The Day She Cradled Me Page 10

  ‘You girls wait for me here while I try to find her,’ Mother says. ‘Stay together, and please, please don’t move until I get back. Elizabeth, hold the baby and keep the children back from the water.’

  I lower my arm. I was looking forward to seeing Aunt Christina again. We haven’t seen her since the day the wicked woman was put on the stool in church. I was going to tell her what a good girl I’ve been. But I’ve spoiled that now. I reach around and press the place on my back where the strikes landed. It is still sore.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Bella asks.

  I nod. It happened yesterday. I was carrying a pail of coal to Old Widow Laird when Father came home. He saw the pail and said I’d been stealing. I told him I hadn’t stolen it; I’d picked up pieces that fell off the coal carts. He said I was a little thief and made the whole family look like beggars; he didn’t work his hands to the bone to give us a good Christian upbringing so that I could bend to the vile ways of the lawless. I should remember that God requires sinners to repent and be punished. And he took to me with his belt.

  The ship rocks gently. ‘There’s two hundred and forty-three people have to get on there,’ Janet says. ‘Miss McKillop told us at school yesterday. Her brother and his wife are going, so she knows.’

  ‘Why don’t you just be quiet,’ Elizabeth says. ‘It’s bad enough being dragged out here in the freezing cold without having to listen to you.’ She wraps her arms round her body. ‘I’m certain to catch cold, I just know I am. And then what will Father say?’

  I climb a pile of rope. If I get higher I might be able to see Mother and Aunt Christina, and then I can wave out to them.

  ‘Get off there!’ a man shouts. ‘You cursed bairns. Get off with you before I —’

  I hurry down and run off, stopping just in time at the edge of the wharf.

  ‘That was close,’ Janet says.

  ‘You stupid fool.’ Elizabeth is carrying the baby and glaring at me. ‘Now look what you’ve done. Mother will come back and she’ll have no idea where we are.’

  We are beside the wooden ramp; people are showing their tickets and walking onto the ship.

  ‘Miss McKillop says it will take at least four months, and maybe five before they get to New Zealand,’ Janet says.

  Elizabeth pulls a face. ‘You wouldn’t get me on that thing.’

  ‘They look happy enough to me,’ I say. People are waving from the deck. ‘Perhaps we’ve missed her.’

  But we haven’t. Though I cannot see her face, I can certainly hear her. ‘Beth, will you please stop your worrying. You are giving me a headache.’ I run and put my arms around her, resting my head against the big bump.

  ‘Hello darling, and how are you on this wonderful morning?’

  Mother follows behind; her eyes are red. ‘Come along, Minnie, let your aunt breathe. She doesn’t want you —’

  ‘She’s fine, Beth. Leave her be. Well, what do you think, girls? Will it get us all the way to New Zealand?’

  Elizabeth is quiet. Janet recites the names of ships that have been recently wrecked.

  ‘You don’t do much for my poor heart,’ Aunt Christina says as Janet’s face turns red.

  ‘I’m sorry. The child has a tongue that runs faster than her brain.’

  ‘That’s perfectly fine, Beth. I’m sure her brain is just as quick. Now we’d better find Dugald or they might sail away and leave your old aunt behind.’

  We follow her to where Uncle Dugald and the children are standing — Mary, Christina and little William, who pushes me away to be picked up.

  ‘Are you sure you will write?’ Mother says. ‘They are proper sailors? The captain, he knows what he’s doing?’

  ‘Of course. Captain Elles is a fine seaman, and I’ve been assured Surgeon Ramsay is among the best in the profession.’ She rubs her belly. ‘Look, he moved. He’s more excited than we are.’

  There are kisses now and tears, and hugs and more tears. Aunt Christina is in front of us, and then on the ship; then she is gone.

  And then I can scarcely believe it.

  It is all over. We have said our farewells.

  Aunt Christina has gone to New Zealand. And I have been left behind.

  We are stood at the top of our new street, looking down all the way past the market, the pier, and out to the water. We are very fortunate: this part of Greenock has a much higher measure of people, Father says, and now we won’t be brought to the doors of Hell by all manner of sin. Ann Street itself is bustling with people, horses, carts and animals, and is wide enough for four wagons plus a barrow. Behind us smoke rises from enormous chimneys of the cotton factory; in front, two long rows of tenements sweep downwards. In one of them is our new house. It’s only a single room but it is still our saviour, Mother says.

  ‘I won again.’

  ‘Janet, that’s not fair. You started running before us.’

  ‘I did not. You’re just not quick enough, you sloth.’ Bella puts her hands on her hips. ‘Mother, Janet just called me a sloth.’

  ‘Sloth?’ Mother is carrying the last of our boxes, as well as baby Christina; she stops and leans against a post.

  ‘What’s a sloth?’ I ask.

  ‘It’s a big slow monkey.’

  ‘Mother, Janet just called me a monkey.’

  ‘Quick, there’s some ice!’ Most of the puddles have been cracked by passing feet, hooves or carts, but this one is unspoiled; if I reach it first I will have the finest jump of the day. I run towards it, so focused on winning I don’t notice the arm stretched in front of me, lifting me from my feet as we collide.

  ‘Whoa there, young lass.’ Two men, large, like Father, are groaning as they carry a stretcher covered in dark cloth out of a door and onto the road.

  ‘What are they doing?’ I reach for Bella’s hand.

  ‘Shhhh, I’ll tell you later.’

  The men push the stretcher up onto a cart. Women are weeping, men remove their hats as they pass. What is under the cloth?

  Then I see it — I can’t believe my good fortune. The puddle in front of the horse is still uncracked. If I’m quick, I can reach it first.

  ‘Minnie, wait!’

  I am beside it, and it is huge, bigger than any we have cracked all morning, possibly even all week. I hitch my skirt and jump.

  ‘Got it!’ I shout, landing right in the middle. But my excitement is short-lived. Angry voices swirl above my head.

  ‘Get the wretched child out! Hold the horse steady.’

  ‘Minnie? Minnie, are you all right?’

  ‘Minnie, what were you thinking?’

  ‘Whose child is this?’

  ‘She is mine, Reverend McCulloch. Please, forgive me,’ Mother says.

  Bella kneels down and tries to help me to my feet.

  ‘Bell? Did you see it?’ I say.

  ‘Get up, Minnie. Get up.’

  ‘Does a man’s death hold so little respect?’

  ‘Please, Reverend.’

  ‘Does the word of God not ring through these parts?’

  ‘It will never happen again. She is just a child.’

  ‘A child, indeed —’

  ‘Reverend?’ Another man speaks. ‘They are leaving, Reverend, sir, and you are needed down at the Vent. Widow Lambert.’

  ‘She has the fever?’

  ‘I believe it is her eldest.’

  ‘Where will it end?’ the Reverend asks, looking up to the sky. ‘Where will it end?’

  I like our new house. It is on the second level of our tenement. We walk into the close, up the stairs, and our door is the one to the left. We have a window so I can look down over the street and watch people coming in and out of the baker’s and grocer’s across from us. Today it is cloudy, and people keep looking up past our window to see if it will rain.

  Mother stands beside me, and I stroke her belly. It is so big I wonder if it might burst, though I don’t like to say lest she get upset.

  ‘What will we call it when it comes out?’ I ask
instead.

  ‘Do you have an idea?’

  ‘Minnie?’

  Mother laughs. She laughs a lot more now the baby sickness has gone.

  ‘What do you think of John, if it’s a boy? After your father.’

  I nod. We both know it’s a girl. This family is a girl family. There are boys who live upstairs with Mrs Todd, and they smell and make awful noises.

  ‘And if it’s a girl,’ Mother says, ‘I like the name Ellen.’ She sits down and lifts Christina onto her lap. ‘It’s pretty, do you agree?’

  I haven’t heard the name before. It seems too grown up for a baby. ‘I like Ann,’ I say. ‘If she’s called Ann, then she’ll remember where she lives.’

  ‘You don’t like Ellen?’

  I look onto the street again. It’s raining now, and there are few people about. Just a man with a horse and cart carrying a stretcher covered in black cloth. There’s a body under there, Bella said. It makes me shiver.

  ‘What if we call her Ellen Ann? That’s lovely. Ellen Ann.’ Mother rubs her bump.

  What will she look like? Dark and serious like Elizabeth? Or fair and pretty like Bella? I hope she doesn’t have whiskers like Mrs Todd or we won’t be able to take her to the market; everyone will stare at her and want to pat her like a dog —

  ‘Mother!’ Elizabeth flies in the door, holding Janet beside her. Water drips from their hair and sticks to their cheeks; their lips are blue.

  Bella runs in behind them. ‘Miss McKillop said to get home quick,’ she says.

  Janet sinks onto the pulley. Mother lays a blanket over her, whispers softly, wipes the water from her face. Janet’s eyes are closed.

  ‘Elizabeth, what has happened?’

  ‘I don’t know. Miss McKillop has sent everyone home. She says school will be closed until at least the week after next.’ She lowers her voice. ‘Mother, Miss McKillop covered her mouth with a handkerchief and wouldn’t touch Janet.’

  Mother’s face is white. ‘Take Minnie and Christina upstairs to Mrs Todd. Tell her Janet is ill. And on no account — no account, do you hear — are any of you to come back until I send for you. Do you understand? Now go!’

  Elizabeth picks up Christina and hurries for the door. ‘Mother?’ she says.

  ‘Go, go now!’

  I reach for Bella’s hand.

  ‘I need Isabella here.’ Mother bends down to talk to me. ‘Minnie, please, I need you to behave. Go with Elizabeth and play a while. Everything here will be fine. I promise. As soon as we’ve got things settled, I’ll send Isabella through to fetch you, all right? Come now, I’ll see you soon.’

  I nod and look at Bella, then run out the door after my sisters.

  Mrs Todd is having herrings for supper. She tells us she has a brother who works the boats and she’s damn sure he could’ve brought her a few more — but this’ll do fine, beggars can’t be choosers. She cuts off their heads first and then their tails.

  ‘I’m sure Janet will be well before long,’ she says as she slops what is left into a pot. ‘Probably just got cramp. It’s going round. My sister Daisy, she’s had cramp on and off more than a month. Catherine! Leave wee Christina to herself if she don’t like you playing with her hair.’

  Mrs Todd picks up a knife and chops onions. She puts them into the pot with the fish and wipes her hands down her apron.

  ‘Do you think Bella will come soon?’ I say.

  Mrs Todd frowns. ‘I’ll go over shortly and see what has to be done. Lord knows, there’s nothing like a good feed of herrings to bring you right and there’s more here than what I thought.’ She wriggles her fingers about in the small basin of water beside the plate. ‘I’ll be back in a wee moment.’

  I wait. I wait and wait and wait. I climb from the chair and creep out and down the stairs. I can see Mrs Todd just inside our doorway.

  ‘Is everything all right, Mrs Todd?’

  ‘Of course, yes, yes,’ she says, nudging me back up the stairs and into her house. She pulls her apron back around her and tries to tie the strings. ‘Of course it is. Yes. Yes, of course. Everything is fine. But Minnie, you must stay at mine a while longer. You mustn’t leave.’ She takes the pot from the hot plate and holds the lid carefully; liquid drains into a bowl. Some of the scorching water splashes out and onto her wrist. ‘Christ and damn,’ she says.

  ‘Ma!’

  ‘Mary, I’m sorry. I just don’t know where my head is today.’ Mrs Todd slides a knife through the fish, removes the bones and places them in a circle on the plate, building them up like a bird’s nest. She spoons the flesh back into the hot liquid. ‘Can you peel tatties, Minnie?’

  ‘Yes, but not as well as Bella. Bella is queen of tatties.’ I jump off the stool. ‘I’ll fetch her so she can peel your tatties.’

  Mrs Todd grabs my arm. ‘No, dear, no. What did I tell you? Your dear Ma told you to stay here. We don’t want to be disturbing precious wee Janet over a few potatoes now, do we?’

  I climb back up.

  ‘Are you not going to work today, Ma?’

  ‘No, Catherine dear. No. The drapers can do without me one afternoon. I’ll be staying right here with you.’

  I look away. I’d been hoping that Mrs Todd would send us home when it was time for her to leave.

  Christina cries for Mother. At bedtime they have still not called for us. I am told to undress and to sleep with Catherine in her pulley.

  ‘I can’t,’ I say. ‘I want to go home.’

  ‘Can you see Christina over there?’ says Mrs Todd, looking over at my sister who is snoring in the bed on the other side of the room.

  ‘Mother and Father have a bed like that,’ I say. ‘It comes down out of our wall.’

  ‘That’s right. And I think wee Christina likes it. What do you think?’

  I nod.

  ‘She’s sound asleep, just like you should be. The sooner you sleep, the sooner you will wake. By morning, everything will be better. It always is in the morning.’ She kisses my forehead and moves to Elizabeth, who is sharing with Mary, and then disappears out the door.

  I slide from the bed. The door is ajar.

  There are voices inside my house; one sounds a lot like Reverend McCulloch, but it can’t be, because this is my house and it’s the middle of the night.

  What is that smell?

  Reverend McCulloch — it is him. I’m sure. Father has sent for him; he is here to put me on the stool.

  But what is that smell?

  Mother. Mother is wailing. Inside. Inside my house, with Reverend McCulloch. He has come to get me. I’ve been a wicked child; now I must pay for it.

  The smell is dreadful. I hold my arm to my face and peer in the door.

  Janet is asleep and Reverend McCulloch stands over her.

  He reads from his book.

  ‘Bella,’ I whisper. She lies on our pulley. The floor is sticky; the smell is in my nose, my mouth, my skin. I call out. ‘Mother?’

  ‘Lord, no. What is she doing here? Quickly, get her out.’

  ‘Beth.’ It is Mrs Todd. She holds Mother, keeps her from falling to the ground. ‘Leave her, Beth. Let her be with her sister.’

  I am breathing quickly. ‘Bella?’ My voice is that of a stranger; the words are dry in my throat.

  Is this Bella?

  ‘Minnie.’ The word is barely a whisper; it wafts from the hole in the middle of her face. ‘Water …’

  A pail of water is on the table. I hurry to ladle a cup.

  Her lips and the tip of her tongue are blue. Water dribbles down her chin. I put the cup on the floor.

  Is this Bella?

  Her eyes are sunk into her face; the skin on her neck and arms hangs limp. I turn away.

  ‘Don’t leave me.’

  The Reverend’s voice drones on and on. I want to shout at him, Be quiet. Bella is over here, and she is sick, she needs some quiet to sleep.

  ‘Is … Janet … all … right?’

  ‘She’s fine, Bell,’ I say, ‘she’s sleepin
g.’ Janet can sleep through anything.

  Bella’s body twists.

  ‘Mother?’ I leap off the bed.

  Bella’s body is shaking, her arms and legs fold in; they tie up in knots.

  ‘Mother!’

  ‘Isabella.’ Mother is here.

  I lift the cup and hold it out again, pour water gently into Bella’s parted lips. ‘Bella,’ I say, wiping sick from her chin, ‘tell me what to do.’

  Her eyes are open, wide and vacant. She jerks out a hand, finds my arm, clutches it tightly. ‘It huuurrrrts …’

  I climb under the wet sheet, wriggle over and reach out to her cold, clammy hand. Our feet tangle together like strands of rope.

  Bella’s, then mine, then Bella’s, then mine. I wrap an arm round her and put my chin up to kiss her cheek.

  ‘Sing … to … me …’

  I take a breath. ‘Can ye sew curtains, and can ye sew sheets, Can ye sing ballalu till the bairn sleeps … Ballalu lambie, ballalu lamb … Ballalu lambie … my bonnie wee one.’

  A horse and cart take Bella; they put her on a stretcher with Janet and cover them both with black cloth. The cart is waiting. A group of strangers gathers to watch, heads bowed, handkerchiefs covering their mouths. They load the stretcher onto the back.

  I watch from my window.

  Bella is on that stretcher. Bella is under that black cloth. My Bella.

  Four nights later Ellen Ann enters the world, a mass of screams and blood. The curtain round Mother’s bed shakes, and bright red drops spatter across it.

  I lie alone and stare at the roof. I put my hands over my ears. The newborn takes three gulps and knows this is not a world she cares to suffer.

  By daybreak, she too is dead.

  ‘Ungrateful brat, she’s not even listening.’ Father bangs his fist on the table. ‘It’s been more than a year now since we had a McCulloch in that school. Plenty round here, girl, who can’t afford to send bairns to get an education. Plenty your age out earning their keep, which is what you’ll be doing if there’s any trouble.’