sorry.’
‘Thank you. It is the will of the Lord.’ The bleakness in Mary Scobie’s voice belies her words.
‘I should have paid a visit.’
‘Well, it is not easy. We have our lives to lead.’
‘Yes.’ Totty looks down, not knowing what to say to this flinty woman. The loss of a brother-in-law and a son soon after arriving at so alien a place as Denniston would surely have broken most women. ‘Perhaps,’ she says after a pause, ‘my husband built your home?’
‘No, my dear. Scobies build their own homes, but I have seen your husband and know him to be a good tradesman.’
There is something a little patronising about this. Tom, after all, owns the only six-roomed building at Denniston, and will soon build a second boarding house. But Totty is too tired today to take umbrage. She puts tea on the table, groans with pleasure at taking the weight off her feet.
Mary Scobie looks at her with a practised eye. ‘About two more months?’
‘Yes. Two exactly.’
‘Will you have it up here?’
‘I will. Mrs C will help, as she did with Michael and Elizabeth.’
There is a silence as the two sip their tea. Michael and Brennan circle each other like puppies. Then Michael bolts into the hallway and Brennan follows. Soon they are banging up and down the corridor with whoops and Totty has to call them not to wake the baby.
‘I heard you had six boys and all in the mine,’ says Totty, back in the kitchen. ‘Tom didn’t speak about the little one.’
Mary takes a scone. It’s yesterday’s, warmed in the oven. ‘Well, and that is the reason for this visit. I would like Brennan to have schooling. There are two more children arrived last week, up near us, nine and ten years old. With your Michael that makes four. Also,’ Mary Scobie takes a breath as if preparing for some battle, ‘I intend to take the twins out of the mine for a year’s school-work.To take their Certificate. Six pupils is enough for a school, they say.’
Totty flushes, not sure how to put it. ‘There is another little one. Rose. She could do with the schooling.’
Mary looks her dead in the eye. ‘The child at the Camp?’
‘Yes.’
‘Jimmy Cork’s?’
‘Well, she lives there, but who can say …’
‘No.’
‘Mrs Scobie …’ This time Totty is the one preparing for battle.
‘No, my dear, not in a school with my boys.’ The older woman’s face is granite. ‘It would not work.’
‘The child did not choose her father.’
‘The father should leave this place, not settle his blood here for schooling.’
‘Well,’ Totty smiles in spite of herself, ‘Rose will likely send herself to school, and no one will have the heart to turn her away. Wait till you see her, Mary.’
‘Not I nor any other Scobie will wish to set eyes on her. There will be trouble.’
For a moment the only sound is the boys’ boots on the floorboards. Then Mary Scobie, straight-backed at the table but unseeing, starts speaking. It is as if a small crack has opened, just enough for the words to edge out. The words are bitter, the voice bleak as winter.
‘What kind of a godforsaken place is this where you cannot bury your dead? My eldest son, Samuel, and his uncle, Frank, both of them dead in a day and I can visit the graveside of neither. What kind of a settlement can we build here without our dead? Without a churchyard? This is devil’s country. Iron-hard rock, black sky, and no shred of honest soil to bury the dead. My son is lying where he fell, who can say exactly where. His body not laid out; crumpledunder a mountain of rock like some animal. Who can pray — who can commune with the dead — at the mouth of a clattering mine?’
‘I’m sorry,’ says Totty. She pats the older woman’s hand but the gesture goes unnoticed.
‘And what if our babies die? Which they will, of course.’ Mary Scobie is deep inside herself, oblivious now, surely, of her hostess’s condition. ‘Will we have to put them on a coal wagon and watch them
‘Thank you. It is the will of the Lord.’ The bleakness in Mary Scobie’s voice belies her words.
‘I should have paid a visit.’
‘Well, it is not easy. We have our lives to lead.’
‘Yes.’ Totty looks down, not knowing what to say to this flinty woman. The loss of a brother-in-law and a son soon after arriving at so alien a place as Denniston would surely have broken most women. ‘Perhaps,’ she says after a pause, ‘my husband built your home?’
‘No, my dear. Scobies build their own homes, but I have seen your husband and know him to be a good tradesman.’
There is something a little patronising about this. Tom, after all, owns the only six-roomed building at Denniston, and will soon build a second boarding house. But Totty is too tired today to take umbrage. She puts tea on the table, groans with pleasure at taking the weight off her feet.
Mary Scobie looks at her with a practised eye. ‘About two more months?’
‘Yes. Two exactly.’
‘Will you have it up here?’
‘I will. Mrs C will help, as she did with Michael and Elizabeth.’
There is a silence as the two sip their tea. Michael and Brennan circle each other like puppies. Then Michael bolts into the hallway and Brennan follows. Soon they are banging up and down the corridor with whoops and Totty has to call them not to wake the baby.
‘I heard you had six boys and all in the mine,’ says Totty, back in the kitchen. ‘Tom didn’t speak about the little one.’
Mary takes a scone. It’s yesterday’s, warmed in the oven. ‘Well, and that is the reason for this visit. I would like Brennan to have schooling. There are two more children arrived last week, up near us, nine and ten years old. With your Michael that makes four. Also,’ Mary Scobie takes a breath as if preparing for some battle, ‘I intend to take the twins out of the mine for a year’s school-work.To take their Certificate. Six pupils is enough for a school, they say.’
Totty flushes, not sure how to put it. ‘There is another little one. Rose. She could do with the schooling.’
Mary looks her dead in the eye. ‘The child at the Camp?’
‘Yes.’
‘Jimmy Cork’s?’
‘Well, she lives there, but who can say …’
‘No.’
‘Mrs Scobie …’ This time Totty is the one preparing for battle.
‘No, my dear, not in a school with my boys.’ The older woman’s face is granite. ‘It would not work.’
‘The child did not choose her father.’
‘The father should leave this place, not settle his blood here for schooling.’
‘Well,’ Totty smiles in spite of herself, ‘Rose will likely send herself to school, and no one will have the heart to turn her away. Wait till you see her, Mary.’
‘Not I nor any other Scobie will wish to set eyes on her. There will be trouble.’
For a moment the only sound is the boys’ boots on the floorboards. Then Mary Scobie, straight-backed at the table but unseeing, starts speaking. It is as if a small crack has opened, just enough for the words to edge out. The words are bitter, the voice bleak as winter.
‘What kind of a godforsaken place is this where you cannot bury your dead? My eldest son, Samuel, and his uncle, Frank, both of them dead in a day and I can visit the graveside of neither. What kind of a settlement can we build here without our dead? Without a churchyard? This is devil’s country. Iron-hard rock, black sky, and no shred of honest soil to bury the dead. My son is lying where he fell, who can say exactly where. His body not laid out; crumpledunder a mountain of rock like some animal. Who can pray — who can commune with the dead — at the mouth of a clattering mine?’
‘I’m sorry,’ says Totty. She pats the older woman’s hand but the gesture goes unnoticed.
‘And what if our babies die? Which they will, of course.’ Mary Scobie is deep inside herself, oblivious now, surely, of her hostess’s condition. ‘Will we have to put them on a coal wagon and watch them
Similar Books
