  Rab held her look. ‘Then I’ll do it.’

  Emmie swallowed her panic. ‘Well, I can’t.’

  Rab sighed. ‘I don’t expect you to. You’ve got Barny to take care of—’

  ‘It’s not just Barny,’ Emmie interrupted. ‘I can’t gan back there again, because I won’t risk losing another bairn.’

  Rab looked nonplussed. ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘I mean,’ Emmie whispered, ‘I’m carrying our bairn.’

  Rab stared at her, dumbfounded. She began to tremble. ‘That’s why I don’t want all this to end. I’m ganin’ to have your baby, Rab.’

  ‘Oh, Emmie!’ Rab gasped, and reached out for her.

  Their arms went about each other in a fierce hug. After that, they retreated to the warmth of their bed and Rab kissed her tenderly.

  ‘I’ll stay till they come for me, if that’s what you want,’ he promised.

  After that, they never mentioned his going away, though Emmie felt it lay between them like a bruise. She worried that Rab resented her for keeping him there with the excuse of the baby. Perhaps she had been unfair mentioning it when she had? She too felt guilty at their relative safety. What would Flora have done in her situation? She thought fondly of her friend and mentor, and wished she was there to confide in. Mabel was so frail and forgetful that Emmie could not talk to her about such things.

  Rab and Emmie continued to make love as the nights grew chilly, but he was cautious in the way he touched her as if fearing to harm their unborn child.

  Rab was digging up turnips with Barny the day Philip appeared with a letter. Emmie took it. Helen’s writing was scrawled across the page. Her heart thumped in shock as she read its contents. Her breath caught in her throat. She rushed out to find Rab.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked in alarm, seeing her ashen look.

  Emmie held out the letter. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, tears flooding her eyes. ‘It’s your da …’

  Rab dropped his spade and took the letter, his eyes pained as he read of Jonas’s death. He had collapsed again at the forge, but this time there had been no recovery. The funeral was in a week’s time, to allow Peter to return on compassionate leave.

  Emmie went to Rab and hugged him in sorrow. She felt a huge sob rise up inside him as he buried his face in her hair. Barny watched them in bafflement.

  ‘Is Rab crying, Mammy?’ he asked. ‘Why’s Rab crying?’

  ‘Uncle Jonas has died, pet,’ she explained.

  The next moment, Barny was throwing himself at them and all three were in tears. Emmie thought, with a squeeze of her heart, how much the kind, passionate Jonas had been a father to her. He had battled all his life on behalf of others and he had given her a home more loving than any other she could have wished for. How poor Helen would miss him! Thinking of her aunt all alone and grieving, Emmie knew that they had to go. Even though it would mean certain arrest for Rab. The military would be waiting for just such an occasion to flush Rab out of hiding. And they would punish him severely.

  When Rab looked up, he said, ‘You know what I have to do, don’t you?’

  Emmie looked at him through her tears and nodded. ‘We’ll all gan.’

  Rab frowned. ‘No, Emmie—’

  ‘I’m not lettin’ you go on your own,’ she insisted. ‘Helen needs us.’

  Rab clasped her to him. ‘I love you, Emmie,’ he rasped, ‘more than my life.’

  On their final night at the cottage, Emmie and Rab sat up late by the warm stove, talking quietly, reminding each other of special moments from their summer together.

  ‘I’ve never been happier than with you and Barny,’ Rab reflected. ‘Thank you, Emmie.’

  She gripped his hands. ‘There’ll be other times to come,’ she insisted, ‘even better times - when the war’s over, when the baby’s born—’ Emmie stopped, choked. She saw the sadness in his handsome eyes and knew he doubted such a time would come.

  They went to bed and lay awake in each other’s arms, everything said, dreading the morning light. When it came, Emmie got up and woke Barny, dressed him in his best breeches, which were now too short, and watched him eat the porridge she could not swallow. He was excited about the trip to Crawdene and seeing his beloved Auntie Helen and Peter again.

  Philip drove them to the station a
nd gave them money for the train journey to Gateshead. They arrived back in Crawdene an hour before the funeral service. To Emmie’s surprise, people came up to them in the street and shook Rab by the hand.

  ‘Brave lad,’ one man said.

  ‘Good on yer,’ said another. ‘Sorry about your father.’

  Their glances towards Emmie were more cautious. Most made a fuss of Barny instead.

  The three hurried to China Street. Helen nearly fainted at the sight of them stepping through her door. She cried out their names and ran to embrace them.

  Emmie burst into tears as Helen hugged her.

  ‘You look well,’ Helen cried. ‘The bairn’s grown - oh, Rab, you shouldn’t have come!’

  He held his mother. ‘I had to see the old man on his way,’ he smiled.

  Peter, who had arrived home the previous day, was already showing Barny the body laid out in the open coffin on the table. Emmie went to hold the boy’s hand.

  ‘Is he sleeping?’ Barny asked. Despite Emmie’s telling him, he was finding death a difficult idea to grasp.

  ‘He’s dead,’ Peter answered. ‘He won’t wake up.’

  Barny looked round at his mother in concern. She nodded.

  ‘He’s gone to be with Uncle Sam in Heaven.’

  ‘No, he hasn’t,’ Peter contradicted. ‘Me da didn’t want to gan to Heaven. Didn’t believe in it. He said Heaven should be here on earth, didn’t he, Rab? He was always saying that.’

  Emmie and Rab exchanged looks. ‘Aye, Peter lad,’ he smiled, ‘he was always saying that.’

  ‘That’s as maybe,’ Helen snorted, ‘but he’s gettin’ a proper burial and if he doesn’t like it, he can come back and haunt me.’

  Barny turned away, his curiosity dispelled, and demanded Peter play him a tune on his tin whistle. The others fell to talking about the funeral arrangements and Helen told them of the tea the Clarion Club were laying on in the Co-operative Hall afterwards. They had a short time to tell her about their life at The Grove, but they had decided to say nothing about the baby in case word got back to the Currans. Emmie dreaded coming across them.

  Rab was more concerned with what Helen would do. Now Jonas was dead, she no longer had the right to live in the cottage.