A Maxwell Mismatched, page 9
‘Ewan was saying you plan to go abroad?’ she remarked.
‘Yes. I’m bound for Canada for a year. I leave in a fortnight. Well, Lucy, I’m ready to set off home now. Do you want a lift back to Ayrshire and that jealous swain of yours?’
‘Did anyone ever tell you you’re mad as a hatter, Gus?’ Lucy laughed. ‘But yes, I would like a lift back, since you brought me down here.’
Ewan enjoyed the experience of visiting Paris, but he was eager to get home when they landed at Dover. He was astonished when Gerda seriously expected they would take several days touring around on the way back to Scotland.
‘We have to get back. I said we’d be home tonight,’ he insisted. ‘Father and Peter will have the grass cut ready to start making silage tomorrow. Anyway we have the car. I expect they’ll be needing it.’
‘I don’t see why. Your mother does all her shopping from the vans. I never knew there were so many butchers, bakers and grocers. She even has a fish man to bring her fresh fish.’
‘Well, that’s what they do for a living. It’s their business. They are pleased to have new customers. I expect they’ll call on us once they know we are settled in at the cottage.’
‘They needn’t bother! I shall go to Dumfries and choose my own shopping. I do think you ought to tell your father we need another car now you are married, Ewan.’
‘Oh, I don’t think we can afford two cars,’ Ewan said in alarm. He was beginning to feel Gerda’s demands were never-ending. He frowned as he remembered her father’s advice just before they said goodbye. He had been deadly serious. Ewan glanced at Gerda in the seat beside him. Her full red mouth had a sulky droop and there was a tiny frown between her eyes.
‘Cheer up, sweetheart,’ he urged, patting her knee gently. ‘It’ll be good to get home and have some peace in our own wee house.’
‘Will it?’ she asked plaintively. ‘Maybe for you it will. I can’t see what difference it will make if we just have another night, or two, on the way up north.’
‘No, Gerda.’ Ewan’s tone was firm. ‘I promised to be back to work by tomorrow. That’s the end of it.’ Gerda’s scowl grew and her mouth set in a thin line. She was beginning to realise Ewan was not as easily swayed as she had thought, nor as her father had been. Ewan had genuinely enjoyed Paris, particularly the gardens and visiting the Louvre. He would have stood for hours watching the pavement artists or watching the world go by from the outdoor cafés. Gerda was surprised to find Ewan so interested in art and history, and she had grown bored with sightseeing. She wanted to be part of the nightlife of Paris. She had enjoyed dining late in the evening, but Ewan had grumbled about being hungry and even a cup of coffee was expensive. But it was not just the sights of Paris which had caused minor disagreements; Gerda knew their honeymoon had not been the greatest success. She was Ewan’s wife now and he didn’t expect to have to buy her favours each time he wanted to make love to her. Nevertheless she kept up a morose silence as they drove mile after mile.
Ewan seemed content to concentrate on his driving, at least until they had left the busy roads behind. Eventually they stopped for an early lunch and he smiled and talked pleasantly. Gerda realised she could either sulk or return to normal but, whatever she did, Ewan was not going to change his mind, nor was he going to make any effort to humour her. She looked at his profile.
‘You’re just like your father,’ she muttered involuntarily. Ewan looked down at her, his dark brows arched in question. ‘Oh, never mind,’ she said impatiently. ‘Let’s eat. I’m famished.’
‘Suits me,’ Ewan smiled. ‘That was the general idea. Why did you say I was like my father just now?’
‘Stubborn. I can just imagine him being the same.’
‘It’s not being stubborn, Gerda. It’s keeping my word. I said I’d be back and I shall. My father would never let anyone down if he could help it. That’s why so many of the neighbours come to him when they need help or advice. I hope I’m as well respected when I’m his age.’
‘But you still argue with him and disagree.’
‘We don’t argue,’ he laughed. ‘We discuss things and sometimes we have a different opinion. I suppose it’s because I’m a different generation.’
Ross was pleased to see Ewan back. He hadn’t realised how much work and responsibility his son had taken over in the year since he left college. Worse he had been dismayed to find how much less fit he was himself after all those weeks without hard physical work, or how breathless the dust made him when shaking out straw to bed the calves – such a simple task, yet it had left him wheezing for breath and his heart thumping.
Peter had already mown the grass ready for silage and it was wilting in readiness for gathering into the pit.
‘I’m glad you’re home, Ewan,’ Ross greeted him. ‘We’re all ready and needing you to drive the silage chopper. Even young Billy is eager to get on while the weather holds.’
Ross did not enjoy silage making himself. He was getting too old for changes and modern methods with new – and ever more complicated – machinery.
‘Nick has promised to come over tomorrow and lend a hand on the buck rake,’ he told Ewan, ‘but he’d like us to send Peter over to Lochandee to give them a help when they start the harvest.’
‘That’s fair enough.’ Ewan nodded and began to ask questions about the cows and various other matters.
‘For goodness sake,’ Gerda snapped in exasperation. ‘We’ve only been away five minutes. Nothing much can have changed in such a short time. Let’s go home. You’ve kept saying that’s what you wanted.’
‘I am home. The farm is home. You go down to the house, sweetheart. I’ll not be long. You still have some wedding presents to open. I want to see Peter’s gift so that I can thank him properly when I see him.’
‘Oh that! You went on enough about it before we went away. It won’t be anything much. He’s just a labourer …’
Ross frowned and looked into Gerda’s pale blue eyes. He took a deep breath, but before he could say anything Ewan intervened, his own mouth tighter than usual.
‘Whatever it is, Peter has given it to us – probably chosen with great care too, from what I know of him. We shall both thank him for it. I’m sure he’d appreciate a short letter from you, just like everyone else.’
Gerda scowled but didn’t reply as she flounced out of the house.
‘I think Gerda’s a bit tired after the long journey,’ he said, proffering a feeble excuse on her behalf.
‘Mmm … well, I think she’s in for a surprise. I’ve seen Peter’s gift and it’s beautiful – quite unique, in fact. I’d be proud to own it.’
‘That’s praise indeed!’ Ewan said in surprise. ‘I’ll go and see for myself as soon as you’ve given me all the news.’
When Ewan arrived at his new home an hour later, Gerda hadn’t opened Peter’s neatly wrapped parcel, or the two small parcels which lay beside it on the new settee. Instead Gerda had opened one of the suitcases and was trying on a pair of new red shoes with ridiculously high heels. She also had on a very short, very straight skirt. It was obviously new too, but he hadn’t been round the Paris shops with her. He shook his head. She’d already bought a pile of new clothes for their holiday. Gerda’s father was right; she just couldn’t resist buying more.
‘I’ll open Peter’s parcel, shall I?’ he offered.
‘You’re more interested in Peter’s bloody present than you are in me! How d’you like my new outfit?’ She twirled around, swaying this way and that between him and a long mirror at the end of the hall.
‘You look fine. Gerda, I do wish you wouldn’t swear …’
‘Swear? Good God, Ewan, that’s not swearing. You wait until I really get started. And at the rate you’re going that’ll not be long!’ She strode through the door and snatched Peter’s parcel out of his hands and flung it back onto the settee. She didn’t throw quite far enough and it slid onto the floor. Ewan’s mouth tightened and he bent to pick it up and carried it into the kitchen to open it at the table.
He stood and stared at the picture in silence for several minutes. He couldn’t believe his eyes. Gerda strutted in to see what had caught his attention.
‘Well!’ she sneered. ‘You’ll see what I mean now. Some wedding gift your fine Peter has bought us. It’s homemade – a bloody picture made with bits of wood.’ She gave a hollow laugh. ‘Well, if you think that’s going to hang in my house you can think again. You can stuff it in the rubbish bin.’
‘Gerda!’ Ewan was horrified. Before she had joined him, he had felt tears prick the back of his eyes. He could visualise the hours and hours Peter must have worked painstakingly cutting out each tiny shape and contour, even designing the picture himself, for no one else could have captured Nether Rullion like that. ‘See the ripples in the sky,’ he said softly, ‘the darker shape of the hill in the distance, the golden sheen of a harvest field,’ his finger reverently traced the beautifully inlaid pieces. ‘And the farmhouse, the exact outline, and the steading … It must have taken for ever just drawing it all out – and then to find so many different woods, so many grains and shades,’ he breathed incredulously.
‘For goodness sake!’ Gerda snapped. ‘It’s rubbish. He’s made it himself, I tell you. It’s certainly not hanging in my house …’ Ewan turned to stare at her. He felt cold fury bubbling up inside him. He wanted to shake Gerda. He wanted to knock some sense into her silly little girl head. He forced himself to breathe in deeply, several times. Stupidly, Gerda took his silence for acquiescence. She reached for the picture.
‘I’ll put it in the bin. He’ll never know …’
‘You’re a heartless snob!’ Ewan shouted, and his fingers tightened on the frame of the beautifully polished picture. ‘You haven’t even looked at it properly. Have you any idea of the hours Peter must have spent – no, not hours, months and months! It’s a work of loving care, and he did it specially for us. My father is right – it’s unique.’
‘I’m not a snob! I’m not having that bloody monstrosity in my house. And …’
‘This picture will leave this house only over my dead body.’ Ewan’s face was white. His eyes were narrowed slits, and they gleamed more green than blue in his anger. Gerda stared at him.
‘D-don’t look at me like that! You frighten me. Ewan …’ She began to whimper and her eyes filled with tears. Ewan ignored them. He looked at his wife and wondered how she could look so beautiful and yet have no soul.
‘You have no soul,’ he said aloud. ‘I don’t understand how anyone could fail to appreciate the skill and love that Peter has put into that picture. We’ll hang it on the long wall in the sitting room. You wait and see, all your friends will admire it.’ Ewan was calmer now, his voice even again, but Gerda recognised the thread of steel in it. She wouldn’t dare defy him, at least not yet. This was their first real quarrel. He could hang his picture, but she would see to it that he paid for his outburst.
It was November when news of President Kennedy’s assassination rocked the world. It was announced on radios and televisions of every nation. Rachel was busy ironing when the radio programme was interrupted to make the announcement. The shock upset her more than she would have believed. He’d been so young and handsome, so vital and full of energy, with a lovely wife and young family – everything to live for … He was a leader, strong and trustworthy. He hadn’t given in under the pressure of the Cuban crisis. He’d stood his ground with confidence and the most powerful nation in the world behind him, trusting him to make the right decisions. Another war had been avoided. Who could possibly take his place? Rachel almost felt she had known him after seeing him so often on the television. She felt shattered and alarmed. She prayed fervently that the peace of the world would not be threatened now that he was gone. She thought of the words of the poet, Robert Burns:
Man’s inhumanity to man
Makes countless thousands mourn!
How true. Rachel switched off the iron and went outside to find Ross, to share the news and seek his comfort, as she had always done when she was troubled.
Chapter Eight
As Rachel had predicted, the months passed swiftly and it seemed no time before preparations were being made for Lucy’s wedding to Don Greig.
‘I can’t believe Chris and I – and Gerda too, of course – will soon have been teaching for two years,’ Lucy said, shaking her head in disbelief.
‘You’ve lost weight, lassie,’ Ross told her, eyeing her with affection. ‘Have you been working too hard?’
‘We’ve been pretty busy. I wanted to get most of the rooms made habitable,’ Lucy admitted, ‘and there’s only Don in the house so he has to do his own cooking as well as the work outside. He has 50 cows milking now, and another 20 to calve before mid-September.’ She smiled at Ross. ‘Of course, it would be a lot easier if he had a lovely modern milking parlour like yours but there’s no hope of that. Even the byres are a bit old-fashioned and inconvenient, but I think he’ll be able to improve them in time. He does have a woman from one of the cottages who washes the milk cans and keeps the dairy clean, but she has a large family so that’s all she can manage. It’s all Don can pay for, or rather all his father considers necessary. Mrs Greig is sending a hen house and some of her pullets over as soon as we get settled after the wedding.’
‘You’ll have a little bit of money for the house then, lassie, if you have to give up the teaching,’ Rachel said. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without the egg money.’
‘That’s what Don’s mother intended,’ Lucy said ruefully, ‘but his father has other ideas. He says the hens will have to be fed so any money must be pooled for the good of the family. He keeps reminding us that he has another two sons to set up in farms. He runs everything as one business so all the income goes to the Home Farm and he pays all the bills from there. He gives Don an allowance, when he remembers, but it’s little more than money for his food and clothes.’ She frowned. ‘I’m not meaning to criticise but even Mrs Greig thinks it’s not enough. She says I’ll just have to keep a bit of egg money back and say nothing. I’ll hate having to be deceitful but I do feel sorry for Don. He works so hard and it is his brothers who benefit. There are two of them, as well as Mr Greig and a boy, but they only help Don when it’s hay time or sheep shearing. None of them came to help with the turnip hoeing. They milk 70 cows, but that’s as many as their byre will hold so they’re sending all the heifers to Don, and Mr Greig has started dealing in dairy cattle. He goes to market two or three times a week. Of course they have a hundred ewes and Don only has 40.’
‘Surely one of Don’s brothers could lend a hand more often?’ Ross asked. ‘It’s only a couple of miles between the two places, isn’t it?’
‘Two and a half to be exact.’ Lucy grimaced. ‘Don wouldn’t like to think I was complaining, and I’m not really, except that I feel he works too hard.’ She smiled wryly. ‘Chris says her father has always been tight-fisted when it comes to parting with money. She says Jake and Willie take after him, but Don and herself take after their mother. I must say Mrs Greig does what she can to help Don.’
‘I’m glad to hear that,’ Rachel said, with some concern. What sort of life would Lucy have, she wondered?
‘There’s a boy who comes to Skeppiehill during the holidays and at weekends. He wants to work on a farm when he leaves school. Don says he’s a good help already, but Mr Greig refuses to give him anything for working. Mrs Greig gives Don a few shillings from her egg money every now and then, and sometimes a dozen eggs for the boy’s mother, to encourage him to keep helping. His name is Richard Green. As a matter of fact, his elder brother Adam is a dairyman on a big dairy farm about ten miles away. It’s not far from the school where Chris teaches and they’ve become very friendly. In fact, they’re more than friends but Chris’s father doesn’t approve. He says Adam has no prospects.’
‘Some of the good dairymen earn more money in a year than many farmers,’ Ross commented. ‘I expect Mr Greig thinks Chris should marry a farmer?’
‘Yes, he does. Adam has ambitions to be a farmer himself, even if it is only a smallholding, but Mr Greig doesn’t want to hear about his dreams. He doesn’t know Adam already rents three small fields from a neighbouring farmer. He and Chris have bought four pedigree heifer calves between them. They plan to sell them as heifers, after they have had calves.’
‘Good for them!’ Ross whistled. ‘They’ll get another four calves to rear if they’re lucky, then?’
‘Yes, Adam’s really keen on his stock. You’d like him, and so would Ewan. He studies the Friesian pedigrees and the sale catalogues and he knows all about the Nether Rullion and the Lochandee herds. Mrs Greig and Don know about Chris’s plans, but she doesn’t talk to her father about them any more. She feels a bit bitter because she can’t even take Adam home. He’s trying to buy a couple of dilapidated cottages with some outbuildings so they can house the calves in the winter and they plan to get a pig and some hens. If he can get the cottages at a reasonable price, he and Chris hope to get a grant to renovate them. I think they will get married eventually, but Chris knows that wouldn’t please her father at all, so no one mentions it.’
‘All right,’ Rachel smiled at Lucy. ‘We’ll not say a word out of place when we meet Mr Greig at the wedding, shall we, Ross? Are you listening?’
‘I shall be Mr Tact himself,’ Ross promised. ‘Is your friend Christine bringing her boyfriend to the wedding, Lucy?’
‘Yes, would you like to meet him?’
‘I would indeed.’
‘Shall I arrange to seat him at your table then? He would enjoy that and hearing about your herd. He’ll not know many people except Chris.’
‘Then we’ll look after him,’ Rachel promised.
‘I – er – I haven’t mentioned Don’s father to Fiona or Conan – I mean, about him being a bit – er – mean …’ Lucy said suddenly, and her cheeks flushed guiltily. ‘I shouldn’t have talked so much to anyone …’
