DEAD THIS TWENTY YEARS
In the lustiness of youth there are many who cannot feel that they,
too, will die. The first fear stops the heart. Even then they would
keep death at arm's length by making believe to disown him. Loved ones
are taken away, and the boy, the girl, will not speak of them, as if
that made the conqueror's triumph the less. In time the fire in the
breast burns low, and then in the last glow of the embers, it is
sweeter to hold to what has been than to think of what may be.
Twenty years had passed since Joey ran down the brae to play. Jess,
his mother, shook her staff fondly at him. A cart rumbled by, the
driver nodding on the shaft. It rounded the corner and stopped
suddenly, and then a woman screamed. A handful of men carried Joey's
dead body to his mother, and that was the tragedy of Jess's life.
Twenty years ago, and still Jess sat at the window, and still she heard
that woman scream. Every other living being had forgotten Joey; even
to Hendry he was now scarcely a name, but there were times when Jess's
face quivered and her old arms went out for her dead boy.
"God's will be done," she said, "but oh, I grudged Him my bairn
terrible sair. I dinna want him back noo, an' ilka day is takkin' me
nearer to him, but for mony a lang year I grudged him sair, sair. He
was juist five minutes gone, an' they brocht him back deid, my Joey."
On the Sabbath day Jess could not go to church, and it was then, I
think, that she was with Joey most. There was often a blessed serenity
on her face when we returned, that only comes to those who have risen
from their knees with their prayers answered. Then she was very close
to the boy who died. Long ago she could not look out from her window
upon the brae, but now it was her seat in church. There on the Sabbath
evenings she sometimes talked to me of Joey.
"It's been a fine day," she would say, "juist like that day. I thank
the Lord for the sunshine noo, but oh, I thocht at the time I couldna
look at the sun shinin' again."
"In all Thrums," she has told me, and I know it to be true, "there's no
a better man than Hendry. There's them 'at's cleverer in the wys o'
the world, but my man, Hendry McQumpha, never did naething in all his
life 'at wasna weel intended, an' though his words is common, it's to
the Lord he looks. I canna think but what Hendry's pleasin' to God.
Oh, I dinna ken what to say wi' thankfulness to Him when I mind hoo
guid he's been to me. There's Leeby 'at I couldna hae done withoot, me
bein sae silly (weak bodily), an' ay Leeby's stuck by me an' gien up
her life, as ye micht say, for me. Jamie--"
But then Jess sometimes broke down.
"He's so far awa," she said, after a time, "an' aye when he gangs back
to London after his holidays he has a fear he'll never see me again,
but he's terrified to mention it, an' I juist ken by the wy he taks
haud o' me, an' comes runnin' back to tak haud o' me again. I ken fine
what he's thinkin', but I daurna speak.
"Guid is no word for what Jamie has been to me, but he wasna born till
after Joey died. When we got Jamie, Hendry took to whistlin' again at
the loom, an' Jamie juist filled Joey's place to him. Ay, but naebody
could fill Joey's place to me. It's different to a man. A bairn's no
the same to him, but a fell bit o' me was buried in my laddie's grave.
"Jamie an' Joey was never nane the same nature. It was aye something
in a shop, Jamie wanted to be, an' he never cared muckle for his books,
but Joey hankered after being a minister, young as he was, an' a
minister Hendry an' me would hae done our best to mak him. Mony, mony
a time after he came in frae the kirk on the Sabbath he would stand up
at this very window and wave his hands in a reverent way, juist like
the minister. His first text was to be 'Thou God seest me.'
"Ye'll wonder at me, but I've sat here in the lang fore-nichts dreamin'
'at Joey was a grown man noo, an' 'at I was puttin' on my bonnet to
come to the kirk to hear him preach. Even as far back as twenty years
an' mair I wasna able to gang aboot, but Joey would say to me, 'We'll
get a carriage to ye, mother, so 'at ye can come and hear me preach on
"Thou God seest me."' He would say to me, 'It doesna do, mother, for
the minister in the pulpit to nod to ony of die fowk, but I'll gie you
a look an' ye'll ken it's me.' Oh, Joey, I would hae gien you a look
too, an' ye would hae kent what I was thinkin'. He often said, 'Ye'll
be proud o' me, will ye no, mother, when ye see me comin' sailin' alang
to the pulpit in my gown?' So I would hae been proud o' him, an' I was
proud to hear him speakin' o't. 'The other fowk,' he said, 'will be
sittin' in their seats wonderin' what my text's to be, but you'll ken,
mother, an' you'll turn up to "Thou God seest me," afore I gie oot the
chapter.' Ay, but that day he was coffined, for all the minister
prayed, I found it hard to say, 'Thou God seest me.' It's the text I
like best noo, though, an' when Hendry an' Leeby is at the kirk, I
turn't up often, often in the Bible. I read frae the beginnin' o' the
chapter, but when I come to 'Thou God seest me,' I stop. Na, it's no
'at there's ony rebellion to the Lord in my heart noo, for I ken He was
lookin' doon when the cart gaed ower Joey, an' He wanted to tak my
laddie to Himsel. But juist when I come to 'Thou God seest me,' I let
the Book lie in my lap, for aince a body's sure o' that they're sure o'
all. Ay, ye'll laugh, but I think, mebbe juist because I was his
mother, 'at though Joey never lived to preach in a kirk, he's preached
frae 'Thou God seest me' to me. I dinna ken 'at I would ever hae been
sae sure o' that if it hadna been for him, an' so I think I see 'im
sailin' doon to the pulpit juist as he said he would do. I seen him
gien me the look he spoke o'--ay, he looks my wy first, an' I ken it's
him. Naebody sees him but me, but I see him gien me the look he
promised. He's so terrible near me, an' him dead, 'at wen my time
comes I'll be rale willin' to go. I dinna say that to Jamie, because
he all trembles; but I'm auld noo, an' I'm no nane loth to gang."
Jess's staff probably had a history before it became hers, for, as
known to me, it was always old and black. If we studied them
sufficiently we might discover that staves age perceptibly just as the
hair turns grey. At the risk of being thought fanciful I dare to say
that in inanimate objects, as in ourselves, there is honourable and
shameful old age, and that to me Jess's staff was a symbol of the good,
the true. It rested against her in the window, and she was so helpless
without it when on her feet, that to those who saw much of her it was
part of herself. The staff was very short, nearly a foot having been
cut, as I think she once told me herself, from the original, of which
to make a porridge thieval (or stick with which to stir porridge), and
in moving Jess leant heavily on it. Had she stood erect it would not
have touched the floor. This was the staff that Jess shook so joyfully
at her boy the forenoon in May when he ran out to his death. Joey,
however, was associated in Jess's memory with her staff in less painful
ways. When she spoke of him she took the dwarf of a staff in her hands
and looked at it softly.
"It's hard to me," she would say, "to believe 'at twa an' twenty years
hae come and gone since the nicht Joey hod (hid) my staff. Ay, but
Hendry was straucht in thae days by what he is noo, an' Jamie wasna
born. Twa' an' twenty years come the back end o' the year, an' it
wasna thocht 'at I could live through the winter. 'Ye'll no last mair
than anither month, Jess,' was what my sister Bell said, when she came
to see me, and yet here I am aye sittin' at my window, an' Bell's been
i' the kirkyard this dozen years.
"Leeby was saxteen month younger than Joey, an' mair quiet like. Her
heart was juist set on helpin' aboot the hoose, an' though she was but
fower year auld she could kindle the fire an' red up (clean up) the
room. Leeby's been my savin' ever since she was fower year auld. Ay,
but it was Joey 'at hung aboot me maist, an' he took notice 'at I wasna
gaen out as I used to do. Since sune after my marriage I've needed the
stick, but there was days 'at I could gang across the road an' sit on a
stane. Joey kent there was something wrang when I had to gie that up,
an' syne he noticed 'at I couldna even gang to the window unless Hendry
kind o' carried me. Na, ye wouldna think 'at there could hae been days
when Hendry did that, but he did. He was a sort o' ashamed if ony o'
the neighbours saw him so affectionate like, but he was terrible taen
up aboot me. His loom was doon at T'nowhead's Bell's father's, an'
often he cam awa up to see if I was ony better. He didna lat on to the
other weavers 'at he was comin' to see what like I was. Na, he juist
said he'd forgotten a pirn, or his cruizey lamp, or ony thing. Ah, but
he didna mak nae pretence o' no carin' for me aince he was inside the
hoose. He came crawlin' to the bed no to wauken me if I was sleepin',
an' mony a time I made belief 'at I was, juist to please him. It was
an awfu' business on him to hae a young wife sae helpless, but he wasna
the man to cast that at me. I mind o' sayin' to him one day in my bed,
'Ye made a poor bargain, Hendry, when ye took me.' But he says, 'Not
one soul in Thrums 'll daur say that to me but yersel, Jess. Na, na,
my dawty, you're the wuman o' my choice; there's juist one wuman i' the
warld to me, an' that's you, my ain Jess.' Twa an' twenty years syne.
Ay, Hendry called me fond like names, thae no everyday names. What a
straucht man he was!
"The doctor had said he could do no more for me, an' Hendry was the
only ane 'at didna gie me up. The bairns, of course, didna understan',
and Joey would come into the bed an' play on the top o' me. Hendry
would hae ta'en him awa, but I liked to hae 'im. Ye see, we war long
married afore we had a bairn, an' though I couldna bear ony other
weight on me, Joey didna hurt me, somehoo. I liked to hae 'im so close
to me.
"It was through that 'at he came to bury my staff. I couldna help
often thinkin' o' what like the hoose would be when I was gone, an'
aboot Leeby an' Joey left so young. So, when I could say it without
greetin', I said to Joey 'at I was goin' far awa, an' would he be a
terrible guid laddie to his father and Leeby when I was gone? He aye
juist said, 'Dinna gang, mother, dinna gang,' but one day Hendry came
in frae his loom, and says Joey, 'Father, whaur's my mother gaen to,
awa frae uset.' I 'll never forget Hendry's face. His mooth juist
opened an' shut twa or three times, an' he walked quick ben to the
room. I cried oot to him to come back, but he didna come, so I sent
Joey for him. Joey came runnin' back to me sayin', 'Mother, mother, am
awfu' fleid (frightened), for my father's greetin' sair.'"
"A' thae things took a haud o' Joey, an' he ended in gien us a fleg
(fright). I was sleepin' ill at the time, an' Hendry was ben sleepin'
in the room wi' Leeby, Joey bein' wi' me. Ay, weel, one nicht I woke
up in the dark an' put oot my hand to 'im, an' he wasna there. I sat
up wi' a terrible start, an' syne I kent by the cauld 'at the door maun
be open. I cried oot quick to Hendry, but he was a soond sleeper, an'
he didna hear me. Ay, I dinna ken hoo I did it, but I got ben to the
room an' shook him up. I was near daft with fear when I saw Leeby
wasna there either. Hendry couldna tak it in a' at aince, but sune he
had his trousers on, an' he made me lie down on his bed. He said he
wouldna move till I did it, or I wouldna hae dune it. As sune as he
was oot o' the hoose crying their names I sat up in my bed listenin'.
Sune I heard speakin', an' in a minute Leeby comes runnin' in to me,
roarin' an' greetin'. She was barefeeted, and had juist her nichtgown
on, an' her teeth was chatterin'. I took her into the bed, but it was
an hour afore she could tell me onything, she was in sic a state.
"Sune after Hendry came in carryin' Joey. Joey was as naked as Leeby,
and as cauld as lead, but he wasna greetin'. Instead o' that he was
awfu' satisfied like, and for all Hendry threatened to lick him he
wouldna tell what he an' Leeby had been doin'. He says, though, says
he, 'Ye'll no gang awa noo, mother; no, ye'll bide noo.' My bonny
laddie, I didna fathom him at the time.
"It was Leeby 'at I got it frae. Ye see, Joey had never seen me gaen
ony gait withoot my staff, an' he thocht if he hod it I wouldna be able
to gang awa. Ay, he planned it all oot, though he was but a bairn, an'
lay watchin' me in my bed till I fell asleep. Syne he creepit oot o'
the bed, an' got the staff, and gaed ben for Leeby. She was fleid, but
he said it was the only wy to mak me 'at I couldna gang awa. It was
juist ower there whaur thae cabbages is 'at he dug the hole wi' a
spade, an' buried the staff. Hendry dug it up next mornin'."