The Road to Rowanbrae by Doris Davidson Page B

his pipe, Andra White had noticed three figures running across the moss – a man first, then, some way behind, a woman and a boy – but it had taken him some time to realise who they were and where they were heading, and longer still before the significance of their destination dawned on him. ‘It was Jeems Duncan an’ Mysie an’ Jamie,’ he told his wife, ‘runnin’ to the quarry like the devil was chasin’ them. Surely Sandy wouldna ha’e fell doon the hole?’
    â€˜You’d best go an’ see,’ Pattie advised, ‘an tak’ a rope wi’ you, in case the bairn’s got stuck.’ Her face grew grave. ‘If he’s went right doon, there’s naething naebody can dae.’
    When her husband came round from the outhouses carrying a coil of strong rope, she said, ‘I’ll come wi’ you, Andra, for Mysie’ll need a wumman body if …’ She didn’t finish.
    Pattie, very stout and more breathless by the minute, lagged farther and farther behind Andra as he hurried across the bog, but when he caught sight of the group of three standing near the edge like statues, he turned his head and shouted to her, ‘The laddie must be lost.’ Drawing nearer, his growing concern turned to astonishment when he saw that it was Sandy who was with his parents, not Jamie, as he’d expected. Both Jeems and Mysie appeared to be paralysed with shock, but Sandy looked up desolately. ‘I was tryin’ to get a martin’s egg an’ I stretched oot an’ slid ower, an’ Jamie come ower to pull me up, an he’s fell doon.’
    Andra did not understand this garbled account, but he and Pattie took them to the mill, and it was there that he pieced the true story together. ‘Oh, God, that’s the worst thing I ever heard,’ he muttered, when he took it in. ‘To think you’d baith loons safe, an’ …’ He halted, appalled by the look on the other man’s face as much as by the tragedy. ‘Dinna blame yoursel’, Jeems. You did what you thought was right, an’ you couldna help what happened.’
    Pattie, her arms round the still-silent Mysie, looked up at her husband and shook her head sadly. Andra noticed that the young woman’s body was caved in, her eyes were blank in big, dark sockets, her face and lips as white as driven snow. She was scarcely breathing, and clearly had no idea where she was.
    Pattie took matters firmly in hand. ‘I’ll best tak’ Mysie up the stair to lie doon.’ Helping the other woman to her feet, she led her out.
    Remembering that the boy was still standing just inside the door, Andra said, kindly, ‘Sit doon, my loon.’
    Sandy had not said a word since they left the quarry. He walked across the room unsteadily and perched himself on the edge of one of the chairs. There he sat, his fingers twining through each other, his eyes regarding the top of his father’s head as Jeems sat bent almost double.
    The miller, recognising the shame and appeal in the stare, wished he could take Sandy in his arms to reassure him, but it was Jeems’s place to do that, or, even more so, Mysie’s. The bairn was needing love at this time, but his mother and father were too wrapped up in their own guilt and sorrow to speak to him. It was a bad business altogether, Andra mused.
    When Pattie came thumping down the stairs, she said, ‘I’ll mak’ a cup o’ strong, sweet tea for her.’
    â€˜Would you like a dram, Jeems?’ Andra offered, hopefully.
    The bowed head lifted slowly. ‘Thank you, no, I’ll never touch strong drink again. Maybe this is God’s punishment to me for nae bein’ the man I should ha’e been, an’ I swear, in front o’ witnesses, that I’ll …’ Jeems’s voice broke, and his head dropped again.
    â€˜You’ll tak’ some tea, then,’ Pattie ordered.