A Last Goodbye

by Dee Yates

He glanced round the barn. It was the very one in which he had found Ellen that Christmas night three years ago. The night when all thoughts of a future with Clara were dashed. Not that he begrudged the birth of Netta. He loved her. He was as proud of her as any father could be.

  ‘He’s gey proud of her, isn’t he, Catherine?’ He remembered the remark of one of the sisters in the train, as she laughed over his gazing at the photograph that he had pulled from his pocket for the second time that day. He smiled as he recalled the sisters, their playful, faintly mocking but never hurtful banter.

  ‘He’s still alive then, Jeannie. I was beginning to wonder.’ The voice that greeted his precipitate arrival in the carriage, the accents soft, so different from the harsher tones that he was used to.

  Leaning against the wooden side of the pen in which he was sitting, Tom closed his eyes and heard again that crackling voice telling anyone who was interested that the train on platform four was about to depart for Craigendoran Junction.

  And abruptly he was dashing across the smoky emptiness of the platform. The train was gathering speed now. He grabbed at the handle of the nearest door and it flew open. With a huge effort, he threw himself into the carriage and caught at the door, swinging it shut. Then he fell back in the seat and closed his eyes, gasping for breath. At last his pulse slowed and his lungs ceased to strain for air.

  When he opened his eyes, they met the amused gaze of two young women, the only occupants of the carriage. They looked at one another and smiled.

  ‘He’s still alive then, Jeannie. I was beginning to wonder.’ The voice sounded playful and soft.

  ‘I… I thought I was going to miss the train,’ he muttered, by way of explanation.

  ‘So we can see,’ said the other woman. ‘Where are you going to, all dressed up as you are?’

  He paused, not knowing what to say. He could give no explanation for his sudden action. He did not know himself what had caused him to behave as he had.

  ‘Er, I… I… I’m going to Craigendoran Junction.’

  ‘Aye, we guessed that. But where afterwards?’

  ‘Oh, a little way up the line. I… I forget the name… I’m a stranger to these parts. What about yourselves?’

  ‘Fort William. That’s where we’re from… well, near there. It’s our first time in Glasgow. We’ve enjoyed it, but we’ll be glad to be back, will we no’, Jeannie?’

  ‘Oh aye, we’re looking forward to the peace and quiet again.’

  Peace and quiet. The description sounded good to Tom. That’s what he needed, peace and quiet.

  ‘What do you do there? I mean, do you work?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh aye. We work.’ It was the other sister speaking now. ‘Catherine and I… we’re sisters… we run a small cafe. Mother’s helping out while we’ve been away. We’ll be back in time for the summer visitors. What about you? I mean, I can see what you do by your uniform. Are you on leave?’

  ‘Aye, on leave.’

  ‘Are you a family man then?’

  ‘Aye. I’ve a wife and child.’

  ‘Pity they can’t be with you.’

  ‘My wife’s expecting another baby soon. It’s not good for her to travel at the moment.’

  ‘How old’s the wee one?’

  ‘She’s two now. I’ve a photo of her somewhere.’

  And he had put his hand into his inside pocket, where it encountered his army papers. It had struck him then just what he had done. He had run away. He would be labelled a deserter. Fumbling in the pocket, he found his packet of photos and, with trembling hands, began to withdraw the picture of Netta seated on Ellen’s knee. His hand continued to shake as he gave the photo to one of the sisters… Jeannie, he thought it was.

  ‘He’s gey proud of her, isn’t he, Catherine?’ Jeannie said and the girls looked at one another and then at Tom, and burst out laughing. Tom stowed the photos in his pocket. He looked at the girls. ‘Tell me about Fort William. Do you like it there?’

  The two looked at one another again.

  ‘Aye, it’s well enough. There are plenty of visitors passing through for us to make a living. And bonnie places all around, the likes of which you’ll never see in Glasgow!’

  ‘I think I might stop off there for the night, just to see what it’s like… if it’s as nice as you say.’

  ‘Aye.’ Jeannie hesitated. ‘Aye, you can follow us if you like and we’ll put you on the right train.’

  The route to Fort William was winding and slow. The sisters invited him to join them in their carriage and shared their meal of fish sandwiches, hard-boiled eggs and chocolate cake. Then they dozed and Tom looked out of the window at the wonderful scenery that was opening up before him.

  He felt calmer now, as though this was the route that he was always meant to take. He closed his eyes and refused to think about the boat awaiting his arrival at the Edinburgh docks. Instead he slept, lulled by the rhythmic thrumming of the carriage wheels.

  He came to with a start. It was very dark. His head against the wooden boards of the barn was uncomfortable, his hands cold. But he had no desire to move. He wished only to be back in that idyllic landscape through which the train had taken him. Settling himself into a corner of the pen and tucking his hands into his armpits for warmth, he closed his eyes again.

  Great hills towered in the distance. Different from the smooth curves of those he had left behind in the south, these were rugged and dotted here and there with snow pockets. The railway followed the edge of lonely lochs, in which the mountains towering above were mirrored. Gradually the scene changed to barren moorland, reedy grass, between which the brown sludge of peat bog glinted uninvitingly. And then there were mountains again, even higher and more dominating than previously, their tops invisible in the low cloud of a windless day.

  Without thinking, he put his hand into the inside pocket of his coat and his fingers were reminded a second time of his supposed destination. His heart missed a beat. He looked across at the girls. Jeannie had woken and was examining his face. She smiled.

  ‘Where will you stay in Fort William? Do you have friends there?’

  ‘Er, no. Happen I’ll find lodgings this evening and then move on tomorrow.’

  ‘Well, Mother takes lodgers. I know for a fact that she has a spare room and she’d put you up for the night, wouldn’t she, Catherine?’

  ‘Aye, nae problem. You just come home with us and we’ll sort you out for the night.’

  The arrangement seemed a good one. It would be late by the time he arrived at Fort William. He would stay with Catherine and Jeannie and tomorrow he would decide what to do.

  It came to him in the night that if he were caught here in the home of Catherine and Jeannie, they would be in trouble for harbouring a deserter. For, however much he tried to form an explanation for his recent actions, he knew that the army would label him just that. Accordingly he rose by first light, packed his kitbag and waited until he heard signs of movement. Tiptoeing down the stairs, he came upon Catherine in the kitchen. She started at his sudden appearance and smiled.

  ‘My, my! You’re an early riser. Would you like a cup of tea? It’s a fresh pot.’

  ‘Aye. That would be grand.’ He sat down at the table. ‘Then I must be off.’

  ‘What, now? So early?’

  ‘Aye. I’ve imposed on your company for long enough. I… I want to see as much of the countryside as I can while I’ve time. You see, I haven’t been this way before and I’ve only a day or two.’

  ‘Well, there’s plenty of it to see.’ She laughed. ‘In fact, if you plan on going west from here, you’ll no’ come across anything else but countryside between here and the Atlantic.’

  ‘That suits me fine. The quieter the better.’

  ‘You’ll have some breakfast before you go? A soldier can’t go into battle on an empty stomach.’

  Tom winced at the unintended barb. ‘Aye… er… aye. I’d like that, if I’m not overstaying my welcome.’

  ‘Not at all
. We’ve enjoyed your company, haven’t we, Jeannie?’ She looked up at her sister, who was standing quietly at the kitchen door.

  ‘Aye, that we have. So you be sure and have a good breakfast. The houses are few and far between west of here.’ She laughed and as quickly became serious again. ‘And don’t you forget, Tom, if you’re in any trouble, you can always stay here.’ She turned and left the room before Tom had time to reply.

  It was a long journey to the Atlantic but it was here Tom determined to go. He begged lifts in a small boat to bypass a long journey around the sea loch, in carts that grumbled their way up steep roads, pulled by ageing nags that plodded uncomplaining over rough tracks. And wherever the road wound, there would be mountains and hills that towered to right and left and panoramic views that opened up at the top of every laborious ascent. At last he could go no further because there was no path to follow. Sea lochs wandered far into the hillsides, their margins patrolled by lone herons, hunched and grey, and seals lay indolent on the huge boulders that littered the shoreline. Primroses dotted the banks in bright clusters, and in the water, white clouds, blue sky and the mistier blue of the furthest mountains were reflected.

  Tom had never seen anything more beautiful.

  While he stood, leaning on a gate, a movement caught his eye. It was a man, dressed in the uniform of a gamekeeper. He was making his way off the lower slopes of the hill and across the flat land, through which a track ran towards a large turreted house. As he came closer, he nodded his head and Tom waved a hand in greeting.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Tom called, acting on a sudden impulse.

  The man stopped and turned.

  ‘Can I have a word?’

  ‘Aye. Are you lost?’

  ‘Not exactly. But I am new to these parts.’ Tom swung open the gate and walked towards the gamekeeper, accentuating the limp in his bad leg. ‘I was wondering if you had any work.’

  ‘For you?’ The man looked Tom up and down. ‘You look to me as though you have a job.’

  ‘Aye, I have. Leastwise, I did. I were invalided out with a war wound.’

  ‘Oh, I see. Well, I’m afraid the only work I have here is shepherding and that would no suit you. There’s a lot of walking in the hills, chasing after the sheep. They’re scattered far and wide.’

  ‘Oh, but that would suit me fine. I were a shepherd before the war. And I can manage walking, as long as I take my time.’

  The man looked at Tom suspiciously. ‘Then why did you no’ return to your own farm to work?’

  ‘Oh, you know what it’s like. I fancied a change of scenery after the mess of the battlefield.’

  The keeper considered for a minute. ‘Aye, I can understand that, especially if you’ve no one waiting at home for your return. I suppose you’ll be wanting somewhere to stay?’

  ‘If you have a room, I’d be grateful.’

  ‘It would be very plain. Only a bed and a cupboard and a chair or two. You’d have to get your meals with the servants up at the big house.’

  ‘That’s not a problem.’

  ‘And I’ll have to check with the laird that he’s happy for you to join the workforce. Though I can’t see that there’ll be any doubt about that. We’ve lost a couple of our estate workers to the war.’

  Tom followed the keeper towards the house, limping just enough to make it obvious that he was not fit for action at the front but not too much that they would doubt his ability to cope with a day on the hill.

  And so began an idyllic six months, far away from the horrors of the trenches and the demands and frustrations of family life. Lambing was drawing to a close when he arrived, but there were some ewes still to give birth on the hills and plenty of work needed in caring for mothers and babies. Once the keeper saw that Tom was competent, he left him alone for the most part, which suited Tom fine. He had no wish to get over-friendly with anyone who might become too interested in his life at the front or his family back home.

  Back in the barn, Tom opened his eyes and stared into the blackness. Guilt surged through him, as it had done several times since the signing of the armistice, guilt that he had left the estate workers so suddenly and without warning. He had worked hard there and gained the respect of the other workers, the keeper in particular, but he had found the absence of his daughter difficult to endure. And the realisation that he could now return to her obscured all else. He had walked away from his job within a couple of hours of hearing of the cessation of hostilities.

  Having no idea of the time, he staggered to his freezing feet with a groan and hobbled painfully to the door. Several inches of snow had fallen but it had stopped now and a waning moon made an intermittent appearance between scudding clouds. He looked up at the cottage. A lamp was still burning in the living room. Either Ellen was waiting for him to come in or she had left the light for him to see his way. But he could not go back. Suppose the man whom he had passed at the station was still around. But neither could he bear losing his daughter again.

  Snatching up his gloves and a sturdy stick that was propped in a corner by the door, Tom emerged into the brightness of the snowy night. A blast of freezing wind hit him head-on as he set off to cross the field behind the cottage. But again, the light drew him. He approached slowly, peering into the uncurtained room. Ellen lay asleep in front of a dead fire. On an impulse he opened the door, unlacing his boots and leaving them on the mat. Thick socks cushioned his steps as he made soundless progress to the bedroom, keeping his eyes fastened on his wife. She never stirred.

  The children were both deeply asleep. He glanced at Eva, the daughter he hardly knew. She had no look of her sister, nor even of her mother. Maybe, given time, things might change. He turned to Netta. Her little boots lay side by side on the floor in front of her bed. He picked these up and thrust them into a coat pocket. Next, he drew a thick blanket off the bed and wrapped it round his sleeping daughter, lifting her into his arms as he did so. Stealthily he made his way past his still sleeping wife and into the corridor. At the entrance, he stepped into his boots, closed the door quietly behind him and struggled back to the barn. There he lay Netta gently in the hay, laced his boots, enveloped his daughter tightly in the blanket and secured her within the folds of his greatcoat, buttoning it around her. She stirred as he fumbled with his coat but settled against him as he stepped from the barn into the night.

  The wind was blowing the top off the thick covering of snow, whirling it into his face, where it hit like needles. Again he crossed behind the cottage, following the path that led up the hillside, sure of his step, for he had trodden this route many times before. The wind snatched his breath from him and left him panting and weak before he was halfway up. It would be worse at the top, for he would meet the full force of it. But he trudged on with determination, refusing even to rest for a minute.

  On the top, he struggled to stand, leaning against the stone wall for balance. He turned his face into the wind. It was cleansing, freeing his brain from all the hurts that had afflicted it. Here, on the edge of reality, he was safe. No one and nothing could touch him and his sleeping daughter.

  How long he stood there, he had no idea, but when he turned at last, it was to see the hills of the southern side of the valley standing dark against the earliest light of dawn. It must be later than he thought. Should he go down? But what if the officer did come calling for him? And if he stayed where he was, Ellen might alert him to Tom’s favourite hideaway before she knew the reason for the man’s visit. Looking down at the route he had come, he could see that the wind had scoured away the prints of his feet. If he set off a different way, they would never know that he had been here.

  To the left of his usual path dipped a huge ravine, carved out by an ancient river. He had once clambered down its steep side to rescue an injured sheep. If he descended the hill this way and cut off to the east, his footprints would never be noticed. Clasping Netta securely to him and covering her head with the lapel of his greatcoat, he stepped out into the whiteness.
r />   38

  A Safe Place to Be

  When Ellen glimpsed the empty bed, she smiled. It was not unusual for Netta to wake in the night and wander over to her toys, play for a while and fall asleep again. So, with Eva over her shoulder, she began unhurriedly to investigate all of Netta’s hiding places.

  It was her younger daughter’s hungry cries that had woken her. Drowsy with tiredness and with a crick in her neck from hours spent curled in an armchair, she stumbled to her feet. She glanced at the clock as she crossed the room. It was six fifteen. Tom must have come in late and not woken her.

  By the light from the oil lamp, she explored the bedroom. Netta was in none of her usual places. Perhaps she had wandered out into the living room and fallen asleep there. Unperturbed, she turned towards her own bed. It was empty, unruffled. Tom had not returned then. Where on earth was he?

  Ellen stepped back into the light, murmuring softly to her truculent baby. She hunted behind chairs, under tables, in boxes, even in cupboards, slowly at first, but with a steadily rising anxiety.

  Maybe her grandfather had her. Of course, that must be it. Ellen burst open the separating door between the cottages without knocking and surprised Duncan in a half-dressed state.

  ‘Whatever is the matter, lassie? Is someone ill?’

  ‘Is Netta with you, Feyther? Only I’ve been looking everywhere for her and then I thought, she sometimes comes into…’

  ‘Nay, lassie, she’s not been here.’ Duncan rose from the bed where he had been sitting to pull on his socks. ‘Are you sure she’s not curled up somewhere asleep? It wouldnae be the first time.’

  ‘I’ve looked everywhere.’ Ellen’s voice rose on a sob. She turned to run from the room.

  ‘Where’s Tom?’ Duncan called. ‘We’ll go and look for her together.’

  ‘He didn’t come home,’ she called over her shoulder. ‘He’s been out all night.’

  ‘Out all night? In this weather?’ Duncan drew the curtain and put his face up to the window.

  ‘I've no idea where he is,’ Ellen spat. ‘And I don’t care anymore. He’s done this to me one time too many. It’s Netta I’m worried about.’