Snowflakes in the Wind

by Rita Bradshaw

  A twist to her lips that was the nearest thing anyone would ever see to a smile touched the matron’s mouth for a moment. ‘That is all, Nurse Kirby. Please give your family the hospital’s regards.’

  ‘Thank you, Matron.’

  Abby left with the precious piece of paper. Now she just had to inform the sister on her ward that Matron had authorized her leave which would go down like a lead balloon, but that was a small price to pay for seeing her grandfather and Robin again.

  It felt strange to be wearing ordinary clothes once more rather than the hospital uniform, but by the time Abby walked down the farm track after the journey home, it felt as though she had never been away. Sweet vernal grass filled the air with the scent of new-mown hay, and the hedgerow floors and grass verges were covered with the countless blooms of bluebells reflecting the deep-blue sky. Cow parsley and buttercups and daisies clothed the rough pastureland either side of the lane she’d just walked down, and high above her the skylarks were soaring in the heavens, their sweet, exuberant and familiar song warming her heart.

  The smells and sights of the country were so at odds with those of the hospital that it hadn’t dawned on her how much she had missed them, she thought now with a feeling of guilt. But then you didn’t have time to think about anything but the job in hand, she excused herself in the next moment. And if, by some good fortune, you did actually manage to have your half-day off, which wasn’t by any means a certainty, all you wanted to do was to catch up on that wonderful thing called sleep.

  The lambing of March and April was over now, which was why Robin and Rachel had chosen to get married in May when things were a little calmer for a few weeks for a shepherd before shearing time in June and the summer dipping of the sheep in early July. The sheep were dipped in the summer to protect them from the maggot fly, and again in late September to rid them of wool parasites before winter. Although the farmer detailed men to help her grandfather and Robin, Abby knew the operation was hard work from dawn to dusk for a few days. But then every day was hard work, which was why Robin wasn’t having so much as a day’s honeymoon after the wedding.

  Abby stood for a moment, drinking in the scented air and the warmth of the sun on her face, and on a whim she took off her hat and shut her eyes, lifting her head to the blue sky. It was a beautiful day and warm for mid-May by northern standards; Robin and Rachel were going to have a lovely wedding. She had left the hospital straight after breakfast that morning and it was now nearing lunchtime; the wedding was at three o’clock, and for a few blissful moments all felt right with the world. Then she opened her eyes and saw Joe McHaffie walking down the track towards her.

  She watched him as he approached, his hands in the pockets of his thick cord trousers, his jacket open showing the flannel shirt beneath, and his cap pulled low over his eyes. He was now in his late forties, and his thickening girth bore evidence to this. For a fleeting moment she wondered if he had ever had a lass or whether her mother’s rejection of him had soured him in that regard, and then she pushed the thought away. It wasn’t her mam’s fault she had preferred someone else; you couldn’t make yourself love another person if the feeling wasn’t there.

  He stopped a few yards away, and his voice was low and guttural when he said, ‘So you are gracing us with your presence for the big occasion? Took your brother getting wed to get you home, did it?’

  ‘You really are the most nasty of individuals, aren’t you.’

  For a moment, he was slightly taken aback at the direct verbal attack but he recovered almost immediately, forcing a ‘Huh’ of a laugh before saying, ‘Can’t take the truth? Well, unlike the rest of the poor sops, I see you clearly, Abigail Kirby. Oh, aye, I know exactly what you are. None of the farm lads round here are good enough for you, are they? Not when there are doctors sniffing around, and not just ordinary doctors either. No, you go for the toffs, don’t you.’

  Now it was Abby who was taken aback. She stared into the face that had grown coarser as he had got older, her mind racing. He couldn’t know about Nicholas – could he? It was impossible. But that was a strange thing to say.

  ‘I have no idea what you are talking about, nor do I wish to,’ she said, taking care no part of her touched him as she stepped to the edge of the track and passed by.

  He said no more, but she was aware of his eyes burning into her back as she continued along the track. He had ruined her homecoming. For a moment she felt angry enough to turn round and call him every name under the sun, but only for a moment. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he had riled her.

  Joe watched her progress along the track until she opened the door of Wilbert’s cottage and disappeared inside. What would she say if she knew he had come to the hospital a few times now, casually skirting the high stone wall that surrounded the grounds and taking care to avoid the gate man in the lodge? He couldn’t have explained to anyone, even himself, why he felt the need to be in the vicinity where she was, and he was aware of the futility of catching a glimpse of her. Nevertheless, on market days when he had seen to any farm business and had enough time left, the lure of Galashiels had proved too strong to resist. Now that he was gradually taking over more and more of the steward duties from his father with the farmer’s blessing he had more independence to come and go as he wished, and a good number of stewards from other farms finished their market days by getting together in the local inn, some of them drinking themselves senseless. That had never appealed to him, but he always made sure he had one tankard of beer before he started for home so his father and mother could smell it on his breath and assume he had been drinking with the others.

  The rush of excitement he’d felt when he had seen her standing there on the track was subsiding now, and he wiped his damp hands down the sides of his trousers before walking on. She could always make him sweat, same as her mother, but whereas he had wanted Molly as his wife, had loved her before she had done the dirty on him, his feeling for the daughter was quite different. He nodded to the thought. Oh, aye, quite different.

  The wedding at Morebattle parish church that afternoon was a happy one in spite of the fact that not one of the bride’s family attended – or maybe because of it, as Robin muttered in an aside to Abby once the wedding party was back at the farm. One of the hay barns had been cleared and decked out by the women with garlands of wild flowers and ivy, and long trestle tables brought in and set down the middle of it.

  Rachel looked pretty in a simple white dress, her short veil held in place by a wreath of fresh daisies, and Robin positively glowed with pride the whole day.

  The labourers’ wives and the farmer’s womenfolk had been baking for days to provide the wedding feast, and the farmer had graciously provided a barrel of beer and several bottles of wine and spirits for the occasion. By the time the meal was over and the tables had been dismantled to make room for the dancing that would follow – one table left at the side of the barn holding liquid refreshments – quite a few of the guests were a little tipsy. The farmer and his household left just before the dancing began, as was the custom, and once they had disappeared the melodeon player struck up ‘Ain’t She Sweet’ as a tribute to the bride amid clapping and cheering. A waltz followed, and soon the dusty barn floor was covered by dancing feet as most of the guests followed the bride and groom in the first dance.

  Abby was content to sit with her grandfather and watch the others, and when Wilbert murmured, ‘She’s the right one for him, lass. No doubt about that,’ she nodded her agreement. Rachel had kept the cottage spick and span while she had been gone, and according to her grandfather, Robin’s bride was a good cook too and not afraid of hard work, but the main thing was that the girl clearly loved Robin as much as he loved her. It was a marriage made in heaven, as the minister at the church had said in his address to the congregation. Then why did she feel so heavy-hearted, at the same time as being glad for her brother and Rachel? As with many of her other emotions these days, she could not dissect this one, or pe
rhaps it was that she didn’t want to? she thought in the next moment.

  Suddenly she had a feeling swamp her for the hospital that was akin to homesickness. Every minute of every day was accounted for there; the routine was rigid and – as the sisters and staff nurses reminded them constantly – they weren’t required to think for themselves but to follow orders and do their duty. Hospital life was like a bubble – an exhausting and harrowing bubble admittedly, but the outside world seemed a million miles away at Hemingway’s. She had been mistaken earlier when she had thought it felt as though she had never been away, she realized with a little shock of awareness. The farm, the cottage, everything here was no longer home, and she felt she would never come back to her grandfather’s cottage to stay for any length of time. Rachel was the woman of the house now, and once Robin and his wife started a family even the bedroom she had called her own since she and Robin had arrived at the farm all those years ago would no longer be hers.

  As though her grandfather had picked up on her train of thought, he said softly, his eyes on his grandson who was whirling his bride round the floor, ‘I’m glad you’re happy about Rachel being here, lass. The farming depression is beginning to bite but according to what Andrew McHaffie’s been told by a couple of the fanners, the laird still wants his rent on time and has even put it up the last two years. He’s a swine, that man. Anyway, you being settled about Rachel means they can live here and not have the expense of a place of their own now that wages are falling. It’ll make all the difference when the bairns come along.’

  ‘I know, Granda.’ She patted his arm. ‘And I am happy for them, truly. To be honest, I think it’s the best thing that could have happened because if we’re facing facts, it’s unlikely I’ll ever come back here to live, isn’t it?’

  She had expected him to object to that, or at least make a token protest, so when he put his gnarled hand over hers and murmured, ‘Aye, I suppose so, lass,’ she felt a moment of deep hurt before telling herself she was being silly. She had chosen her road and she was walking down it; more than that, her granda had supported her decision when others wouldn’t have.

  Nevertheless, the old feelings of aloneness and isolation that were quite different from loneliness and which had first reared their heads after her mother’s death welled up inside, and for the rest of the evening she acted a part, laughing and chatting and dancing as though she hadn’t a care in the world. She was aware of Joe McHaffie at one end of the barn where he stood drinking with some of the other men who weren’t dancing, but avoided looking his way, and she also tried to ignore the whispers behind cupped hands and pointed looks her way from the more gossipy of the women who clearly didn’t approve of her decision to become a nurse and leave the farming community. All in all, it was a relief when, come ten o’clock, her grandfather took her aside in a brief break from the dancing, when the small band consisting of the melodeon player and a couple of his pals who played the flute and the banjo, took a well-deserved break at the refreshment table to wet their whistles.

  ‘I’m for bed, lass.’ Wilbert downed the last of his beer, smacking his lips. ‘I can’t keep the hours these young ’uns do, and they’ll go on for a while yet.’

  Abby nodded. ‘I’m dead on my feet too. I’ll say goodnight to Tessa and some of the others because I’ll be leaving straight after breakfast and I won’t see them again. I can’t risk being late back at the hospital. I’ll follow you across shortly.’

  Abby had made her goodbyes and given Robin and Rachel a hug, and was halfway between the farm and the cottage walking along the track, when she heard the distinct sound of footsteps behind her. Swinging round, she came face to face with Joe McHaffie. Even in the dim light she could see he had had a skinful.

  He stood, swaying slightly and his eyes bleary, and when he spoke his beer-laden breath was strong enough to make her nostrils quiver in distaste. ‘Leaving early? But then I suppose the entertainment’s not sophisticated enough for you?’

  She’d known this confrontation would happen sooner or later today. She had been expecting it. And over the last hours she had made the subconcious decision that when it did, she would be ready for him. All her life Joe McHaffie had tried, and often succeeded in, intimidating her, and she was sick of it. And him. Her shoulders back and her head held high, she stared at him, and her voice would have done credit to Matron Blackett’s when she said icily, ‘Stop following me.’

  ‘Following you? Huh! Taking a lot on yourself, aren’t you? I live here an’ all. Who’s to say I wasn’t going home?’

  ‘Then go home.’ Abby stood to one side, gesturing with her hand towards the pair of cottages a little way down the track. ‘And leave me alone.’

  Now his voice was venomous when he hissed, ‘Don’t tell me what to do.’ He took a step towards her as he spoke, but she held her ground. ‘You, with your airs and graces, but it don’t cut no ice with me. I know what you are, like your mam afore you, but at least she had the sense to keep to her own class.’

  There it was again. He had to be talking about Nicholas.

  Abby wasn’t aware her face had given her away until he said, ‘Oh, aye, I saw you that day, missy. Heard you an’ all, all lovey-dovey with the laird’s son and heir. At the same hospital as him, are you? Is that why this nonsense about being a nurse came about? So you could carry on away from here?’

  So he didn’t know everything. But he must have been spying on them that day at Christmas, hiding somewhere. What was the matter with him? He had to be unbalanced at the very least. This was more than the grievance he held against her mother; he wasn’t right in the head. Disdainfully she said, ‘I have no intention of discussing my private life with you, McHaffie.’

  She turned to walk away but he caught her wrist, jerking her round so violently that muscles screamed in her back as she twisted and almost fell over. She didn’t think about what she did next – it was instinctive – but later she realized it had come about by listening to some of the women on Gynae Ward. To them, the nurses were sexless and ageless and certainly their contemporaries, and they told dirty stories, revealed fascinating insights into their married lives with a crudity that had had Abby red to the roots of her hair at first, and not least many tips on how to repel a man’s unwanted advances. It was this last that now rose to the fore. Abby’s knee came up into his groin with all the force she could muster. It was enough to send him crumpling to the ground as a high-pitched squeal left his lips.

  Abby didn’t wait to see how badly she had hurt him, turning and running towards the cottage and only stopping for a moment on the doorstep to straighten her hair and gain her composure. Then she opened the door without looking back down the track and went inside the house.

  ‘All right, hinny?’ Wilbert was making two cups of milky cocoa in the kitchen. ‘Sit yourself down and we’ll have a chat for a minute or two afore we turn in. By, it’s been a day and a half, hasn’t it. One to remember, all right.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  Contrary to what she had expected, Abby didn’t see hide nor hair of Joe McHaffie the following morning, and the journey to Galashiels was uneventful. Going home had been a mixed blessing for many reasons, and although she wouldn’t have admitted it to a living soul because it would have felt like disloyalty, Abby knew the umbilical cord had been well and truly cut for good.

  If she’d had the time, she might have grieved about the end of an era. As it was, what with a ward change and lectures three times a week, it was all she could do to keep her head above water in the day, and at night she was asleep within moments of snuggling under the covers. Within a few days it was as though she had never gone home as the hospital routine took over so completely.

  To Abby’s delight, she found Pam was one of the nurses on her new ward, Male Medical. This was doubly comforting in view of the fact that the sister in charge was a terrifying creature with the reputation of a fearsome temper. Sister Woodrow was also a born nurse, from the top of her immaculate cap to her
pristine shiny shoes, and she expected nothing less than perfection from every single one of her nurses, even the trainees. The patients on the ward were as frightened of her as were the nurses, and to see forty men, some twice the sister’s age, grovelling in obedience to her orders, was not unusual. Needless to say, Male Medical ran like clockwork.

  Now bottles were added to the bedpans, sluices and lavatory duties. The first time Pam had explained what the bottles were for, Abby stared at her in horror, especially when Pam added that in certain cases the men were either too old or too ill to insert the offending organ into the bottle themselves and it was the nurses’ job to do it for them. ‘But be careful,’ the worldly-wise Pam whispered. ‘Some of them make out they can’t do it just to get a cheap thrill. You know what I mean?’

  Abby hadn’t known, and when her friend had elucidated further, she’d been doubly aghast. It hadn’t helped that Pam had had a fit of the giggles at the shock on Abby’s face. ‘I keep forgetting what an innocent you are,’ she said when she could control herself. And then, as the staff nurse called down the ward, ‘Could you break the habit of a lifetime, Nurse Lyndon, and actually get on with some work?’ Pam muttered under her breath, ‘She’s got a mouth on her like a bee’s backside, that woman,’ in response to the stinging remark.

  Abby smiled. She’d thought reading the nursing textbooks had broadened her horizons, but she found she could still be surprised, like today. She might be an innocent in Pam’s eyes, but she felt that Male Medical and her friend were definitely completing the education that the women in Gynae Ward had begun.

  By the month of August, when unemployment had broken the two million barrier bringing more and more destitutes who’d grown too ill or frail into the hospitals from the streets and workhouses, the medical staff at Hemingway’s and other hospitals were working seven days a week. Where once there had been an empty bed or two on most wards, this was no longer the case.