A Maxwell Maligned (Laird of Lochandee) (12 page)

Ross decided he would write one more letter to Rachel, and one to Meg. He smiled to himself as he took his first cycle ride down to the village to post them on Christmas Eve. When they opened his letters on Christmas morning they would be full of goodwill. Surely they must reply this time. Optimism bubbled up in him. Life was improving.

When Tam McGill pushed his red post bicycle up the road to Windlebrae he also believed Christmas might be a time of goodwill and forgiveness.

Gertrude waylaid him in the yard and relieved him of his mail. He was no longer welcomed indoors for a cup of tea and a blether with Cameron, even as an old friend.

As he pedalled away Tam reflected sadly on the changes. Things had deteriorated since Meg and the lassie had gone, and young Ross too. He was almost certain the letters were from Ross and he wondered if the girls would receive them. Whatever the quarrels that had driven them all away he knew Gertrude Maxwell was the most unforgiving of women.

If he had guessed how desperately Ross and Rachel longed to hear from each other, Tam would have walked the four miles to Ardmill in his bare feet.

As winter turned to spring Peter’s cow calved and Rachel milked her each morning. She made butter once a week for the household and Peter sold any surplus. The three little girls followed her around at every opportunity. Despite the heaviness of her own heart their company cheered her and she was always kind and patient with them.

‘I think we should buy another cow,’ Peter suggested one evening. ‘I can’t supply all the orders for your butter, Rachel.’

She flushed with pride.

‘We must wait until Rachel’s baby is born,’ Meg warned. ‘She’s working far too hard already.’

‘She must have something new to welcome her into the world,’ Mrs Jenkins declared sentimentally, convinced the baby would be a girl. ‘I shall knit a jacket and bonnet, with leggins and mittens to match. I shall use up all my wool ends to crochet a blanket. Now Polly, just you sit there and hold the hank of wool while I wind it into a ball.’ The little girl held the skein of wool patiently, full of excitement about the new baby.

In fact the baby took them all by surprise, coming into the world swiftly and with the minimum of fuss during the evening of the twenty-second of May. It had been the hottest day for half a century in London but at Ardmill Rachel had ignored the increasing pain in her back and had fed the chickens and milked her cow without complaint. Two hours later her baby son entered the world with a lusty cry.

‘Mrs Jenkins will get a surprise when she comes in the morning,’ Meg laughed with relief. ‘This baby has done everything contrary to her expectations.’ Meg’s smile was getting broader by the minute as she cradled the newborn infant tenderly in her arms, crooning softly between her chatter. ‘He has not taken several days to come into the world as she said first babies do. Dear Rachel, I must leave you to get some rest, but have you thought of a name for him?’

‘No,’ Rachel shook her head. Tears began to roll down her cheeks. ‘If only Ross had come back. He must bear my name now.’ She gulped on a sob. ‘He will never know his father.’ Gently Meg laid the small swathed bundle in her arms.

‘He is beautiful,’ she crooned softly. ‘He will comfort you.’

‘Perhaps I should name him Peter? You have both been so kind to me,’ Rachel looked up through swimming eyes.

‘Think about it tomorrow,’ Meg murmured. ‘Sleep now, Rachel. Everything will seem better when you are not so exhausted.’

‘Thank you, Meg,’ Rachel caught her hand and squeezed it. ‘Thank you for everything.’

The baby was christened – Connor Cameron Peter O’Brian – after both of his grandfathers and the man who had befriended her in her time of need. Even before the christening the twins had given him their own version, combining Connor and Cameron to Conan – a name which was to stick. Rachel made no further mention of Ross so Meg and Peter tactfully avoided his name.

Willie and Ruth came to visit and brought a perambulator.

‘It is such a generous gift!’ Rachel said with tears of gratitude.

‘It’s a Burlington,’ Ruth chuckled. ‘Don’t worry, Rachel. They may cost three guineas new but Father always gets a bargain. He brought it ages ago and we have been keeping it a secret.’

The three little girls, Mrs Jenkins, and most of all, Meg, were thrilled with the pram. They all wanted to take Conan for walks down the village street, but Rachel would not venture near except to attend church.

‘This wee fellow is going to be the most spoiled young man in Ardmill,’ Peter chuckled, ‘With so many women to look after him.’

Peter watched Meg’s attachment to her nephew with growing concern. Her love for children was evident in the way she cared for his own young daughters and their love for her could not have been greater had she been their natural mother. It was the wistful look which troubled Peter. He saw it in her eyes as she cradled the baby to her breast, or allowed him to suck the tip of her little finger. On the evening he first smiled at her, Peter’s worst fears were realised. ‘He’s so beautiful,’ she breathed softly. ‘If only I could have given you a son of your own, Peter. It would have made me the happiest woman on earth to bear your child.’

Peter shuddered with fear at such a thought and hugged her closer.

‘Meg, I am the happiest man on earth already, now you are my wife. You are all I ever wanted. I could not bear it if I lost you now.’

‘I know, I know how you have suffered, my dearest,’ Meg whispered against his chest, but there was a kind of desperation in her response to his loving that night and many more nights when her emotions were aroused. Peter was troubled.

Every second week Meg had returned to Windlebrae while Gertrude was at the market. Since the birth of Rachel’s baby she had been torn between her desire to see her father and her reluctance to leave the baby.

‘You must visit Windlebrae, Meg,’ Peter advised with some concern. ‘You know that Rachel is the best of mothers.’

‘But she is so young, Peter.’

‘She has a natural instinct. She’s a wonderful mother and you would be the first to admit it. Anyway Mrs Jenkins is always here the day you are away.’

Cameron Maxwell was also concerned by his daughter’s obsession with Rachel’s baby son. He alone knew of her secret hope that Peter would allow her to adopt him and rear the boy as their own. He prayed she would not develop her mother’s possessive nature. Whatever struggles lay ahead he was convinced Rachel would never agree to give up her child, even to Meg.

‘Is there no word of Ross?’ he asked one day.

‘No. It’s strange that he has not written to you, Father, not even at Christmas. Sometimes I feel so angry with Ross, but at other times I do worry about him. Suppose he’s ill or had an accident? How should we know?’

‘I don’t know, lassie, but there’s little we can do. He could be working his passage on a ship to Canada to start a new life there. I hear others are trying their fortune over the sea.’

He had asked Gertrude several times if she had any idea where Ross had gone. She evaded his questions. In his heart he was sure she had had something to do with Ross’s disappearance.

In August, the death was announced of Mr Alexander Graham Bell. Whether it was coincidence, or whether his death had brought attention to his invention, Peter did not know, but there were several proposed installations of telephones in the towns and villages. Peter decided such a link might prove useful for his business.

The household and shop accounts were showing a small profit in Meg’s capable hands and he felt more confident. They had already decided that he should change his horse drawn van for one with an engine before winter. Meg was concerned for his health when he was out in stormy weather. Peter agreed it would shorten many of the country journeys.

Rachel’s skill at making butter was proving a great asset. Peter decided she should be paid a small wage, in addition to her food and lodgings. Rachel was surprised.

‘It’s no more than you deserve, dear Rachel,’ Meg assured her with a warm smile. It’s time you had something of your own. When Conan grows too old for wearing dresses he will need breeches and shirts.’

‘Yes. It troubles me, wondering how I shall clothe him. Mr Dewar has promised to make him his first pair of clogs as soon as he’s able to walk.’

‘The clogger is a kind man,’ Meg agreed, ‘even if he is rather quiet and shy.’

‘He’s not really shy when he gets to know people.’ Rachel bit her lip. The old cobbler was always kind and gentle when he greeted her and they often exchanged a few words together while she attended the cows and chickens. ‘He – he offered us the use of his paddocks now that Peter has bought two extra cows. All he asks in return is some butter and a little fresh milk for his porridge each morning. Do you think Peter would agree? We really do need extra grass and Mr Dewar does not even keep a horse to graze.’

‘He does not go anywhere to need a horse. Apparently he has no family either. I’m sure Peter will accept his offer.’ Meg agreed enthusiastically, little guessing what other plans Sam Dewar had in mind for the well being of Rachel and her baby son. ‘Speaking of going out – it’s time you went out more, Rachel.’

‘There is nowhere I want to go. Conan is my life now.’

‘Peter has promised to buy me a Singer sewing machine before winter sets in so that I can make clothes for Polly and the twins. Mrs Jenkins says the new women’s association – Women’s Rural Institute, I think they call it, is going to give demonstrations in sewing and other crafts in the village. It would be very useful for both of us. Would you come with me to the meetings during the winter?’

‘Oh, I couldn’t, Meg! You know I couldn’t.’ Rachel’s face had flushed and then paled, even paler than before.

‘You must meet people now that the birth is over. You never go near the village, except once a week to the kirk.’

‘And that’s hard enough,’ Rachel admitted with a distinct quaver in her voice. ‘You know the women whisper behind their hands. You know they think I am wicked and sinful because I have a baby and no husband.’

‘There are always some people eager to make the most of any gossip,’ Meg said sadly, ‘Once they get to know you they will realise what a fine person you are. They will learn to love you as we do.’

‘No,’ Rachel shook her head. ‘They are not all as generous as you, Meg. She shuddered at the thought of meeting the women in Ardmill. Her eyes filled with the tears which came so readily since the baby’s birth, and caused Meg much concern. Her anger with Ross flared. Rachel did not deserve the shame of bearing his child alone.

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A Maxwell Mourned – Part II of The Laird of Lochandee:

Ross and Rachel Maxwell take up life at the Glens of Lochandee, where they must strive to build up the farm, raise a family, and rear their animals despite uncertainty of their tenure, the social instability of the years between the two World Wars and the heartbreak of tragic loss. Their love of the land and each other gives them strength and determination to face these challenges.

ISBN 9781909335837

A Maxwell Takes Flight – Part III of The Laird of Lochandee:

As their children grow, Ross and Rachel continue their battles to consolidate the farm at the Glens of Lochandee, fighting against a corrupt landlord and the ravages of disease. Overshadowing their rural life, too, are the dark clouds of another World War and the impact on their friends and family.

ISBN 9781909335844