The Legacy of Lochandee (17 page)

She knew there was no time to send for help if the calf was to survive. The calf's head seemed far too big to push its way through the narrow passages and out into the world, but inch by inch Bridie alternately eased and pulled with infinite patience, ignoring the pain in her arms and abdomen as she wedged her feet and took the strain. At last, with a stupendous combined effort, the head emerged. Star II had suffered enough. She rolled to her feet, almost winding Bridie as she knocked her against the wall, but the calf was long-bodied and it was still hanging with its hindquarters hooked inside the cow. It was crucial now that the calf should be born swiftly and breathe of its own accord, but the cow was exhausted. ‘Please lie down or keep still,' Bridie muttered under her breath, almost in tears with weariness and frustration. Eventually the calf was born, but even before she bent to massage it and try to stimulate it into breathing Bridie knew it was a lost cause. She persevered, but there was no sign of life. Carefully, she collected the ropes and bar and took them outside to be washed. She felt utterly drained and every muscle in her body had been strained to the limit.

Bridie made her way to the silent house and stripped off her wet and bloody clothes. She washed carefully then sank onto the hearth rug in front of the Aga. She had no idea how long she had lain there but she knew she must have fallen asleep. In dawning horror, she realised what had wakened her. The pain was excruciating.

‘My baby!' she gasped on a sobbing breath. ‘Oh please, oh please, dear God, don't let me lose our baby.'

Chapter Seventeen

R
ACHEL WAS ALMOST AS
upset as Bridie and Nick over the loss of the baby. Irrationally she blamed herself for leaving Lochandee, and insisted on returning to nurse Bridie back to health.

‘You're young, lassie, there'll be other babies soon,' she said brokenly, in an effort to comfort Bridie. She didn't notice Doctor MacEwan's grave expression, nor the imperceptible shake of his head. Although he could not say with certainty that Bridie would never bear another child, he had grave doubts, so maintained a troubled silence.

Nick was more distressed than he would have believed possible. He felt deprived. He was angry that Bridie had put the cow's welfare before that of their unborn child, but the sight of her white, tear-stained face had stilled the words of recrimination. She was suffering enough remorse for the two of them, without him adding to her misery. Later Doctor MacEwan drew him aside.

‘Your wife will need all the love and understanding you can give her. Be patient if she is low in spirits. It is a sad and traumatic event in a woman's life and they all react differently.'

‘Do my best, I do.' Nick said abruptly.

‘I'm sure you will. Bridie told me how much you both wanted this baby and I have every sympathy with your loss too, but a woman's whole system needs time to adjust, in addition to her own mental distress.'

A couple of weeks passed and Bridie remained listless and depressed, but eventually Nick and Ross, between them, persuaded Rachel she should return to her own home and allow Bridie to pick up the threads of her life again. Reluctantly, Rachel agreed but her heart ached for her only daughter, knowing there was little more she could do to comfort her. Moreover Nick had grown quiet and withdrawn, and she felt it was better that they should be alone together.

Bridie sensed Nick held her responsible for the loss of their child, but he could never blame her more than she blamed herself.

Back at Nether Rullion, as Rachel had predicted, Ross was eager to make alterations. He had almost completed the new bullock shed and had already asked Nick to procure more corrugated tin, to add a lean-to for storage of fodder. Rachel herself had bought hens to bring in cash for the household expenses. They had two milk cows which she milked by hand and the six pigsties, which were part of the original farmstead, had been repaired and were occupied by one elderly sow and five fine young gilts. These were to be Ewan's responsibility every day after school.

Mrs Forster, the widow of the original Nether Rullion tenant, had sunk into a decline since the death of her husband. Now, all the activity of building the new house and the occupancy by Mr and Mrs Maxwell and their adventurous young son had given her a new interest. Moreover, Rachel was kind to her elderly neighbour. It had been too much effort to keep the hens and pig on her own. Her cow had long since gone dry and been sold, so Rachel kept her supplied with milk, butter, and eggs. Consequently, her health and energy had begun to improve with the added nourishment.

Most days, Ross employed Peter, the young Pole from the camp who had helped with the harvest. He was becoming almost a permanent part of life at Nether Rullion and Mrs Forster got used to seeing him passing by with the horse and cart. Recently Ross had taught him to drive the Ferguson tractor and he always gave her his shy smile and a little wave, if he saw her in the garden. She had no idea how homesick the sight of her, and her low stone house, made him feel. Still, he had no plans to return to Poland. He knew his mother and sister had been killed, and he had received no answer to the many letters he had written to his father and elder brother. He could only assume they were dead too and he resolved to make a new life in a new country. He was grateful to the Maxwells for giving him employment and to Mrs Maxwell for a good midday meal, far better than anything he got at the camp. Gradually his English was improving too.

One day, when Ross had stopped to pass the time of day with Mrs Forster, she mentioned his young worker.

‘Aye, he's a grand laddie, but then he was used to farming back home in Poland before the war. If we'd had a bothy I would have taken him on permanently, if the authorities would permit it.'

Neither of them thought any more of this conversation until one wild windy day at the end of March. Peter was passing Mrs Forster's garden, when a powerful gust lifted her newly washed blankets like huge balloons. They billowed and danced in wild abandon but the weight was too much for the ancient clothes line and it snapped. Swiftly, Peter jumped from the tractor and over the wall, catching the blankets in his strong arms before they became stained with grass and mud. Only one of them would need to be washed again and Mrs Forster was truly grateful. He fixed up a new rope and helped her hang out the blankets once more, answering her questions about his homeland and his family in his broken English.

Later that evening Mrs Forster went over to the Maxwells' new house for the first time and Rachel welcomed her warmly, wondering what had persuaded her to come after she had refused so many times before.

‘I've been thinking,' she began, diffidently; ‘perhaps I could give the boy, Peter, board and lodgings in my house? I'd like to think somebody would have treated my own laddie kindly if he'd been taken prisoner over there. And – and it would be company. It never seems worth cooking just for me, but if I'd a laddie to feed again …?'

‘What a splendid idea, Mrs Forster! Are you sure?'

‘Aye, aye …' she gave a trembling sigh. ‘It's time I cleared out my ain laddie's room and let him rest in peace. It'll take me a week or two though. I'll give it a coat o' fresh distemper.'

‘I'm sure Peter would be happy to help you do that,' Ross suggested. ‘He's a willing laddie and good with his hands. I'll get on to the authorities tomorrow and see whether there are regulations we have to follow. If they approve, I'll pay his board and lodging directly to you and he'll get the rest of his wages.'

Bridie was also relieved to hear of the new arrangement to make Peter a permanent worker because her father had kept taking Frank and Sandy over to Nether Rullion to help him, instead of leaving them to get on with the work at Glens of Lochandee. She had become increasingly irritated.

‘I'll still need them sometimes, lassie,' Ross told her. ‘But you can borrow Peter in exchange when you're busy with the harvest and things like that.'

‘It's just as well there'll not be so much travelling,' Rachel said. ‘They expect petrol rationing will end soon, but did you hear the Chancellor has just put on eightpence a gallon in tax in the budget? That will make it three shillings a gallon!'

‘Speaking of travelling, Mum, have you noticed how tired Beth is these days by the time she's cycled here? She must be worse on the days she works at Nether Rullion? And as for helping at the garage on Saturdays, I think she must be exhausted before she gets there.'

‘Yes, I had noticed. Beth doesn't seem to have been herself since Dolly's death. Conan usually collects her and Lucy on Saturdays, to save them the cycle ride over to the garage. I think it's good for Beth to serve at the petrol pumps, apart from the extra money she earns. She always liked company. Ewan is not so pleased though. He thinks Lucy is his friend, to the exclusion of everyone else.'

‘Yes, I know.' Bridie summoned a wan smile. The very mention of children made her heart sink, and the news about Princess Elizabeth expecting her second child in August only made her feel more of a failure than ever.

‘And you, lassie?' Rachel asked gently, ‘Are you feeling more like yourself?' Bridie didn't answer. She knew she was abrupt and short-tempered with everyone these days, and most of all with Nick. She couldn't seem to help herself. Usually she had snapped out the words before she knew they had even formed in her mind. She couldn't even make love with Nick. The prospect of it filled her with apprehension. She knew Nick's patience was wearing thin and that made her even more tense. Worst of all, she felt Nick was watching her every time she went near the cows. He blamed her work for the loss of their baby, but the cows were her life – all she had left – and her resentment was growing. He could not control her daily routine. And anyway it was too late now – all much too late. She had lost the baby. Nothing could alter that.

Things came to a head at the end of May. After ten years of rationing, petrol could suddenly be bought without coupons. Trade at the garage was hectic. Everyone seemed to be taking to the road and there had been several minor breakdowns all demanding Nick's attention. Conan had taken a busload of holidaymakers off for the Whitsuntide holiday and Nick returned home late. He was hungry, tired, and frustrated. Bridie had long since made his evening meal and eaten hers alone. When he finally arrived, it was to find Bridie in one of the fields rubbing down a newly born calf.

‘There's more you're thinking about your bloody cattle than about me!' he accused. ‘Alike you are, you and Conan, obsessed you are with your own lives, your ambitions.'

‘I can't help it if you choose to come in at all hours for your meal!' Bridie flared back. ‘I waited an hour for you and, if yours is wasted, it's your own fault.' She didn't try to soothe him. She turned her back and marched up to the house. Nick followed grimly. As soon as they were inside, he slammed the door and seized her from behind. He was sweaty and his clothes were stained with grease and oil. Bridie resisted with all her strength, but she was small and Nick was strong, and he was determined to be master.

‘There's a wife I'm wanting when I do come home,' he panted, ‘not a bloody dairymaid.' It was not in Nick's nature to be cruel. Although he was ruthless as he removed Bridie's clothes, and then his own, his natural gentleness returned as he felt her soft silken skin beneath his hands, his lips. He knew he was being unreasonable in forcing Bridie, but he had waited long enough. Bridie strove to repress the unexpected surge of desire at his touch, but it was impossible. Afterwards, she lay weeping silently on the rug where he had left her, confused and scarcely knowing whether she was glad or sorry. She heard Nick in the bathroom, washing off the day's grime, but it was the slamming of the back door, the sound of his truck's engine starting up which brought her to her senses. He had not eaten the meal she had prepared. He had not said where he was going.

When Nick did not return, Bridie listlessly cleared away the remains of the meal. She paced the floor as the shadows lengthened, though it was almost midsummer and still light outside. The birds were gathering together in evensong before they settled to their nests. Several times Bridie went outside to stare down the farm road but there was no sign of Nick. Eventually she slumped dejectedly onto a chair and put her head on her arms on the kitchen table, and wept. The hot tears flowed freely as though intent on washing away all the trauma and emotion of the past months. At length, she dried her eyes and washed her face. It was dark outside now but Nick still hadn't returned. Had she driven him away for ever? Had he gone back to the flat he'd shared with Conan? She went to the telephone. She could hear the distant shrilling and visualised the untidy, cheerless flat, but there was no reply.

Bridie wakened stiff and cold and realised her own phone was ringing. Blearily she fumbled her way into the hall and lifted the receiver.

‘I was just about to put it down. Sorry if I woke you, Bridie. It's me, Fiona.'

‘It's all right. I wasn't in bed. What time is it?'

‘After midnight. Er … I thought you might be worried about Nick, Bridie?'

‘Why should I be worried,' Bridie snapped. Then, ‘I'm sorry Fiona. We … we …'

‘Had a row, I suppose?' Fiona said dryly. ‘Well, Nick's here, at my house. I thought you'd want to know.'

‘Wh-what is he …? Why is he …?'

‘I don't think he knows where he is, and anyway he's asleep now on my settee. Carol helped me get him inside. He's as drunk as a lord and certainly not fit to drive his truck home.'

‘Carol …?' Bridie echoed sharply.

‘She came over to talk to me about Beth. She's concerned about her. We got chatting about Glasgow and other things. Her children are away at a holiday camp and it was later than we realised. She saw Nick rolling about the village street on her way to her house, so she came back to tell me and helped me get him inside. I reckon he'll sleep until morning, and he'll probably think he has three heads when he does wake, but he'll be all right for now.'

‘I see. Thanks.'

‘Bridie? Are … are you all right?'

‘I'm fine. Good night.' Bridie put the receiver down and slowly climbed the stairs, wishing she had not been so short when Fiona was only trying to help, but Nick liked Fiona very much and the fierce stab of jealousy she had felt had been unexpected. She got into the big bed, only to toss and turn and wet her pillow with yet more tears. Would she ever get out of this deep despair, she wondered dismally. Would Nick come back?