Stranger At The Door, Day 46

A hoarse shout, formless but clear. The shout of several desperate voices

Down in the hallway, the colonel rapped out orders. “Blankets, sheets,” he said, jabbing his finger at the top landing. Bunty had already dressed hurriedly and was pulling on her boots. “I’ll meet Goudie at the stables and get a wagon and a trap ready” she announced. “Where will I find spare blankets?” Fleur asked in a trembling voice. “The big kists on the top landing,” was the brusque reply.

“And you can make yourself useful by helping her,” he rapped out at a sleepy Giles who had appeared at the top of the stairs in a velvet dressing gown.

“I’d best get dressed,” Fleur said with a wary sidelong glance at him.

“Never mind that. Time is of the essence. Get on with it, both of you,” the colonel bellowed, making for the front door.

“I’m going down to Langrigg,” he announced to no-one in particular. All morning and into the afternoon, the colonel had been at the pithead and had to be dissuaded from going down in the cage with the rescue team.

“Little enough room down there, Colonel. Best to stay here and help with the injured men they’re bringing up,” Daniel advised him.

Miss Bunty was unloading sheets and blankets from a wagon and laying them out on doors that had been taken off their hinges and had become makeshift stretchers.

Turmoil

Her thoughts in turmoil, Sarah couldn’t rest. She fought the sleep that threatened to engulf her, the fear that made her grow cold at the very thought of Daniel going down the pit again with a rescue team.

She kicked off the coverlet, put on her shoes and went through to the scullery to splash cold water on her face, then made her way back to the Wee School.

It was all but deserted for the first time that day. Mary Ellen was standing in the scullery, her arms around a sobbing Rachel.

“Tak’ your time, henny. Catch your breath, and tell me what’s wrong,” she was saying.

“I’m feart to tell Mammy.” The little girl sobbed, clinging to Mary Ellen. “Tell her what?” Mary Ellen coaxed. Sarah took a handkerchief from her pocket.

“Come here, Rachel, and let me dry your eyes,” Sarah said gently, touching the little girl’s arm.

“It’s Abie, Mistress Morrison. Oor Abie ran away, an’ I canna find him an’ Mammy’s still at the pit gates.

“I was watching the wee yins an’ Abie ran away an’ now it’s gettin’ dark.” Her faltering words fell away as she turned to cling to Sarah.

Hugging her helper, Sarah exchanged an anxious glance with Mary Ellen.

“Now, you sit down, Rachel, and we’ll bring you some soup, and while you’re eating it, Mary Ellen and I will decide what to do. Try not to worry any more.”

A tear-stained little face gazed up at her for a moment. Rachel tried to smile her gratitude.

“Father’s lost, too, Mistress Morrison,” she said, before sitting down obediently, hands in her lap.

While Rachel ate her soup, Sarah and Mary Ellen had a hurried discussion in the scullery, taking care to keep their voices down.

“That wee rascal aye turns up frae his wanderin’s,” Mary Ellen said. “He’ll be back afore dark, you mark my words. It’s Jeanie Makin that’s worryin’ me. She’ll no’ leave the pit gates.

“The other women talk betimes, take a wee bit nourishment, try to keep one another’s spirits up, but Jeanie Makin...”

She paused, looking troubled. “She’ll neither eat or drink, nor greet like big Ella. Juist stares at the pitheid, her lips movin’ as if she’s talkin’, but no’ makin’ a sound.”

Rachel had brought her empty plate back and was standing by the scullery door. Sarah shot a warning glance at Mary Ellen.

“Jeanie’s praying for the men down there,” she whispered. “And there she’ll stay until they’re found.”

“It’s gettin’ dark, Mistress Morrison, an’ Abie’s lost,” Rachel reminded her, this time with a desperate note in her voice. Sarah tried to smile at her.

“Then we’d best go and look for him.” Sarah tried to smile reassuringly at Rachel, but failed.

Vigil

Wearing her heaviest coat and with Rachel wrapped in a warm shawl, Sarah stopped first at the pit, hoping to find Daniel.

A brazier had been lit, a shelter of sorts rigged up for the women who waited, for the others who came and went to support them in their vigil.

In search of Daniel, Sarah found Miss Bunty in the pit office where she was tearing a sheet into makeshift bandages.

“We might need these,” she said. “We must keep busy until the men are found.”

Her words petered out then and she gave a slight shake of the head.

“The rescue teams are still down there, trying to find a way through the roof fall.” She shot a wary glance at Rachel, who was standing by the door. “Daniel’s been in here, looking at the drawings of the old workings. He’s with the colonel now at the pithead.”

Sarah interrupted her. “Abie’s gone wandering again,” she explained. “Rachel knows all his favourite places, so we’re going to look for him.”

“Up the hill, past the old quarry,” Rachel chimed in. “He likes it up there, for he can see the Junction, an’ the canal an’ everythin’ frae there.”

Sarah took her hand. Outside, there was sleet in the wind. The sky was darkening.

Beset by a sudden fear, Sarah quickened her step. There was no time to lose.

The two of them scrambled upwards, past the old quarry, towards the line of stunted trees, made hunchbacked by the east wind that numbed Sarah’s hands and feet.

At times, Rachel ran ahead, calling Abie’s name while Sarah struggled through thorny undergrowth, pausing now and then to catch her breath.

Decision

She had all but given up hope of finding Abie, when a small dishevelled figure burst from a thicket of bushes near the crest of the hill.

“Come quick. I can hear Faither!” It was Abie Makin.

There was a hole in the ground at the heart of the thicket. Abie had torn grass away from the entrance.

As Sarah moved the children back and tested the firmness of the ground before drawing nearer to the hole, she heard a sound.

A hoarse shout, formless but clear. The shout of several desperate voices.

“Ah telt yis,” Abie Makin said proudly. “It’s Faither!” Sarah made a quick decision.

“Rachel, take Abie and run as fast as you can down to the pit gates. Find the colonel or Miss Bunty or my husband Daniel.

“Tell them what Abie found here and that the men are alive, but that they must hurry and bring ladders and ropes.”

Rachel nodded. “And lanterns,” she added before taking Abie’s hand and rushing and tumbling down the hill towards Langrigg.

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