Roses for Christmas

by Betty Neels

  They weren’t all elderly, though. There was the teenager, who should have been pretty and lively and nicely curved, but who had succumbed to the craze for slimming and had been so unwise about it that now she was a victim of anorexia nervosa; the very sight of food had become repugnant to her, and although she was nothing but skin and bone, she still wanted to become even slimmer. Eleanor had a hard time with her, but it was rewarding after a week or two to know that she had won and once again her patient could be persuaded to eat. And the diabetics, of course, nothing as dramatic as Miss Tremble, but short-stay patients who came in to be stabilized, and lastly, the heart patients; the dramatic coronaries who came in with such urgency and needed so much care, and the less spectacular forms of heart disease, who nonetheless received just as much attention. Eleanor didn’t grudge her time or her energy on her patients; off-duty didn’t matter, and when Jill remonstrated with her she said carelessly that she could give herself a few extra days later on, when the ward was slack.

  And towards the end of November things did calm down a bit, and Eleanor, a little tired despite her denials, decided that she might have a long weekend at home. She left the hospital after lunch on Friday and took the long train journey to Lairg and then the bus to Tongue, warmly wrapped against the weather in her tweed coat and little fur hat her mother had given her for the previous Christmas, and armed with a good book, and because it was a long journey, she took a thermos of tea and some sandwiches as well. All the same, despite these precautions, she was tired and hungry by the time she reached the manse, but her welcome was warm and the supper her mother had waiting was warm and filling as well. She ate and talked at the same time and then went up to bed. It was heavenly to be home again; the peace and quiet of it were a delight after the busy hospital life. She curled up in her narrow little bed and went instantly to sleep.

  She was up early, though, ready to help with the breakfast and see Margaret and Henry off to school, and then go and visit Mrs Trot and her fast-growing family. ‘We’ll have to find homes for them,’ she declared as she helped with the washing up.

  ‘Yes, dear.’ Mrs MacFarlane emptied her bowl and dried her hands. ‘We have—for two of them, and we thought we’d keep one—company for Mrs Trot, she’s such a good mother—that leaves one.’

  ‘Oh, good.’ Eleanor was stacking plates on the old-fashioned wooden dresser. ‘What’s all this about Henry going climbing?’

  ‘His class is going this afternoon, up to that cairn—you know the one? It’s about two miles away, isn’t it? Mr MacDow is going with them, of course, and it’s splendid weather with a good forecast. He’s promised that they’ll explore those caves nearby.’

  ‘The whole class? That’ll be a dozen or more, I don’t envy him.’

  Mrs MacFarlane laughed. ‘He’s very competent, you know, and a first-class climber—the boys adore him.’ She looked a little anxious. ‘Do you suppose that Henry shouldn’t have gone?’

  ‘Oh, Mother, no. Can you imagine how he would feel if he were left behind? Besides, he’s pretty good on his own, remember, and he knows the country almost as well as I do.’

  Her mother looked relieved. ‘Yes, that’s true,’ she smiled. ‘I’ve always said that if I got lost on the mountains I wouldn’t be at all frightened if I knew you were searching for me.’

  Eleanor gave her mother a daughterly hug. ‘Let’s get on with the dinner, then at least Henry can start out on a full stomach. Are they to be back for tea? It gets dark early…’

  ‘Five o’clock at the latest, Mr MacDow said—they’ll have torches with them…I thought we’d have treacle scones and I baked a cake yesterday—he’ll be hungry.’

  Henry, well fed, suitably clothed, and admonished by his three elder relations to mind what the teacher said and not to go off by himself, was seen off just after one o’clock. The afternoon was fine, with the sky still blue and the cold sunshine lighting up the mountains he was so eager to climb. Not that there was anything hazardous about the expedition; they would follow the road, a narrow one full of hairpin bends, until they reached the cairn in the dip between the mountains encircling it, and then, if there was time, they would explore the caves.

  ‘I shall probably find something very exciting,’ said Henry importantly as he set off on his short walk back to the village school where they were to foregather.

  Eleanor stood at the door and watched them set out, waving cheerfully to Mr MacDow, striding behind the boys like a competent shepherd with a flock of sheep. She said out loud: ‘I’d better make some chocolate buns as well,’ and sniffed the air as she turned to go indoors again; it had become a good deal colder.

  She didn’t notice at first that it was becoming dark far too early; her mother was having a nap in the sitting room, her father would be writing his sermon in his study and she had been fully occupied in the kitchen, but now she went to the window and looked out. The blue sky had become grey, and looking towards the sea she saw that it had become a menacing grey, lighted by a pale yellowish veil hanging above it. ‘Snow,’ she said, and her voice sounded urgent in the quiet kitchen and even as she spoke the window rattled with violence of a sudden gust of wind. It was coming fast too; the sea, grey and turbulent, was already partly blotted out. She hurried out of the kitchen and into the sitting room and found her mother still sleeping, and when she went into the study it was to find her father dozing too. She took another look out of the window and saw the first slow snowflakes falling; a blizzard was on the way, coming at them without warning. She prayed that Mr MacDow had seen it too and was already on the way down the mountain with the boys. She remembered then that if they had already reached the cairn, there would be no view of the sea from it, the mountains around them would cut off everything but the sky above them. She went back to her father and roused him gently. ‘There’s a blizzard on the way,’ she told him urgently. ‘What ought we to do? The boys…’

  The pastor was instantly alert. ‘The time,’ he said at once. ‘What is the time, my dear?’

  She glanced at the clock on the old-fashioned mantelpiece. ‘Just after three o’clock.’

  ‘MacDow gave me some sort of timetable—he usually does, you know, so that we have some idea…if I remember rightly, they were to have reached the cairn by half past two. He intended to give them a short talk there; interesting geographical features and so on, and between a quarter to three and the hour they would enter the caves and remain there until half past three. They’re simple caves, nothing dangerous, and it’s possible they’re still inside them, unaware of the weather conditions. He’s sensible enough to remain in them until the weather clears—it’s probably only a brief storm.’

  He got up and went to look from the window in his turn. The snow was coming down in good earnest now and the wind had risen, howling eerily round the little house. ‘I’m afraid,’ said the pastor, ‘that this is no brief storm. With this wind there’ll be drifts and the road will be blocked and there’s no visibility… We’d better get a search party organised.’ He looked worried. ‘It’s a pity that almost all the men are at work…’

  ‘I’ll wake Mother,’ Eleanor told him, ‘while you ring Mr Wallace.’ She sped back into the sitting room, roused her mother, and went back into the hall to get her boots and anorak; she would be going with Mr Wallace, the owner of the only garage within miles, and any other man available, she hadn’t been boasting when she had said that she knew the surrounding country like the back of her hand, even in the worst weather she had a natural instinct for direction. She was tugging on her boots when someone rang the front door bell and she called: ‘Come in, the door’s open.’ It would be someone from the village come to consult the pastor about the dangers of the weather.

  It wasn’t anyone from the village; it was Fulk, standing there, shaking the snow from his shoulders. ‘Hullo, everyone,’ he said cheerfully, just as though he had seen them only an hour or so previously, ‘what filthy weather,’ and then: ‘What’s wrong?’

 
They were all in the hall now and it was Mrs MacFarlane who explained: ‘The children—Henry’s class at school—they went up the mountain for a geographical climb—more than a dozen of them with Mr MacDow, their teacher. They’re all properly clothed and equipped, but this weather—there was no warning—it’s a freak blizzard; it could last for hours and it’s not very safe up there in bad weather.’ Her voice faltered a little.

  His voice was very calm. ‘A dozen or more boys—is Henry with them?’

  The pastor nodded. ‘We were just deciding what’s the best thing to do—there are very few men in the village at this time of day…’

  He paused and Mrs MacFarlane said suddenly: ‘It’s wonderful to see you, Fulk.’

  Eleanor hadn’t said a word. Relief at the sight of Fulk had given way to the certainty that now everything would be all right; he looked dependable, sure of himself and quite unworried, whatever his hidden feelings might be; probably it was his very bulk which engendered such a strong feeling of confidence in him, but it was a pleasant sensation, like handing someone else a heavy parcel to carry.

  ‘How far up?’ he asked, and looked at her.

  ‘There’s a cleft in the mountains about two miles up—it’s on the right of the road and there’s a cairn…it’s sheltered on all sides and there are caves quite close by. They were going to explore them.’

  She looked out of the window again. The howling gale and the snow were, if anything, rather worse.

  ‘The road?’

  ‘Narrow—about one in six, perhaps more in some places, and there are three hairpin bends.’

  He said nothing for a moment and then grinned suddenly, reminding her very much of Henry when he was plotting something. ‘Is there a bus in the village?’

  She understood at once. ‘Yes, Mr Wallace has one, a fourteen-seater, old but reliable—he’s got chains too.’

  ‘Good. We’ll want rope, torches, blankets—you know all that better than I do—whisky too, shovels and some sacks.’

  ‘How many men will you take?’ asked the pastor. ‘There aren’t many to choose from, I’m afraid: old MacNab and Mr Wallace, and myself, of course.’

  ‘One with me—if we make a mess of it, a search party can start out on foot. Give us an hour.’

  ‘I’m coming with you,’ Eleanor said quietly.

  Fulk didn’t seem surprised. ‘I thought you might. I’m going to see about borrowing that bus—could you get some tea in flasks to take with us?’

  Eleanor was already on the way to the kitchen. ‘I’ll see to it. How did you come?’

  ‘With the Panther. I drove straight into the stable—I hope that’s all right?’ He nodded cheerfully to all three of them as he opened the door, letting in a flurry of snow and a powerful gust of wind before shutting it behind him.

  He was back in a surprisingly short time, the lights of the bus lightening the snowy gloom as he came to a slithering halt before the door. He got out, leaving the engine running, and came indoors bringing MrWallace with him.

  ‘Ye’ll need a man who kens the road,’ remarked that gentleman once they were inside. They stamped the snow off their boots and shook their shoulders, making havoc in Mrs MacFarlane’s neat hall.

  ‘Well,’ said Fulk, ‘Eleanor said she would come—she knows the way.’ He smiled at Mr Wallace with great charm. ‘I should value your advice on this—it seems a fairly sensible idea, for if we make a mess of things you would be here to organize a search party on foot, something I wouldn’t know a thing about. I understand the men are away from home until the evening.’

  Mr Wallace nodded. ‘Building an extension on the hotel in Tongue, though they’ll not get far in this, neither will they get home all that easy.’ He gave a not unfriendly grunt. ‘Ye’re a good driver? My bus isn’t any of your fancy cars, ye ken.’

  ‘I’ve taken part in a number of rallies,’ murmured Fulk, and left it at that, and Mr Wallace grunted again. ‘We’ll need to clear the school house—aye, and get blankets too.’

  Fulk nodded. ‘Are there enough men to mount a search if necessary?’

  ‘Aye,’ said Mr Wallace again, ‘we’ll manage. Ye’d best be off.’

  Fulk turned to look at Eleanor standing patiently, muffled in her hooded anorak, slacks stuffed into boots, a woollen scarf tugged tight round her throat and a pair of woollen mitts on her hands. ‘OK?’ he asked, and didn’t wait for her answer. ‘We’ll be back as soon as possible,’ he assured her parents. ‘Give us a couple of hours, won’t you?’

  He bent to kiss Mrs MacFarlane on the cheek, swept Eleanor before him out of the house and opened the bus door for her. ‘Thank God you’re a great strapping girl,’ he observed as he climbed into the driver’s seat beside her, ‘for I fancy we shall have to do a good deal of shovelling on the way.’

  Eleanor said ‘Probably,’ in a cold voice; until that moment she had been more than glad to see him, now she wasn’t so sure. Even in the most awkward of situations no girl likes to be described as strapping.

  They didn’t speak again for a little while; Fulk was occupied in keeping the bus on the road down to the village and then out on the other side, away from the sea towards the mountains. The snow was falling fast now, tossed in all directions by the violence of the wind. The road had disappeared too, although the telegraph wires were a guide until they reached the side road which would take them up between the mountains.

  Fulk braked gently. ‘Up here?’ and Eleanor, staring ahead at the little she could see, said: ‘Yes—we must be mad.’

  Her companion laughed. ‘Though this be madness, yet there is method in’t—and that’s your Shakespeare, and a very sensible remark too.’ He changed gear and started up the narrow road.

  They were soon in trouble; the first bend came after a hundred yards or so, and although it wasn’t a sharp one and it was still possible to see its curve, the bus skidded on the bank of snow which had already built up along its edge. Fulk prepared to get out. ‘Keep the engine going, whatever you do,’ he cautioned her, and disappeared into the swirling snow, armed with sacks and shovel. It seemed an age before he climbed in again, the snow thick on him. Eleanor slid back into her own seat and brushed him down as best she could, then sat tensely while he hauled the bus round the bend. It went with reluctance, sliding and slipping, but the sacks held the back wheels and they were round at last.

  ‘I don’t dare to stop now,’ said Fulk. ‘The sacks will have to stay—is it straight ahead?’

  ‘Yes—there’s a spiky rock on the left before the next bend, it’s a sharp one and there’s bound to be a drift— I should think we’ll both have to dig.’

  He spared a brief, smiling glance. ‘OK, if you say so—it’ll mean leaving the bus, though.’ He began to whistle, and she realized that he was enjoying himself, and upon reflection she was bound to admit that so was she, in a scary kind of way.

  It took them ten minutes’ hard digging to clear the angle of the road when they reached it. Eleanor had got out when she saw the rock, and floundered ahead in the appalling weather, looking for landmarks—a stunted tree, the vague outline of the railing which guarded the angle of the road. Once she was sure of them she waved to Fulk, who joined her with the shovels, leaving the bus reluctantly ticking over. They worked together until they had made some sort of track, so that Fulk, with a great deal of skill and muttered bad language, was able to go on again, toiling up the road, narrower and steeper now but happily sheltered a little on one side from the gale, so that although there were great drifts piling up on the opposite bank, their side of the road was still fairly clear.

  Eleanor blew on her cold fingers. ‘We’re nearly half way—there’s a left-hand bend in about fifty yards—very exposed, I’m afraid.’

  Fulk chuckled. ‘Eleanor, if ever I should need to go to the North Pole, remind me to take you with me; you seem to have an instinctive sense of direction.’ He had raised his voice to a shout, for the wind, now that they were higher, was howling round the bus, beating
on its windows, driving the snow in thick, crazily spiralling flurries.

  Eleanor wiped the windscreen uselessly. ‘It’s somewhere here,’ she cried, and as the windscreen wipers cleared the view for a few seconds: ‘You can just see the beginning of the curve—there’s a stone…it’s blocked further on,’ she added rather unnecessarily.

  ‘Work to do, girl,’ said Fulk cheerfully, ‘and for heaven’s sake don’t go wandering off; I’d never find you again. Out you get, I’ll fetch the shovels.’

  It was hard work, even clearing a rough path just wide enough for the bus was an agonisingly laborious business. Eleanor, shovelling away with her young strong arms, found herself wondering how her companion’s Imogen would have fared. Would she have shovelled? Would she have come on the crazy trip in the first place? Decidedly not; she would have stayed behind by the fire, and when Fulk returned she would have greeted him with girlish charm, deliciously scented and gowned, and with not a hair out of place, and he would have called her his precious darling, or something equally silly. Eleanor, her spleen nicely stirred, shovelled even harder.

  It was heaven to get back into the bus at last. She sat, huffing and puffing in its warm haven, looking like a snowman. Fulk, getting in beside her, looked her over carefully. ‘Cold but cuddly,’ he pronounced, and leaned over to kiss her surprised mouth. Heaven knew what she might have said to that, but he gave her no chance to speak, starting at once on the slow business of coaxing the bus along the road once more, an operation fraught with such difficulties that she was kept fully occupied peering ahead, ready to warn him should he get too near to the low stone wall, just visible, guarding the outer edge of the road. The other side was shut in now by towering rocks, which, while forbidding, at least served as a guide.

  ‘The cairn’s on the right,’ declared Eleanor, ‘where the rock stops, and for heaven’s sake be careful, there’s a kind of canyon, fairly level once you get into it. If they’re sheltering anywhere near, they must surely see our lights.’