The Road to Rowanbrae Page 6

  Hearing this as she passed, Pattie White said, loudly, ‘Keep your lang neb oot o’ it, Jean Petrie. You’re just jealous that naebody’s ever ta’en you ootside to kiss you or dae onything else.’ She swept down the path like a battleship in full sail, but her outburst caused great hilarity amongst the other women and Jean closed her mouth, more determined than ever to inform the wronged husband at the very first opportunity.

  On Sunday night, Mysie badly strained her ankle by stepping on a loose stone in the yard, and Jeems had to go to the well himself on Monday morning. He came storming back, his face dark and contorted with anger. ‘What’s this Eck Petrie’s wife’s sayin’ aboot you an’ Doddie Wilson?’

  An iron band clamped round Mysie’s heart. ‘Oh! You ken she spreads terrible lees aboot folk … what was she sayin’?’

  ‘Tell me the truth, if you dare, an’ we’ll see if she was tellin’ lees or no’ .’

  ‘Me an’ Doddie just went oot for a breath o’ fresh air,’ she murmured, but he cut her short.

  ‘I’m nae daft, wumman. There’s just one thing he’d ha’e ta’en you ootside for, an’ I’m askin’ you, did you let him?’

  ‘No, Jeems, I swear to God I didna.’ Her conscience, however, wouldn’t let her stop there. ‘I let him kiss me, that’s a’.’

  Setting the two pails on the floor with such force that the water slopped over, he leapt across the room and punched her in the stomach, making her double over, winded. He stamped out without waiting to see if she got her breath back. Doddie was in the big byre at Waterton when Jeems burst in. ‘Aye, Jeems, what brings you here …?’ he began sociably, but the other man’s scarlet face and wild eyes told him that this was not a social call.

  ‘You ken fine what brings me here! What you an’ my wife did on Saturday nicht, that’s what brings me here. Christ, man, the whole place is speakin’ aboot it, an’ laughin’ at me ahin’ my back. Just kisses, she tell’t me, but I’m bloody sure you didna stop at kissin’ her, you horny bugger.’

  Doddie met his furious eyes steadily. ‘It was Mysie stopped at kissin’. I’d ha’e ta’en her in a minute, if she’d let me.’

  Jeems’s fist shot out and landed heavily on Doddie’s mouth. ‘You bugger o’ hell! You tell me that to my face, dae you?’ The second blow caught the young man on the side of the head, and when Doddie still didn’t retaliate, Jeems roared, ‘Oh, aye, you maybe think you’re a great man wi’ the weemen, but you’re nae man enough to stand up for yoursel’.’

  Wiping the blood from his mouth, Doddie said, quietly, ‘You’ve a right to be angry. I shouldna ha’e kissed your wife, but I’d a puckle drinks in me an’ she’s the bonniest lass I ever saw. It’s nae excuse, but it’s the only ane I can gi’e you.’

  Thwarted of a sparring match, Jeems struck out again, shouting, ‘No, by God, it’s nae excuse, an’ I’ll tell you this, if ever I catch you near her again, I’ll kill you!’ He made for the open door, then turned to issue one last warning. ‘Nae man mak’s a fool o’ me an’ gets awa’ wi’ it!’ Watching him going out, Doddie took out his handkerchief to dab his face, and had the small satisfaction of seeing Jeems blowing on his knuckles to ease the pain in them.

  Mysie looked up fearfully when her husband returned, his ugly face made even uglier by a sneer of victory. ‘That’s sorted Doddie Wilson oot,’ he crowed. ‘He’ll nae kiss ony other man’s wife for a lang time.’

  ‘What did you dae to him?’ she whispered.

  ‘I punched him stupid, an’ he just stood an’ took it, the big jessie that he is.’

  Mysie knew that Doddie was not a jessie – he had proved that by his passionate pleas and by his hardness against her, which she had felt even through the layers of clothing between them – but it would be wiser to let her husband believe that he had come off best. She was sure of one thing, though – her life would never be the same again now that she’d discovered what love was, for it must be love she felt for Doddie Wilson. Why else would her heart sing the way it did and her innards twist with desire as they had never done for Jeems?

  Chapter Five

  If only Sandy was more like his brother, Mysie thought – Jamie never tore his breeches, nor dirtied them like this. She had been nearly sick yesterday trying to scrub the same pair clean, and the little devil had fallen in the midden again as soon as he went outside after his breakfast this morning.

  ‘Weel,’ he’d pouted, when she raged him, ‘there’s a cobbly stane, an’ I can never mind which ane it is.’

  ‘But you shouldna be walking on the midden ony road.’

  ‘I wasna walkin’, Mam, I was runnin’ alang the dyke to see how far I got roon’ afore I coonted up to ten.’

  Not feeling like arguing any more, loose stone or not, she’d said, ‘It’s a good thing for you it’s the holidays, an’ it’s nae your school breeks you had on.’

  She was not in a good mood today anyway. That letter from her mother had infuriated her. It was disgusting to think that a woman of her age was expecting and had to get married. It was bad enough that she had been carrying on with a man at all, but everyone in Turriff knew that Louie Gill had ill-used his first wife and was as big a drunkard as Eddie Lonie – one of his cronies, in fact. Not only that, he was as fat as a pig, with a beer-belly on him that hung down over the top of his trousers, and a pock-marked face that leered at any girl unfortunate enough to be near him. Of course, Mysie reflected as she scrubbed, it was years since she had seen him, since he had tried to paw her as she passed, but a man like that wouldn’t have changed. How could her mother let him touch her? It was indecent. Well, that was the end. Even if she had the money for the fares, she would never go to see her mother again, and she was not going to answer this letter. Let the woman stew in her own juice.

  Retching as she encountered a particularly nasty dollop of something she didn’t dare to analyse, she became conscious that a man was standing beside her, and, put out at being found in such circumstances, she gasped, ‘Oh, it’s you, Jockie. I’d clean forgot you’d be here the day. Just gi’e me a minute till I get Sandy’s breeks washed. He’s aye up to something, gettin’ worse ilka day, an’ I’m at my wits’ end wi’ him. God kens what he’ll be like when he’s aulder.’

  The old man smiled comfortingly. ‘Och, Mistress, loons are better wi’ a bit o’ devilment in them. I mind when my …’

  The abrupt stop made Mysie look up, but the wistful look she caught in his eyes was gone almost at once. ‘Sandy’s in the hoose,’ she said, kindly. ‘He’s sittin’ wi’ a blanket roon’ him, for he’s only got his school breeks clean an’ he’s nae gettin’ them on to play. Go in an’ speak to him, I’ll nae be lang.’ She bent to her task again as he walked away. She had long since come to the conclusion that he was an old bachelor, but she was certain that he had almost told her about a son, or sons, when he caught himself, so he must have had a wife and family at one time. Maybe they had died, or he had walked out on them, or they on him.

  After throwing the dirty water on the midden, Mysie laid the trousers over the hen run to be rinsed out later and went into the house. Sandy, who had been laughing, hastily assumed a peeved aura of injured pride, but she ignored him and spooned some tea into the teapot, filled it up, then turned to the old man. ‘What like are you the day, Jockie?’

  ‘I’m fine … no, I’m nae that good, really.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. What’s …?’

  ‘It’s my legs, they’re ower auld to be travellin’ roon’.’

  ‘You’re nae that auld.’

  ‘I’m seventy come October.’

  Sandy eyed him with interest. ‘Seventy? That’s awfu’ auld.’

  The man smiled ruefully. ‘Aye, my loon, it’s man’s span on this earth – three-score year an’ ten. I’ve been lucky to keep goin’ as lang’s this, but I ken’t the time would come when I’d ha’e to hand my pack ower to a younger man.’

  ‘Will you be a different packman the next time you come?’

>   Smiling at the boy’s inconsistency, Jockie said, ‘Aye, it’ll be another man. It’s mony a year since I’d a hame, an’ I’ve nae idea where I’ll be sleepin’ noo. I aye got a bed in an oothoose at the last place ilka day, but that privilege’ll go to the new man, once I find him, so I doot it’s the work-hoose for me.’

  Mysie was horrified. ‘Do you nae ha’e naebody o’ your ain?’

  ‘Nae a soul.’

  The wistfulness was there again, and Mysie was more curious than ever about him, but she couldn’t ask him anything as long as her son was there. ‘Sandy, if you promise to keep awa’ fae that midden, you can put on your school breeks an’ go oot.’

  ‘I’ll nae go near the midden, Mam. Cross my he’rt an’ hope to dee, cut my throat if I tell a lee.’ He drew his forefinger across his neck before scampering into the other room.

  He ran past her again as she made her purchases, but she waited until she poured the tea before saying, ‘It’s nane o’ my business, but what made you start bein’ a packman, Jockie?’

  He took a dainty sip from his cup then laid it down. ‘I’ve never tell’t onybody, but I’m comin’ near the end o’ my days, an’ I’d like fine to speak aboot it. I was a lucky man once, Mistress, wi’ a good wife an’ three fine sons. I’d a grand job at the mart in Ellon, an’ a hoose that went alang wi’ it, wi’ three rooms, but … och, we’re never content wi’ what we’ve got, an’ I hankered after mair. I started takin’ money that didna belong to me, but I got found oot, an’ the upshot was I lost my job, my hoose … an’ my wife an’ bairns, for they disappeared the time I was in the jail.’

  ‘Oh, Jockie, that was terrible. Did you nae look for them?’

  ‘I looked a’ ower, but I never found them. I think she must ha’e ran awa’ wi’ another man. I took to the drink for a while, an’ I was at the end o’ my tether an’ wishin’ I was dead, but it’s only the good that die young. When I come to my senses, I wandered aboot lookin’ for work, an’ I come across this auld packman one day, lyin’ at the side o’ the road. I could see he wasna lang for this world, but he tell’t me the places he went, an’ I bade wi’ him till he died, then I took his pack up and walked on to Mintlaw, an’ I tell’t the man in the shop where he was lyin’ so somebody could bury him. I was feared to tell the bobbies, you see, in case they thought I’d killed him.’

  ‘What a way to end his days.’ Mysie’s heart ached for the poor old man who had died without a friend.

  ‘That was thirty year ago, but I dinna want it happenin’ to me.’ Jockie lifted his cup again, purposefully. ‘Noo, how are you yoursel’, Mistress?’

  ‘I’m fine, just deaved wi’ that youngest loon o’ mine.’

  ‘Be thankfu’ you’ve got him. You dinna ken how lucky you are – twa bonnie bairns an’ a good man.’

  ‘Aye, it’s just … ha’e you ever seen my Jeems?’

  ‘Just fae a distance.’

  ‘Weel, you’ll maybe understand what …’

  ‘You dreamed o’ a young Lochinvar, maybe, at one time?’

  ‘Aye, but he never appeared.’ Remembering Doddie Wilson, Mysie reflected that her Lochinvar had appeared – too late.

  ‘Have faith, lass. If the good Lord means it, you’ll maybe find your true love yet.’

  She gave a bitter laugh. ‘Muckle good would it dae me when I’m wed on a great lump like Jeems.’

  ‘We’ve a’ got oor ain crosses to bear.’ He hoisted his pack on to his shoulder. ‘It’s goodbye for ever this time, Mistress. It’s been a pleasure kennin’ you, an’ thank you for a’ the cups o’ tea you gi’ed me ower the years.’

  ‘You were mair than welcome, Jockie, an’ I’ll be prayin’ you find a decent place to bide.’ As she held the door open for him and watched him limping away, Mysie wished that she was in a position to offer him a home, but she just had two rooms. Shaking her head mournfully, she went down to the burn to fill the tub again. ‘We’ve a’ got oor ain crosses to bear,’ Jockie had said, and hers at the moment, and likely for the next few years, was Sandy. Taking his soaking breeches off the wire, she wondered where he was. Jamie was sitting against the byre reading a book he had been given as a prize at school, but there was no sign of his brother. ‘Jamie, dae you ken where Sandy is?’

  ‘He run after the packman, to keep him company a bit.’

  ‘I hope he doesna go far.’ Sandy could always surprise her, she mused, plunging his trousers into the clean water. His heart was in the right place, that was one good thing, but it would take a bone comb to find any sense in his head.

  Sandy hadn’t returned by twelve, when the rest of his family sat down to kale and mashed potatoes, and Mysie’s irritation with him turned to anger. ‘You’ll ha’e to sort that loon oot, Jeems. He just does what he likes.’

  Her husband took a large bite out of an oatcake before he answered. ‘His belly should ha’e tell’t him it was dinnertime.’

  The crumbs flying out of his mouth infuriated Mysie, so she burst out, without thinking of the possible consequences, ‘Ha’e you nae manners, man? Speakin’ wi’ your mooth fu’ like that?’

  ‘I was never a great ane for manners,’ he growled.

  ‘You dinna need to tell me that!’

  ‘Mr Meldrum says manners maketh man,’ observed Jamie.

  ‘The dominie wouldna ken a man if he found ane in his soup,’ Jeems said contemptuously, ‘the dried up auld maid that he is.’

  Mysie’s eyes flashed. ‘Dinna speak like that in front o’ the bairn. If you were a man yoursel’, you’d be oot lookin’ for Sandy, nae runnin’ doon the dominie.’

  ‘You watch your tongue,’ he snarled, ‘an’ Meldrum would be a better a man if he’d ever had a wumman.’ He took another big bite out of his oatcake. ‘Sandy canna be far awa’, let Jamie look for him. Aff you go, noo.’

  The boy went out reluctantly, and, not daring to argue with her husband any more, Mysie finished her own first course and rose to dish up the curds and whey. She’d added rennet to the milk first thing in the morning to make sure it would be set firmly. ‘Here’s your yerned milk.’ She set his plate down with a thump, ‘an’ there’s nae mair bannocks, you’ve eaten them a’.’

  ‘I just had three wi’ my kale!’ he roared. She tried to placate him. ‘I’ll be bakin’ the morn again, but I just havena had time the day. I’d to wash Sandy’s breeks an’ the packman was here for a while.’

  ‘You was speakin’ when you should ha’e been attendin’ to your jobs? Christ, I never thought you was such a lazy bitch.’

  ‘I aye gi’e Jockie a cuppie tea,’ Mysie said, nervously, for she could see that he was itching for a proper quarrel.

  Jeems was ready to go back to work when Jamie burst in. ‘I couldna see Sandy nae place,’ he gasped breathlessly. ‘I went right to Waterton, an’ the packman was there gettin’ some broth fae the cook, an’ he said Sandy turned back at Downies.’

  Jeems scowled. ‘He should ha’e been hame lang ago, an’ I’ll skelp his erse when I get my hands on him.’

  Mysie let this pass. ‘I’m sure something’s happened to him. Will you nae come wi’ me to look for him?’

  They had been searching the ditches at the side of the road for about twenty minutes when the boy said, ‘I’ve just minded. Sandy tell’t me he’d seen a martin’s nest doon the auld quarry.’

  Mysie was horrified. ‘I’ve aye tell’t the twa o’ you to keep awa’ fae there, it’s a dangerous place.’

  ‘Robbie Duff took him last week, but they couldna reach the eggs, an’ Sandy said he’d try himsel’ sometime.’

  The old quarry was at the far side of the peat moss behind the mill, almost a mile off the road, and Jeems, having run off before Mysie could move, reached it well ahead of her. ‘He’s standin’ on a stane a bit doon,’ he said when she joined him, ‘and God kens how we’ll get him up.’ A pitiful wail from Sandy tore at her heart. ‘Thank God he’s still alive,’ she murmured, then, as her husband swung one leg over the edge, she c
ried, ‘You canna go doon there.’

  ‘Somebody’ll need to go doon. No, wait! I’ll haud Jamie by the feet an’ let him doon slow, an’ Sandy can get haud o’ his hand, an’ I’ll pull them baith up.’

  ‘Oh, God, is there naething else we can dae?’

  Ignoring her, Jeems hauled off his jacket and handed it to Jamie. ‘You’d best tak’ that in case you canna stretch far enough. Noo, we’ll baith lie doon, an’ I’ll haud you when you slide ower. I’ll nae let you go, so dinna be feared.’

  ‘Will I nae run to the mill?’ Mysie implored. ‘I could get a rope fae Andra.’

  ‘There’s nae time to waste, that stane could shift.’

  Her hands at her mouth, she watched Jamie edging towards the drop, his father’s huge hands round his ankles, but as the slim body disappeared over the edge, the weight made the man’s face muscles tighten. ‘You’d best haud my feet as weel, Mysie.’

  Although she knew that she didn’t have the strength to stop them falling if they slipped, she lay behind him and grasped his ankles, furious at Sandy for coming here when he had been told not to, and even more furious at Jeems for putting Jamie’s life in jeopardy, too. For what seemed like hours, she clung on doggedly, then Jamie’s strained voice floated up faintly. ‘I still canna reach him.’

  Groaning, Jeems made another strenuous effort, and Mysie was certain that they were inching forward. She couldn’t even be sure that her grip was holding, her hands were so numb, and was afraid that, when Sandy’s weight was added to Jamie’s, it would beat Jeems altogether.

  Another eternity passed before Jamie shouted, ‘He’s got haud o’ the jacket, Father! Pull us up!’

  Jeems heaved and heaved, and with one last tremendous pull, he had Jamie up and was stretching out a hand to Sandy, but only when both her sons were lying safely on the ground did Mysie burst into hysterical sobs.

  It was a long time before Jeems had enough breath to mutter, ‘It was a near thing – I couldna ha’e held them ony langer.’