Stranger At The Door, Day 43

“Sarah looked at her earnest little face. “You’re a very special little girl, Rachel Makin,” she said

Sarah’s reply made little Rachel beam with pleasure. She ran a finger thoughtfully over the book. “Mistress Morrison,” she said at last. “If I stick in at my lessons, d’you think I could mebbe be a real doctor some day? Make folk better when they’re sick? I told Da an’ he said if I wanted to be a doctor I’d need t’go to Edinburgh an’ it would cost a lot o’ money, but he could work some doublers an’ get extra money.”

Sarah looked down at the little girl’s eager face, her hopes pinned on the strength her father would need to work back-breaking double shifts.

“I think you’d be a very good doctor, Rachel, and if you work hard, I’ll help you all I can.” She smiled.

Rachel’s face shone as she suddenly became a hostess. “There’s tea an’ milk an’ biscuits Mammy baked. They’re ben the scullery, Mistress Morrison.” She looked hopefully at Sarah. “I wanted t’ get everythin’ ready for you comin’ back,” she explained, looking hopeful.

They drank their tea and ate the biscuits beside a blazing fire, Rachel keeping up a stream of information about the goings-on in Langrigg in Sarah’s absence.

“They said mebbe ye wouldna come back, but I knew ye would, Mistress Morrison,” Rachel told her. “An’ ye forgot to lock the scullery door when ye went away, but the key was in the inside o’ the lock.”

For a moment, she looked uneasy, then took a key from the pocket of the apron that covered her best russet pinafore.

“Here’s your key, Mistress Morrison. I hope you’re no’ angry.” She bit her lip anxiously.

Sarah looked at her earnest little face. “You’re a very special little girl, Rachel Makin,” she said.

When at last Rachel had gone home, Sarah sat for a while by the fire, thinking of Rachel’s ambition, the determination in her face as she had spoken of it. What others might see as obstacles to advancement, young Rachel Makin, by her nature, would see as challenges. Challenges to be met and conquered.

And at that particular moment, Sarah felt a sureness, a confidence about the future, about the plans she and Daniel had made. For a while today, she reflected, she had become the pupil and her little helper the teacher. She was smiling at the thought as she went off to find Daniel.

Back at the house, Daniel was busy and their cosy little kitchen had been turned into an unfamiliar, bare place with only their little card table in the middle of the floor, set for dinner. A solitary pot bubbled on the range. “Potatoes,” he explained to Sarah. “And Mary Ellen left a plate of cold cuts in the scullery to go with them. Sandy’s been down to take the first of the stuff away. He’ll bring the big wagon on Friday for the furniture. Says he’s been given his orders by the General.”

He laughed. “That’s what he’s taken to callin’ Jess. Says she can’t wait for us to move. Tells me she’s made new curtains for the cottage.”

“Nest building,” Sarah said thoughtfully. “Mary Ellen’s mentioned that the womenfolk do that when they’re expecting and when their time’s getting near.

“I’ll go up and see her. Try to get her to rest a bit more,” she added.

“Not tonight, though.” Daniel finished laying the table. “Mary Ellen called in. She says we’ve to go along later, for there’s not much comfort here.” Sarah suddenly felt a pang of regret.

“We’ll miss her when we move,” she said, her voice suddenly muffled.

Air of festivity

Darkness had fallen by the time Sarah and Daniel paid their promised visit to Mary Ellen and Pate. They were surprised to hear a babble of voices and the occasional peal of laughter as they approached the door, and Sarah was all for turning back, but Daniel was curious.

“Come away in.” Mary Ellen threw open the kitchen door as they stood uncertainly in the small lobby. She leaned forward and lowered her voice: “Big Ella Gourlay’s sprung a surprise on us. There’s to be a weddin’ on Hogmanay – her an’ Dreels Cox, nae less. Bein’ Ella, there’s no’ a single preparation made, so some o’ the women came by t’see if somethin’ could be done to make a wee celebration.”

“I’m in here,” Pate’s voice came from the bedroom. “Come away in an’ gie’s your chat.”

“Pate hates a crowd o’ wimmen thegither,” Mary Ellen explained. “You go away in an’ keep him company, Daniel, an’ you come wi’ me, Sarah. They’re sittin’ the bit oot in there an’ I’ll soon have t’ make tea. I could do wi’ a hand.”

There was an air of festivity in Mary Ellen’s kitchen. The Langrigg mothers filled every available chair. Each one was clutching a glass and a plate of shortbread was being passed round between them.

“New Year’s come early.” Nellie Burnett waved her glass at Sarah. “And Mary Ellen’s ginger wine is better than ever.” Mrs Maxton helped herself to another piece of shortbread.

“Welcome back, Mistress Morrison.” Rachel’s mother’s quiet voice broke into the hilarity. “We’re all right pleased to see you. I hope you found your father well.” Sarah reflected that Nellie Burnett had been busy spreading the news.

“We’re tryin’ to decide whether it’s to be one or two clootie dumplin’s this year, Sarah,” Mary Ellen said.

“Yes, we tak’ turns to make one in the bine at the wash-house – that’s for New Year,” Nellie added. “But if there’s a weddin’ on Hogmanay, we’ll need another forbye that.”

Mrs Maxton gave a sudden window-rattling guffaw of laughter. “D’yis mind the year that Tricky Binnie made the dumplin’ for the Front Raw here?” she asked. There was a sudden gale of laughter from the company. When at last it had died down, Mary Ellen explained the hilarity to Sarah.

Dumplin’s

“Magrit had juist had a bairn, so Tricky volunteered to make the dumplin’. Trouble was, he couldna find the muslin cloot for boilin’ it in the bine, so he cut up an auld blanket instead.”

There was a shout of laughter from all present at the very memory of it.

“An’ he feenished up wi’ a furry dumplin’,” Nellie Burnett announced, shaking with laughter. Mary Ellen held up her hand.

“Nae mair dumplin’ stories or we’ll be here a’ night. Now, I’ll fetch my notebook an’ we’ll see if there’s enough stuff saved for two dumplin’s.”

Sarah had often wondered how Mary Ellen Walker kept track of all the herbal cures requested of her, of all the requests for help that came her way. Suddenly, there it was. A small notebook and a pencil stub tucked into her apron pocket and connected by an invisible thread to her big notebook which was kept in the press in the bedroom.

While she consulted her notes on the ingredients saved for the Front Raw dumpling, and took a note of anything that the women might be able to contribute to put together some sort of wedding celebration, Sarah and Jeanie Makin were put in charge of making a cup of tea for the company.

“Keep Nellie Burnett oot o’ my scullery, Sarah, or she’ll be inta every cupboard in it,” Mary Ellen had whispered to Sarah.

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.

Artwork: Andrew Lloyd Jones