Chae boasted it was his help put in the old Liberal stock: and God knows if he thought that fine he was easily pleased, they never saw the creature again in Kinraddie.
BUT THAT WAS THE last time father struck a man, striking in cold anger and cold blood as was the way of him. Folk said he was an unchancy childe to set in a rage; but his next rage mischieved himself, not others. For a while up into the New Year, April and the turnip-time, things at Blawearie went fair and smooth, Will saying no more than his say at plate or park, never countering father, hardly he looked at him even; and father maybe thought to rule the roost as he’d done before when Will was no more than a boy that cowered when he heard that sharp voice raised, frightened and beaten and lying through nights with his sore wealed body in the arms of Chris. But Chris, knowing none of his plannings, guessed right well something new it was kept Will quiet, so quiet day on day, yet if you looked at him sudden you’d more likely than not see him smiling to himself, lovely the face that he smiled with, brown and clean, and his eyes were kind and clear and the hair grew down on his head in a bonny mop, Will took after mother with that flame of rusty gold that was hers.
Ah well, he kept to his whistling and his secret smiling, and every night after loosening and suppering was done, off down the road on his old bit bicycle he’d go, you’d hear through the evening stillness nothing but the sound of the old machine whirring down Blawearie road, and the weet- weet of the peewits flying twilit over Kinraddie, wheeling and circling there in the dark, daft creatures that made their nests in this rig and that and would come back next day and find them robbed or smothered away. So for hundreds of years they’d done, the peewits, said Long Rob of the Mill, and hadn’t learned the sense of the thing even yet; and if you were to take that as a sample of the Divine Intelligence that had allotted a fitting amount of brain to each creature’s needs then all you could suppose was that the Divine had more than a spite against the peesie.
Chris heard him say that one day she looked in at the Mill to ask when a sack of bruised corn, left there by Will, would be ready. But there on the bench outside the Mill, in the shade from the hot Spring weather, sat Rob and Chae and Mutch of Bridge End, all guzzling beer from long bottles they were, Rob more bent on bruising their arguments than on bruising Blawearie’s corn. Peewits were flying round the Mill fell thick, peewits and crows that nested in the pines above the Mill, and the birds it was had begun the argument. Chris waited for a while, pleased enough with the shade and rest, hearkening to Long Rob make a fool of God. But Alec Mutch wagged his meikle lugs, No, man, you’re fair wrong there. And man, Rob, you’ll burn in hell for that, you know. Chae was half on his side and half wasn’t, he said Damn the fears, that’s nothing but an old wife’s gabble for fearing the bairns. But Something there is up there, Rob man, there’s no denying that. If I thought there wasn’t I’d out and cut my throat this minute. Then the three of them sighted Chris and Rob got up, the long, rangy childe with the glinting eyes, and cried Is’t about the bruised corn, Chris? Tell Will I’ll do it to-night.
But Will had unyoked and made off to Drumlithie, his usual gait, when Chris got home, and father was up on the moor with his gun, you heard the bang of the shots come now and then. Chris had a great baking to do that night, both father and Will would eat oat-cakes and scones for a wager, bought bread from the vans soon scunnered them sore. Warm work it was when you’d heaped a great fire and the girdle glowed below, you’d nearly to strip in fine weather if you weren’t to sweat yourself sick. Chris got out of most things but a vest and a petticoat, she was all alone and could do as she pleased, it was fine and free and she baked with a will.
She was lifting the last cake, browned and good and twice cross cut, when she knew that somebody watched her from the door of the kitchen, and she looked, it was Ewan Tavendale, him she hadn’t seen since the day of the thresh at Peesie’s Knapp. He was standing against the jamb, long and dark with his glowering eyes, but he reddened when she looked, not half as much as she did herself, she could feel the red warm blushing come through her skin from tip to toe; such a look he’s taking, she thought, it’s a pity I’m wearing a thing and he can’t study the blush to its end.
But he just said Hello, is Will about? and Chris said No, in Drumlithie I think, and they stood and glowered like a couple of gowks, Chris saw his eyes queer and soft and shy, the neck of his shirt had fallen apart, below it the skin was white as new milk, frothed white it looked, and a drop of sweat stood there where the brown of his tanning and the white of his real skin met. And then Chris suddenly knew something and blushed again, sharp and silly, she couldn’t stop, she’d minded the night of the fire at Peesie’s Knapp and the man that had kissed her on the homeward road, Εwan Tavendale it had been, no other, shameless and coarse.
He was blushing himself again by then, they looked at each other in a white, queer daze, Chris wondered in a kind of a panic if he knew what she knew at last, half-praying she was he wouldn’t speak of it when he began to move off from the door, still red, stepping softly, like father, like a limber, soft-stepping cat. Well, I was hoping I’d see him in case he should leave us sudden-like.
She stared at him all awake, that kissing on the winter road forgotten. Leave! Who said Will was leaving? —Oh, I heard he was trying for a job in Aberdeen, maybe it’s a lie. Tell him I called in about. Ta-ta.
She called Ta-ta, Ewan, after him as he crossed the close, he half-turned round and smiled at her, quick and dark like a cat again, Ta-ta, Chris. And she stood looking after him a long while, not thinking, smiling, till the smell of a burning cake roused her to run, just like the English creature Alfred.
And next morning she said to Will after breakfast, casual- like, but her heart in her throat, Εwan Tavendale was down to see you last night, he thought you’d be leaving Blawearie soon. And Will took it cool and quiet, Did he? God, they’d haver the breeks from a Highlandman’s haunches, the gossipers of Kinraddie. Tavendale down to see me? More likely he was down to take a bit keek at you, Chris lass. So look after yourself, for he’s Highland and coarse. .
In July it came to the hay-time, and John Guthrie looked at Will and said he was going to have down the hay with a scythe this year, not spoil the bit stuff with a mower. Fair plain to Chris he expected Will to fly in a rage at that and say he wasn’t to chave and sweat in the forking of rig after rig when a mower would clear Blawearie’s park in a day or two at the most. But Will just said All right and went on with his porridge, and went out to the field in the tail of father, a fork on his shoulder and whistling happy as a lark, so that father turned round and snapped Hold your damned wheeber, you’ll need your breath for the bout. Even at that Will laughed, as a man at a girning bairn, right off they were worse friends than even the year before. But all that time Will was making his plans and on the morning of the August’s last Saturday, Chris aye remembered that morning with its red sun and the singing of the North Sea over the Howe, that morning he said to father I’m off to Aberdeen to-day.
Father said never a word, he went on with his porridge and finished it, he mightn’t have heard Will speak, he lighted his pipe and stepped out of the house, fleet as ever he went, and began coling the hayfield in front of the house; Will could see him then and be shamed of himself and his idle jaunting. But Will wasn’t ashamed, he looked after father with a sneer, The old fool thinks he can frighten me still, and said something else Chris didn’t catch, syne looked at her suddenly, his eyes bright and his lips moving, Chris—Lord, I wish you were coming as well!
She stared at that amazed, pleased as well. What, up to Aberdeen? I’d like it fine but I can’t. Hurry and dress, else you’ll miss your train.
So he went and dressed, fell slow-like he seemed at the business, she thought, the morning and a jaunt in front of him. She went to the foot of the stairs and cried up
