A Crimson Dawn (27 page)

Emmie found it almost impossible to sit there and listen to their jingoism. Barnabas made snide remarks about her disloyalty and Louise grew tearful over Sam. But Emmie knew that nothing she said to the Currans would change their thinking, so she sat in silence, yearning for the ordeal to end.

After tea, Tom went straight to the Temperance Club with his father, so she took Barny home on her own. She sat up waiting for Tom to return, but when he did, he went on the defensive.

‘You've forced me to it,' he accused. ‘It's the only way I can hold me head up round here any more, after what you've done.'

‘Oh, Tom!' Emmie protested. ‘Don't blame me.'

‘Well, I do,' he hissed. ‘I'm ashamed of yer. And don't pretend you won't be glad when I'm gone.'

‘This is the last thing I want,' Emmie said, hurt by his callousness. ‘Tom, talk to me about it, please.'

‘What's done is done. And I don't want you and the baim coming to see me off,' he ordered; ‘don't want him upset.'

After that, he turned his back and refused to talk again about his enlisting.

All weekend the strained atmosphere continued. Emmie could not believe it was happening. On Sunday afternoon, despite the spitting rain, she cajoled her husband, ‘Let's take the bairn for a walk through the woods.'

Tom was reluctant, but as they walked among the wild narcissi, the strain on his face eased. He swung Barny up on his shoulders and ran with him, pretending to be a horse. The boy laughed and gripped on with delight. Emmie watched them, storing up the memory, trying to banish the image of Tom's furious face when he had hit her.

That night she lay on her side, sleepless. In the middle of the night, she felt Tom get up. He lit a candle. She watched him cross the room and stand peering down at Barny in his small bed. He stood there for a long time. After a while, she thought she heard Barny whimpering in his sleep. She sat up, then realised it was Tom sniffing back tears.

Quietly, she said, ‘I know you'll miss him more than anything.'

He looked over, startled, and blew out the candle. He came back to bed and Emmie knew she had embarrassed him by catching him weeping over his son. But suddenly, Tom whispered, ‘I'll miss you an' all.'

Emmie held her breath, wondering if she had misheard him.

He continued, ‘I'm sorry, Emmie - ‘bout hittin' yer - and in front of the bairn. I'm that ashamed …'

She reached out for him quickly. Their arms went around each other in comfort.

Emmie whispered, ‘I know you didn't mean it.'

‘I hate mesel' for it,' he confessed. ‘It's partly why I joined up - I'm not being brave like me father says. I'm a coward that hits his wife.'

‘Hush,' Emmie said, hugging him to her. ‘You've said all that needs saying.'

‘I care for you and Barny more than anything in the world,' Tom whispered. ‘Don't let him forget his da, will yer?'

‘Course not,' Emmie said. ‘We'll talk about you plenty.'

He kissed her with a sense of desperation, as if he could make up for the days of not speaking. They lay in each other's arms, waiting for dawn to come.

At five, Emmie got up to make his breakfast, as if he was going off on the early shift. He ate it in silence as the clock ticked away their final hour together.

‘I could still come with you to the station,' Emmie offered.

Tom shook his head. ‘I want to remember you just like this,' he said bashfully, ‘sittin' at our table with yer hair down.'

Emmie blushed. He stood up quickly and went to kiss Barny goodbye. The little boy stirred as his father hugged him, but did not wake completely.

Briefly, Tom held Emmie to him.

‘Ta-ra, Emmie,' he said hoarsely. ‘Please forgive me?'

She nodded, unable to speak. This was the affectionate Tom she knew of old, the one who cared for her and loved their son with a simple delight. Why was it that he could only be like this on the point of going? Surely the censorious, bullying man of the past fortnight was a charade for others - his father, his marras? It made her bitter to think his only way of escaping their bigoted influence was to go to war.

She watched him leave in the early morning light, a coat wrapped around her nightdress. He turned to wave and she waved back.

Returning indoors, she found a sleepy Barny emerging from the bedroom and wondered how she could ever explain his father's going away. She held out her arms and he ran to her. Emmie hugged him tight, feeling the emptiness of Tom's going. Yet even as the sadness gripped her, she was aware of another, less loyal emotion struggling inside. She puzzled over it. As she kissed Barny's head, Emmie had to admit that the feeling deepest within was one of relief.

With Tom gone, Emmie was no longer afraid to visit the MacRaes, for she did not care what her in-laws or their friends thought of her. She had lost Louise as an ally. Her old friend avoided serving her in the hardware shop.

When she met her in the street, Louise said cattily, ‘Now you know what it's like to be without your husband. You don't deserve our Tom. Don't know how you can hold your head up round here, mixing with them pacifists.' She had almost spat the words at her.

Emmie was shocked, yet knew Louise still grieved deeply for Sam and she took the rebuff without a word. Despite Barnabas's promise of help, Emmie found herself without funds for a fortnight. The Co-operative Guild helped her out. She knew from the hidden lists that some had donated to the NCF and were sympathetic to her cause. It made her all the more determined to fight conscription. Even Peter had received the call-up, but his employer, Speed, had lodged his papers stating he could not run his business without a delivery man. After a medical report, showing Peter's low intelligence, he was exempted.

‘What can I do to help men like Rab?' Emmie asked Helen and Jonas.

‘Charles Oliphant's the man to ask,' Jonas replied. ‘He's sticking his neck out, by all accounts. Helping lads at their tribunal hearings. Word is, Major James is furious.'

‘Go to the Settlement,' Helen urged. ‘I'll look after the bairn for a few days.'

Emmie left Barny in their care, feeling the wrench at leaving him for the first time for so long. But Helen distracted him with rolling pin and pans for drums, and Emmie left her son giggling and banging them with Peter.

She found the Settlement much changed. The printing press was closed, the lecture rooms turned into storerooms, most of the shabby buildings commandeered by the navy. All the student volunteers were long gone, Mousy was bed-bound and his wife struggled to cope with the daily soup kitchen on dwindling funds and rising prices.

Mrs Mousy greeted Emmie bad-temperedly, disappointed not to see Barny.

‘Shouldn't leave the baim without his mam,' she disapproved, making Emmie feel the more wretched.

She was rescued by a cheerful cry from Rab.

‘Emmie! What are you doing here?'

‘I've come to help,' she smiled.

‘By, it's grand to see you, lass.' He took her hands in his and she felt herself blushing under his blue-eyed gaze. He still had a cut above his left eye. ‘Where's Barny?'

Quickly, she told him about the past fortnight, skimming over the trouble with the Currans.

‘Peter was here last week,' Rab told her; ‘said there'd been bother about you leafleting. Are you telling me everything? How has Tom let you come here?'

‘He's joined up,' she said stiffly. ‘I feel it's my fault.'

Rab took her by the arm. ‘Don't talk daft. I'm surprised old man Curran hasn't bullied him into it long ago. It's you that's kept him at home so long.' The smile he gave her eased Emmie's guilt. He took her to join the others.

The Runcies were now sharing the cramped flat with Charles and Flora. Rab was sleeping in a store cupboard with two other men whose tribunals were pending. Somehow, the Oliphants still managed to make their dismal quarters homely and they welcomed her with enthusiasm. Flora was full of optimism about their new work with the Quakers.

‘Every man who goes before the tribunal is represented by a friend - a sponsor,' she explained. ‘Charles and the Runcies help the COs write their petitions and speak up for them in court if they want.'

‘What can I do?' Emmie said keenly.

‘Help me with the paperwork,' Flora said at once. ‘I'm not very organised at that. We need to keep track of each case - the verdicts - whether we can appeal or where the men are taken.'

‘Everything must be done in duplicate,' Charles said, ‘so when the police raid again, we have a safe copy of all the conscientious objectors' details.'

‘Again?' Emmie queried. ‘You've been raided before?'

Rab laughed. ‘Plenty.'

‘It'll get a lot rougher,' Flora warned. ‘Attitudes are hardening. Town's full of migrant factory workers.'

‘There's terrible overcrowding,' Charles added. ‘People look around for scapegoats - the new one is the conchie.'

‘Folk have short memories,' Emmie protested. ‘To think of all you've done for them round here.'

‘The Settlement has run out of funds,' Charles sighed. ‘We have to beg, borrow or steal to keep the kitchen open.'

Later Flora confided in Emmie. ‘We don't know how much longer we can survive living here. Charles's father cut him off financially some time ago. He's furious at his son's pacifism. He has a small stipend from the mission - and there's my work. But my patients can't afford to pay, so mostly they don't. Besides, more and more of my time is taken up with this court work.'

Emmie was taken aback by her candour. Flora saw her look. ‘You need to know how it is.' She was matter-of-fact. ‘We will do what we can, while we can. Nobody knows what tomorrow will bring.' She put an affectionate arm around Emmie. ‘But we are more grateful than you can know to have your support. I knew from the moment I met you, Emmie, in that horrible slum, that you were special. Rab's told me how difficult it's been for you in the village recently. You're a brave young woman.'

‘Not nearly as brave as Rab - or all of you here,' Emmie insisted.

‘Well, I'm proud of you anyway,' Flora smiled. ‘We'll all have to be courageous in the days ahead.'

Emmie spent a couple of days helping the doctor sort out the paperwork and compile notes for the forthcoming court cases, including Rab's. They learned that Reginald Hauxley was to be on the military tribunal. Charles was uneasy.

‘Tactically, your best chance would be to use medical evidence,' Flora advised. ‘You could be exempted for your poor eyesight.'

Rab shook his head. ‘We have to set a precedent for political conscience,' he said stubbornly. ‘I won't fight in this war because I'm a socialist.'

Charles nodded in admiration. ‘It's your decision. As long as you know we won't judge you if you change your mind.'

On the second evening that Emmie was there, a stranger turned up after dark. He ate with them, but said little. Emmie detected a foreign accent. Afterwards, he was given different clothes to wear - a sailor's jacket and cap. Then Philip took him away.

The following day, Rab suggested a walk up to Saltwell Park. He was restless; his tribunal appearance only two days away. The first buds were opening, but a cold wind whistled around them.

‘Who was that man last night?' Emmie asked, as they reached the park.

‘Don't know his real name,' Rab admitted, ‘but he's a Russian Jew. The Runcies are helping him escape.'

‘Is he in trouble?' Emmie was puzzled.

Rab glanced around, then steered her to an empty bench. ‘Russia is an ally of Britain. The choice for Russians living here is join up and fight or be forcibly sent back to Tsarist Russia.' He kept his voice low. ‘For a socialist and a Jew that means certain death.'

Emmie gulped. ‘How do the Runcies get him away?'

Rab hesitated, then asked, ‘You've heard of the Quakers' underground network for COs on the run?' Emmie nodded. Rab continued, ‘The Runcies are part of it. They dress the men up as sailors and get them away on ships. The Russian will be working his passage to Sweden, most likely. Others go from Liverpool to America. That's the best bet. Plenty Quakers to take care of them over there - if they don't get blown up at sea,' he added grimly.

Emmie shuddered. ‘The Runcies must be taking a great risk themselves. If they were caught… Mrs Runcie could never survive imprisonment.'

‘They are remarkable people,' Rab agreed. ‘For bourgeois liberals and believers,' he added with a wry grin.

Emmie snorted, ‘You don't change, do you?'

‘Neither do you,' Rab murmured, reaching for her hand. He rubbed his thumb across her fingers, touching her wedding ring. ‘For all your chapelgoing, Mrs Curran, you're still a rebel underneath - like me.'

She pulled away self-consciously. He eyed her.

‘Did something happen between you and Tom? He didn't hurt you, did he?'

Emmie flushed. ‘He didn't mean to. He was very angry about the leaflets.'

‘I'm sorry. That was my fault you got involved.'

‘No, it was my choice,' Emmie insisted. ‘I should've seen how much it would matter to Tom. I can't blame him really.'

‘You're very loyal,' Rab said.

She glanced at him, but saw no mockery in his face. Talk of Tom made her feel guilty and she stood up. They walked on. Emmie was aware that this might be the last time they could be alone together for some time - maybe for ever, if his appeal failed. Her heart began to hammer. If only she was free to tell him how deeply she felt for him - had always felt.

‘Rab …' She stopped him suddenly, a hand on his arm.

He looked at her, smiling quizzically. Her heart squeezed. But the recent talk of her husband jabbed at her conscience. Tom had been wrong to hit her, but it was not enough grounds for her to betray him. She knew that whatever her husband thought of her, he still cared for Barny. For her son's sake, she must not weaken now.