Her Sister's Gift

by Isabel Jackson

  *

  Peter’s working for the railway had many perks. One was the free passes he accrued, which allowed travel by rail anywhere in Britain, and which he used on this occasion to take them on honeymoon to Torquay. It was a glorious summer and they were excited to be heading off on this new adventure of marriage. They settled into the carriage, cases up on the netted luggage racks, and sat side by side, watching Falkirk’s smoking foundry towers recede into the distance to be replaced by green pasture land, then rolling border country as they headed south into England. Peter treated them to meals in the dining car. Isa felt so pampered. At last someone was looking after her for a change.

  Their hotel was neat and pretty and Peter had booked a double room overlooking the sea. But when they arrived, the room they were shown had two single beds. This was not what the groom had in mind for his honeymoon. He went to complain and when the staff were apprised of the situation, they came up armed with sheets to bind the two beds together. Left on their own again, the newly-weds lay down, held hands and turned to face each other. It was perfect.

  Their kisses were gentle and clinging, like their goodnight ones while courting, but then Peter was roused and became more insistent. Isa responded and found a desire stirring in her, the like of which she had never felt before. They were helping each other out of their clothes. Peter was slipping her camisole off her shoulder, his hot mouth pressed on her skin. Kisses were raining down on her. Her own nakedness thrilled her. She did not need to think what to do. It was as if her body knew and had been waiting to be touched and kissed to open up like this.

  Peter was assured. He knew Isa was inexperienced and that he had to go gently, but she was so responsive. It was better than he had hoped. She was gorgeous, voluptuous. He loved the way she felt in his arms, the way she moved, the way her richly coloured hair waved and rippled through his fingers as he reached up to cradle her head in his hand.

  He laid her down on her back and moved on top of her, kissing her mouth deeply. He heard her breathing in his ear as he moved to her breast. She tasted of honey. She felt so ready. As he began to enter her, Isa moaned with pleasure. Suddenly, as he moved deeper in her, she gasped as if in pain. Peter was oblivious. Isa was struggling under him, clutching at him. When he finished, he flopped over at her side. It was only then he saw she was crying. Stupid. He was stupid. He’d been too hard with her on her first time.

  “Oh no, Isa. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I thought you were ready.”

  She turned her tear-stained face to his, smiling up at him. “Oh, no Peter, no. It’s not that. I just never knew I could feel such things. I am so happy.”

  “Dearest Isa.” They lay at peace in each other’s arms warm and secure, reliving the details of their first day as a married couple.

  All too soon it was time to go home to their new flat at 74 Jackson Street, Coatbridge. Isa was so excited about setting up house. She was looking forward to buying furniture for their home. She could make things like curtains and cushions herself but she would need to shop for material. Now that she was married, of course, there was no more working for others in their houses. She would be fully employed in looking after her own.

  That first night in the flat, she remembered what Peter had said about having money saved. After they had eaten, when they were lingering over their cups of tea, she spoke to him.

  “Peter, I was remembering you said you had money laid by for setting up home. I could make a start tomorrow doing some shopping for us. We could do with some curtains and cushions. I could get the material and make a start on the sewing.”

  “What money would that be? I’ve no money.”

  Isa was stunned. “Months ago you told me when you asked me to marry you that you had £100 laid by in your trunk for getting married and setting up home.”

  “Aye, well. I could see ye needed a bit of persuading. So I told you I had money. But there’s none. I gave it tae ma mither fur her false teeth.” He drained his cup and set it down on the saucer.

  False teeth? Isa thought. “But your mother doesn’t have false teeth, Peter,” she said, incredulous.

  “Naw, she spent it on something else instead. Point is, it’s no’ there. So we’ll just have tae wait and save. Noo, I wouldnae mind another cup.” He turned to the newspaper and signalled the conversation was at an end by hiding behind it, engrossed. Just as his father was wont to do. However, Isa was not his mother.

  She was furious. She could not believe what he had just told her. He had lied to get her into his bed and his house. How could he? How could he have done this to her? She had believed he was offering her the security she had craved, a better, more comfortable life. She had trusted him. She had had no cause not to. She pushed her chair away from the table and stormed through to the bedroom. She slammed the door and tucked a chair under the handle to jam it, like she used to do when her father came home drunk. There was no way Peter was sharing her bed tonight.

  Peter came after her and tried the handle. When it would not move he pushed and shoved at the door.

  “Isa. Isa, what are you doing? This won’t make us any richer, ye daft woman. I’m yer husband. Let me in.”

  “You must take me for a fool, Peter Swan. Believing your lies and getting married to you. An’ all the time you’ve known you got me on false pretences.” Isa was practically spitting at him as she held the chair firmly under the handle.

  “Don’t tell me ye only married me fur the money,” he sneered angrily. “I don’t believe ye. It was surely mair than that.”

  “There’s no way you’re sharing this bed with me tonight. You can forget it.”

  Peter heard the vehemence in her voice. He never thought she’d take it this way. He’d known there would be a discussion about the money sooner or later, but he just thought she would accept it. He was her husband. It was his money anyway. What was it to do with her, really? And yet, as he stood on the other side of the door imagining her in the bed on her own, he realised he had let her down. Briefly he had felt withholding the information from Isa had given him a sense of power: to think he had used the money to his advantage with first his mother and then Isa. Yet his mother had wheedled the money off him and now here he was in this mess with Isa. He felt somewhat weakened by the whole thing.

  Maybe by the morning it would all have blown over. He could give her money out of this week’s wage. He no longer drank with his mates, because to snare Isa he had had to go teetotal, and so they would save more quickly. He would say sorry. They would kiss and make up. It would be all right in the morning. So he told himself as he headed back through to the living room, sat down on one of the chairs and covered himself with the fringed velvet throw his mother had given them. The chair was not comfy and the beads on the throw scratched his skin but soon he had settled into a position that worked and he fell asleep.

  Isa, meanwhile, was heartbroken. Her anger had abated but she was miserable at the deception. What kind of man was he who could do such a thing? Could he not stand up to his own mother? Was his wife and their home together not more important, or was he just a mother’s boy? She felt lost, at sea. On honeymoon it had been wonderful. They had been so together, so happy. Was that all a sham too?

  Isa’s sleep was fitful and disturbed by old dreams of trying to protect Eliza from the train. This time she was down by the track, Eliza was tumbling down the slope on the other side, Isa stepped on to the tracks in the path of the train, hoping to reach her sister in time, but the train was at her shoulder as she crossed. She woke in the middle of a scream, alone in the bed, anxious and confused.The nightmare left her with a sense of threat creeping into her life that she had not foreseen. What was marriage to Peter going to be like?

  15

  Sure enough Peter apologised next morning and gave her a bit of his last week’s wage and some money an uncle had gifted them at the wedding. It was enough to soothe her ruffled feathers, he thought. She could still go out and buy something for the house.

 
He whistled as he left for work with his home-made food in his lunch box, ready for his late shift. It started at two and went on till ten. It was always busy, especially early on, with the busiest passenger trains as well as goods trains on the lines. It was hard to keep alert over the whole shift, but essential. Make a mistake telling a driver he could go ahead at a signal or checkpoint and there could be tragic consequences if another train was on the same piece of track heading in the opposite direction. He had a name in the office for being cool-headed and alert. It came from the war years, he reckoned. He’d had to have his wits about him then, right enough, as a guide leading troops to and fro between the front and back lines in the trenches. But he did not want to be thinking about that today. He was off to work, with a wife at home. Sure, they had had a spat, but it was all blown over now. He was a married man and it put a spring in his step.

  Isa went down into the High Street with the money in her purse, looking for something to buy, some knick-knack, perhaps, to brighten the dresser, or a vase for some flowers. She went into the second-hand shop to have a look at the bric-a-brac. She picked up several items in turn and rejected them. Then her eye alit upon a painting. It was of a horseman holding the reins of a rearing white horse. The sky behind him was a vivid blue, with pewter-coloured gathering storm clouds. He was wearing a bright-red jacket and a large feathered hat and he was trying to get the horse to cross the water that foamed at its feet. The picture was set in a lovely gold frame and Isa was enchanted with it. It looked like the man was winning against the odds and something in her really identified with that look on the horseman’s face. It reminded her of Peter’s stories about exercising the working horses at the front in their rest period. He had a real fondness for animals of all sorts, but this experience with the horses had made him deeply respectful of their intelligence and beauty. She asked the shopkeeper how much it was and soon left in possession of it wrapped in brown paper and string. The shop assistant had even made a string handle for her to make it easier to carry.

  Peter will love this, she thought as she headed home. The horse is so powerful and beautiful and seems completely at one with the rider. It will look good on the living room wall.

  When she got home, she found a hammer and nail, chose a spot to hang it and carefully placed the painting on the wall facing the door. He would see it when he came in. Then she prepared a casserole to hotter in the slow oven in the range, ready for his late supper after his shift. She could not contain herself. This was her first purchase for their house and she was desperate to share it with him. She was still annoyed about his deception, but he had apologised and there was no way to get the money back. She realised she hated his mother more for taking the money from her son.

  Despite herself she had fallen asleep over her sewing when she heard the key in the lock. “That’s me, Isa. I’m home.” Peter spoke softly so as not to disturb her if she was in bed, but then he saw the slit of light under the living room door. He opened it gently.

  As he stood in the doorway looking at the painting his jaw dropped.

  “What the devil is that doing in here?”

  Isa’s ire was aroused. “What do you mean? It’s a painting I bought for the house with the money you gave me. Don’t you like it?”

  “Dae ye know ken who that is on yon horse?”

  “No, Peter. I just liked the look of him. He looked proud, as if he was going to win through.”

  “Really? You don’t know who that is? Aye right, yer faither’s no’ an Orangeman.” He paused. “It’s a portrait o’ King Billy, that’s what it is, and here we are in a tenement surrounded wi’ Catholics. I dinnae think we should hiv that on oor wall. It’ll scare away all oor neighbours.”

  Isa’s anger fizzled as she realised her mistake. “Oh Peter, I didn’t know. I’ll take it down right now.”

  Peter caught her arm as she passed him. He looked into her eyes intensely. “No. Dinnae bother the now. That’ll wait till the mornin’. I’m hungry. I need a kiss.” And he kissed her on her full mouth and tasted the saltiness of her sweat. She gasped as he gently drew away. He smiled. “Now, I could fine do wi a bite to eat.”

  The next day Isa rewrapped the painting and took it back to the shop saying she would like to exchange it for something else. The shop owner knew he would have no bother selling it again to one of his feisty Protestant customers and guessed Isa’s mistake from the deep blush which spread across her cheeks as she returned the painting.

  “Aye, it’s no’ to everyone’s taste, that one. I have some very nice flower vases over here that might suit you.”

  When she left the shop, Isa bought flowers and once back in their flat she filled the newly purchased fluted cut-glass vase with the deep-red peonies and placed it carefully on the runner Chrissie had painstakingly stitched, which now draped the dresser. Much better, she thought.

  Isa was taking her turn to scrub the communal stairs a few weeks later when she had to stop as a feeling of light-headedness swept over her. When she stood up, she found herself quite dizzy and she had to sit down on a dry step to recover herself. A neighbour, Mrs Quinn, was arriving back from her shopping.

  “Are ye aw’right there, Mrs Swan? Yer no’ lookin’ good.”

  “Just came over a bit faint, Mrs Quinn. Needed to get my breath back.”

  “Ye must be goin’ real hard at it, ma lass. They steps’ll do jist fine the way they are. Awaw in and hiv a lie doon.”

  Isa started to stand but felt woozy still. This was so unlike her. Scrubbing the stairs was nothing compared with all the physical work she had been used to in her time in domestic service. Maybe she was sickening for something.

  Sharp-eyed Mrs Quinn saw she had not regained her composure. She put down her shopping then cupped her hand around Isa’s elbow. “Looks like you could use a steadying hand, my dear. I’ll see you in. Now let’s get you into yer bed for a bit.”

  Isa let herself be led to the bedroom. Her neighbour drew back the quilt and helped her on to the bed. “I’ll jist tuck a pillow under yer feet, lass. That’ll let the blood get back to yer heid.”

  She looked down at the pale young woman whom she hardly knew. She could see the signs but clearly the lass did not yet know. “I’ll look in on ye efter. You get a good rest. I’ll see masel’ oot.”

  Isa was so glad to be lying down. Her head was still spinning and she felt naseous, but it was better now she was flat. It was not long before she was dozing.

  By the time Peter had returned, Isa was up and about like normal, puzzled by her little turn but glad it had not amounted to anything. A few days later, though, she could not lift her head off the pillow without waves of nausea and giddiness overcoming her.

  “Oh, Peter, I think you’ll have to get breakfast yourself. I can’t move without my head spinning. I must be coming down with something.”

  Peter looked down at his wife and saw she was even paler than normal and there were blue half-moons under her eyes, like bruises. He felt her forehead but she was not clammy or warm. He finished dressing. “You lie on. Ma dinner’s in the cold safe is it – ready tae tak’ wi’ me?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll see ye later.” He gave her a swift kiss.

  Isa lay dozing fitfully, waking each time to nausea and light-headedness. Eventually she knew she would have to get up to relieve herself. Slowly she raised herself on her elbows then shuffled to sit upright. She sat awhile before turning to the side and swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. She waited again. She slid her feet into slippers and reached for her dressing gown. Carefully she raised herself to her feet and stood upright. She did not feel good but she had to make it to the toilet on the landing.

  She held on to the walls and to furniture, slightly bent over rather than fully upright as it eased the giddiness. She reached the front door of the flat and began to descend the stairs to the toilet on the halfway landing, clutching the banister firmly as she went. She had just relieved herself and was on her way out when t
he nausea overwhelmed her and she fell to her knees and retched into the toilet bowl with the door still open behind her. Everything was spinning. She thought she heard footsteps on the stairway. She lifted her head to turn and saw Mrs Quinn coming down the stairs towards her.

  “Oh, Mrs Swan. What a state yer in. Why didn’t ye tell me?”

  Isa started crying. She felt so weak. She must look a terrible sight. She started to apologise.

  “Shush shush. We’ll soon get you sorted. Dinnae worry. It taks a lot o’ us like this. I mind when I was carrying my first I was sick as a dog every day fur the first few months. But then it passed and I was right as rain.”

  Isa could not really hear what her neighbour was saying, so focused was she on coping with a new wave of nausea. At last it passed. Mrs Quinn helped her on to her feet. Isa gripped the stair rail with one hand and draped the other arm around her neighbour’s shoulders. Mrs Quinn slid her arm around Isa’s waist for support, and together they made it back to the flat.

  Once she had got Isa settled on the bed, Mrs Quinn popped back to her own flat across the landing, took a cup of broth from her soup pot and brought it through to Isa. She got her propped up on her pillows and helped her spoon the broth down slowly.

  “You need to keep your strength up, my girl. If I’m not mistaken yer eating for two now.”

  “What? You mean I might be pregnant?” Isa was astounded. So quickly? She and Peter had only been married two months. What would he think? A feeling wrapped itself around her heart and clutched it. What was it? Fear? Excitement? Joy?