Roses of Winter (18 page)

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When Mary opened the door for Ida Gow, she turned away quickly but not before Ida had seen the puffy eyes in a pale face.

“Mary, whit on earth’s the matter? Has something happened tae Charlie?”

Mary went back into the kitchen and sat before the fire without responding. Ida felt a chill spread through her chest. Pins and needles of fear crept up her neck. She drew up a chair and sat facing Mary.

“Mary,” she said softly, “whit’s wrang hen? Have ye had bad news?”

Mary dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief and then blew her nose loudly on it. “That’s jist it, Ida, ah hivnae heard a thing an’ it’s no’ like him. He always manages tae let me know he’s aw right. It’s been nearly a fortnight an’ no’ a word. When ah heard ye at the door ah was feart it was a telegram.”

Ida’s eyes dropped to her lap where her hands were twisting the hem of her apron. She had tried to keep up her friend’s spirits over many long days. Now, Ida had to concede Mary’s point. Charlie’s silence was ominous.
 

She looked up at Mary, realizing that her friend had seen her look of sadness and pity. “But Mary ye havnae heard onything official have ye?”

“Naw, it’s been as quiet as the grave.” Mary stopped, her hand flying to her mouth at the ill omen in her words.

Ida shushed her exclamation of fear. “Ach, it’s jist words, Mary, don’t be silly.”
 

Yesterday, following Ida’s suggestion, Mary had gone down to the office of Charlie’s company. “Did ye ask at his work tae see if they knew anything?” Ida wanted to know.

“Ah did,” Mary replied. “The man at the desk wisnae any help at aw. He said they had no word, and when ah asked where Charlie’s ship had gaun he jist looked at me and said he couldnae tell me that either.
 

Ah was coming away when a young man ran after me up the street. He told me that Charlie’s ship had gaun tae France. He said it was mair than his job was worth tae tell me, but he thought ah had a right tae know.”

“That was nice o’ the man,” Ida said. "Did he say where in France?”

“Aye. Dunkirk.”

“Dunkirk?”

“Aye, ah widnae let the lad go until he telt me everything he knew, but it wasnae much. Ah didnae think much about it until ah heard the news on the wireless the day about the government sending oot an appeal for people wi’ boats tae bring them tae Dover an’ other ports doon there. They widnae dae that unless something bad was goin’ on.
 
Ida, if he’s alive at aw ah think Charlie is stranded at Dunkirk an’ ah don’t think ah’ll ever see him again.”

Ida put her arm around Mary’s shoulders.
 

“C’mon Mary, nae news is good news. That’s whit they say isn’t it?
 
If he is stranded at Dunkirk it’s surely no gaun tae be easy tae get word tae ye.”

Mary dried her eyes with the hem of her apron, then blew her nose on it. She stopped, shocked at her own bad manners. “Did ye see whit ah jist did?” She got up, shaking her head, took off the soiled apron and replaced it with a clean one.

“Now Mary, ye know Charlie. If any man can get aff that beach it’s Charlie Burns. That man’ll no’ take no fer an answer.”

Mary snorted in agreement and then laughed softly at the truth of Ida’s words. “Aye, he’s a thrawn, thrawn man so he is, that man o’ mine.”
 

Mary collected the kettle from the range, filled it at the sink, and placed it on the heat. Stopping at the kitchen cabinet she pulled out a package of Rich Tea Biscuits and a plate and brought them to the table before sitting back by the fire. “An’ whit aboot your two lads, Ida, how are they daein’?”

“Ach no’ bad, Mary, jist working away and making the best o’ it like the rest o’ us. Ah’m just glad they’re at Yarrow’s. At least ah can have them close by me. An’ you still have the girls and Alastair with you.”

“Aye, at least ah have the comfort o’ having ma weans wi’ me,” Mary agreed, “Although Ellen and Betty are no’ exactly weans now.”

“Ah see them gaun oot early in the morning’, Ida said. Are they working?”

“Aye, Ian put in a word for Ellen at McLellan’s and Betty’s at the City Bakeries.” Mary picked up the kettle and went through the ritual of making the tea, an act so familiar that she did it without thinking. She set the teapot down while the tea brewed. “Ah was hoping that having a job would settle Ellen down. But ye widnae think there was a war on the way she behaves. She’s oot at the dancin’ or the pictures aw the time. An’ walking hame late at night wi no' a thought aboot the danger or anything. She’s got me up tae hi do and ah canny get any sense intae her heid.”
 

“Ach well, dae ye no’ remember whit it is like tae be young yoursel’, Mary?”

“Aye ah do but ah wasnae like her. Ma faither was a kind-herted man but he wouldnae have put up wi’ it. An’ then she has boys aroon here efter her like flies. Ah don’t want tae see her get hersel’ intae trouble, if ye know whit ah mean.”

Ida brushed aside Mary’s fears with a dismissive wave. “Ach surely ye canny see your Ellen daein’ anything like that?” But Mary, who had started to say something, thought better of it and poured the tea. Ida tried again. “Ah don’t see any harm in the girl, Mary. She just likes a bit o’ fun, that’s aw.”

Mary turned to Ida and sent her a fierce look that made her friend draw back in surprise. “Dae ye see anybody else haein’ fun, Ida? You know whit she said? This war is nane o’ mah business. Whit kind o’ attitude is that? An’ it’s no’ jist since the war started either.” She shook her head in exasperation and sat looking into her teacup.

Hoping to change the subject, Ida reached out her hand. “Let me see your cup Mary and ah’ll read your tea leaves. C’moan, jist for fun, it’ll gie ye a laugh.” Mary drained her cup and handed it over. Ida held it up close to her face and looked at it closely.

Mary didn’t have much faith in her friend’s clairvoyance. She went along with it, partly to please Ida, and for her own amusement. It was harmless, and at the back of your mind was the thought, wouldn’t it be nice just for once if a predicted nice surprise came true. “Well, whit dae ye see?”

“Don’t rush me now, Mary, ye canny hurry these things? Oh look at this! Something ye hope for dearly is going to happen but ye must be patient.” Ida studied the cup until Mary rolled her eyes with impatience.

“Is that aw ye have tae tell me?”

Ida looked up at her. “If your gonnae be like that Mary ah’ll jist sine this oot and go hame.”

“Naw, naw Ida, tell me whit else ye see.”

“Well,” said Ida, lowering her voice and returning her attention to the cup. “Ye’re gaun tae get good news but no’ right away.”

Mary put little faith in Ida’s predictions. But she knew what she dearly wished would happen and desperately wanted to believe that somehow Ida’s supposed special powers were real.

Ida looked up at the clock. “Is that the time? Mah man’ll be on his way hame for his dinner. Ah’ll stop in and see ye in the morning.” She headed up the lobby for the door. “And don’t you worry aboot that man o' yours.”

Mary looked back at the fire. The room was so still that the tick tock of the clock filled the room. She started to nod off in the warmth of the fire. Mary looked up and there was Charlie sitting by the fire reading the Evening Times, his feet stretched out to warm at the fender. “Charlie, whit are ye daeing here?” He started to lower his paper but before she could see his face she awoke to find the room empty. Tears of disappointment were welling up in her eyes when she heard the front door open.
 

She wiped her face with the end of her apron before Ellen hurried in. “Is there anything quick ah can have fer ma tea Maw?”

“Are you gaun oot again?”
 
Mary asked.

“Aye, we’re gaun tae the pictures and we want tae get there fer it starting.”

Mary stared at her daughter, a flush of anger rising up her neck. “Does it no’ matter tae you that we’ve no’ heard from your faither and he might be deid?”

Ellen turned to her. “Ma faither’s no’ deid and he’s coming back.”

Mary was taken aback at the certainty in her voice. “How can ye be sae sure o’ that?”

“Ah jist am Maw. If he was deid ah’d know it. Ah’m telling ye, he’s no’.” She opened up the bread bin, grabbed two slices of plain bread and spread them with margarine. “That’s why it disnae bother me.”

Ellen’s statement stunned her mother. She appeared to be completely serious. In fact she had talked as if she were simply stating fact. Mary’s anger evaporated and was replaced with a hope that Ellen was right, that somehow she did know. “Oh God, Ellen, ah hope your right.” She felt her eyes moisten again and turned away to avoid her daughter’s eyes.

Ellen put down her piece and came over to her. She turned her mother around. “Mah Da will come back,” Ellen told her. Mary looked into eyes that were afire with such faith that she began to believe that Charlie might return to her.
 

As Ellen rushed out the door, she brushed by Betty who was carrying a paper bag. “Is she gaun oot again?” she asked her mother who didn’t reply. “Ah managed tae get us some o’ those well-fired rolls ye like, Ma.”

“That’s grand, Betty. It’s a big help you working at the bakery. Ye’ll be popular with your faither when he gets back and hears where ye are.”
 

They sat down to a simple meal. After they had cleared away, they sat by the fire to drink their tea. Betty glanced over at a photograph of her grandmother on the mantle. “Maw, there’s something ah’ve always wanted tae ask you.”

“Aye Betty, whit is it?”

“It’s aboot Gran’ an’ her family. Ye never want tae talk aboot them. Why dae we never hear from them? They were’nae at the funeral were they?”

Mary sighed. “Aye weel, ye’re right, ah didnae want tae talk aboot that. But ah suppose ye’re auld enough now tae hear the story.” She smoothed her apron with a nervous sweep of her hands and looked thoughtful for a moment, trying to think where to begin.
 

“It aw happened a long time ago, when your Gran’ first met your Granda’. It was love at first sight your Gran’ always said. But her parents didnae like him.”

“Why was that?” Betty asked. “Granda’ was such a nice man. Was it about his religion?”

“Naw, that wasnae it, Betty. Ah’ve seen that happen, but it wasnae that. They jist didnae think he was good enough for her. Well, her parents were that auld fashioned even for those days. They wid make the family sit around to have a prayer meeting every night and sing hymns. It didnae sit well wi’ your Gran’, ah can tell you. She would slip oot tae meet him whenever she could get the chance. It wasnae easy tae keep anything secret in a wee toon like Campbelltown. But they managed it for a while.”

"They wad meet oot at Kilkerran and sit on the tombstones in a quiet part o’ the cemetery. Wan night, she told me, when they were gaun hame, they met her uncle oot for a walk wi’ his dug.
Now we’re for it,
she thought. But he jist winked at her and never said a word. So, it wasnae all o’ them that were against her.

The auld yins found her oot in the end and there was a big commotion. Her faither said if she didnae stop seeing your Granda’ she was nae daughter o’ his. There was a big argument. As ye know she married him anyway. So that was that. And from that day on, her parents never said another word to her.

They were the talk o’ the place. And it did mair than split her up wi’ the family for her uncle and wan o’ the aunties took her side and went off in a humph as well. It was terrible. If the auld yins saw her coming up the street wi’ the pram they would cross over tae the other side and ignore her.”

“That’s awful, Ma,” Betty said.

“Aye, it is that,” Mary agreed. “And it didnae do them too much good in the toon either. A lot o’ folks didnae take their side and it was never the same for them efter that. They were active in the kirk ye see, and your Great Granda’ was an elder. So there was a lot o’ talk went on behind their backs.”

“Ah always wondered whit happened Ma,” Betty said. “Ye know, why it was that we never met them an aw.”

“Aye well, ah never met them either. Ah saw them in the street often enough but they looked right through me like ah wasnae there. It went on for almost forty years and then your Great Granda’ died. She followed him no’ that long after. Your Gran’ took it very hard. She cried her heart oot.”
 

“Ye see, in the beginning, she had the idea that everything could be mended. But she gave up hope efter aw the years that went by. But it was her Ma and Da wasn’t it. An’ it wasn’t easy to see them go like that.” Mary sighed. “It was such a waste of their lives. Ah know a lot o’ families where that kind o’ thing has happened. But never you fear, ah’ll no' let anything like that happen tae us.”

Betty came over and gave her mother a hug. They sat quietly by the fire for a while thinking of all the wasted years, and of Charlie who was so important to them both.

The days of uncertainty continued with no word of
 

Charlie’s fate. Mary tried to bury her anxiety in the routines of the household. But at night she would lie sleepless, weeping quietly in the wee hours when her children could not see her anxiety and grief. Despite Ellen’s belief in her father’s survival, Mary still feared the worst. She wondered how she would cope with a future from which Charlie was absent.