Stranger At The Door, Day 5

There was a small silence between them as they smiled at each other, knowing that a pledge had been made

Mrs Brodie rose to open the kitchen door and the talk turned to the curtains she had promised to give Sarah for the new schoolroom. “They’ll keep out the draughts. It’ll be a cold corner in the wintertime,” Mrs Brodie said. Sarah glanced at the clock. “You’ll have to excuse me,” she said quickly. “Father wants me home early and I’ve been enjoying myself so much that I quite lost track of time.”

“Wait a wee minute,” Jess’s mother said. “I’ve baked two caraway seed cakes, so that you can take one home to your father.

“The master’s aye been partial to a bit o’ caraway seed cake.”

Amid the flurry of farewells that followed, Sarah was instructed to come back to Mrs Brodie’s very soon and told that she had been away far too long.

Jess hurriedly put on her shoes and gathered up her basket, putting the cake on the top.

“Wait for me, Sarah,” Jess said. “I’ll walk part of the way with you. I can cut across to the top field and meet Sandy. That’ll give him a nice surprise.” She smiled at the thought.

“You’d give him a better surprise if you were home and had his tea ready,” her mother said, trying to sound severe. Jess giggled a little and blushed.

Puzzled As they made their way across the fields, Jess glanced anxiously at her friend, hoping there might be a chance to discuss the letters she’d mentioned earlier that day.

She’d spoken of them as she and Jess had made their way back from Langrigg, and as she did, the light had gone out of her eyes all of a sudden.

Jess had been puzzled. Two letters from her aunt Bertha in one week, and one official-looking one which would likely be school business – there was nothing strange about that, Jess reflected.

The master’s sister, Bertha, was a bit distant, right enough, and Jess had always avoided her on her visits. Maybe Sarah was worried in case her aunt wanted to come to stay for a while.

And she knew that Master Ogilvie regularly got official letters about school business.

As she made her way to meet Sandy, Jess recalled what he’d told her about Daniel after they’d met at the Gowan Fair.

“He’s a bit of a mystery man,” Sandy had said. “Came looking for work on our farm a while back. Helped at the harvest, then got a job down the pit at Langrigg.

“He turned the heads o’ the girls that work in the dairy, but he paid no heed to that. A deep fellow, Daniel Morrison. Keeps himself to himself.”

Jess thought again of the Gowan Fair. Daniel, the man who kept himself to himself, had paid great attention to Sarah. “That must have been the start of it,” she said aloud. As Sarah ran down the hill, Daniel was waiting in the usual place on the far bank of the stream. He came to lead her across the stepping stones.

They didn’t speak for a while as they reached the shade of the trees. It was enough to rest in each other’s arms, for Daniel to trace the outline of Sarah’s cheek with a finger.

When at last he spread his jacket on the grass and they sat down together, they talked about Langrigg.

“Life seems so hard there,” Sarah ventured. “Why did you choose such a life, Daniel?” He laughed, but it was a bitter laugh. “I didn’t choose it, Sarah. It was chosen for me by someone. Someone who should have known better,” he added with a sigh.

Then he gathered her into his arms again.

Plans “But I won’t be there forever. I have plans,” he said. He smiled at her for a moment and then went on in a serious voice.

“I have the best reason in the world to make those plans work.”

Sarah’s heart leapt as he said the words. There was a small silence as they smiled at each other, knowing that a pledge had been made. But in that silence, she remembered her father.

“Daniel, I must go,” she told him. Giving a hurried explanation, she bade him a reluctant farewell. He watched her retreating form, scarcely blinking, until she was out of sight.

Her father was waiting for her, formality threatened by the fact that he had chosen to sit at his writing desk by the window.

Before him lay the three letters which Sarah had seen him conceal between the pages of his book in recent days. He looked up and cleared his throat.

“You are 18 years old now, Sarah, and time is getting on. You have your studies to consider in the very near future.

“As you know, a university education was planned for you, but since your...” He faltered for a moment.

“Since our circumstances changed and you became a pupil teacher and took over the household, these plans have had to be postponed.”

Sarah held her breath. This was a bolt from the blue. Her father looked up at her.

“I have tired of this place, too,” he went on. “The sameness of the teaching and the quietness of the house will eat up the years when much could be achieved.”

He rubbed his eyes wearily. “For you at least,” he added.

Sarah knew better than to try to interrupt her father. Heart pounding, she waited.

“I have resigned my position here,” he said. “And my resignation has been accepted.”

He handed Sarah one of the letters. Her hand shook as she read it.

The words began to blur as she read the letter again, and her father’s voice suddenly seemed to be coming from a great distance away.

He went on in measured tones.

Edinburgh “Your aunt Bertha has a large house near the university in Edinburgh. She is happy for us to stay with her for as long as we want.

“I will apply myself to finding a new situation in one of the city schools as soon as possible.”

Sarah could keep silent no longer. “You said nothing to me, Father. This is my life, too. Do I have no say in the matter?”

She stared at him, halfway between anger and tears. Master Ogilvie gave his daughter a look which would have quelled the most unruly pupil.

“You are a child, not a woman grown, Sarah,” he said calmly, gathering up the letters. “You are my responsibility.

“And that responsibility includes making decisions for the future. This is the best way forward. I have given it much thought, I can assure you.”

But as he spoke, Sarah turned away and fled to the sanctuary of her room, where she threw herself on her bed and cried her heart out.

More tomorrow.

Artwork: Andrew Lloyd Jones