Authors: Gwen Kirkwood
Janet loved Mrs Foster’s children but when another baby boy was born in the spring of 1824, she realized it was just as Molly had warned her. Another round had begun, rocking the crib, feeding and bathing, washing, ironing and mending. She had overheard the midwife telling Mr Foster he was going to kill his wife if he didn’t give her a rest from having babies. Molly heard her warning too and her shoulders slumped when she heard her father’s growled reply.
Janet had noticed how often Molly’s eyes were red and puffy as though she had wept far into the night. Did Molly know her mother’s life could be in danger because of all the babies she had to feed? Was that the reason she seemed so withdrawn and moody, so unlike the friend Janet had known at school?
Ten days later, Mrs Foster was out of bed and going about her daily tasks once more and Mr Foster whisked Molly off to the byre and the dairy again.
‘Aye, and ’tis time you were helping with the milking and the pigs,’ he growled, eyeing Janet closely. ‘You’re a woman grown now.’
Janet blushed to the roots of her hair. Could Mr Foster have overheard Molly explaining about the monthly bleeding and how it happened to all girls when they became women? She had been terrified at the first sight of blood but Mrs Foster had patted her kindly and shown her what to do. She had said it was not a matter to be discussed with men and boys, so how could Mr Foster know she had become a woman? Surely he could not have been spying on her when she went down to the closet? Her cheeks flamed at the thought. There were two doors to the rickety wooden shed, one for people to use the toilet, and the other, larger door at the opposite end, for cleaning it out twice a year. Sometimes she thought she had heard the hinges of the other door creaking while
she was sitting in private on the wooden bench, but she had never seen anyone around when she came out of the closet. She looked up and caught Mrs Foster’s eyes upon her.
‘I need the lassie in the house to help me. Can’t you see there’s more to do than ever with another bairn to look after? Is it not enough that you’ve taken Molly to work outside?’
‘If I say she’ll learn to milk a cow, that’s what she’ll do. Her mother’s aye asking when I’m going to pay her some wages. She’ll need to earn them first.’
‘She does earn them! I couldna manage without her.’ But Mr Foster’s gaze was fixed on Janet, noting her slender waist and the way her dress had grown tight over her budding breasts. His eyes narrowed.
‘She’s taller than Molly now, and she eats as much as the lads. I’ll teach her to milk myself.’
Janet shivered. She had seen Molly milking the cows, sitting on her small stool with her head tucked close into the animal’s flank.
‘Aren’t you frightened? Won’t they kick you?’ she had asked fearfully.
‘They’re all right, once they get used tae ye, and the feel o’ your hands,’ Molly had told her calmly. ‘There’s worse things than milking cows,’ she added grimly.
A few days later, Mr Foster led Janet to the byre and set her on the stool. The cow fidgeted uneasily and Janet jumped nervously.
‘Steady now, steady,’ Mr Foster said softly, but Janet realized he was speaking to her and not the cow, and his big rough hand was on her shoulder, pressing her down onto the stool. Then his fingers were on her neck, stroking it as he guided her head against the warm flank of the cow. He bent over her and she could feel his hot breath against her cheek as he showed her what to do. As soon as Joe finished milking his own cow, he came to her. Mr Foster straightened immediately. He glowered at his son.
‘I’m just showing the lassie how tae milk a cow. She’s never been near one before. She’s nervous as a fawn.’ That was the longest speech Janet had heard Mr Foster utter to any of his sons. Usually he did no more than growl out an order.
‘We’ll see she’s all right,’ Joe muttered through tight lips. He
was a year younger than herself but since he had left the schoolroom and worked on the farm, Janet felt he seemed years older than her in experience. When his father had left the byre, Janet heard Joe speaking to Molly, his voice low. A little while later when she had finished milking her first cow and was wondering what she should do next, Molly came to stand beside her, holding her own stool in one hand.
‘The cows’ll d’ye no harm, Janet. You milk old Roany next. She’s quiet as a lamb. And … and Janet, if Father asks ye, just tell him you’re getting on fine. We’ll help ye, Joe and me. Dinna go with him to the stable, or the hay loft or – or anywhere else on your ain….’ She broke off and bit her lip, her colour high one second and ebbing the next so that her skin seemed as pale as death. Janet frowned at her.
‘She doesna ken what ye’re trying tae tell her!’ Joe said impatiently and got up from the cow he was milking. He came to them and put his face close to Janet’s. ‘Ye ken nowt o’ things yet, for all your learning frae the dominie’s books.’
‘I pray she’ll never learn, then,’ Molly muttered, while Janet’s eyes moved from one to the other in bewilderment.
‘Listen,’ Joe said, as though reaching a decision. ‘D’ye remember the time ye had tae help me take the sow over tae Lowbreer Farm, Janet?’
‘Yes, I remember….’
‘And Mr Kerr was busy and he told us to put her in the pen beside his boar?’
‘Y-yes.’ Janet frowned. Then she shuddered. ‘She squealed and squealed. I thought the boar was hurting her.’
‘Aye, because he – he….’ Joe bit his lip now and looked at Molly for help but Molly’s face was white, her lips pinched. Her eyes had a sunken look as though they could only focus on something inside her head. ‘The boar jumped on the sow and shoved his – his thing into her,’ Joe finished in a rush.
‘Ye-es, I remember,’ Janet said slowly, shuddering as she recalled the incident. ‘He wouldn’t let her go but when Mr Kerr came he laughed and laughed because I wanted to rescue poor Aggie from his nasty old boar. He said she would think it was
worth all the trouble when she got her piglets….’
‘Aye, well that’s what animals do. S-some men act like that – like animals.’ He looked searchingly at Janet and saw her bewildered frown. He scuffed the earth floor with his clog and kept his eyes lowered. ‘So dinna let Father get ye on your ain or he’ll dae the same to you!’ he said in a rush and swung away, his face red with embarrassment as he curried down against the flank of a cow. Janet blinked, unable to take in the meaning of Joe’s awkward phrases. He couldn’t mean what she thought he meant, could he? The blood rushed to her cheeks and she turned to Molly. Her friend gave a brief, unhappy nod and turned away.
Janet’s work in the byre and the dairy did not last long. The baby was called Ezra and he was only two months old when Mrs Foster took ill again. Every morning she was sick.
‘She’s started even sooner this time,’ Molly muttered unhappily as she and Janet heard her mother retching in the washhouse. Baby Ezra was hungry and fretful and between him and Peter, as well as their mischievous brothers, Janet had more to do than she could manage. Sometimes Molly stayed indoors to help with the washing and Janet enjoyed it when they worked together.
One day when the wind was sending the fluffy white clouds scudding across the sky and the sun was shining, Mrs Foster decided some of the blankets should have their annual wash.
‘We’ll do them, Mama,’ Molly told her. ‘You rock the cradle and rest. We’ll give them a good poshing i’ the tub.’
‘Aye, ye’re good lassies,’ Mrs Foster sighed wearily. ‘Light the fire under the boiler, Janet, then the water will be hot enough.’
Janet felt it was almost like old times as she and Molly kicked off their clogs and peeled off their woollen stockings. Together they stood in the tub, holding their skirts high above the water as they tramped the thick blankets, wriggling their toes and enjoying the squelch of the wool and water under their feet. Suddenly Molly stopped laughing. Her eyes narrowed. Her face grew hard as stone. Janet followed her gaze to the doorway and saw Mr Foster leaning against it. How long had he been there? Watching them through his narrowed eyes. There was a strange expression on his face and Janet shuddered. Suddenly she became aware that
Molly had dropped her skirts, right down into the water, but she was still holding hers high above her knees and it was on her long white legs that Mr Foster’s eyes were fixed.
Mrs Foster’s health seemed to get rapidly worse instead of improving as it usually did. The sickness continued and her hands and feet had begun to swell. She was constantly tired and she had stopped putting Ezra to her breast. Molly’s moods of brooding silence returned. Every morning, her face looked pale and drawn, her eyes red and puffy.
Molly’s small room was directly above her own at the top of the stairs. The older Foster boys also shared the loft but Molly’s bed was partitioned from theirs with a curtain. Mr and Mrs Foster and the two youngest children slept in a small room on the other side of the kitchen. Sometimes during the night, Janet was awakened by creaking on the wooden steps up to the loft. Sometimes strange noises seemed to be just above her head. Twice she was sure she heard Molly sobbing but when she asked her Molly snapped sharply. ‘Ye must have been dreaming.’
Early one morning Mrs Foster sent Janet to the byre for warm milk from the cow. It was to feed baby Ezra. He had been particularly wakeful and cross during the night.
Neither Joe nor Molly had heard her approach and Janet was dismayed to overhear Joe speaking angrily.
‘If only I was strong enough I’d come through and….’
‘Och, Joey. Ye should close your eyes, and your ears. He’d hurt ye for sure if—’
‘He’s an evil brute. I wish he wasna our father. I’ll kill him one o’ these nights….’
‘No! Dinna say that Joe. Ma needs ye. She needs both o’ us. If it wasna for her I’d be gone frae here—’
Janet coughed and they both peered past their cows to stare at her in surprise.
Many Sundays passed but no one from Braeheights Farm was allowed to attend the kirk. Janet longed to see her mother and Peggy Baird. She yearned for news of her brother Andrew and Fingal McLaughlan. One Sunday, she asked whether she could go
to the kirk and take some of the younger children.
‘I’m sure I could manage the pony and trap now,’ she ventured.
Mr Foster went red with rage. ‘No one takes the trap except me, young madam. Say your prayers at night and that’ll suffice.’
As the weeks passed, Mrs Foster seemed to get more and more swollen everywhere. Even her thin face was so puffed up her eyes were hardly visible. Baby Ezra seemed to know his mama was not well and he whimpered constantly.
‘Ye wouldna think he was nearly six months old, such a puny wee thing he is,’ his mother lamented wearily.
She always insisted the older members of the household should be bathed in the tub in the wash house once a week and it was Janet’s job to boil the water in readiness for Mr Foster, then Joe and Luke and Mark on Friday nights. Mrs Foster, then herself and Molly bathed on Saturdays. Usually they looked forward to the luxury of sitting in the big wooden tub together, each washing the other’s hair. Recently Molly had been more moody and miserable than ever and not even the bathing ritual could lift her spirits. It was while she was rubbing Molly’s hair one Saturday night that Janet noticed her stomach was growing quite rounded in comparison to her own flat front. She was almost a head taller than Molly now, but neither of them had ever been fat. They worked too hard for that.
Once again none of them attended the kirk on the Sabbath but on Monday morning the Reverend Drummond sent Tom Friar, one of his young protégés, with a message for Janet. Her mother wished her to visit. She was filled with excitement.
‘Andrew must be home at last!’ she breathed, her blue eyes shining.
‘I dinna ken the reason, miss, but the minister said I was to take ye back with me. We’re to go across the fields. He’ll meet ye with the pony and trap when we reach the road.’
‘Perhaps Andrew has found work already! Peggy told me he has won one of the highest awards at the university. Fingal sent her a letter.’
‘But, ye’ll be back by tomorrow, lassie?’ Mrs Foster asked anxiously. ‘I dinna ken how we shall manage without ye now.’ Janet
paused in her eagerness to set out. She looked into the pale, weary face. Mrs Foster seemed an old woman, but Janet remembered she had allowed her to stay, had given her food and found work for her to do when she had nowhere else to go. Her own happy anticipation abated for a moment.
‘I will come back. I will stay until you can hire another maid to take my place,’ she promised.
‘Ye’re a good bairn. Fetch your cloak, lassie. It’s a bonnie day but it could change by night.’ She looked searchingly at the solemn-faced lad. ‘I hope the news is as good as she thinks it’s going to be,’ she said.
He shook his head. ‘I dinna think it’s good, mistress,’ he muttered. ‘The Reverend Drummond is going tae drive Miss Janet down to Rowanbank himself.’
Janet remembered Tam Friar well. He had been at her grandfather’s school and he was two years older than her.
‘So you work at the manse now, Tam?’ she asked as they crossed the fields together.
‘Aye, he’s a good man, Reverend Drummond. Some o’ the families would starve if it wasna for him. Some o’ them are breaking stones to improve the road, but we all ken he’s paying frae his ain pocket so they can hold their heads up and buy victuals to feed their bairns. Last winter he ordered grain from his brothers in Liverpool. He had it brought in the wee boats to Rowanbank so that we wouldna starve after the bad harvest.’
He led her through a wood, careful not to let the brambles scratch her face. He still thought of her as the dominie’s young granddaughter, but from what he had seen when he arrived at Braeheights Farm she was probably no better off than himself.
‘And what do you do at the manse, Tam?’
‘Whatever there is,’ he said simply. ‘Sometimes it’s the stables, sometimes I help the minister in the garden. I like that best of all. I wish – I wish….’ He shook his head impatiently. ‘What’s the point o’ wishing? We’re lucky if we’ve food in our bellies.’
Janet was tired and she was glad when Tam said they would stop for a drink when they reached a burn.
‘It’s further than I thought,’ she confided. ‘I’ve never been across the fields before. Mr Foster drives us to the kirk in the pony and trap and we go through a village called Molden.’
‘Aye, it’s queer Foster coming all the way down to Rowanbank Kirk, but I heard that Mrs Foster’s mother keeps the Foster lads, the ones who go to school during the week.’
‘Some of Braeheights land is in Rowanbank Parish too.’
‘It’s still a long way, though, even cutting across country. It must be a fair step for the pony – there and back.’
‘It is. Mr Foster doesn’t bring us every Sunday though.’ Janet sighed. ‘I miss not coming to the kirk. I miss not being able to see Mama and Peggy Baird, and – and everyone. I can’t wait to get there. Have we much further to go, Tam?’
‘No. We’re in luck today. The burn’s low. I’ll place some stones and help ye across. If it was winter we’d have to walk a lot further to get across.’
‘I see. I’m glad you’re here, to guide me. I’m quite lost. Oh, look! Look! I can see the road now we’re over the hill. Isn’t that the minister with his pony and trap? Down by that gate on the road below?’
‘Aye, it is that.’
‘It’s such a long time since I had a proper talk with Mama,’ Janet sighed. ‘It will be wonderful if we can all live together again like we used to do.’
Tam gave her a pitying glance but it was downhill now and she was already running ahead. At fourteen, she was neither child nor woman but at that moment she felt as she had at eight years old, running after Andrew and Fingal, carefree and secure in her world. Janet longed to see her mother and Andrew. She hoped Fingal might be home too.
The minister greeted her kindly, taking her hand in his, feeling the work-roughened palm. He looked down at her fingers, small and chapped, the nails broken. He shook his head, wondering what his old friend the dominie would have thought to see his beloved grandchild reduced to this. He allowed himself a momentary feeling of exasperation as he recalled Mary Scott, so devoted to her son, so eager to give him everything she could, yet barely aware of her daughter’s existence. Surely as a mother she should have arranged a better place than Braeheights Farm for her only daughter – and yet the child did not look unhappy,
or ill-thriven as so many of his parishioners did. He sighed. There was only so much he could do to help them all. He looked into Janet’s face, bright with anticipation, her eyes alight and eager, a smile of gratitude on her lips as he helped her into the trap and seated her beside him. His heart sank at the news he was about to impart. He looked down at Tam Friar, who was awaiting his orders respectfully.
‘Jump onto the step, laddie, and hold on tight. I’ll drop you off before we turn off the road and down to Rowanbank.’
As they passed the long track leading to Peggy Baird’s cottage and Crillion Keep, Janet peered longingly through the gently swaying trees, but she could not see the houses and there was no sign of any familiar figures.
‘Has Fingal McLauchlan returned with Andrew, sir?’ she ventured timidly.
The minister gave his kindly smile. ‘Not yet, child. He has to stay in Edinburgh for a few weeks longer until he finishes his apprenticeship. He has been a good and loyal friend, Andrew tells me….’
‘You have seen Andrew? Spoken with him?’ she asked eagerly. ‘Has he got a posting? I am so looking forward to seeing Mama. We shall all be together again at last….’
‘Ah – ahem, maybe….’ The minister cleared his throat, aware of Tam hanging onto the back of the trap. He didn’t want to tell her that it was Andrew who had asked for her so urgently, pleaded with him to bring his sister to see him while he still had breath to talk with her. Surely Mary could have sent a message to her somehow, a warning…. He would wait until he had dropped Tam off on the other side of the hamlet of Crillion.
‘I hear Mrs Foster is not keeping in good health? Will she manage today?’ he asked, to take her attention.
‘Molly will help her until I return, I think. I have promised I will not come to live with Mama until she has hired another maid.’
‘You have told her you are leaving Braeheights Farm?’ The minister sounded alarmed and Janet looked at him in surprise. He frowned. ‘Molly was not at the kirk with you the last time you came with Foster and his laddies,’ he said with an effort.
‘No, Molly has been sickly lately,’ Janet told him innocently.
‘Sickly? I see….’ His frown deepened. ‘Does she need Doctor Carr?’
‘She would not hear of it when I asked. She said I had made the porridge too salty. I had not. Since then she always says she has eaten it too greedily – though Molly is never greedy,’ Janet added thoughtfully. ‘Some days she scarcely eats at all.’
‘I see….’ He hoped his thoughts were unworthy. He knew Molly’s grandmother well, and he remembered her sadness the day her daughter had married Wull Foster. Already she had seen three small grandsons buried in the kirkyard.
‘There’s the Meeting House!’ Janet exclaimed, her eyes alight at the sight of the familiar building. ‘Do many attend the peoples’ bank?’ she asked wistfully.
‘Why, yes….’ He turned his questioning glance on her. Then his expression softened. ‘Of course, no doubt your mother needs your wages to support Andrew at present.’ It was more a statement than a question and he was surprised to see tears spring to her eyes before she bowed her head to hide them.
‘I have not earned any wages yet,’ she confessed. ‘Master Foster told Mama it cost him enough feeding me and giving me a bed. He says he treats me as one of his own family while she is unable to provide a roof for me. B-but I had my fourteenth birthday three weeks ago. I work as hard as I can, really I do. Mistress Foster said she would speak to Mr Foster and tell him. She is kind to me but she is so busy with babies. She needs me, and Molly is my friend b-but I think I ought to have gone to the hiring fair at the May term. He did not give me even a groat for the Sabbath….’ But would she have had the courage to find her way to the hiring fairs to stand in a line with other maids and men, waiting like cattle to be bought? She had asked herself this many times since her birthday.
All thoughts of the Fosters left them both as the tailor’s neat little cottage came into view. It was already an hour past noon and he knew he would find Mary Scott sitting beside her son in the peace of the tailor’s small garden. Luke Cole was a good man and he knew Mary would work long into the night to compensate for
the precious few hours she could spend with her son. She worked when Andrew returned to the house of her old neighbour and friend, Lucy Hughes, who had offered him a bed now that her own family were away in service.
The Reverend Drummond helped Janet alight from the trap and took her arm to guide her round to the back of the cottage.
‘I think we shall find them enjoying the sunshine.’
‘Shall we?’ Janet blinked in surprise. They passed two young men sitting at a wooden table at the back of the cottage busily stitching dark woollen cloth to make a suit for one of the gentlemen of the parish. The minister greeted them pleasantly.
‘It is warmer and lighter for them to work outside on such a day as this,’ he explained to Janet. Further away, half shielded by a rickety fence, clothed by a budding rambler rose, two figures sat on a wooden bench. Above them. a blackbird trilled sweetly in the summer air. The two heads were close together, the one so fair and curly, the other dark like her own. Janet felt a fleeting pang of envy until Andrew glanced up and saw them approaching. A look of joy lit his thin, pale face and he would have risen to welcome them, but her mother laid a hand on his arm, pressing him back. Her face showed astonishment and Janet realized it could not have been her mother who had sent for her after all. She felt a shaft of disappointment, but it was nothing to the cold hand of fear which gripped her heart at the sight of her brother’s thin face and emaciated body. She bent to embrace him, eager to have his reassurance that he was well, but he held out his hands, taking hers, gently holding her at a distance.
‘Let me look at you, little sister,’ he said softly. ‘How you have grown! You are so pretty, so slender and graceful….’ His thin fingers gently rubbed her palms, but just as he felt their roughness, so she felt the bones of his, held together by the white skin which covered them. There was no spare flesh on Andrew. She stifled a shiver and looked anxiously into her mother’s face, searching for some sign of reassurance. All their hopes had rested on Andrew. He was here at last, but he seemed as insubstantial as a shadow.
Mary Scott rose, her eyes questioning as she looked from the minister to Janet.
‘Andrew expressed a wish to see his sister,’ the Reverend Drummond said quietly. ‘I arranged it.’
‘I should have thought of it,’ Mary said with remorse.
Yes, so you should, the minister echoed silently, but he knew she had thoughts for no one but Andrew. Did she realize she would not have him much longer? He sighed and declined her offer of a drink of ale or some cool buttermilk.
‘Nothing, thank you, Mary. I have some visits to make in the village. I shall have refreshment enough, but Janet must be very hungry. She has done a morning’s work at Braeheights Farm before setting out on the long walk down to the road. I’m sure Mistress Cole will not begrudge your daughter a little food.’ If there was a trace of reproof in his tone Mary did not notice. She gazed distractedly at her son.
‘Yes, Mama, do get Janet something to eat. See, I have my book of poems to keep me company until you return, and I enjoy lifting my face to the sun.’
‘Can I not stay with Andrew, Mama?’ Janet pleaded. ‘I could eat here, in the garden. I must set out again all too soon.’
‘I shall take you back to Braeheights Farm tomorrow, lassie,’ the minister intervened. ‘Tonight you will sleep at the manse. My wife will be pleased to make a bed for you, never fear.’
‘Oh thank you, sir! Thank you so much. I am not sure I could find my way back across the fields if darkness fell. We seemed to take so many twists and turns.’
‘Don’t you worry about that, child. Just enjoy your time with Andrew. I’m sure the two of you have plenty to talk about. Mary, I’ll walk with you to the house,’ he said, taking her arm and leading her firmly away.
Janet’s head buzzed with questions but the first thing which came to her tongue was to enquire after Fingal McLauchlan.
‘Fingal?’ Andrew threw back his head and laughed. ‘How close you two have remained in spite of the distance and time which has separated you. Whenever I receive a letter from Mother, Fingal always asks for news of you before anyone else. But yes, he is well, and soon he will be leaving Edinburgh and taking up a post in Annan. He has been like a brother to me, Janet. I could not have
had a better friend.’
‘He is like a brother to me too,’ Janet nodded. ‘I am glad he cared for you so well, Andrew, but it troubles me to see you looking so frail.’
‘Ah yes.’ Shadows darkened his blue eyes. ‘That is why I asked the Reverend Drummond to arrange this meeting, Janet.’ He looked at her gravely. ‘Will you make me a promise, dearest sister?’
‘If I can, Andrew. You know I would do anything to help you if I could….’
‘It is not for myself I ask, Janet. It is for mother.’ He turned the full force of his clear grey eyes on her then and they seemed to burn into her soul. She shivered without knowing why. He took her hand in his long fingers and held it gently. ‘I have not long to live on this earth, Janet. I….’
‘No! No, Andrew, please don’t say things like that.’
‘But I must. I must, little sister. I had dreamed of giving you a better life, the life you deserve, with books to read and pretty things to wear….’
‘I don’t need such things, Andrew,’ Janet protested, forgetting all the times she had longed for her grandfather’s collection of books, and just half an hour to have the pleasure of reading them.
‘Perhaps not, but it is Mother who worries me. She had such faith in my ability to provide for both of you. I have let her down, Janet.
‘No! No, you have not. Peggy Baird told me how well you had done in your studies.’
‘Oh, yes, but now….’ He gave a small frown. ‘Please, Janet, give me your word, before Mother returns. Promise me that you will care for her when I am gone…? You will always tend her needs above all else?’
‘Oh, Andrew, I hate to hear you speak so. Soon you will—’
‘No. I am like our father, frail and useless. Promise me, Janet…?’ He caught her other hand in his. She felt she could crush them both as easily as the shell of the skylark’s tiny eggs. In her heart she knew Andrew was speaking the truth, knew too he had accepted that death was just around the corner.
‘I promise, Andrew,’ she whispered hoarsely. ‘I will care for Mother if ever she needs me….’ She squeezed his fingers gently but she could not stop the tears which filled her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. She saw his eyes were bright too, and over-moist.