Free The Hawthorns Bloom in May by Anne Doughty Page B

older brother.
    She got to her feet, feeling a lightness she’d not known for weeks.
    ‘I hope you’ve got time for a cup of tea, love. I’ve just remembered a story I want to tell you, even if I have told you it a dozen times before. It’s the story of the night
after
we left Ardtur.
     
    ‘You know, Ma, you
haven’t
told me that story before,’ Sarah said thoughtfully, as Rose took up her neglected mug of tea and drank thirstily.
    ‘Oh, I must have done, Sarah. You and Hannah were always asking me for stories when you were little. I had to make use of anything I could lay hands on,’ she said, laughing. ‘I’m sure I’ve told you about Daniel McGee’s house and the last story that was ever told there.’
    ‘Yes, I know we kept asking,’ Sarah said quickly. ‘But I’m sure I can remember everything you told us. I could describe your house and the new school and the path you took the day you decided to go off up the mountain all by yourself to see the landlord’s castle. I can remember Owen Friel and Danny Lawn, and old Aunt Mary …’
    Rose listened, amazed as Sarah reeled off the names of friends and neighbours from that far off life, names that hadn’t been mentioned for years.
    ‘But you’ve never told me about Daniel McGee, Ma. And I’ve never heard you even mention Casheltown,’ she said quite firmly.
    ‘That is strange, Sarah. It really is,’ said Rose shaking her head. ‘We all tell the stories that areimportant to us, and we all forget we’ve probably told them dozens of times before, but this time it’s the other way round, isn’t it? I could have sworn I’d been telling that story for years, it’s so clear in my mind.’
    ‘Maybe you’ve been telling it to yourself in your dreams. Or maybe you’ve just been practising what it preached …’
    ‘What do you mean, love?’
    ‘Well, it was a very sad occasion, Ma. All the people gathered in Daniel’s house knew that it would be their turn tomorrow. Adair’s men were working along the valley. By the end of the day, their homes would have gone. This was the last night. Tomorrow, they’d be adrift. No work, no shelter, no food …’
    Sarah broke off as a sudden thought struck her.
    ‘Ma, do you think maybe it was the
Titanic
made you remember,’ she asked quickly. ‘When I said ‘adrift’ I thought about the lifeboats again. And then I thought about the people left on board, listening to the band, knowing there was only a little while left.’
    ‘Certainly it’s strange, Sarah,’ Rose nodded. ‘Strange I thought I’d told you. Strange I wanted to tell you again. I wonder why?’
    ‘Well, I could make a guess.’
    ‘Please do,’ said Rose quickly.
    ‘Well, it seems to me Daniel was looking forsomething to give hope to those in despair and he’d a feeling that Granny Hannah had what he needed. And he was right. She told her story about how her father and uncle had survived after
their
eviction, walking the length of Scotland on burn water and berries from the hedgerows. Then Daniel asked her about what her father said to her when she was about to marry a man of a different religion from a different country. That’s the story that really mattered that evening.’ Sarah paused and collected her thoughts. ‘I can’t remember the exact words, but the core of what he said was that none of us pass through life without sadness and sorrow. “
We must shed tears for our grief but not be bitter
,”’ she went on slowly and carefully as she watched her mother’s face. ‘“
Bitterness stuns the spirit and weakens the heart. Accept what you cannot change and ask God and your fellow men for comfort. In that way you will live well however short your span
”.’
    Rose nodded, amazed that she herself could have remembered these words from so very long ago.
    ‘And then he warned her that if you give in to bitterness you will never fully live “
though you go beyond three score years and ten
”,’ Sarah ended with a sigh.