Time Shall Reap (7 page)

‘He’ll likely never come near her again. You ken fine the sons o’ the gentry are just after one thing from a lassie, and our Elspeth would never have let him touch her. He’ll have found somebody else to oblige him by this time, the filthy swine that he is.’

Dangerously, Lizzie took the last word. ‘No, you’re wrong, Geordie. He’s a decent laddie, in spite o’ what you think, and I’m sure there’s a good explanation for him not coming. He’s not the kind to hurt a lassie without reason.’

Meg Forrest took off her tight-fitting hat with relief. Her head had been sore enough without having to wear it, but she’d had to keep up an appearance in the kirk. Blairton was the largest farm for over twenty miles round Auchlonie, and the Forrests were respected by villagers, farmers and farm servants alike, and she couldn’t have let it be seen that she was upset. Anyway, John wasn’t the only one who had drunk himself stupid yesterday forenoon, and five other mothers must be feeling the same. Knowing the boys as she did, Meg guessed that their drinking had been a means of forgetting what lay in front of them, but it had been an awful affront when Sam Coull and his brother had taken her son home after the hotel bar closed at half past two. She had been so angry that she had told the hotel-keeper what she thought of him for giving them drink at all.

‘They’re bona fide travellers, being members of His Majesty’s Services,’ Sam had excused himself, ‘so I couldn’t refuse them.’

‘Bona fide nothing!’ she had ranted. ‘They’re still just bairns.’

The two men had taken John up to his bed, and he had slept for almost eighteen hours, though his head hadn’t been properly clear when he left to catch the train to Aberdeen.

Her husband gave a sudden grunt beside her as he opened his front stud and pulled his shirt over his head, moving his chin from side to side to ease his chafed neck. He sat down on the bed to remove his Sunday boots, then stood up and held on to the knob of the bed to pull off his trousers. Normally, Meg would have reprimanded him for not opening his buttons first, but this wasn’t a normal day and he looked so vulnerable in his semmit and drawers, his dark curly hair all tousled, that she couldn’t say anything.

He looked up at her sadly. ‘If only I’d signed that form to let him go to Canada, he’d not be on his road to France this day.’

It was the first time that Meg had heard her husband admit he had been wrong, and it made her realize how upset he was. ‘You did what you thought was best for him,’ she consoled.

‘I did what I thought was best for me.’ John Forrest senior – known to all by the name of his farm as was the custom in these parts – had slipped on his old shirt and trousers and rose to lift his tweed jacket off the peg on the back of the bedroom door. ‘I wanted him to learn the running o’ the place so he could take over Blairton from me some day, but maybe I worked him some hard.’

‘I never heard him complaining.’

‘No, but he could hardly wait to get away to Canada.’

‘He was looking for excitement, that’s all.’ Meg fastened her skirt buttons. ‘But he’ll have had more than his fill o’ excitement by the time this war’s finished, and I’m sure he’ll not want to leave again, so maybe it’s a blessing in disguise.’

His worried expression eased. ‘Aye, lass, I’m being daft. He’ll settle down when he comes back from the war.’

When he comes back, Meg thought – if he comes back would be more like it. How many of the six young men would come back? And if they weren’t killed or maimed in some way, would they be content to return to the farms, where the only excitement was when a cow calved or a horse foaled? Or would they roam the world, seeking other causes to fight, other injustices to put right, once they’d got the taste for it?

Blairton made for the door. ‘I’ll have a walk to the farthest park to see if Donaldson’s sorted the paling yet, but I should be back for my dinner.’

Listening to his tacketty boots clattering down the stairs, she wondered how long the war would last, and what the outcome would be. Would the Huns be victorious and the Kaiser sit in Buckingham Palace one day? She could even put up with that, if John came back to her all in one piece.

The constant clicketty-clack was annoying John. There was something he had to think about and the noise wouldn’t let him concentrate – not that his brain was in a fit state to concentrate, anyway, it was too fuzzy. He had drunk far too much yesterday – he couldn’t even remember going home – and his head had still been pounding when he left Blairton this morning. The other lads had been as bad, of course. None of them had said a word when they boarded the train, and they were all sleeping now, lying back with their mouths open. If he could just remember what it was that was niggling at the back of his mind, he could sleep, too. He hadn’t wanted to go drinking with them, he could remember that, but they’d laughed at him and teased him about ... being tied to the apron strings already? Whose apron strings, and why hadn’t he wanted to go with them? He had always been ready for a drink before.

Still puzzling, he closed his eyes again, but he couldn’t relax. It was awful to have lost almost a whole day and not to know ... there was something he should have done that he hadn’t been able to. Somewhere he should have gone last night. Somebody he should have seen ... Elspeth! Oh, Christ! Jerking up, he felt as sick as he had done yesterday. He had been invited for supper and he hadn’t gone! What would she be thinking of him? After all that had happened between them on Friday, he had let her down as if she meant nothing to him. She would think he was tired of her. She would believe he had cast her aside because he’d had enough of her. He would never have enough of her; he loved her so much that his heart was aching unbearably because he had hurt her.

He wished now that he had told his mother about Elspeth. He had meant to tell her before he went to the Grays’ house, but that had been knocked on the head by his getting drunk. If she had known about the invitation, she would have sent somebody to apologize to the Grays for him not being able to go, but as it was, they would have been left waiting, and Geordie would likely never let him set foot inside the house again. He would have to write to her, to let her know that he did love her, and that he couldn’t help what had happened.

Couldn’t help it? He should have had the sense to stick to his guns and not let himself be talked into going to the Boar’s Head with his friends. He’d been a weakling, and he despised himself, as Elspeth would despise him when she found out why he had never appeared. He would have to do something to make it up to her, for he couldn’t bear the thought of losing her.

As soon as Geordie set off on his Sunday afternoon walk, his wife took out her knitting – she had to wait until he went out because he disapproved of even this harmless occupation on the Sabbath. Elspeth pretended to read, but could not concentrate for worrying. John hadn’t been in church, but Blairton had seemed normal enough, and Mrs Forrest – her cloche hat, just like Queen Mary’s, fitting closely on her head – had smiled to the Grays when she went out. She couldn’t have known that her son had been invited to the cottar house for supper, otherwise she would have told them why he hadn’t gone.

Her hands going like shuttles, Lizzie glanced across at her daughter with a rush of tenderness and wished that she could do something to soothe the girl’s wounded feelings, she looked so miserable. ‘He maybe had a cold.’

Elspeth shook her head. ‘A cold wouldn’t have kept him away.’ John had said he was leaving in the forenoon, she thought, mournfully, so he would be gone now and he hadn’t even come to say goodbye.

When Geordie returned, Lizzie put a small kebbock of home-made cheese on the table, and some of the oatcakes she baked every Friday, but, as on the previous evening, he was the only one with an appetite, and was quite oblivious to the fact that his wife and daughter hardly ate a thing.

Elspeth, who generally chattered on during the long Sunday evenings, sat morosely looking into the fire for over an hour, and when her father at last noticed her silence, he cursed John Forrest for hurting her. The uncomfortable situation lasted until just after eight o’clock, then Elspeth stood up. ‘I think I’ll go to my bed, for I’m ...’ Putting her hand to her mouth to stifle a sob, she ran out.

Geordie was about to vow vengeance on the young man, but one look at his wife’s face – her lips compressed, her eyes daring him to swear – made him tone down his words. ‘I’ll tell him what I think o’ him the next time I see him, the ... scoundrel that he is.’

Lizzie gave him time to simmer down, then said, softly, ‘Leave it be, Geordie. If the laddie’s as decent as I think he is, he’ll write and let her ken why he didna come last night, and if he’s not ... well, she’ll just have to get over him, for she’d be better off without him.’

Making her way cautiously along the icy road on Monday morning, Elspeth was dreading being questioned by Nettie and Kirsty about Saturday night, but when she entered the back room of the dressmaker’s shop, her puffed eyes told them that she had been weeping and they remained sympathetically silent. She knew they were thinking that John hadn’t asked her father about courting her, or that her father had refused his permission, and it was best to leave it at that.

About eleven o’clock, Mrs Taylor, wife of the cattleman at Upper Mains, came in with a skirt to be let out, and was full of what she’d just heard. ‘Donald Stewart’s mother was telling me he got blazing drunk in the Boar’s Head on Saturday morning. Mind you, there was other five besides him that had to be taken home helpless – Alex Paterson, Willie Anderson, Dougal McLeod, John Forrest and Davie ... mercy on us! What’s wrong wi’ the lassie?’

Elspeth had let out a low moan, and was hanging on to the bench, her face chalk-white, her eyes like saucers. ‘I think I’ve got a touch o’ the flu,’ she whispered.

Grace Fraser looked quite concerned, peering at her over the top of her steel-rimmed spectacles. ‘Yes, you don’t look at all well, Elspeth. You’d better go home.’

In a daze, Elspeth went to get her coat, feeling worse than ever when she heard Mrs Taylor saying, ‘They’d to leave wi’ the first train on Sunday, and God kens when they’ll come back, if they ever come back at all.’

As she stumbled unseeing along the road, the girl tried to come to terms with what she had just learned. John had got drunk – that was why he hadn’t come to supper on Saturday – and she’d been worrying herself sick in case he was ill. She was trembling with hurt at his thoughtlessness, with anxiety for his future well-being, with annoyance at herself for having reacted so badly in front of Mrs Taylor and Miss Fraser. And Nettie Duffus and Kirsty Tough would be laughing at her for believing him when he said he loved her. But he did love her, and now be was gone, and she didn’t know when, or if, he would come back. And nothing would ever be the same again.

Lizzie was taken aback when Elspeth dragged herself into the kitchen. ‘Eppie! What ails you, lass?’

Her mother’s concern made the girl burst into tears. ‘It’s John! He went to the Boar’s Head on Saturday morning wi’ some of the other lads, and they ...’ She couldn’t go on.

‘What is it? What happened? Was he in a fight?’

‘Oh, no. He got drunk and had to be taken home!’

‘Is that all?’ Lizzie couldn’t help laughing.

Elspeth was put out by her mother’s insensitivity. ‘I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again, and you ask me, “Is that all?”’

‘Eppie, lass, it’s not as bad as that. He’ll write to you, and he’ll be back on leave – maybe in just a few month.’

‘Just a few month?’ It was an eternity to a girl in love.

‘It’ll soon pass, Eppie, and don’t blame him too much. Like your father, I’ve aye been against strong drink, but I can excuse the laddie for trying to drown his troubles at such a time. It was daft, but he’s young, and he’ll be home in no time. You’ve had too much excitement lately, that’s why you’re so easy upset, and you’d feel better if you took a lie down for awhile. Wait, I’ll make a drop tea for you first.’

When Geordie came home in the middle of the day, his wife explained the situation to him, doing her best to make him keep his voice down when she saw that he was about to explode over the boy’s thoughtlessness. ‘Eppie’s up in her bed, and she’s miserable enough already without listening to you going on.’

‘Aye, and it’s all young Forrest’s blame.’ Geordie did keep his voice low so that the girl would not hear. ‘He’s near a man, but he’s still a bairn, getting drunk without a care in the world.’

‘Bairns don’t get drunk,’ Lizzie said, caustically, ‘and he wasn’t the only one. I’m not denying they were all fools to do what they did, but they’re on their way to France now and God knows what lies in store for them. They were only trying to forget about it for a wee while.’

‘Aye, well.’ Geordie fell silent for a moment, then asked, ‘Is she terrible upset?’

‘What else would she be? He broke his promise to her and went away without saying goodbye, and she doesna ken if she’ll ever see him again.’

Although he had always been a strict father, Geordie Gray loved his only child more than even Lizzie could guess. ‘I suppose I’d best go up and say something to her?’

‘As long as it’s nothing against John Forrest,’ Lizzie warned.

Ever since she came to bed, Elspeth had wondered if this was God’s way of showing his displeasure at what she had done. Had He set the Devil out to make John turn from the straight and narrow path so that he wouldn’t be fit to come to supper at her house? Had Lucifer himself urged the other boys to make John go drinking with them? It must have been something like that, for surely John wouldn’t have got drunk willingly, knowing that he was to be seeing her in the evening. It must be her that God was punishing, and she wished that she had never gone to Blairton ... no, she didn’t wish that. At least she had all the hours of bliss with John to remember until he came back.

At dinnertime, she heard her father coming in, and prayed that he would not come upstairs – she couldn’t face him just yet – but in a few minutes he walked in, looking very ill at ease. Standing at the foot of her bed, he murmured, rather awkwardly, ‘The war’ll be over by Christmas – the Gordons’ll make short work o’ Kaiser Bill and his Huns.’