A Maxwell Mourned (ebook)

Argumento de A Maxwell Mourned (ebook)

As the year of 1922 progressed Ross threw himself into his work. Alfie had become his constant shadow. His had phenomenal strength and an eagerness to please. They were great compensations for his handicap. Between them they fenced and ditched and mended boundary walls, thatched the stacks and cleaned out the sheds. Slowly The Glens of Lochandee was returning to the tidy, well run farm which Alice Beattie remembered.

She blessed the day the Factor had brought Ross to her. She enjoyed his company in the house too and was beginning to look upon him more like a favourite nephew. She sensed there was something overshadowing his happiness and keeping him from being totally content. It troubled her. She knew little of his family or his background. When such matters arose in conversation he seemed to draw a veil between them.

On Sunday afternoons Ross explored the countryside on his bicycle, even when the weather was less than kind. He could not rest. Whenever he was not working his thoughts returned to Rachel and Windlebrae. Although he knew nothing of her changed circumstances and the shame she felt at bearing a child without a husband, he experienced a growing tension within himself, as though some sixth sense mirrored Rachels need.

Beth Pearson was so thankful to be out of the clutches of her stepmother and would work endlessly to please Mrs Beattie. She had her own small bedroom off the kitchen. It had been the maids room for as long as Alice could remember and Beth was always up first to clean out the ashes and kindle the fire ready to cook the porridge as soon as milking was finished. In her free time she went to see her grandfather in his cycle shop.

Grandpa is going to make me a bicycle of my own, she announced joyfully on her return one afternoon. He says if you had been going to sack me, Mistress Beattie, you would have told me to leave at the May term. That was last Sunday, the twenty eighth.

So it was. The term day, Alice Beattie reflected, And I did not even think of it. Indeed lassie, I wonder how I got through all the work before you came. Beth beamed happily. She was not a clever girl, but she was far from stupid and she had blossomed under Alices guidance.

The month of May had always filled Ross with a joyful exhilaration. The trees and hedgerows burgeoned with buds and unfurling leaves. Lambs danced in the fields and the world seemed refreshed. He remembered last year how Rachel had lifted her head to breathe in the scent of the hawthorn blossoms floating in the breeze like snow in summer. She had loved to watch the birds flying hither and thither in their search for wisps of straw or wool, or bits of dried grass to build their nests. She had clapped her hands like a happy child when she discovered a four-leaf clover.

This was the first spring Ross had ever spent away from Windlebrae and he told himself it accounted for his tension, the vague anxiety, the restlessness which disturbed him whether he was awake or sleeping. He could not get Rachel out of his mind.

Rachels yearning at this time more than equalled his own. They were separated by many miles, with memories and thoughts their only link. It had never occurred to Ross that she could be carrying a child his child. He had no way of knowing she had given birth to a son. He simply knew he had the strongest urge to see her again, to hold her in his arms and talk with her.

He was tempted to ask Alice Beattie if he could take time off to journey back to his old home. Only the thought of Gertrude Maxwell held him back. He owed her a debt. She may not have loved him, but she had not abandoned him to an orphanage. She had fed and sheltered him. The price was his silence and his absence. The gift of fifty pounds he could repay but in his heart he knew nothing would make Gertrude Maxwell accept him, even less welcome his return. But Cameron Maxwell was his uncle, his flesh and blood. Had he agreed to his wifes plan? Ross could not believe he had known of it.

The only home he had now was at Glens of Lochandee with Alice Beattie. She showed him more warmth than Gertrude Maxwell had ever done. He was grateful, but if only he could get Rachel out of his mind The memory of her, the scent of her skin, the feel of her body He groaned. However hard he worked, however many plans he made, Rachels shadow was there.0