The Baker's Daughter (16 page)

Not that it mattered, not in the slightest. He'd been unreasonable, though she admitted she had flown off the handle. And anyway, no-one was going to tell her what to do.

It was perhaps a few weeks later on a blustery March day which sent the wind
sighing
through the trees, and people trying to stand upright as they stumbled, heads bowed against the wind, along the street.

Rona had left the shop for a short time to go to the butcher's and the greengrocer's and was making her way along the High Street, her scarf wound round her neck and her head bent against the high wind that whistled round the corner. Suddenly she bumped into someone. ‘I'm so sorry,' she said, as she regained her balance.

‘Hey, there!' Two strong arms went round her, as she heard a familiar voice.

‘Oh, Callum! I'm sorry,' she said again.

He smiled down at her. ‘You look laden—can I help carry some of your shopping? It's a wild sort of day.'

Rona hesitated. ‘Thank you,' she said. ‘I can manage.'

‘Well, I'll walk along with you. How's Mr Maclaren?' he asked. ‘I heard he'd been under the weather.'

‘He's better,' said Rona. There was a long pause then she said, ‘I saw in the paper, your father's farm's for sale.'

‘Yes?' Callum nodded. ‘It's coming up at the roup next week.'

‘And what does that mean?' Rona didn't like to sound curious.

‘You mean why are they selling? Oh, it all got a bit too much for my father—he's not getting any younger. So Tom will take over the
other
farm, Langton—and Sandy's got a job in a firm, Mackie's—that sells farm machinery. Just the job for him. He never was very keen on the farm. And my parents are moving to a bungalow in the town.' He grinned. ‘So it's all working out well.'

‘And—' Rona hardly dared ask, ‘what will you do?'

‘I've been thinking for a long time. I'm quite interested in going to Canada. I've been over to Dundee to the travel agent there, just to make enquiries. There's the ship, the
Captain Cook
, sailing in a couple of months' time.'

‘Where to?' Rona could hardly get the words out.

‘Glasgow to Montreal.'

‘Have you a job to go to?'

‘I've a cousin not far from Montreal—he wants me to go in with him—they've a store, selling all kinds of goods.'

‘So you've got plans,' Rona said, not looking at him.

‘Well,' he said thoughtfully, ‘there's nothing definite as yet. But there's not much to keep me here.' Then suddenly, he said, ‘Rona, I know it's not the time and place, but would you meet me later? I'd like to talk to you.'

‘I suppose so.'

He handed over her bags and pushed open the shop door. ‘See you tonight, then,' he said and she watched him stride off with that long, loping walk that had been so familiar.

As
she filled up a tray of potato scones, Rona's mind was not on her work. Her thoughts whirled round. Somehow she had always imagined Callum there in Kirkton, but if he went away, would she miss him? Or would she find someone else—maybe a new romance?

She wasn't at all sure of her feelings, but one thing was certain, she would have to get used to life without Callum nearby. He would go to Canada, enter his cousin's business, meet a nice girl, marry and raise a family. Some time, in the far future, they would all come back on holiday to see his family.

She imagined meeting him in the street—a little older, of course, but with the same smile and a trace of Canadian accent.

Maybe she would be married too, and they'd exchange in a friendly way, news of their families.

‘Rona, what about the order for Seaview? They've just rung.'

Rona pushed all thoughts of Callum and the future to the back of her mind. ‘Sorry' she said. ‘I'd almost forgotten.' That wouldn't do, she told herself. Keep your mind on the job, she decided.

That evening she wondered what she should wear, but there was really no decision to make. It was still cold, a strong wind howling through the trees, so it was her thick brown woollen coat and a woolly hat, or nothing.

‘Sorry
to bring you out on such a miserable night,' said Callum when he arrived.

‘Time for a cup of coffee?'

They sat opposite each other in the café as they had done so often. In the background someone had put coins into the jukebox and the sound of loud music made conversation difficult.

Rona sipped her coffee and unwrapped the paper from a chocolate biscuit. Callum grimaced. ‘It's not much of a place,' he said, as the door opened and a group of teenagers burst in, chattering and bringing with them a blast of cold air.

They crowded round the jukebox and someone asked, ‘Can we not have the television on?'

‘That's enough,' said Callum firmly. ‘Have you finished your coffee? Then let's go.'

He took her arm as they left the café. ‘What about walking along the front?' he suggested.

Rona shivered slightly.

‘Come on,' he said with a grin. ‘It'll be bracing.'

In a little while Rona found she was enjoying the wind bringing colour into her cheeks, and the sight of the waves dashing against the promenade wall.

‘We'll be out of the wind here,' said Callum as he drew her into a wooden shelter along the promenade. ‘And not likely to get blown away.'

He
put his arm around her and they sat silently for a bit. ‘We're the only pebbles on the beach,' said Callum into the silence.

Rona turned and looked up at him—he was so familiar to her, the sound of his voice and the comfort of his arms. Suddenly she couldn't imagine what life would be like without him.

‘Rona,' he said, hesitating, ‘I know you probably don't feel the same about me and I'm not one for making pretty speeches, but I love you, and I always will. I wonder—would you come to Canada with me? Marry me, I mean?' He stopped. ‘I'm not putting this very well, but you get the message?' He paused.

‘Oh, Callum,' said Rona and she felt as if a load had been lifted from her shoulders. All these months that had seemed so drab and so lacking in any promise—and here was a whole new future opening up for her. A future, with Callum.

‘I think,' he said slowly, ‘you feel the same way about me. Although we had our differences?' He went on quickly, ‘And we probably will in future, disagree, I mean. I've a quick temper.'

‘Me, too,' Rona put in.

‘Then we're meant for each other,' said Callum. ‘We'd get on well together. I know I could make you happy, Rona. Say you will.'

Rona hesitated. On the one hand, she desperately wanted him. But on the other . . .

‘I wish!' she said slowly. ‘Oh Callum, it's not
that
I don't love you. I've been so lonely and miserable without you.'

‘Well, then?' He looked puzzled. ‘What's the matter?'

‘Don't you see,' she said, ‘I'm needed here. Who would help in the shop, and who would look after Father and Doug and the home? I can't just leave them and go off to Canada.'

‘You need to have a life of your own,' Callum argued. ‘Your father would never want you to sacrifice yourself, and that's what it would be. Giving up your own life for your family?'

‘I know,' said Rona miserably. ‘But they need me, Father and Doug, and. I'm running the shop now Aunt Lizzie's gone. So I can't leave—you do see that, don't you?'

‘I don't see it at all,' said Callum. ‘But you've got to make a choice. Either you marry me or you stay at home and become a drudge.'

‘It's not like that!' Rona flared up. ‘I want to help Father—he depends on me.'

‘And what about me?'

‘That's selfish,' said Rona.

‘Oh don't be so goody-goody.' He was angry now. ‘You can't really feel anything for me, or you wouldn't take that attitude.'

‘Well, that's how I feel,' Rona said.

‘That's your decision,' he said coldly.

‘We're quarrelling already,' said Rona, with a little tremor in her voice. ‘Oh, Callum, don't let's quarrel. Please . . .'

‘I
wish you'd think it over,' he said. ‘I know I could make you happy.'

‘Oh, don't!' said Rona miserably torn. ‘I won't change my mind. I can't.'

A gust of wind swept a few leaves into the shelter.

‘You're getting cold,' he said. ‘I shouldn't have brought you here.'

He got up and pulled her to her feet.

‘Come on, I'll walk you home.'

They were both silent as they walked back through the town. He looked straight ahead. ‘If there's not going to be anything between us, I don't see the point of meeting again, do you?'

‘I suppose not,' Rona said in a small voice.

‘Well,' he said as they reached the gate of Rona's home. ‘Goodbye, Rona. And I wish you . . .' he paused, ‘every happiness, maybe with someone else.'

‘There won't be!' Rona cried out, and then she turned away.

He watched her as she opened the door and went inside. Indoors, Doug was listening to the football results on the wireless and Angus, his slippers on and his spectacles on the end of his nose, was reading the weekly paper.

It was all a very familiar sight.

Angus looked up. ‘See and close the door, Rona. There's a draught blowing in.' He glanced at her.

‘Have a nice time.'

‘Yes,
thank you.'

Neither Angus nor Doug paid much attention. Neither noticed that her eyes were bright with tears.

‘Well, that's it,' Rona told herself ‘It's all over.' And she said as cheerfully as she could, ‘Anyone want a cup of tea?'

ERIKA CONFIDES IN RONA

It doesn't feel a bit like spring, Rona thought. Had she made the right decision? She turned the question over and over in her mind, but always she came back to the same conclusion. I couldn't have done anything else. I've got to stay here.

So she tried to forget about her dilemma, and put on a cheerful face, though Angus, who knew her well, was not fooled by this and often looked at her thoughtfully.

This year Rona found little pleasure, as she usually did, in the great sweep of yellow in the park. Normally she enjoyed the lengthening of the days, but now she didn't feel a lifting of the heart. Life was dull and flat and would go on being so.

She tried very hard to share in Nancy's excitement—for Nancy was engaged to the young man she had met at the badminton club, and was full of wedding plans. ‘It will be
in
summer,' she told Rona. ‘We're planning for late June. I want my little bridesmaids in soft sweet pea colours—pale pinks and maybe mauve,' her voice drifted off.

Rona smiled and tried not to think about Callum and whether she had made the right decision.

‘And what about Erika?' Nancy was intrigued by the newcomer. ‘Is she still as silent?'

‘No—she's taking lessons in English from Miss Webb. You know her, she taught at the High.'

‘I was scared of her,' admitted Nancy.

Rona laughed. ‘Oh, her bark was worse than her bite. And she had endless patience.'

Certainly Erika was gradually becoming more fluent. Every morning, while Angus had been laid up, she'd appeared at the shop door and helped with baking the bread and rolls.

Even when he was back at work, she would come in when she was free and shyly offer to help. Once or twice, she had produced Danish pastries and a gateau. When Angus thanked her, she shook her head. ‘For me it is a pleasure,' she said. ‘I like to bake. In my father's shop . . .' and she broke off.

Rona was no nearer knowing anything about Erika's history. She tried asking Doug, and he said rather brusquely that it was none of her business. She had a feeling that Doug didn't know either, but that it didn't really
matter
to him either way.

One day when the shop was quiet, Erika appeared at the door and signalled to Rona.

‘When you are free,' she said in a whisper, ‘can I talk to you?'

Rona looked surprised. ‘I'm not busy now,' she said, because the shop was empty.

‘What is it?'

‘No.' Erika shook her head. ‘It's private.'

‘Then come round to the house—this evening,' Rona offered.

Erika hesitated. ‘Could we speak alone?'

All right. Say the café. I could be there about half-past five.'

‘Good. Thank you.'

She was at the café promptly, but Erika was already waiting at a corner table, a cup of tea untouched in front of her. ‘You would like tea, coffee?'

‘Coffee, please.' Rona took off her coat and sat down opposite Erika. She was concerned to see that the girl had been crying. What on earth could be wrong?

She leaned across the table and laid a hand on Erika's arm. ‘Tell me what's wrong?'

Erika fished in her bag and produced an airmail letter. ‘I don't know. My English is not good enough.'

‘You want me to read it?'

Erika nodded. ‘I explain. My brother—he and I came from Vienna. He got a job in London, but he was always in trouble. For a bit
he
was in prison.' She gave a little sob. ‘I love Franz. He is my brother, but he is not good—he steals, he takes money from his firm. When he got out of prison, he went to Australia.'

Rona was troubled. ‘So you want me to read this Is it from your brother?'

Erika shook her head. ‘No, he does not write much. He did not learn to read and write well. The letter, it is in English. My English is not good. I must know. Is Franz in trouble again? Is he in prison? Why should someone write to me from Australia?'

Rona turned the blue airmail letter over in her hand—she noticed that it had been redirected from London to an address in Dundee and then to Kirkton.