‘The morn’ll do, Charlie.’
‘Aye. I’ll feel better the morn.’
On the Sunday following her initial visit to the doctor, Kate rose early to make her pies. They had to be ready to carry into the village in time for Mass, which Kate had decided to attend, and there would be no time to return to the cottage before visiting Dr Hyslop. It was a beautiful morning; by seven o’clock a weak but valiant sun was trying to melt the frost that had crept over the garden and the surrounding fields. The trees in the garden, a magnificent chestnut and an equally imposing beech, were beginning to change into their autumn finery, the chestnut already almost a pillar of fire. Kate stood for a moment in the doorway throwing dough to the visiting pheasant. Was it the autumn air, that incredible crispness and clearness, or was it her condition that made her feel so happy and fulfilled? She took great gulps of the cold fresh air and, filled with oxygen and euphoria, returned to the kitchen. The three pies were wonders of the baker’s art; she had never been so pleased.
‘Will I come with you, Kate, no to the chapel, but I could maybe help you with the pies; precious use any other way.’ Charlie was awake and Kate was touched by his concern. For a moment he was like Liam, the Liam who would push a pram in an age when such an action was deemed unmanly; here was Charlie offering to help carry pie dishes.
‘That’d be grand, Charlie,’ was all she said but it was enough for they walked happily to the village, stopping every so often because Charlie was sure that there were still brambles on the bushes that clambered over the dry stone dykes. He did find a few and they shared them like greedy children, but there was that look in his eye that made Kate glad that they were on their way to church.
He did not go into the little chapel with her. ‘I’ll have a walk by the river and fetch you later,’ and Kate was more than content.
Dr Hyslop was in his garden when they walked past later on their way to see Liam.
‘Going to your father’s, Kate? Sunday luncheon? Come in. I have several cuttings for you.’
He showed them into his greenhouse. ‘Have a seat; you take the comfortable one, Kate. I’ll be back in a second.’
Obediently Kate and Charlie sat down, and, too nervous even to talk to one another, they looked shyly at the beautiful plants.
The doctor returned with, not cuttings but a tray of coffee, and he kept up a flow of small talk while Kate, both embarrassed and honoured at being treated like a guest, sipped her coffee – the first cup she had ever had.
‘What a gentleman, Charlie! Is he not? And his thanks for my pie; did you hear him say he has friends coming, golfing friends, and he’ll serve it to them? Just think, Charlie, real gentlemen eating my pies,’ babbled Kate as, her arms full of cuttings and her heart full of joy, they walked to the miners’ row.
‘And why not, Kate Inglis? Why did you think I married you? Was it not all over Dumfriesshire that Kate Kennedy was the queen of the bakers?’
Liam Kennedy was not a demonstrative man. Kate waited until they had finished their dinner, not their luncheon, before she told him that he would be a grandfather again in the spring. ‘That’s nice,’ was all he said, but he rose to put on the kettle for the tea thereby conveying some new status on his eldest daughter. It was as if he was recognizing that she had waited hand and foot on him and the others for years, even before the death of her mother, and was no doubt doing the same for Charlie. To put on the kettle would be a small thing to do for her but Kate read all the unspoken messages and her heart warmed afresh.
Bridie was thrilled at the prospect of a new baby but Colm appeared sheepish as if here was proof positive that his sister really participated in the unmentionable but secretly exciting things the boys discussed at school.
‘What do you want? A wee girl would be nice. What about names?’ asked Bridie all in one breath. ‘You’ll need to write to Deirdre. A wee cousin for wee Davey, and let’s away in to tell Mrs Murphy, she’s got news hersel’ . . . I shouldnae have told ye.’
‘News?’ asked Kate. ‘Have you set the date?’
Liam stood up and stretched. His back was always stiff and sore from the constant doubling up in the pit. ‘Away and fetch your auntie, Charlie. I cannae think why she wouldn’t come for her dinner. Did I not tell her Kate always makes enough?’
Mrs Murphy, of course, had shown great understanding by refusing her intended’s invitation. She had rightly supposed that Kate was going to make her announcement and felt sure that the girl would prefer her not to be part of the family gathering. Now she pretended great excitement and surprise.
‘And you’ll give me the right to help a little, Kate, now me and ye da’s finally getting married. Hogmanay’s a lovely time for a wedding and Liam has a day off the pit.’
The wedding was very different from Kate’s and no doubt the wedding night was too, if the besotted looks the new Mrs Kennedy gave her husband were anything to go by.
She’s not frightened, thought Kate, and she’s been through it all before.
What was wrong with her that she could barely tolerate, never mind enjoy, that part of marriage? Even Deirdre was gazing into her Dave’s eyes and sending messages that anyone could read.
The wedding had taken place in the register office in Dumfries and all the surviving family were there, looking stiff and uncomfortable in the clothes that had not been worn since Kate’s wedding. Mrs Murphy had refused Kate’s offer of help – ‘too much work in your condition’ – and Liam took them all for fish suppers which they ate on the bus back to Auchenbeath.
‘That pair’ll be under a tree long before they get home,’ laughed Charlie as the bus deposited Deirdre and Dave at the end of the road leading to their cottage.
Kate kept silent, hoping that Liam had not heard his son-in-law’s remark. Charlie was not a coarse man in spite of what he did to her almost every night in their bed. What made him say these vulgar things? Even if his own daughter were not involved, Liam would not appreciate Charlie’s levity.
‘Maybe we’ll find a tree ourselves, Katie,’ whispered Charlie. ‘Is that what ye need, lass, a wee bit of romance?’
‘Don’t be silly, Charlie. It’s Hogmanay; it’s freezing cold.’
‘My practical wee wife,’ said Charlie, and to Kate’s surprise, when they did eventually reach home, she did not have to endure the nightly fumbling, for Charlie had fallen asleep before she joined him. A stronger man than Charlie might well have fallen asleep too, for after the bus had finally deposited them in the village, there had been that long cold walk through driving sleet to their cottage.
‘You’ll need a hot drink, Charlie, or you’ll catch your death,’ had been Kate’s New Year greeting to her husband, but he had dropped his outer clothes onto the floor and climbed, in his combinations, into the bed. She put his mug of soup on the table beside him and gratefully and quietly so as not to disturb him, had eased herself into the bed, already warmed by his body.
I’ll be grateful if he doesn’t get the cold, Kate thought but she was more grateful to start the new year without that ‘nonsense’.
On her first visit of the new year to Dr Hyslop’s surgery he had some news for her.
‘Not the best time for you to be thinking about something like this, Kate, but it could solve a lot of problems.’
‘I’ll think about it. I’m real grateful and I’m flattered, I don’t deny. If I wasn’t . . . having a baby, I’d jump at the chance, once I’d talked to Charlie, of course. Can I tell you, next time I’m in to see my da?’
She went out into the driving wind and sleet and, wrapping her thin shawl about her, set off up the hill to the cottage.
I could have a decent coat for a start, she told herself, and a nice cot for the bairn, and a pram.
She struggled the mile to the cottage and arrived on the doorstep, soaked through and hungry, to find the fire out and the cottage cold and dark. Charlie was in bed, his face grey against the sheets.
‘I’m sorry, lass,’ he whisp
ered, ‘a wee attack. Take off yer clothes and get in here with me. I meant to bank up the fire for you.’ He had said too much and collapsed coughing.
Alarmed, Kate forgot her cold and fatigue. ‘I’ll run back and get the doctor.’
‘Get yourself dry, Kate, and mend the fire. A bowl of your soup later and I’ll be fine again.’
That reminded her but it wasn’t the time to tell him. She went into the kitchen with some dry clothes and, after pulling them on, she redded up the fire and heated the soup. When she was warmed up and she had managed to spoonfeed Charlie, she sat sipping her own bowl and told him her news.
‘Charlie, one of Doctor Hyslop’s friends owns lots of grocery shops and he wants to sell my pies.’
Weak as he was, Charlie struggled up in the bed. ‘No wife of mine is going to work,’ he tried to shout but the effort was too much and he fell back, coughing.
Kate held him until the fit had subsided but she could almost feel the steel forming inside her. She looked around the damp little room with the fungus growing on the walls. This is what I’m to be content to bring my son to, she thought – for he would be a son. Well, Charlie Inglis, I’ll lump a lot. God knows, I’m not used to much, but this is for my child. There’s a chance for us, him and me, and you too, and I’ll fight for it with every weapon I’ve got.
‘You’re a good man, Charlie Inglis, but you’ll never work again so we’ll stop pretending. I am going to sell my pies. This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance, Charlie, and you’ll be in it same as me. This Mr McDonald knows about the baby and he’s prepared to wait for a wee while to go into . . . well, to order a lot, but in the meantime he wants pies in the local pubs, seemingly he has interests in them as well. I’ve thought it out. I’ll get your Auntie Molly to help and Deirdre, she could use a bit extra. My recipes, two other good bakers. You’ll deliver them to the pubs, once you’re over this attack. Now, rest a bit, while I’m away to write to Deirdre. She’ll have to talk to Dave who’ll be as daft as you but she’s near Thornhill and that’s a grand market.’
Trembling at her temerity, Kate hurried off before he could say anything and left Charlie fuming at his infirmities and wondering at Kate’s almost uppity talk when her dander was up. ‘I’ll talk to Liam,’ he croaked eventually. ‘He’ll sort you. His wife and his daughter working for a living; he’ll never lump the idea for a minute.’
Liam, no doubt persuaded by his new wife, whose relations, after all, ran one of the local pubs, came to see his son-in-law.
‘In a perfect world, Charlie, a man would be able to provide a decent home for his wife and bairns, but it’s not perfect. You shouldn’t have been gassed; my boys shouldn’t be dead. That bloody war changed a lot, and not always for the better.’
‘There’s talk of pensions, Liam. I’ll get a pension. You can’t want Kate working?’
‘Think on it this way, Charlie, they’re not really working, not like going down the pit. It’s baking wee pies, man, women’s work. So they’re going to make a few extra and sell them, let them. In the summer maybe you’ll be better able for a bit farm work and Kate’ll have her hands full with her babby.’
They smiled; nature would take its course. It did and almost four months after Liam’s wedding, Kate went into labour. The child was late, almost as if he knew that he was hardly arriving at an opportune time and had kept out of his mother’s way as long as possible. Kate had refused to move back to Liam’s home to await the baby. She was standing up in the kitchen of the cottage when labour started and her last words through clenched teeth to a distraught Charlie were, ‘Mind and take they pies out of the oven in ten minutes and then you can go for your auntie.’ It was Dr Hyslop however, who, returning from a sick call, found the exhausted Charlie stumbling along the road and took him up in the pony and trap.
‘Can you help, man, or should I fetch her step-mother?’
‘I’ll manage, doctor.’
Charlie meant well, but he was not intended to pursue a career in midwifery. Each and every one of Kate’s fears, both rational and irrational, returned to plague her and she was sure that she was going to die. Charlie almost swooned at the sight and sound of his wife in agony.
‘Go and boil water, man,’ said Dr Hyslop, taking the old way out of getting rid of useless help without offending it.
‘Mam,’ screamed Kate, ‘my mam’s there, doctor. She’s taking me. It hurts; no more, please, no more.’
‘She’s here to help, Kate. Push, lass, push; it’ll soon be over and you’ll have your baby.’
Kate moaned and shook her head. ‘I want to go with her. Mam.’
She opened her eyes, stared wide-eyed beyond the doctor’s back, and rallied, and finally the exhausted doctor dragged the unwilling infant from his mother’s torn body.
‘You have a fine boy, Kate,’ Dr Hyslop whispered and he returned the cleaned and warmly wrapped infant to her. Did she feel a kiss dropped on her brow? She could not be sure, but she felt surrounded by love. With all her determination and strength she grabbed the feeling and held on to it and then focused on the warm baby nuzzling at her breast. How strong his little mouth was; strange that so small a child should have so much power. She felt the milk, the nourishment, passing from her breast into the greedy little mouth and with it went her heart, whole and entire, for ever and ever. She was his from that moment on, and she would never love anyone or anything with half the passion she felt for this son.
‘Hello, my wee lamb.’ Her whole being exulted.
She did not hear the doctor leave. Charlie’s incoherent outpourings of love and sorrow affected her not at all; indeed she barely heard them. Patrick Hyslop Inglis attached to her breast. She was asleep.
8
KATE’S EUPHORIA AFTER childbirth lasted for but a few days, the love for the rest of her life. Dr Hyslop had gone out of his way to inform her father of the birth of his second grandchild and later on the day of Patrick’s birth, Liam and his new wife arrived to look after Kate. They stayed to care for Charlie who had had another recurrence of his lung problems brought on by strain and over exertion.
Kate was up and at her baking three days after Patrick’s birth and when he was a week old, she loaded up the old pram – bought at a jumble sale at the Kirk – with the baby, and her delivery of pies, and set off for the village.
The walk exhausted her and she was glad to reach her father’s house and to sit down by the fire while Bridie fussed over her and Colm fussed over his nephew.
‘He’s bonnier than wee Davey,’ was his verdict.
‘Boys are handsome, not bonny,’ said the doting mother, ‘but I quite agree with you.’
She went off into the bedroom to suckle her son. Never had she imagined herself doing such a thing there in the room where Liam had slept with Mary Kate and where he now slept with Molly Murphy.
She’s a nice enough woman, Mam, said Kate to the ghost who was never far from her, but how Da could marry her after you? Well, that’s no my business, is it? What about my bairn? Is he no the most beautiful creature ye’ve ever seen? And then, while she watched the child pull hungrily at her breast, she began to formulate the actual plan which had been lying at the back of her mind for years and which Doctor Hyslop had given her the courage to accept. I’m going into business, Mam. Charlie’s no pleased. He’s that silly. He’s got this idea that he has to provide. Unaware that she was repeating her father’s argument almost word for word she went on; Well, in an ideal world, maybe . . . but the world’s no ideal. If it was you’d be here, wouldn’t you? I’m a wee thing tired after the walk down the brae with the pies but I’m leaving a note at the doctor’s . . . I’d walk through fire for that man, Mam, pure goodness, but anyway, I’m going to start the business proper. I’ve asked at the pubs for good bakers to give me a hand . . . for a decent wage. I’m not getting above myself, Mam, but I want a chance for my bairn; I’m not after wealth and kippers for my breakfast. I’ll work all the hours God gives and one day your grandso
n will go to the university and – she could say it in her head but not yet aloud – he’ll be a good Catholic, Mam.
The baby thus discussed with the dead told his mother in no uncertain terms what he thought of her conversation by burping loudly and regurgitating most of the milk he had hungrily swallowed across her bosom and down the front of her dress, for, modest as ever, Kate had unbuttoned only enough to allow access to her nipple.
Lamb, lamb, was Mammy no paying attention to you? It’s for you, Patrick, all my working, for you and for your uncles, God rest them. Maybe they hadn’t it in them to be great artists but they never had the chance, lambkin, but you’ll have all the chances you want, if your mammy has to prop herself up at the oven to bake her pies to give you that chance.
Patrick yawned heartily and fell asleep.
For the next few months, while Charlie chafed irritably in the bed which Kate never slept in, she baked single-handedly in the little kitchen. Every day she would load up her pies and her baby and walk to the village. First stop was the pub which she never entered and next she went to the miners’ club and then to the village shop. Molly and the two miners’ wives she had accepted from among the many applicants for jobs baked for the shop in the next village and Deirdre supplied the shop in her somewhat larger village. Almost from the start it was obvious that it was not enough. Mr McDonald, her employer, owned shops all over Galloway and he wanted mass-production of the pies even in the face of the poverty brought on by strikes among the miners, railway workers and even the police. Kate was stopped several times a day by women anxious to work for almost anything and even Liam had to be glad that his wife was earning something. Charlie, of course, her proud wee bantam, would never admit that he was grateful for his wife’s earnings. He wasn’t. It was all wrong and despite the rallying words from Liam he wondered what he had fought and almost died for. Was it so that his wife could work so hard that he very rarely even saw her, and that his newborn son should be carried around the village in a pram full of pies?
A Pinch of Salt Page 9
