Time Shall Reap (24 page)

‘Oh, yes. David got a job in a men’s outfitter’s in George Street, it’s not great wages but we’ll manage. And he went round the factors, and he got a house on the top floor in Printfield Walk in Woodside. Just two rooms, but that’s all we need, isn’t it? We got the key two weeks ago, so we’ve been busy cleaning it, and David’s bought some furniture, just second hand but it’s good stuff and it should do us a while ... till we can afford something better, any road.’

Elspeth Gray and David Fullerton were joined in holy matrimony in July 1920, the ceremony taking place in Craigiebuckler – the rural-style church nearest to Quarry Street – with Helen and Jimmy Watson as witnesses. David’s father and Isabel were also there, but the only other person present, apart from the Reverend James Cuthbert, was little John, completely unaware that this event was a milestone in his life.

When the wedding was over, Helen turned to Isabel. ‘You’ll be coming to our house with us now?’

‘No, I’m afraid we have another engagement,’ the woman said, frostily, – ‘Like her mouth was full o’ marbles,’ as Helen said later.

David senior looked very apologetic. ‘I’m really sorry, but ... well, it’s just ...’ He shrugged expressively and Jimmy said, ‘Aye, well, you’d have been welcome, but if you can’t come, that’s it, and it can’t be helped.’

The rest of the party returned to the Watsons’ house where Helen had prepared a ‘spread’, and happy laughter filled the kitchen until it was time for the bride and groom to go to the tiny tenement flat that David had rented. Elspeth had to restrain herself then from throwing her arms round her small son and carrying him off with her.

Helen, seeing the girl’s distress, took John’s hand. ‘Kiss Elspeth,’ she instructed him, ‘to wish her good luck.’

David watched fondly as his wife knelt down to receive the boy’s kiss, but Jimmy distracted him by saying loudly, ‘Well, good luck in your new house, David,’ thus making him turn round to shake hands. The understanding older man then shepherded the groom out to the landing, talking all the time, in order to give Elspeth time to compose herself.

As they were going down the stairs, Helen called after them, ‘Come back and see us as soon as you can.’

They walked arm in arm down the lane, and Elspeth took her guilty secret with her to her new home, trusting in God that her husband would never uncover it.

Helen Watson had set off early with John, but, having to take two trams to get to the Woodside tenement where the Fullertons lived, it was almost ten o’clock when she arrived.

‘Come in, Helen. Hello, John.’ Elspeth’s welcome was warm, but she was perplexed by this unexpected call.

‘I’ve took over a letter for you. It’s been redirected from the cafe, and it’s got an Auchlonie postmark on it.’

Elspeth looked at the envelope with some astonishment. ‘It’s my mother’s writing. There must be something wrong.’

‘Don’t stand gaping, then, open it and see what she says.’

‘I don’t want to open it. She’s ignored me for years.’

‘She’s maybe apologizing.’

Elspeth opened the envelope reluctantly. ‘You will likely be surprised at getting this,’ she read out, ‘but I thought you should know your father passed away early today. The funeral is on Thursday. Elizabeth Gray.’

Helen looked keenly at her friend, but couldn’t tell from her enigmatic expression whether she was sad at her father’s death or glad that her mother had written at last. As far as she was concerned herself, she couldn’t help thinking it was a funny way for a mother to be signing a letter to her daughter and she wished, for Elspeth’s sake, that it had been more affectionate. ‘I don’t know what to say,’ she muttered.

‘There’s nothing you can say.’ Elspeth sat down. ‘He’s dead, and it must be terrible for her, but I don’t feel anything. He was a wicked man, never letting her write.’

‘We never ken’t if that was really the way o’ it.’

‘I’m near sure it was. I suppose she expects me to go to the funeral ... that’s the only reason she’s written.’

‘It’s your duty, lass. He was your father, when all’s said and done.’

Elspeth laid the letter down. ‘You’ll bide a while now you’re here, Helen? I’ve something to tell you.’

‘Just a wee while, then. I’ve got to get back, for I promised Mrs Coull at number two to keep her Billy till she goes to the doctor. She thinks she’s expecting.’

‘I think I’m expecting, and all ... no, I’m sure, for I’m two month already.’

Helen clapped her hands. ‘That’s great news, lass. What’s David saying about it, or have you not tell’t him yet?’

‘He’s fair delighted, the same as me.’

‘Aye, you’ll be a family then.’ Helen had noticed Elspeth watching John before he sat down on the padded fender stool, and hoped that the coming baby would compensate for the sacrifice of the girl’s firstborn. She still felt guilty at the way she had usurped the boy for so long, but it had been Elspeth’s choice to let her have him for good. ‘You’ve never regretted ...?’ she ventured, then stopped.

Elspeth knew what she meant. ‘No, it left David and me free to start without any complications.’ Not wanting to think about it, she stood up. ‘Come ben and see the bed-room. I’ve made new curtains and a bedspread to match.’ Taking John’s hand, she led them through. ‘David’s going to make a crib for the baby. He’s good wi’ his hands though he just serves shirts and collars from behind a counter, and we’ll put it here, at the foot o’ the bed. What d’you think?’

Head on one side, lips pursed, Helen considered. ‘Aye, it’s the only place for it, and you’ll still have room to open the drawers.’ She patted the heavy ogee chest standing along the opposite wall from the double bed. ‘You’ve made a real bonnie place for yourselves, though it was all second-hand furniture.’

‘David picked good solid stuff, so it would last.’

‘Aye, they’re not making things like that nowadays.’

‘Elspeth, can I have a drink?’ At five, John talked quite properly now, Helen having avoided speaking to him in the rough dialect.

Helen frowned at him. ‘You forgot your manners. Say please.’

‘No, my wee lamb,’ Elspeth smiled, ‘it was me that forgot my manners. I should have offered you something. Come through and I’ll give you some lemonade. We’ll have a cup o’ tea, eh, Helen?’

In the kitchen again, Helen remarked, ‘We got in the forms for the school, and John’s to start at Mile End after the New Year. He was too late for the intake this past August, for they’ve to be five before the first o’ September, and his birthday was the eighth. Still, it’ll be time enough.’

‘School already? You’re getting to be a big boy, John.’

He regarded her with his large brown eyes, making her heart miss a beat. ‘My dad’s going to buy me a real leather schoolbag.’

Elspeth was conscious of Helen’s apologetic face and forced herself to smile. ‘You’ll like the school.’

When her visitors left, she sat down by the fire. She had imagined that she had banished John Forrest from her mind, but it had only needed a flash of his son’s dark eyes to bring the memories of him flooding back – memories of that wonderful few days in November 1914 – six years ago.

But she was being daft! She loved David, and she would love their child, but she’d have to prepare herself not to be caught off guard every time she saw John Watson. For he was John Watson, not John Forrest ... and he would certainly never be John Fullerton, for Jimmy and Helen had officially adopted him.

‘You’ll never guess what happened the day,’ she said to David when he came home for his dinner. ‘Helen took across a letter from my mother, after all this time. Read it, it’s on the sideboard.’

He picked it up and scanned it, then said, ‘We’ll have to go to the funeral.’

‘We can’t afford you losing a day’s wages, and you didna ken him, any road. Besides, my mother might feel awkward wi’ you, so it’s best I go by myself.’ If he went, her mother might tell him the real reason for her leaving home, but on her own she would have just one day to get through before she could return to her uncomplicated life – uncomplicated, that is, as long as she succeeded in pushing John Forrest and his child to the back of her mind.

Walking from Auchlonie Station, Elspeth wished that the next few hours were over, and, when she reached the cottar house, she knocked at the door and waited, for she was only a visitor now. In a moment, she followed her mother silently into the dark kitchen, the curtains drawn as a mark of respect to the dead. The well-remembered smells of wax polish, blacklead and mothballs made a wave of homesickness sweep over her and set her wondering how she would cope.

‘The coffin’s ben there,’ Lizzie said, awkwardly. ‘Would you like to see him before they come to screw him down?’

Knowing that it was expected of her, Elspeth nodded and went through to the best room, where Lizzie went straight over to the trestles with their sad burden. ‘He looks peaceful enough, that’s one good thing, though he had a sore fight at the end.’

‘How did ... it happen?’

‘He’d some awful soakings, and he wouldna see about his cough – he was aye thrawn about things like that, for he thought it was a weakness to go to the doctor – and it turned to pumonia.’

Tears came to Elspeth’s eyes as she looked at her father’s mortal remains, and she fumbled up her sleeve for her handkerchief.

‘He was a difficult man at times,’ Lizzie said, ‘but he was a good man to me.’ Her voice quavered a little.

Elspeth wept openly and turned blindly to her mother. ‘I’m sorry for the things I did, I was so headstrong and wilful. Will you forgive me?’

With no hesitation, Lizzie gathered her daughter into her arms. ‘Oh, Eppie, the whole three o’ us were head-strong and wilful, your father worst o’ the lot. He was angry – a bitter man – and he tell’t me to burn your letters without reading them and not to write to you. I did read them, though, for I had to ken how you were, and I was pleased you got a job. Then Janet tell’t us you’d said some terrible things to her and she’d put you out, and I was really angry at you for a while, thinking you’d been so ungrateful, though I got over that and I wished I hadna burned the letter wi’ your address.’

Elspeth kept back the accusations she could have made against her aunt – what was the good of raking it all up again? – and they clung to each other, sharing their common grief, but weeping also for the long, wasted years.

‘I wouldna have ken’t where to write to you to let you ken about your father, but I let it out to Mrs Taylor when she come to say she was sorry about Geordie, and she said she’d seen you a while ago in the cafe in the Market.’

Elspeth had been so astonished by receiving the letter that it had never crossed her mind to wonder why it had been readdressed, but now she said, a little sadly, ‘I might have ken’t she couldna keep her mouth shut about it.’

Lizzie was off on another tack. ‘Your father guessed about the bairn, Eppie, and he forced me to tell him the truth when he come back from seeing you away at the station.’ She drew back abruptly. ‘Was it a boy or a girl you got?’

Elspeth froze. She had forgotten, in her over-emotional state, the tangled web she had woven, which now threatened to engulf her. Should she tell the truth and give her mother a potential lever to ruin her life again? Before she took time to consider properly, she blurted out, ‘It was a boy, but it was dead born.’

‘Eppie, I’m sorry! I’d never have asked if I’d ken’t.’

‘It was God’s will.’ Elspeth wondered if she would be struck dumb for this blasphemy, but went on with forced cheerfulness. ‘I’m married now, though. His name’s David Fullerton, and he was wounded in the war, but he’s got a job in a men’s shop. He kens about ... John Forrest, but not about the bairn, so you must promise never to tell him.’

‘I’d never cause trouble for you, Eppie, you’ve suffered enough already, but I’d like to meet your David. Why did you not bring him wi’ you the day?’

‘I wasna sure what kind o’ reception I would get.’

This explanation satisfied Lizzie, who had also been rather unsure of the outcome of their meeting, and over a cup of tea Elspeth told her everything that had happened since she went to Aberdeen. Before they knew it, the mourners began to arrive and the hearse was waiting to load the coffin.

Neighbours and friends commented on how well Elspeth was looking, and Jimmy Bain – representing Janet, who had elected not to attend, on the pretext of being too upset – came over to speak to her. ‘I’m sorry about what Janet did to you,’ he whispered, as he shook her hand. ‘She’s aye been in her element rampaging, and she’s getting worse every day – her temper, I mean, not her health, for she’s as strong as a horse, no matter what she says, and I’m sure she’ll see me off the face of the earth. I know the fight she had with you wasn’t your fault.’

‘Thank you for understanding.’ Elspeth gulped.

‘Where did you go? I was worried for you and you so near your time.’

‘I got lodgings in Quarry Street, and my landlady looked after me.’

‘Thank God for that, and you’re looking fine.’ Giving her hand another brief grip, he moved away.

The minister’s lengthy eulogy over, the cortege set off, the mourners walking the mile and a half behind the hearse. At the graveside, Elspeth prayed that her father had forgiven her before he died. She couldn’t bear to believe that he had gone to his eternal rest despising her.

‘Father, I’m sorry.’ For a moment, she watched the gravedigger shovelling the sods on top of the coffin, then turned to join her mother, who was surrounded by members of the farming community expressing their condolences.

‘Just a minute, Elspeth.’

The woman who stood behind her was another ghost from the past, and Elspeth’s stomach churned violently. ‘Oh, it’s Mrs Forrest!’

‘I’m pleased to make your acquaintance at last, though it’s in sad circumstances. I made Blairton take me wi’ him, for I was sure you’d be at your father’s funeral, and I’ve been wanting to speak to you for a long time.’

‘Aye?’ Elspeth was shaking all over.

‘Did you ken my John had got a grandfather clock made for you? He meant to give it to you on your wedding day, but ...’