Yet, that day and the next, she could not shake off the feeling that a presence was there, that she was being watched. With Mr Calvert away for so long, there had been poachers and scavengers over the months and it was possible other travellers or out-of-work drifters might have chanced upon the sheltered spot. She felt more vulnerable than ever before and longed for the day Rab would be back to help her shoulder the burden.
Though there was no sign of anyone camping in the woods, Emmie told Barny to stay closer to the cottages, for he was apt to wander upriver to make dens or observe the wildlife. Some day soon, she would have to think about sending him to school, perhaps down in Standale with Ned when he returned in the early summer.
Two days later, the telegram arrived with the news that Rab’s train would reach Durham at two thirty on Monday the fifth. ‘Needs plenty rest,’ it ended. Emmie had a pang of alarm at the state Rab would be in. The journey might exhaust him further. She abandoned plans to take Barny to meet him.
‘He might need to rest for a night before coming on here,’ she explained.
Barny howled in disappointment, demanding to come too.
‘I need you to be a big lad and help Laurie with the fire and looking after Mary,’ Emmie cajoled. ‘I’ll be back as quick as can be.’
Barny continued to protest. ‘I want to see Rab! Want to see the train. It’s not fair!’
Emmie was about to give in when Laurie intervened.
‘Haway, Barny, we’ll go trapping in the woods, catch something for tea. Show Rab you’re a proper huntsman, eh? Just you and me. He’ll be that proud of you. And it’s better than travelling all day - as soon as you’re there you’ll be turning round and coming back again.’
Barny was mollified. Yet he showed his annoyance with Emmie by refusing to kiss her goodbye or help Philip with Cobbles when he took her down to the station. Emmie cuddled Mary and handed her over to Laurie. She waved, but Barny turned his back and ran off down to the river. Emmie felt a stab of guilt for leaving him.
‘Don’t worry,’ Philip comforted, ‘things will be easier once Rab’s back with us. You’re not the only one who’s missed him.’
Emmie smiled and slipped her arm through his. Her old friend had lost everything, yet had managed to rekindle his optimism. Now they could all look to building a new life with Rab and the children. Perhaps they could persuade Helen and Peter to join them.
Emmie’s excitement grew as the train trundled down the valley to Durham. She arrived in the city with half an hour to spare. Wandering out into the town, she experienced a wave of nostalgia for the days before the war when she had marched through these streets at the galas and for women’s emancipation, planning for a glorious future. Yet, at twenty-six she was still disenfranchised, and Rab and Laurie were denied a vote for five years because of their opposition to the war. As she hurried back into the station, Emmie was filled with a new restlessness. She had been in isolation for too long, just trying to stay alive. She should be doing more to help bring about a new society. Revolution was sweeping Europe and workers all over the country were agitating for better conditions. She and Rab must be a part of it.
Standing at the barrier, she watched the London train pull in. Doors clattered open and porters rushed forward to lift down luggage. Passengers swarmed up the platform and passed through the gate. She saw a thin elderly man being helped down from a carriage, clutching a cap and carrying a small cardboard case. As he turned, she caught the familiar outline of nose and chin. Her heart thumped in shock. It was Rab, grey-faced and head shaven. His ill-fitting suit hung loose around his shrunken frame. He looked twice his age.
Emmie gulped down her horror and waved. He came slowly, almost shuffling, his look anxious as he scanned the crowd at the barrier. When he came through the gate, they stood staring for a long moment, too emotional for words. Then Emmie put out her arms. Rab held on to the case as she hugged him, his body stiff and lifeless.
‘Rab,’ she whispered his name, pained at the lack of recognition in his sunken eyes, ‘it’s Emmie.’
‘Emmie?’
‘Aye, it’s me,’ she answered, tears brimming. She touched his face gently. He flinched.
‘Emmie,’ he repeated the name like a talisman. ‘Emmie.’
She slipped an arm through his. ‘Haway, let’s go for a cup of tea.’
She led him out of the station, hoping the sight of familiar streets would jolt his memory. But he became breathless quickly and she steered him into the nearest cafe, ordering tea and toast with precious money saved for an emergency. As they waited for their snack, Emmie took his bony hands in hers and caressed them. She spoke softly of the commune, of his old friends, of Barny and saw a flicker of interest cross his gaunt face.
He struggled to speak, but she could not make out his words.
‘Did you get any of my letters?’ Emmie asked.
He looked at her blankly as if he could not remember.
‘Did Mr Calvert tell you anything?’ she asked. Again he looked uncomprehending.
She squeezed his hands. ‘You have a daughter, Mary Helen. A bonny daughter, with dark hair like Barny’s, but your blue eyes.’
For the first time, Rab’s eyes focused properly and Emmie knew he understood.
‘M-Mary,’ he whispered. His cracked, colourless lips curved into a half-smile.
‘Aye, Mary,’ Emmie smiled back. ‘She had her first birthday last month. And she’s already walking. Babbles away in her own language. I can’t wait for you to see her.’
‘Me an’ all,’ Rab said hoarsely.
Emmie gulped in relief. Already she was seeing flashes of the old Rab under the guise of this confused, frail man. She abandoned any idea of staying longer in Durham. Rab needed to get home where she could nurse him and the liveliness of the children could lift his battered spirits. She watched him let his tea grow cold before he drank it. The toast he hardly touched, so she ate it hungrily.
Slowly they made their way back to the station and on to a train for Standale, choosing an empty carriage. Emmie talked to him all the way about what she knew of his mother and Peter, of Mabel dying and Laurie returning to them. She avoided mention of Tom or Barnabas Cullen’s threatening letter. Rab seemed too fragile to take in that much so soon. Instead she talked of Barny and his firm friendship with Ned, and how the Kennedys would be returning any day.
‘The lad was that cross at not coming to see you,’ Emmie said, ‘but I thought it might be too much for you all at once.’ She eyed him cautiously.
Rab took her hand and studied it, as if it was something exotic. She saw the effort it took for him to speak.
‘I - love you,’ he rasped.
Emmie’s heart soared. She leaned over and kissed him in the empty carriage.
‘I love you too,’ she whispered tearfully.
At Standale there was no way of alerting Mr Runcie to their return. A strong westerly wind had got up and Emmie feared Rab was too frail for the uphill walk to The Grove. But he brushed aside her concerns and took the path out of the village. He laboured up the steep fell, his breathing ragged, and Emmie made him stop to rest at frequent intervals and drink the water she had brought. The sun had dipped behind the hills by the time they reached the wooded overgrown drive.
Rab galvanised himself for one last effort, forcing himself on, driven by the thought of seeing Barny and his new daughter. They emerged from the woods on to the grassy bank above the cottages. Emmie listened out for the sound of her children’s voices, but all was quiet.
‘Laurie must have them in bed already,’ she grinned.
Rab did not move. He stood staring at the familiar scene of river, corrugated roofs and narrow gardens. With alarm, Emmie saw tears streaming down his face as he choked back a sob.
She took his hand. ‘Don’t upset yourself.’
He shook his head. ‘This place,’ he wheezed, ‘I saw it in my dreams. The colours - it’s almost too much. I haven’t seen grass - seems like a lifetime.’ He s
topped, exhausted by trying to explain.
Emmie leaned up and kissed his sunken cheek. ‘I understand,’ she smiled. Slipping an arm through his, she led him down the bank towards their home.
Quietly, she entered the cottage, not wanting to wake the children if they were already asleep. All was quiet. She put down Rab’s case. Peering into the gloom, she could not make out a shape in Barny’s bed. She glanced at the big bed, but he had not crawled in there either. Puzzled, Emmie went to look in the cot. It was empty. She felt the first stirrings of unease.
She turned to Rab. ‘They must be in the other cottage - maybe Mary wouldn’t settle.’
Emmie went quickly, not waiting for Rab to follow. She called out to her friends.
‘Hello! We’re back!’
The door to the Runcies’ opened and Philip stared out in alarm.
‘It’s all right,’ Emmie reassured, ‘it’s only me. Look, Rab’s here!’
‘My dear boy.’ Mr Runcie came forward, seized his hand in a firm shake and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Come away, come away.’
He seemed agitated, glancing around nervously.
‘The bairns are with you?’ Emmie queried.
Philip avoided her look. ‘Please come inside.’
Emmie rushed in ahead of the others. The room was lit by the rush lamps that the Kennedys had taught them to make. Laurie was sitting in a chair by the fire. He stood up the moment he saw her, his arm in a sling. Even in the dim light she could see the cuts and bruising around his left eye.
‘What’s happened?’ she gasped. ‘Where are the bairns?’
Laurie gulped. ‘He came to fetch them. I tried to stop him, but he was too strong. Knocked me down. I didn’t—’
‘Who?’ Emmie demanded, yet the dread inside told her who.
‘Tom Curran,’ Laurie said, almost in tears. ‘I’m sorry, Emmie, I’m so sorry.’
She swung round and faced Philip. ‘Barny? The baby?’
‘He took them both,’ the old man said. ‘I couldn’t stop him - he attacked Laurie.’
Emmie pressed her hands to her head, crying out in horror. ‘No! It can’t be true. My babies. Please, no!’
‘When did it happen?’ Rab asked hoarsely.
‘Just after Emmie left,’ Philip replied.
‘It’s like he was watching,’ Laurie said, ‘waiting for the right moment.’
‘The coward!’ Emmie cried. ‘Why didn’t he face me?’
‘Wanted to know where you’d gone,’ Laurie said unhappily. ‘I didn’t want to tell him.’
‘He knows about Rab getting out?’ Emmie demanded.
Laurie nodded.
Philip explained, ‘He forced Laurie to tell - he had a gun, Emmie. He was so angry I feared he would use it.’
Emmie was shaking violently. Rab reached out to hold her.
‘I’ll go after him, bring them back,’ he panted.
She pushed him off. ‘Don’t be daft you can hardly stand. Tom would kill you.’
Shock was followed as quickly by a sudden rage. How dare he take her children? Tom did not love them - Mary was not even his. Madness and spite were all that drove him. Well, nothing would stop her getting her children back.
‘I’m the one that’s ganin’ after him,’ she declared savagely.
Chapter 38
The nearer Emmie drew to Crawdene, the greater she dreaded it. Only the thought of seeing her children again spurred her on up the bank. She had been travelling since early light, walking into Standale to save their ancient pony, leaving Rab sleeping an exhausted sleep. She had left before he woke, not wanting to risk another confrontation.
‘You’ll not go on your own to face that man,’ he had fretted, both knowing that she would.
He was too ill, Philip too frail and Laurie too injured. Besides, she wanted her friends to stay and tend to Rab.
‘I want you to get well again,’ Emmie had countered. ‘I need you to be strong, Rab, not dead,’ she had added bluntly.
He had faced her bleakly. ‘Are you coming back, Emmie?’
‘Course I am. Why shouldn’t I?’
‘You once said you’d go back to Tom if it meant keeping Barny,’ he reminded her.
She had turned away. ‘It won’t come to that,’ she answered brusquely. ‘I’m bringing the bairns home, not stopping in Crawdene.’
Now, as she trudged up the steep bank, fixing her sight on the familiar skyline of pithead and hunched terraces, her heart banged in fear at the ordeal ahead. Emmie decided suddenly to go to Mannie’s and seek out Helen. She would ask Rab’s mother to go with her so she did not have to face the Currans alone.
Emmie tried to ignore the looks of astonishment and curiosity from passers-by as she hurried up the main street. One or two raised a hand in half greeting, then stopped selfconsciously. Others were openly hostile.
‘Fancy her showing her face round here,’ one woman declared to her companion, not attempting to lower her voice.
‘Aye, the cheek of it,’ the other agreed.
Emmie ploughed on, red-faced. At the turning to India Street, a man blocked her way. She recognised him as a workmate of Tom’s, a chapel member.
‘Let you out of prison, have they?’ he sneered. ‘Too soon, if you ask me.’
Emmie tried to pass. He stepped in front of her again.
‘Crawling back, are you? I doubt Tom’ll have you. Soiled goods, from what I hear. MacRae’s fancy woman.’
‘Let me past,’ Emmie demanded.
‘You’re a disgrace to this village,’ he said, spitting at her feet as he walked away.
Emmie hurried on, gulping down her panic. For the first time she felt fear for her own safety. She could only guess at the rumours that must be flying around the village about her and Rab. They were already vilified by many for being pacifists, criminals who had been imprisoned. But that was nothing to the censure they would face for being adulterous, no matter that her husband was violent and abusive.
She rushed into Mannie’s yard. The brick paving was cracked and choked with weeds, the outhouse that had once been Rab’s printing works was half fallen in. The back door was bleached in the sun, its dark red paint peeled away. An air of neglect hung over the ramshackle house. Emmie knocked and opened the door. Inside, Helen’s room was half bare of furniture, the table and chairs gone, but the floor was scrubbed clean and a jam jar of bluebells adorned the work bench under the window. Emmie nearly burst into tears to see them, a sign that Helen’s spirit was not broken.
She went outside and knocked at Mannie’s door. When she was on the point of giving up, the door opened and the old man hobbled out. His puzzled look cleared as recognition dawned. They clasped each other in delight.
‘By, lass, it’s good to see you,’ he croaked. ‘Helen’s been that worried about you. The things we’ve heard. Some say you’re back in prison, others that you’re on the street.’
‘But I wrote and told her all was well - that Rab was gettin’ out,’ Emmie protested.
‘Rab’s free?’ Mannie cried. ‘We didn’t get any letter.’
Emmie quickly explained why she had come. ‘Tom’s stolen my bairns,’ she said bitterly. ‘I want Helen to come with me to get them back.’
Mannie’s face clouded. ‘She works at the manse - cleaning for the Attwaters. Takes Peter with her - his nerves are bad since he came home last month. Mr Speed wouldn’t take him back.’ He gave her a sorrowful look. ‘Emmie, don’t get your hopes up. The Currans aren’t going to hand over the children just ‘cos you ask them. And you being with Rab - well, people round here don’t approve.’
He glanced away, embarrassed. ‘It’s not been easy for Helen - you’ve caused a bit of a scandal, if truth be told. She’s lucky to get the Attwater job - minister’s more forgiving than most of his congregation.’
Emmie bristled. ‘It’s nothing to do with Helen. People shouldn’t hold it against her.’
‘Aye, but they do,’ Mannie said, his look awkward.
> Emmie saw that her presence was making him uneasy, for all that he was pleased to see her. She would have to face the Currans alone.
‘Tell Helen and Peter I called.’ she said, turning away, her heart sore.
‘Aye, lass, take care of yourself,’ Mannie called after her. ‘And all the very best to Rab!’
She felt a wave of loneliness as she left India Street. How she had wanted to feel Helen’s comforting arms about her, as protective and loving as when she was a child. But what Rab and she had done had made Helen an outcast in her own village. She felt ashamed, despite her love for Rab. But more, she felt mounting fear that her mission to reclaim her children was hopeless.
Emmie forced herself to carry on round to Berlin Terrace. Only the thought of seeing Barny and Mary gave her the courage to knock at her old door. There was no reply. She tried to open it, but the door was locked. Peering through the dirty window, she saw her old kitchen was in shadow, no fire burning in the grate. It looked unlived in. As she contemplated going round to the front of the house to try the other door, a woman appeared at the upstairs window.
‘What you want?’ she called. Emmie did not recognise her.
‘Where’s Tom Curran?’ Emmie demanded.
‘At his mam’s,’ the woman answered. ‘No one’s lived there since his missus ran off with a conchie.’ Then she slammed down the window before Emmie could ask any more questions.
With mounting dread, Emmie made her way up the village to Denmark Street. She wondered if she was imagining the gathering of lads on the street corner, the muttering of women at their doors as she passed. Was word spreading that quickly that the notorious Emmie Curran was back?
Her heart was pounding so fast as she approached the Currans’ she could hardly breathe. But perhaps she would be lucky. Barnabas would be at work and maybe Tom would be too. She had no idea if he was back working at the pit. She would appeal to Louise and her mother to let the children go.
THE GREAT WAR SAGAS: Box set of 2 passionate and inspiring stories: A Crimson Dawn and No Greater Love Page 37