Time Shall Reap

by Doris Davidson

  As she walked towards the village, it occurred to her that, even if she went in too early, she could tell her mother that she hadn’t felt well, and that Miss Fraser had let her go before six. The lie was no worse than pretending she was going to work that morning when she had really been going to see John. Her dragging pace quickened, but her heart was still heavy at the thought of her own depravity. She had told lies, she had spent a whole day in the arms of her lover, she had fled from discovery by his parents. Even one of these sins would be enough to have God’s wrath down on her, and for all of them, He might strike her dead with no warning.

  She carried on fearfully, waiting for the end, and when she came to the main road, she could hardly believe that she was still alive. Turning right, she made for the cottar houses, her spirits a little higher.

  Glancing at the clock when she went into the kitchen, she saw that it was exactly half past six, so there was no need for another lie ... except to tell her mother that she wasn’t hungry and that she had a sore head, neither of which were really lies, because she couldn’t have eaten a thing and her head was thumping like a steam mill.

  Lizzie, as her daughter had known she would, ordered her to bed immediately and promised to take up a hot ‘pig’ for her in a few minutes.

  So ended the most wonderful, the most nerve-wracking, day of Elspeth Gray’s young life.

  Chapter Five

  After having agonized for half the night over the awful things she had done, Elspeth had spent the other half telling herself that they weren’t so awful. She and John were as good as married and they had only done what would be perfectly lawful in a short time when the minister had actually made them husband and wife. The only bad aspect of it had been the secrecy which had resulted in her ignominious flight from Blairton. In years to come, how-ever, they would be able to laugh about that, would even regale their grandchildren with the hilarious story of how Grandfather and Grandmother were almost caught out.

  She felt much happier when she rose on Saturday morning, but when she went into the workroom, her face, white from lack of sleep, made Miss Fraser tell her that she should have taken another day off. ‘No, I’m fine now,’ Elspeth assured her, with a broad smile to prove it.

  Nettie and Kirsty, of course, were waiting to hear about the dance on Thursday night, and were glad when their mistress left the room. They were much more receptive than Lizzie had been and were soon laughing at Elspeth’s account of her efforts to master the different dances, but when she went on to describe the dresses and blouses the other girls had been wearing, Nettie said, impatiently, ‘Are you any further on wi’ John Forrest, that’s what I want to ken?’

  ‘He wants to wed me,’ Elspeth said, but the doubt on her friends’ faces made her add, ‘He’s going to ask my father the night when he comes for his supper.’

  ‘But you’ve only been out wi’ him once, so will your father agree to you getting wed?’

  ‘He’ll likely say we should court a while first, but John’s set on us getting married next time he’s home.’

  The two younger girls exchanged glances, and Elspeth could tell that they didn’t believe a word of what she was saying. She was tempted to tell them what had happened the day before, but it was too sweet, and too dangerous, to make public. ‘It’s true! He did ask me, honest he did.’

  When they still looked sceptical, she started refilling the spool of her machine. ‘Just wait, then you’ll see.’

  Miss Fraser’s return put a stop to any further discussion on the subject, but Elspeth didn’t really care what the other two girls thought. They would have to believe her on Monday, for it would be all cut and dried by then.

  She rushed home after the shop closed and insisted on laying the table. Taking out the best damask cloth, used only on very special occasions – the last had been her paternal grandmother’s funeral six months previously – she smoothed it out then set four places with the equally rarely used willow pattern dinner service and silver cutlery. Lizzie, stirring a small pan at the side of the fire, sniffed but said nothing.

  Geordie came in at half past six, stamping his feet to get his circulation going again, then went over to the fire to take off his boots. It was his custom to sit all evening in his thick wheeling wool socks, matted and discoloured on the soles, but Elspeth said, tentatively, ‘Could you please leave your boots on, Father, seeing there’ll be company?’

  ‘As though I didna ken.’ But he sat back with his boots still on his feet. ‘Fine company indeed – the great John Forrest himself. I’ll need to wash my face as well, I suppose.’

  When everything was ready, Elspeth sat down nervously on a high chair and fidgeted so much that Lizzie said, ‘Settle yourself, Eppie. He’ll not come any quicker for you hodging about like that. What time did you tell him?’

  ‘Seven o’clock.’

  ‘Well, it wants fifteen minutes yet. Have patience.’

  The big black kettle spat out suddenly, and the girl jumped up to unhook it from the swey. She laid it on the hob at the side and settled back in her seat, looking at the clock as its steady tick measured out the silence, although she had grown up loving this majestic member of the family and knew every beautiful inch of it. The wheatsheaf painted at the top of the face meant that the house would never be short of food, her mother had once told her, and the dial itself was marked out in black Roman numerals. Inside their circumference were two smaller circles, the top one showing the seconds passing, and the bottom one giving the date of the month. When she was a child, Elspeth had always been allowed to push that tiny hand forward to the correct date if there had been a month with less than thirty-one days.

  A small smile crossed her face as she recalled how she used to climb up on a chair when she was a little girl, to peep through the glass panel at the side of the clock. She had watched with awe as the little toothed wheels and cogs clicked round, and marvelled, even now, at the intricate machinery which kept her ‘grandfather’ alive. Her father made a ritual of the winding, taking the crank-shaped key from behind the ornamental scrolls on top of the long case and inserting it first into the hole at the left side of the dial. He turned it slowly until the weight controlling the chiming mechanism was cranked to the top, then transferred it to the right-hand hole and the second weight rose. Thus the working of all the hands was ensured for the next seven days.

  Elspeth’s eyes shifted now to the small pillars, one at each side of the face, which shone from many years of polishing – her mother used only the best beeswax polish on the clock – and reflected the brass feet on which they stood. The mahogany case itself glowed a deep red in the light from the fire and the Tilley lamp.

  Eight minutes still to wait. She rose and went over to the dresser, which stood between the door from the porch and the door through to the back kitchen, its overmantel broken up by shelves and niches which displayed the ornaments Lizzie had amassed over the years. Some had been gifts, some had been picked up at the sales held when houses had to be given up due to the death of the occupants, and some had even been bought in shops in Aberdeen, for Lizzie was a great collector of knick-knacks.

  Looking at a little woolly lamb made of bone china, Elspeth admired again the perfectly sculpted curly head and body, and the sweetness of the face. Next sat a very delicate Chinese teapot, another of her favourites, an unusual grey in colour with hand-painted oriental flowers, and a wicker-work handle arched over the top. Then came the huge bible, leather bound with two brass clasps, wherein the births, marriages and deaths in the Gray family had been recorded for over a hundred years. She flipped over the pages filled with faded spidery writing to look at the last three entries – the deaths of her paternal grand-father and grandmother and her own birth. A thrill shot through her as she thought that her marriage would be next.

  When the clock boomed seven times, Geordie took his silver watch from his waistcoat pocket, the chain and fob jingling on his chest. ‘Dead on,’ he remarked, as he did every day at some point, altho
ugh his daughter was never sure whether it was the watch or the clock he was checking. Her restless legs took her over to the window, where spotless white lace was almost hidden by thick, deep red curtains. In front of the window, a tall round table held a healthy aspidistra in an earthenware flowerpot. Automatic-ally poking her finger into the soil to check if it needed water and finding that it didn’t, she went back to sit at the fireside, where the high mantelshelf held more ornaments and two tall brass candlesticks.

  Elspeth was thankful that she had persuaded her mother to remove Geordie’s flannel linder and drawers from the string under the shelf where they usually hung to air, ready for him to change into if he had an unexpected soaking. The girl had wanted to set the supper in the best room – the green plush chairs and sofa would give a better impression – but Lizzie had said, ‘He’ll have to take us the way we are.’

  Glancing round, Elspeth felt satisfied with the kitchen, after all. It was more friendly than the other room, and they would all feel more at ease, including John. What was keeping him? She had said seven, and it was after ten past now. Had something happened to him; had his parents found out what had gone on in their absence; or had he never intended coming at all?

  Her stomach turned over at this last thought, and she pushed it hastily away from her.

  Time dragged past while she counted the seconds ticking away and laid one finger on her knee each time she came to sixty. She had reached eighteen minutes when she became aware of her mother’s eyes on her and stopped.

  At half past, Geordie lumbered to his feet, his hoary eyebrows lowering. ‘I’m waiting no longer, the lad’ll not be coming after this time. We should have ken’t better than ask a farmer’s son to eat in a cottar house.’ He stamped through to the back door to go to the outside privy, and Lizzie took a thick, flannel cloth from its hook at the mantelpiece and removed the large tureen from the oven at the side of the fire. The macaroni and cheese was meant as a special treat, but each mouthful tasted like sawdust to the disappointed women. Geordie, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying his, finishing his plateful quickly and asking for a second helping. He was the only one to have any of the apple pie – made from their own apples, stored in a barrel – and Lizzie brewed some tea while he was eating it.

  By the time the dishes were washed and everything had been tidied away, it was almost nine o’clock, and Elspeth could bear her mother’s silent sympathy no longer. ‘I’ve a bit o’ a sore head again, so I’ll just go to my bed now.’

  Catching his wife’s cautioning eye, Geordie closed his mouth on his intended condemnation of the young man, and Lizzie said, ‘Goodnight, Eppie.’ She knew that no words of comfort would help her daughter.

  Waiting until the door closed, Geordie grunted, ‘John Forrest’s got a lot to answer for.’

  Lizzie glanced at him anxiously. ‘Oh, Geordie, you’ll not say anything to him if you see him, will you?’

  ‘Why not, woman? He’s insulted our hospitality, as well as giving the lassie a sore heart. Let him try to excuse himself for that, if he can.’

  His wife felt sick thinking of what he might say if he met the boy while this anger was still on him. ‘Something must have kept him – a sick beast, or the like.’

  ‘There’s other men at Blairton that could see to that, dammit! No, he’d changed his mind about coming, that’s what it is. Well, he’ll never be asked back to this house, and I’ll not have Elspeth seeing him again.’

  ‘But she really likes him, Geordie.’ Romantic Lizzie could excuse the boy blindly. ‘Will you not wait till we see if he apologizes to her for not coming?’

  ‘He’ll likely never come near her again. You ken fine the sons o’ the gentry are just after one thing from a lassie, and our Elspeth would never have let him touch her. He’ll have found somebody else to oblige him by this time, the filthy swine that he is.’

  Dangerously, Lizzie took the last word. ‘No, you’re wrong, Geordie. He’s a decent laddie, in spite o’ what you think, and I’m sure there’s a good explanation for him not coming. He’s not the kind to hurt a lassie without reason.’

  Chapter Six

  Meg Forrest took off her tight-fitting hat with relief. Her head had been sore enough without having to wear it, but she’d had to keep up an appearance in the kirk. Blairton was the largest farm for over twenty miles round Auchlonie, and the Forrests were respected by villagers, farmers and farm servants alike, and she couldn’t have let it be seen that she was upset. Anyway, John wasn’t the only one who had drunk himself stupid yesterday forenoon, and five other mothers must be feeling the same. Knowing the boys as she did, Meg guessed that their drinking had been a means of forgetting what lay in front of them, but it had been an awful affront when Sam Coull and his brother had taken her son home after the hotel bar closed at half past two. She had been so angry that she had told the hotel-keeper what she thought of him for giving them drink at all.

  ‘They’re bona fide travellers, being members of His Majesty’s Services,’ Sam had excused himself, ‘so I couldn’t refuse them.’

  ‘Bona fide nothing!’ she had ranted. ‘They’re still just bairns.’

  The two men had taken John up to his bed, and he had slept for almost eighteen hours, though his head hadn’t been properly clear when he left to catch the train to Aberdeen.

  Her husband gave a sudden grunt beside her as he opened his front stud and pulled his shirt over his head, moving his chin from side to side to ease his chafed neck. He sat down on the bed to remove his Sunday boots, then stood up and held on to the knob of the bed to pull off his trousers. Normally, Meg would have reprimanded him for not opening his buttons first, but this wasn’t a normal day and he looked so vulnerable in his semmit and drawers, his dark curly hair all tousled, that she couldn’t say anything.

  He looked up at her sadly. ‘If only I’d signed that form to let him go to Canada, he’d not be on his road to France this day.’

  It was the first time that Meg had heard her husband admit he had been wrong, and it made her realize how upset he was. ‘You did what you thought was best for him,’ she consoled.

  ‘I did what I thought was best for me.’ John Forrest senior – known to all by the name of his farm as was the custom in these parts – had slipped on his old shirt and trousers and rose to lift his tweed jacket off the peg on the back of the bedroom door. ‘I wanted him to learn the running o’ the place so he could take over Blairton from me some day, but maybe I worked him some hard.’

  ‘I never heard him complaining.’

  ‘No, but he could hardly wait to get away to Canada.’

  ‘He was looking for excitement, that’s all.’ Meg fastened her skirt buttons. ‘But he’ll have had more than his fill o’ excitement by the time this war’s finished, and I’m sure he’ll not want to leave again, so maybe it’s a blessing in disguise.’

  His worried expression eased. ‘Aye, lass, I’m being daft. He’ll settle down when he comes back from the war.’

  When he comes back, Meg thought – if he comes back would be more like it. How many of the six young men would come back? And if they weren’t killed or maimed in some way, would they be content to return to the farms, where the only excitement was when a cow calved or a horse foaled? Or would they roam the world, seeking other causes to fight, other injustices to put right, once they’d got the taste for it?

  Blairton made for the door. ‘I’ll have a walk to the farthest park to see if Donaldson’s sorted the paling yet, but I should be back for my dinner.’

  Listening to his tacketty boots clattering down the stairs, she wondered how long the war would last, and what the outcome would be. Would the Huns be victorious and the Kaiser sit in Buckingham Palace one day? She could even put up with that, if John came back to her all in one piece.

  The constant clicketty-clack was annoying John. There was something he had to think about and the noise wouldn’t let him concentrate – not that his brain was in a fit state to concentrate, anyway,
it was too fuzzy. He had drunk far too much yesterday – he couldn’t even remember going home – and his head had still been pounding when he left Blairton this morning. The other lads had been as bad, of course. None of them had said a word when they boarded the train, and they were all sleeping now, lying back with their mouths open. If he could just remember what it was that was niggling at the back of his mind, he could sleep, too. He hadn’t wanted to go drinking with them, he could remember that, but they’d laughed at him and teased him about ... being tied to the apron strings already? Whose apron strings, and why hadn’t he wanted to go with them? He had always been ready for a drink before.

  Still puzzling, he closed his eyes again, but he couldn’t relax. It was awful to have lost almost a whole day and not to know ... there was something he should have done that he hadn’t been able to. Somewhere he should have gone last night. Somebody he should have seen ... Elspeth! Oh, Christ! Jerking up, he felt as sick as he had done yesterday. He had been invited for supper and he hadn’t gone! What would she be thinking of him? After all that had happened between them on Friday, he had let her down as if she meant nothing to him. She would think he was tired of her. She would believe he had cast her aside because he’d had enough of her. He would never have enough of her; he loved her so much that his heart was aching unbearably because he had hurt her.

  He wished now that he had told his mother about Elspeth. He had meant to tell her before he went to the Grays’ house, but that had been knocked on the head by his getting drunk. If she had known about the invitation, she would have sent somebody to apologize to the Grays for him not being able to go, but as it was, they would have been left waiting, and Geordie would likely never let him set foot inside the house again. He would have to write to her, to let her know that he did love her, and that he couldn’t help what had happened.