Free Beyond Reason by Gwen Kirkwood Page A

half-finished sentences. Her heart was heavy. She turned to Molly, her eyes full of unshed tears.
    ‘Your mama doesn’t want me here, does she? What am I to do? Where…?’
    ‘Of course she wants ye,’ Molly assured her quickly. ‘Ma’s a good woman but Faither …’ She looked at Janet’s innocent young face despairingly, knowing the friend of her schooldays would never understand the torment she was suffering under this roof, the hatred that was growing in her heart for the man who called himself her father. Her mouth snapped shut and she frowned fiercely. ‘It’s just that ye’re so small, Janet, and the work is hard up here for a woman – milking and churning, cleaning o’ the byre, lighting up the boiler every day to wash clothes for the bairns, and Mother having another one any day….’
    ‘Another baby? You’re getting another baby here at the farm?’ Janet clasped her hands together, her blue eyes shining. ‘How lovely!’ she breathed.
    ‘Ye’ll not be saying that if ye’ve tae rock it tae sleep half the night, aye and still be up when he calls us for the milking at the crack o’ dawn, and before the dawn in winter. It’s a hard life up here, Janet. Is there no’ other place ye could go?’
    ‘You don’t want me here, Molly? I-I thought you were myfriend.’ Janet’s eyes misted with tears.
    ‘Oh, I do want ye, I do, b-but,’ she lowered her voice to a hoarse, vehement whisper, ‘I’d run away maself if it wasna for Mother needing me sae badly.’
    ‘You’d run away? From your own home? Your own parents?’ Janet remembered Mr Foster shouting at the pony and whipping it with the lash. She shuddered. ‘Your father wouldn’t beat us any worse than the dominie did, would he?’
    ‘I….’ Molly looked at her young friend searchingly, then she shrugged. ‘There’s worse things than beating, Janet. I pray tae God ye’ll never find out.’
    ‘I shall work hard, I promise. And we shall be together like we used to be in the classroom, and when we ate our pieces at noon. We could go on with the reading….’
    ‘We’ve no books here! Well, only the Bible.’
    ‘No books? None at all?’ Janet saw Molly’s brow darken and she said hastily, ‘Well I could help ye learn to read with the Bible and then you could read any books you like one day.’
    ‘We’ll see,’ Molly said tiredly. ‘Mother would like that, but I dinna think either o’ us will get much time for anything but work.’
     
    Molly’s words proved only too true. Janet didn’t think she had ever been so tired in her whole life, but at least there was usually enough to eat. That was something to be thankful for after the miserable table the dominie had allowed her and her mother. The pupils who boarded at the schoolhouse hadn’t fared much better either. She wondered how her mother was managing at Mr Cole’s. Did she have enough to eat? Was she warm there, and happy? Every night before she went to sleep, she remembered her mother in her prayers, and Andrew too, as her mother had taught her. Always she prayed he was in good health and that his studies were going well. She longed for the day when he would come home and they would all live together again. Perhaps Andrew would be appointed as the dominie and they would all return to the schoolhouse and they would be happy again as they had been with her grandfather. Tired though she was by the end of the day she never forgot to add Fingal McLauchlan’s name whenshe asked God for His blessing.
    When the new baby was born, Janet loved him from the moment she set eyes on his crumpled little face and tiny clenched fists. Mrs Foster named him Peter and Janet never tired of rocking his crib with her foot as she stood at the large stone slab, peeling potatoes for the midday meal, and carrots and turnips to make barley broth. Or rubbing the soiled washing on the rubbing board until her knuckles bled. As she worked, she sang in an effort to soothe the baby. Her voice was low