‘I see. I’m glad you’re here, to guide me. I’m quite lost. Oh, look! Look! I can see the road now we’re over the hill. Isn’t that the minister with his pony and trap? Down by that gate on the road below?’
‘Aye, it is that.’
‘It’s such a long time since I had a proper talk with Mama,’ Janet sighed. ‘It will be wonderful if we can all live together again like we used to do.’
Tam gave her a pitying glance but it was downhill now and she was already running ahead. At fourteen, she was neither child nor woman but at that moment she felt as she had at eight years old, running after Andrew and Fingal, carefree and secure in her world. Janet longed to see her mother and Andrew. She hoped Fingal might be home too.
The minister greeted her kindly, taking her hand in his, feeling the work-roughened palm. He looked down at her fingers, small and chapped, the nails broken. He shook his head, wondering what his old friend the dominie would have thought to see his beloved grandchild reduced to this. He allowed himself a momentary feeling of exasperation as he recalled Mary Scott, so devoted to her son, so eager to give him everything she could, yet barely aware of her daughter’s existence. Surely as a mother she should have arranged a better place than Braeheights Farm for her only daughter – and yet the child did not look unhappy, or ill-thriven as so many of his parishioners did. He sighed. There was only so much he could do to help them all. He looked into Janet’s face, bright with anticipation, her eyes alight and eager, a smile of gratitude on her lips as he helped her into the trap and seated her beside him. His heart sank at the news he was about to impart. He looked down at Tam Friar, who was awaiting his orders respectfully.
‘Jump onto the step, laddie, and hold on tight. I’ll drop you off before we turn off the road and down to Rowanbank.’
As they passed the long track leading to Peggy Baird’s cottage and Crillion Keep, Janet peered longingly through the gently swaying trees, but she could not see the houses and there was no sign of any familiar figures.
‘Has Fingal McLauchlan returned with Andrew, sir?’ she ventured timidly.
The minister gave his kindly smile. ‘Not yet, child. He has to stay in Edinburgh for a few weeks longer until he finishes his apprenticeship. He has been a good and loyal friend, Andrew tells me….’
‘You have seen Andrew? Spoken with him?’ she asked eagerly. ‘Has he got a posting? I am so looking forward to seeing Mama. We shall all be together again at last….’
‘Ah – ahem, maybe….’ The minister cleared his throat, aware of Tam hanging onto the back of the trap. He didn’t want to tell her that it was Andrew who had asked for her so urgently, pleaded with him to bring his sister to see him while he still had breath to talk with her. Surely Mary could have sent a message to her somehow, a warning…. He would wait until he had dropped Tam off on the other side of the hamlet of Crillion.
‘I hear Mrs Foster is not keeping in good health? Will she manage today?’ he asked, to take her attention.
‘Molly will help her until I return, I think. I have promised I will not come to live with Mama until she has hired another maid.’
‘You have told her you are leaving Braeheights Farm?’ The minister sounded alarmed and Janet looked at him in surprise. He frowned. ‘Molly was not at the kirk with you the last time you came with Foster and his laddies,’ he said with an effort.
‘No, Molly has been sickly lately,’ Janet told him innocently.
‘Sickly? I see….’ His frown deepened. ‘Does she need Doctor Carr?’
‘She would not hear of it when I asked. She said I had made the porridge too salty. I had not. Since then she always says she has eaten it too greedily – though Molly is never greedy,’ Janet added thoughtfully. ‘Some days she scarcely eats at all.’
‘I see….’ He hoped his thoughts were unworthy. He knew Molly’s grandmother well, and he remembered her sadness the day her daughter had married Wull Foster. Already she had seen three small grandsons buried in the kirkyard.
‘There’s the Meeting House!’ Janet exclaimed, her eyes alight at the sight of the familiar building. ‘Do many attend the peoples’ bank?’ she asked wistfully.
‘Why, yes….’ He turned his questioning glance on her. Then his expression softened. ‘Of course, no doubt your mother needs your wages to support Andrew at present.’ It was more a statement than a question and he was surprised to see tears spring to her eyes before she bowed her head to hide them.
‘I have not earned any wages yet,’ she confessed. ‘Master Foster told Mama it cost him enough feeding me and giving me a bed. He says he treats me as one of his own family while she is unable to provide a roof for me. B-but I had my fourteenth birthday three weeks ago. I work as hard as I can, really I do. Mistress Foster said she would speak to Mr Foster and tell him. She is kind to me but she is so busy with babies. She needs me, and Molly is my friend b-but I think I ought to have gone to the hiring fair at the May term. He did not give me even a groat for the Sabbath….’ But would she have had the courage to find her way to the hiring fairs to stand in a line with other maids and men, waiting like cattle to be bought? She had asked herself this many times since her birthday.
All thoughts of the Fosters left them both as the tailor’s neat little cottage came into view. It was already an hour past noon and he knew he would find Mary Scott sitting beside her son in the peace of the tailor’s small garden. Luke Cole was a good man and he knew Mary would work long into the night to compensate for the precious few hours she could spend with her son. She worked when Andrew returned to the house of her old neighbour and friend, Lucy Hughes, who had offered him a bed now that her own family were away in service.
The Reverend Drummond helped Janet alight from the trap and took her arm to guide her round to the back of the cottage.
‘I think we shall find them enjoying the sunshine.’
‘Shall we?’ Janet blinked in surprise. They passed two young men sitting at a wooden table at the back of the cottage busily stitching dark woollen cloth to make a suit for one of the gentlemen of the parish. The minister greeted them pleasantly.
‘It is warmer and lighter for them to work outside on such a day as this,’ he explained to Janet. Further away, half shielded by a rickety fence, clothed by a budding rambler rose, two figures sat on a wooden bench. Above them. a blackbird trilled sweetly in the summer air. The two heads were close together, the one so fair and curly, the other dark like her own. Janet felt a fleeting pang of envy until Andrew glanced up and saw them approaching. A look of joy lit his thin, pale face and he would have risen to welcome them, but her mother laid a hand on his arm, pressing him back. Her face showed astonishment and Janet realized it could not have been her mother who had sent for her after all. She felt a shaft of disappointment, but it was nothing to the cold hand of fear which gripped her heart at the sight of her brother’s thin face and emaciated body. She bent to embrace him, eager to have his reassurance that he was well, but he held out his hands, taking hers, gently holding her at a distance.
‘Let me look at you, little sister,’ he said softly. ‘How you have grown! You are so pretty, so slender and graceful….’ His thin fingers gently rubbed her palms, but just as he felt their roughness, so she felt the bones of his, held together by the white skin which covered them. There was no spare flesh on Andrew. She stifled a shiver and looked anxiously into her mother’s face, searching for some sign of reassurance. All their hopes had rested on Andrew. He was here at last, but he seemed as insubstantial as a shadow.
Mary Scott rose, her eyes questioning as she looked from the minister to Janet.
‘Andrew expressed a wish to see his sister,’ the Reverend Drummond said quietly. ‘I arranged it.’
‘I should have thought of it,’ Mary said with remorse.
Yes, so you should, the minister echoed silently, but he knew she had thoughts for no one but Andrew. Did she realize she would not have him much longer? He sighed and declined her offer of a drink of al
e or some cool buttermilk.
‘Nothing, thank you, Mary. I have some visits to make in the village. I shall have refreshment enough, but Janet must be very hungry. She has done a morning’s work at Braeheights Farm before setting out on the long walk down to the road. I’m sure Mistress Cole will not begrudge your daughter a little food.’ If there was a trace of reproof in his tone Mary did not notice. She gazed distractedly at her son.
‘Yes, Mama, do get Janet something to eat. See, I have my book of poems to keep me company until you return, and I enjoy lifting my face to the sun.’
‘Can I not stay with Andrew, Mama?’ Janet pleaded. ‘I could eat here, in the garden. I must set out again all too soon.’
‘I shall take you back to Braeheights Farm tomorrow, lassie,’ the minister intervened. ‘Tonight you will sleep at the manse. My wife will be pleased to make a bed for you, never fear.’
‘Oh thank you, sir! Thank you so much. I am not sure I could find my way back across the fields if darkness fell. We seemed to take so many twists and turns.’
‘Don’t you worry about that, child. Just enjoy your time with Andrew. I’m sure the two of you have plenty to talk about. Mary, I’ll walk with you to the house,’ he said, taking her arm and leading her firmly away.
Janet’s head buzzed with questions but the first thing which came to her tongue was to enquire after Fingal McLauchlan.
‘Fingal?’ Andrew threw back his head and laughed. ‘How close you two have remained in spite of the distance and time which has separated you. Whenever I receive a letter from Mother, Fingal always asks for news of you before anyone else. But yes, he is well, and soon he will be leaving Edinburgh and taking up a post in Annan. He has been like a brother to me, Janet. I could not have had a better friend.’
‘He is like a brother to me too,’ Janet nodded. ‘I am glad he cared for you so well, Andrew, but it troubles me to see you looking so frail.’
‘Ah yes.’ Shadows darkened his blue eyes. ‘That is why I asked the Reverend Drummond to arrange this meeting, Janet.’ He looked at her gravely. ‘Will you make me a promise, dearest sister?’
‘If I can, Andrew. You know I would do anything to help you if I could….’
‘It is not for myself I ask, Janet. It is for mother.’ He turned the full force of his clear grey eyes on her then and they seemed to burn into her soul. She shivered without knowing why. He took her hand in his long fingers and held it gently. ‘I have not long to live on this earth, Janet. I….’
‘No! No, Andrew, please don’t say things like that.’
‘But I must. I must, little sister. I had dreamed of giving you a better life, the life you deserve, with books to read and pretty things to wear….’
‘I don’t need such things, Andrew,’ Janet protested, forgetting all the times she had longed for her grandfather’s collection of books, and just half an hour to have the pleasure of reading them.
‘Perhaps not, but it is Mother who worries me. She had such faith in my ability to provide for both of you. I have let her down, Janet.
‘No! No, you have not. Peggy Baird told me how well you had done in your studies.’
‘Oh, yes, but now….’ He gave a small frown. ‘Please, Janet, give me your word, before Mother returns. Promise me that you will care for her when I am gone…? You will always tend her needs above all else?’
‘Oh, Andrew, I hate to hear you speak so. Soon you will—’
‘No. I am like our father, frail and useless. Promise me, Janet…?’ He caught her other hand in his. She felt she could crush them both as easily as the shell of the skylark’s tiny eggs. In her heart she knew Andrew was speaking the truth, knew too he had accepted that death was just around the corner.
‘I promise, Andrew,’ she whispered hoarsely. ‘I will care for Mother if ever she needs me….’ She squeezed his fingers gently but she could not stop the tears which filled her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. She saw his eyes were bright too, and over-moist.
‘What are you two talking about? What have you done to upset him, Janet?’ her mother demanded sharply, when she was close enough to see the emotion on Andrew’s face, the lines of strain as he struggled to summon a smile.
‘We have much to talk about, Mama,’ he managed cheerfully, ‘and I am not the least upset. We were – we were laughing about Fingal staying with us at the schoolhouse.’
Janet would have enjoyed her brief stay at the manse and the kindly ministrations of Mrs Drummond, if her heart had not felt so heavy with sorrow. The following morning she was astonished when the Reverend Drummond presented her with a card bearing her full name of Janet Mairi Scott.
‘This is from the savings bank, my dear. It is in your name and I have taken the opportunity of putting in one shilling. It is my gift to you. Now….’ he held up a hand to silence Janet’s surprised protest. ‘You know I encourage all my parishioners to save what little they can. Thrift and independence … your grandfather, and your father, approved of these qualities.’
‘But I must earn money myself, especially now….’ The minister nodded, knowing she was thinking of her brother and the hopes and dreams her mother had invested in him.
‘You will earn money. I shall see to that,’ he said firmly. ‘Now do you think you could ride behind me if I take you back to Braeheights Farm on my horse? Doddi is a sturdy beast. He carries me all the way to Dumfries and home again when I go to edit my newspaper. I’m sure he will not notice your light weight. It would be much quicker than the trap and I wish to speak with Mistress Foster and her husband. After her next baby has been born, and Mistress Foster has regained her strength, if you wish to leave Braeheights Farm, I will keep my ears open for a more suitable posting for you, but until then….’ He shook his head sadly. ‘It is a pity, a great pity, that your education was cut so short.’
‘Andrew gave me a book to read,’ she told him eagerly. ‘I shall treasure it, for there are no books at Braeheights Farm except the family Bible. He said this was one of his favourite books. It was a gift from Fingal McLaughlan. He saved up all his spare farthings to buy it for Andrew. It is a book of poems by a man called Robert Burns.’
‘Indeed? May I see?’ The minister took the leather-bound book and turned it over in his hands. ‘I met Mr Burns once at my father’s house when I was a young man, and he was well acquainted with my wife’s family.’
‘He must have been a clever man. Andrew says he died at a young age. Was he a good man?’
‘My own father considered him a genius. You will enjoy reading his poetry, child. It was thoughtful of young Fingal to purchase such a gift.’
Barely four weeks later, Janet returned to the village of Rowanbank to attend Andrew’s funeral. She had no suitable clothes for a funeral and her mother had not written or made any mention of what she should wear. It was Mrs Foster who offered to lend her own best black skirt and shawl. The skirt was too long and too wide, for Hannah Foster had been sturdier when it had been purchased several years previously.
‘Maybe ye could tack up the bottom and take out the stitches when ye come back, lassie. We will pin the waist. It is the best we can do.’
‘Thank you, Mistress Foster,’ Janet said huskily, struggling to swallow the lump in her throat and hold back her tears. Surely her own mother should have thought of what she could wear.
This time, Wull Foster drove her to the funeral himself in the pony and trap. He was determined she would spend no more nights at the manse. He intended to see she returned to Braeheights Farm as soon as her brother’s funeral was over.
Fingal was at the funeral with his mother and Peggy and Donald Baird. Peggy shook her head in dismay when she saw Janet dressed in Mistress Foster’s skirt and shawl with the shabby black hat almost swamping her pale face. She looked like a bairn at Halloween, dressed up as a witch. She hugged her close and her own tears mingled with Janet’s. When she drew away Fingal took Janet’s hands in his.
‘If only I could care for you and take you aw
ay from that place where you work so hard, Janet. The Reverend Drummond told me it is no life for a girl like you up at the farm. It is not what your grandfather would have wanted for you. It grieved Andrew that he was unable to provide a better life for you and your mother.’
‘I know,’ Janet whispered over the lump in her throat. Fingal put one arm around her shoulders and she leaned closer, finding comfort from his warmth and strength.
‘If only I had enough money to rent a cottage for you, instead of living in lodgings.’ He looked down at her bowed head tenderly. ‘Even if I earned enough to provide food and clothes….’ Fingal muttered. ‘I ought to have been a dominie as your grandfather hoped Andrew would be.’
‘Please do not worry about me, Fingal. One day you will be a lawyer with enough money for all your needs. That is what Mr Saunders told your mother and Mama Peggy. They are very proud of your education.’
‘I know, but it has taken so long, and I am still only earning the wages of a clerk.’ He had to release her when the funeral service began in Mr Cole’s small cottage.
The churchyard was more than a mile from the village and Fingal wished he could have stayed with Janet but he knew he should feel honoured to be asked to take one of the cords, which would lower his friend into his grave. Mary Scott and Janet had no male relations of their own to ask, so Mr Cole and some of the elders would hold cords too. Usually the women stayed at home while the men attended to the burial, but the Scotts had no home and Mary Scott seemed barely aware of what was going on around her and oblivious to her white-faced daughter’s sorrow as the coffin was borne away.
Wull Foster was impatient to get Janet back into his pony and trap and he could hardly wait for the coffin to be placed onto the horse-drawn hearse.
‘Give Miss Janet a little time alone with her mother, and her friends. Allow them to comfort each other,’ the Reverend Drummond intervened brusquely before he turned to follow the other men and the coffin on its last journey.
Beyond Reason Page 8