by Millie Vigor
‘It’s come from good stock, enjoy it, I’ll show you how to train it later on.’
Far from being a month of sweltering days and hot nights August spread mist and fog over the islands and Catherine spent many hours poring over books she had borrowed from the library. Into a notebook she copied drawings and information she considered vital. Words like scab and scald confused her, then there was something Daa called ‘the skitters’.
When the door opened one evening to admit Billie she said, ‘You’re the very one I want to see. Here, look at this and tell me what it means?’ She pushed a book across the table to him, her finger on a word on the open page.
Billie didn’t reply and she looked up at him. He wasn’t looking at the book but at her. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.
‘Yes, of course I am, why do you ask?’ Surely word hadn’t got out?
‘You’re not working with the sheep.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Everybody knows what you’re doin’.’
‘Do they? What a nosy lot people are? Never mind, Daa said there’s not much for me to do out there at the moment so I thought it best to study my books. I’m finding there’s an awful lot to learn and it seems like a lot can go wrong. You’d sort of think as long as you fed them sheep could just get on with it.’
It was enough to satisfy Billie so, while Catherine read aloud, they tried to decipher what it all meant.
‘There’s no’ much as goes wrong wi’ hill sheep,’ said Billie.
‘Maybe that’s because you’re not there to see. Do you know how many lambs you get and how many you lose and how many of the old ones die?’
‘No. But you can’t be on the hill all the time.’
‘Wouldn’t it be better if they were closer to home?’
‘Likely it would.’ Billie thought about that for a moment. ‘But it would make an awful lot of work and where would we put them?’
‘There must be a way, surely?’
‘Na, we have to keep them off the crops. That’s why they go to the hill.’
They read and discussed and compared notes and later decided they were wiser than when they’d started. Billie said he’d have to go, but lingered. ‘Are you happy, Catherine?’ he asked. ‘Is it not lonely for you?’
‘I’ve got my work and I keep busy, but I do feel lonely at times,’ she said.
‘I ken Jannie’s not good to you.’
‘You could say that.’
Catherine picked up the books they’d been studying and stifled a yawn. It was getting late, but still Billie lingered and made no move to leave.
‘I’m thinkin’ you don’t go very far, just to work and like,’ he said.
‘That’s about it, Billie.’
‘Do you not miss your family?’
‘Yes, sometimes.’ Where was all this leading?
‘I ken Jannie thinks you should go home. Would you not like to?’
‘Sometimes, but this is my home now.’ Billie had wriggled his chair round sideways. He looked as though he wanted to leave but still had something on his mind. ‘Is anything bothering you?’ asked Catherine.
Billie stood up. ‘I ken summer is awful busy, but there’ll be dances and things in the winter.’ While one hand fiddled with the hem of his jacket he crept imperceptibly towards the door. ‘I could take you if you’d come with me.’
He was asking her out. Now she saw what she had failed to see before. Billie at sixteen was filling out and growing into manhood. Soft down covered his chin and top lip. His face flushed pink, he was blushing. She looked away.
‘That’s very kind of you, thank you for asking me. I’d like that,’ she said.
‘Ay,’ said Billie and bolted out of the door.
‘She doesn’t do much,’ said Mina. ‘You would think she would have another job by now.’ The three sisters sat in Mina’s house, each busy with their knitting. ‘She should take up the knitting.’
‘She’ll not do that,’ said Jannie. ‘She would likely think it was beneath her.’
‘And does she think she’s better than us?’ asked Mina.
‘Robbie telled me her folk live in a grand house wi’ electric and all. You only have to turn on a tap and you have hot water. That’s why she was greetin’ when she saw our one.’
‘A grand house, you say?’
‘Ay, bath and lavatory wi’ runnin’ water all indoors and carpets on the floor and no shortage of food. Her daa has a grocer’s shop.’
‘Then why does she stay? Why doesn’t she go home to her mam?’
‘Likely she’s doin’ it to spite me,’ said Jannie.
‘No, no.’ Laura looked up from her work. ‘She’s not like that. She’s a bonnie lass and she wouldn’t do that.’
‘And what would you know?’ snapped Mina.
‘I like her.’
‘Oh, you like her. Is it not time you got us some tea,’ said Mina.
‘Yea, yea,’ said Laura and rose from her chair to do as she was bid.
Mina leaned towards Jannie and said, ‘Laura would take her knitting and be in there wi’ her, Jannie, if I didna keep her at her work.’
It had been a night of heavy rain and it still fell when morning broke. Small burns that during summer chuckled happily as they tumbled down hillsides had become raging brown torrents. Racing over rocky beds they gouged the gullies they ran through ever deeper. Water poured off the hills into the valleys and filled to overflowing the placid streams that ran through the meadows.
Catherine had cycled to work and pushed her bicycle down into Deepdale. The rain had cut channels in the soft surface of the road, formed miniature streams down which water gurgled. There was no sign of life round the houses; no faces looked out to watch for her and apart from one bedraggled bird the hens had hidden themselves away.
Happy at last to be home Catherine stoked her fire and, because the day was so drear and dark, lit her lamp. She let down the ceiling airer, spread her wet things on it, then pulling on the rope hauled it back up. What a boon it was, her ‘pulley’ as Robbie had called it; her clothes would be dry in no time.
Taking pen and paper from a drawer she sat down to write a letter.
Dear Mum, she began, it ‘s one of those wet, wet days today when it stays dark all day and I have to keep the lamp burning, you wouldn’t believe …
‘I hope you’re not too busy, Catherine,’ said Kay as she opened the door and came in. She folded her umbrella and stood it in the corner. ‘What a day!’
‘Not good, is it?’ said Catherine.
‘I hope you won’t think I’m interfering,’ said Kay. ‘When you’ve got your coat on it’s OK, but …’ she pursed her lips together and nodded her head.
‘You mean it’s beginning to show.’
‘Yes. I might be able to scrounge a couple of baggy jumpers from my nephew; they’d keep you going for a while and as the weather is beginning to get chilly, you’d need them. That is of course …’
‘If I wouldn’t mind something second hand. Thanks, Kay, I don’t mind.’ Abandoning her letter writing Catherine asked if Kay would stay for a cup of tea.
‘No, thanks, I won’t stop now. If Norman comes over I’ll ask him. I take it Jannie doesn’t know yet?
Catherine laughed. ‘Don’t you think she would have been hammering on my door and telling me to go if she did?’
‘Have you got any clothes for the baby yet?’
‘I bought these.’ Catherine took a small tissue-wrapped parcel from her work box. ‘I couldn’t resist them,’ she said as she unwrapped a pair of tiny bootees, ‘and my mum has promised to knit something for me.’
‘I could knit for you,’ said Kay. ‘I’ve got plenty of time on my hands, but we’ll talk about it again. I’ve got a pot of soup on. I’d better look after it.’
When Kay had gone Catherine went back to her letter.
…how much it rains here. And then there’s the wind. It comes from every quarter and there’s hardly ever a day without it. But
when it does stop it’s pure heaven, they call it ‘a day between weathers’ and it’s beau …
A frantic knocking on her door startled her. It flew open and Jannie, a shawl dripping water wrapped round her head, stood there.
‘You have to come – Daa’s fallen and I can’t get him up,’ she cried. Without waiting for Catherine she turned and was gone. Cramming a woolly hat on her head and snatching a coat from a peg behind the door Catherine followed her. Lying on the stone flags outside the Jameson house Daa lay groaning.
When Catherine asked him what had happened he told her he had slipped. Moss had crept between and over the paving stones, safe to walk on while dry, wet it was slippery. But it could not have been that; much more likely he had caught the toe of his boot on an uneven flagstone. ‘Do you think you might have broken anything?’ she asked shaking her head to get the rain out of her eyes.
‘Get him up, get him up,’ cried Jannie, ‘if he lies he’ll get pneumonia.’
Ignoring her, Catherine said, ‘I’ll check you over, Daa, just in case.’ None of his limbs was lying at a wrong angle, but all the same she ran her hands over them. All seemed to be well.
‘Get him up,’ shouted Jannie.
‘Be patient,’ said Catherine. She continued to check that Daa had no broken bones, ‘No, it seems you’re all right,’ she said, and to Jannie, ‘Take him under his arms the same way as I do and we’ll sit him up.’ When he was in a sitting position, ‘Get your arm round my shoulder now, Daa,’ she said, ‘and the other round …’ She hesitated to say Jannie, but Jannie butted in with, ‘Round mine.’ John Jameson was not a particularly heavy man and they soon got him to his feet, but when he tried to walk he gave an exclamation of pain.
‘Is it your ankle?’ asked Catherine when he held one foot off the ground. He nodded. ‘I’m sure it’s not broken, but hang on and hop till we get you indoors.’
Daa hopped and hobbled into the house where they settled him into his chair. Catherine unlaced his boot, pulled out the lace, then spread the leather as wide as she could and gingerly eased the boot off. ‘Can you wiggle your toes, Daa?’ she said.
The ankle was swelling rapidly, but John Jameson gritted his teeth and slowly moved his toes. Catherine smiled and looked up into his face, ‘That’s not broken,’ she said. ‘It’s only a sprain.’ She looked at Jannie, ‘Bathe it with cold water, keep a cold compress on it then bind it up and don’t let him walk for a day or two. And get him out of those wet clothes … yourself too.’
‘He cannot sit there all day,’ whined Jannie. ‘Who’s going to milk the cow?’
‘The cow will be milked,’ said Daa and by the way he said it Catherine knew that he would do it. ‘I’ve never seen such rain,’ said Catherine, ‘I’m wet too, so
I’ll have to go.’ She was talking to herself for Daa was struggling out of his coat and Jannie had disappeared elsewhere. Oh, well, thanks for nothing, she thought and let herself out. It was still raining; driven by the wind it beat into her; she bent her head and leaning into it went home.
SEVENTEEN
NOT MANY LETTERS came Catherine’s way. Her mother wrote from time to time, but Catherine knew what the gist of her letter would be before she opened it. When the postman opened her door it wasn’t a letter he brought but a parcel. ‘I see your mother’s lookin’ out for you,’ he said. ‘I ken the postmark.’
‘I guess I know what’s in it so I’ll save it for later.’ Catherine tossed the parcel on the table as though she didn’t care. She wouldn’t open it while he was there; she knew he would look and then drop in on Jannie to tell.
The parcel held baby clothes, a teething ring and a rattle. She knew she should put them away, but just looking at the delicate pastel colours, touching and feeling the softness of the little things gave her a warm feeling. She had kept hidden all outward signs of her pregnancy so far, but she wouldn’t be able to hide her condition much longer; soon everyone would know. She cradled the bump that her stomach had become with her hands. And then she felt it. Holding her breath … she waited. It came again. It was nothing more than the sensation of a bubble bursting, but it was low down in her belly, too low to be her stomach. Her baby was moving and making its presence felt. It was a new life that she and Robbie had created and now she had to bring into the world, nurture and watch grow. Her heart swelled with joy and a happy smile spread across her face.
The sound of footsteps on the stones outside the door destroyed the tender moment, then the latch clicked. Catherine grabbed at the precious items on the table and covered them with her arms. She was too late to hide them all and when the door opened it was Jannie who walked in. Why didn’t people knock on the door first like they did back home?
‘Daa told me to come and tell you …’ Suddenly Jannie stopped, her mouth dropped open and she stood staring at a pair of little bootees that had escaped Catherine’s gathering in. A mixture of emotions flitted across her face. ‘You’re going to have a bairn,’ she snapped. ‘Why did you not tell me?’
‘Because you would have wanted me to go home to my family and I’m not going to do that.’
‘But should you not be wi’ your mam?’
‘No. This is where my baby will be born. It’s Robbie’s too and your grandchild; would you want it to be born at the other end of the country?’
‘But your mam—’
‘She has other grandchildren, it’s not her first.’
Momentarily deprived of words, Jannie, twisting her hands together stood staring at Catherine. Then she said, ‘When?’
‘Some time in February.’
‘But … how are you going to manage?’
‘The same as many others. Women do this all the time.’
‘But you cannot go to the sheep wi’ a baby.’
Catherine hadn’t got as far as deciding what she was going to do when the baby arrived, but a sense of mischief made her say, ‘I shall carry it in a sling on my back the same as Red Indian women do.’
Jannie scowled and pulled herself up to her full height. ‘You are not fit to have a bairn, talking like that.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with it,’ said Catherine. ‘Women all over the world have carried their babies like that; in fact I think it’s a good idea.’
Jannie snatched a breath, but before she could launch into a tirade Catherine said, ‘Come off it, you don’t really think I’d do that, do you? I’ll cope with that problem when I get to it.’ She stood up, began to refold the baby clothes and put them in a pile. If it had been Kay standing there she would have shown them to her, but Jannie would have to wait. ‘By the way, what was it Daa wanted you to tell me? And what happened about the cow?’ she asked.
Daa had insisted on hobbling out to milk the cow. He said there was nothing that needed Catherine’s attention; it could all wait till he could do it. Jannie seemed reluctant to leave and, seeking a way to get her out, Catherine told her to continue with the cold compresses on Daa’s ankle till the swelling had gone. ‘I’ll come and see him later on,’ she said. She went to the door, opened it and held it open. It was the signal for Jannie to leave and one she could not ignore. Well, that wasn’t too bad, thought Catherine, knowing that Jannie would tell the aunts then the postman and in a day or two the whole neighbourhood would know.
Mina and Laura lost no time in coming to see her. To all their questions she gave the same answers she had given Jannie. They smiled, even Mina, and said it would be good to have Robbie’s bairn in the valley. When they were leaving Laura stepped back, ‘Could I make you a shawl, Catherine?’ she said.
‘Would you?’
‘Yes.’ Laura smiled and scuttled away.
Billie came to visit, looked shyly at her and asked what she was going to do about the sheep. He had acted with surprise when she told him she had no intention of letting a baby stop her from carrying out her plans. ‘It has set me back a bit,’ she said, ‘and I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to go dancing with you this year, but I will next.’
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br /> Although it was getting to be more and more of a struggle to push the bicycle up out of the valley Catherine continued to go to the surgery, but at the end of October she told Neil Lumsden she wanted to leave and in mid November she pushed her bicycle into the outhouse and left it there.
‘Come outside, quick,’ shouted Kay.
Catherine threw down the book she was reading. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing’s wrong, it’s the lights, the Merry Dancers.’
The November night was cold and frosty. Catherine shrugged herself into her coat and looked up at a sky filled with colour. Above her a curtain of colour hung suspended, rippling as though blown by a draught. Pastels deepened into vivid primaries then suddenly shot into shafts of red, blue and green that reached from horizon to zenith. Like a kaleidoscope, interchanging bands of colour shifted, changed and transformed. The whole sky except for a small portion to the south was filled with a moving mass of colour.
‘Fascinating,’ breathed Catherine. ‘What a wonderful sight.’
‘It’s easy to see why they call them Merry Dancers, isn’t it? It fairly cuts you down to size though,’ said Kay. ‘It’s not always like this; more often it’ll just be a curtain of lights and even they won’t last long. The ‘aald eens’ say a display like we’ve just seen foretells trouble of some sort. We’ll see.’
They stood and watched until the colours began to fade. When Catherine shivered Kay said, ‘Inside with you or you’ll get a chill.’
‘Will you come in?’
‘Love to.’
After the frosty air of the outdoors the kitchen was warm. ‘You have a good fire going,’ said Kay. ‘Do you manage to keep it in all night?’
‘Mostly,’ said Catherine. ‘It has gone out a few times, but that was before I got the hang of it. What are you going to have, whisky or tea?’
‘I’ll have tea. It won’t be long till Christmas, basically a non-event here in Shetland, but I still celebrate it. I used to hang a sock for my husband. He’d laugh, but never forgot to get me a present.’