Free The Road to Rowanbrae by Doris Davidson Page B

loon, it’s man’s span on this earth – three-score year an’ ten. I’ve been lucky to keep goin’ as lang’s this, but I ken’t the time would come when I’d ha’e to hand my pack ower to a younger man.’
    â€˜Will you be a different packman the next time you come?’
    Smiling at the boy’s inconsistency, Jockie said, ‘Aye, it’ll be another man. It’s mony a year since I’d a hame, an’ I’ve nae idea where I’ll be sleepin’ noo. I aye got a bed in an oothoose at the last place ilka day, but that privilege’ll go to the new man, once I find him, so I doot it’s the work-hoose for me.’
    Mysie was horrified. ‘Do you nae ha’e naebody o’ your ain?’
    â€˜Nae a soul.’
    The wistfulness was there again, and Mysie was more curious than ever about him, but she couldn’t ask him anything as long as her son was there. ‘Sandy, if you promise to keep awa’ fae that midden, you can put on your school breeks an’ go oot.’
    â€˜I’ll nae go near the midden, Mam. Cross my he’rt an’ hope to dee, cut my throat if I tell a lee.’ He drew his forefinger across his neck before scampering into the other room.
    He ran past her again as she made her purchases, but she waited until she poured the tea before saying, ‘It’s nane o’ my business, but what made you start bein’ a packman, Jockie?’
    He took a dainty sip from his cup then laid it down. ‘I’ve never tell’t onybody, but I’m comin’ near the end o’ my days, an’ I’d like fine to speak aboot it. I was a lucky man once, Mistress, wi’ a good wife an’ three fine sons. I’d a grand job at the mart in Ellon, an’ a hoose that went alang wi’ it, wi’ three rooms, but … och, we’re never content wi’ what we’ve got, an’ I hankered after mair. I started takin’ money that didna belong to me, but I got found oot, an’ the upshot was I lost my job, my hoose … an’ my wife an’ bairns, for they disappeared the time I was in the jail.’
    â€˜Oh, Jockie, that was terrible. Did you nae look for them?’
    â€˜I looked a’ ower, but I never found them. I think she must ha’e ran awa’ wi’ another man. I took to the drink for a while, an’ I was at the end o’ my tether an’ wishin’ I was dead, but it’s only the good that die young. When I come to my senses, I wandered aboot lookin’ for work, an’ I come across this auld packman one day, lyin’ at the side o’ the road. I could see he wasna lang for this world, but he tell’t me the places he went, an’ I bade wi’ him till he died, then I took his pack up and walked on to Mintlaw, an’ I tell’t the man in the shop where he was lyin’ so somebody could bury him. I was feared to tell the bobbies, you see, in case they thought I’d killed him.’
    â€˜What a way to end his days.’ Mysie’s heart ached for the poor old man who had died without a friend.
    â€˜That was thirty year ago, but I dinna want it happenin’ to me.’ Jockie lifted his cup again, purposefully. ‘Noo, how are you yoursel’, Mistress?’
    â€˜I’m fine, just deaved wi’ that youngest loon o’ mine.’
    â€˜Be thankfu’ you’ve got him. You dinna ken how lucky you are – twa bonnie bairns an’ a good man.’
    â€˜Aye, it’s just … ha’e you ever seen my Jeems?’
    â€˜Just fae a distance.’
    â€˜Weel, you’ll maybe understand what …’
    â€˜You dreamed o’ a young Lochinvar, maybe, at one time?’
    â€˜Aye, but he never appeared.’ Remembering Doddie Wilson, Mysie reflected that her Lochinvar had appeared – too late.
    â€˜Have faith, lass. If the good Lord means it,