To us, you’re family. You have to trust us to do what’s best for you and Daniel

Stranger At The Door, Day39

It would have to be Queensferry, Daniel thought. A place where there was, by all accounts, still work around the new bridge, where the two of them could walk down by the river of an evening, where there would be plenty of places to rent now that most of the bridge builders had gone home.

There would be money to be earned for those brave enough to scale the heights of the new Forth Bridge – money for the future, for their plans.

By the time he had finished imagining the future, Daniel’s step had lightened and he had reached the early-morning bustle of Waverley Station. A train was already sending impatient plumes of smoke into the chilly morning air. Outside the guard’s van, a man was struggling with two bulky crates.

“Aye, this is the workers’ train for Queensferry. Leavin’ in 10 meenits, if I can get these crates intae the van.” “Need a hand?” Daniel asked, knowing what the answer would be.

It was cold in the guard’s van with the door open a little way to let in the light, but Daniel, perched on a box, watching the landscape slide past, reflected on his good luck at saving the price of a ticket.

“First stop,” the guard announced, breaking into his train of thought. He helped the man lift one of the crates on to the station platform.

Familiar

“Next stop’s the Junction,” his companion told him. Daniel said nothing, but watched as the landscape became familiar. There were the barges on the canal, a huddle of houses, one shabby little cottage halfhidden by trees, smoke rising from its chimney.

His parents’ house. For a fleeting moment, he imagined his mother, up and about before anyone else, coaxing the fire into life, making things ready for his father. His father, whom he had spoken to just a few nights before.

“Don’t run away from trouble,” he had said. “Turn and face it, boy. I ran away from trouble more than once and I’ll regret it till my dying day. When there’s trouble, you turn and face it. Put up a fight and overcome it if you can.”

Looking for work was, to Geraint Morrison, an excuse for running away from trouble. “Ah said will ye gie me a hand wi’ this crate.” The impatient tones of his companion broke into his thoughts.

The crate was manhandled on to the platform. There was no-one about. When Chisholm arrived, late for once, to collect it, he saw the workers’ train disappearing into the distance.

“You’ve been crying,” Jess said accusingly, once Sarah had released her from a hug and settled her in a fireside chair, her feet up on a little footstool.

“No, I haven’t.” Sarah smoothed back her hair and tried to hide her weariness.

“Don’t you cry, Sarah. Daniel will be back as soon as he finds work. But you canna sit here, just waiting. There are things that have to be done.”

“You shouldn’t be out on a cold day like this, Jess. Not in your condition.” Jess, plump and pink-cheeked, lifted their sombre mood by chuckling.

“My condition? I’ve never felt better, Sarah. Fair contented and happy I am, an’ makin’ plans. Plans for you an’ Daniel.”

And before Sarah could protest, Jess unfolded her plan. “Daniel might find work, but it’ll tak’ a wee while to find a place for the two o’ ye to stay.

“Sandy’s been keepin’ the cottage through the wa’ weel fired up and it’s got a fresh coat o’ paint forbye. Sandy’ll bring a wagon doon here by the end o’ the week an’ do your flittin’. Mother says she’ll help.”

Protested

Sarah was beginning to feel dizzy at the very thought of all Jess’s plans.

“But Miss Bunty’s sacked Rushforth and she hasn’t said anything about being out of here by the end of the week,” she protested.

Jess shook her head. “Daniel’s a proud man,” she said. “He’ll no’ come back, even for Miss Bunty. And Sarah...” her rosy face grew serious, and she leaned across and took her friend’s hand. “To us, you’re family. You have to trust us to do what’s best for you and Daniel.”

There was a heartbeat of silence, then Sarah nodded. “You must think me ungrateful, Jess, and I’m not. I’m just not thinking straight.

“And this,” she waved a distracted hand at the room. “This isn’t home any more since Daniel went away. The heart’s gone out of it. Without him, it’s no more than a roof over my head.”

Jess eased herself out of her chair. “A new house would be a new beginning for both of you. If Daniel finds work, you can stay here till he gets settled and I’ll be glad o’ your company when the bairn comes.”

She gathered Sarah into a hug. “Now, are you goin’ to make your visitor a cup o’ tea or will I have to do it mysel’?”

The mood lifted and Sarah laughed. “Perhaps you’re right, Jess,” she said. “And for me to sit here worrying isn’t doing any good

“Mary Ellen keeps telling me that it’s best to be busy at times like this. No good can come from sitting worrying about things that might never happen.”

“Wise woman, that Mary Ellen.” Jess smiled. “We have a bargain, then? A flittin’ on Friday?”

Sarah nodded. Then, teapot in hand, she paused. “But the Wee School!” Alarm sounded in Sarah’s voice. “What’ll happen to the Wee School if the School Board let it continue?”

Jess beamed. “Pony and trap. Sandy an’ me thought o’ that, an’ he says you’re to have the use o’ the pony an’ trap every day, if you need it.”

She held out her teacup. “Now, could I have a cup o’ tea, Mistress Morrison, afore I die o’ thirst?”

At that, laughter eddied round Sarah’s kitchen for the first time since she’d come back from Edinburgh.

Oppressive

It was barely noon when Sandy came to take Jess home. After a whole morning of making plans, of talking of new beginnings, the house, empty again and silent, became oppressive to Sarah, the tick of the clock unusually loud.

The sounds from the pithead floated in now and then. Once, she heard the clip-clop of hooves and supposed that it would be Miss Bunty on her way back from the pit office after her visit.

But the narrow street outside was quiet – as if an invisible barrier had been put up just outside Sarah’s front door.

The clatter of pit boots as shifts changed still made her start awake in the early morning and into the night, but the sounds of children playing seemed distant.

When she ventured out to Mary Ellen’s house, the knots of gossiping women gave only muted greetings and turned away quickly. She had mentioned it to Pate and he’d tried to explain the silence to her.

“They’re angry at what happened, but dinna want tae upset you any mair than you are,” she said kindly. “They’re drawing back a wee bit oot o’ respect for you, and for Daniel.

“Mind you, if Miss Bunty hadna dismissed that Rushforth, I think the womenfolk would ha’ done the job for her.”

More tomorrow.

This story was originally written specially for The People’s Friend, which published it under the title The Life We Choose. There’s more fiction in The People’s Friend every week, available from newsagents and supermarkets at £1.30.