Rein in the Highlands

Sneak Peek

 SNEAK PEEK FROM WILLIAM’S STORY “THE BOY FROM THE HIGHLANDS”

 

I always wanted to travel. Ever since I was young, I had dreams of leaving Scotland and discovering new lands. But it was only a dream. As a child, I used to stare between the gaps in the fence that surrounded our farm, at the track that wound its way up and over the hill. Now as an adult I still do it occasionally. But, I still know that it can never be. I still live on that small farm with my mother. I never met my pa but I guess that does not matter. Ma says I am the only man in her life, and I would do anything for her. She is all I have. I used to imagine what it would be like to live in one of them big castles. Living like kings, all the food you can eat, magnificent clothes, everything. Here on the farm we sometimes struggle to find enough food. When I was growing up, ma sometimes went without her share and gave it to me instead.

“Growing boys, need adequate amounts of food!” She used to say.

As for clothes, we made do with anything. Ma was a skilled weaver and made lengths of tartan wool to get us through the winter. But that was only when we could afford to buy the wool. However, despite all this, the farm was home. You could have offered me the world’s biggest keep, and I would have refused. Because no keep could ever be a home to me like our tiny, freezing, muddy farm.

Our tiny, freezing, muddy farm is also where this story begins. With me, staring at the road (this time over the bars of the fence), thinking about the places I would go if I could travel. I sighed and jabbed at the sticky mud that covered our farm with my spade. I was supposed to be digging a new vegetable bed but my heart was not in it. Do not get me wrong, I love working on our farm. I guess because it’s the only work I know how to do. But today, I did not have it in me.

‘William,’ ma called from the back door of our cottage, ‘come inside now, before it gets too cold!’

‘Ay, ma,’ I called back. I trudged my way over to our shed. Put my spade away, then trudged back to the cottage.

‘You had better not track mud in through my clean kitchen!’ Ma said sternly, bent over a pot on the fire as I opened the door. I meekly took off my boots and left them on the doorstep.

‘What are you making?’ I asked, going to sit down on a chair.

‘Don’t you dare!’ Ma said, whipping around, ‘Not until you have a bath!’

I stood back up, guiltily. ‘But ma, I had one last week!’ I complained.

‘Well you can have another one.’ She turned back to her pot. So I had to stand while she finished cooking and left the kettle hook free.

‘Stew,’ she said, putting the pot on the table.

‘What?’

‘Stew, you asked what I was making. I made stew,’ she spooned it into two chipped bowls.

‘Oh.’ I hung the old tin kettle on the hook over the fire. The only sounds in the cottage were the crackling of the fire and ma’s ladle clinking against the sides of the pot. I sighed quietly to myself. We might be poor, but we were warm, we had food. What more could I ask for? Our cottage might be small and only have one room, but it was home. That’s all that mattered. After a few minutes of silence, the kettle began to whistle. I dragged the old, dented basin we used for washing, over to the fire and tipped the contents of the kettle into it. Then I filled it up with water and began to process all over again.

Ma came over and handed me a bowl of rather meagre looking stew. I ate it all the same, it tasted all right and I’d learnt not to be picky. Ma sat in her chair and nibbled her stew but put her bowl on the floor before she’d finished it all. I stared at it, then at her. She never left her food unfinished. It was too precious to let anything go to waste. She caught me staring at her.

‘Go on, finish it,’ she sighed, her eyes becoming hazy and unfocused.

‘Why don’t you want it?’ I asked.

‘I am not… feeling like it tonight,’ she said softly.

‘Are you ill?’ I went over to her and took her hands in mine.

‘No, no nothing of the sort,’ she said, her dark brown eyes creasing in a smile.

‘Then what is wrong?’

‘Oh, I’m just not feeling myself. But do not worry about me, it will pass,’ she said, gently pushing my hands away. I was worried, but I retreated back to the fire. Ma is very good at hiding her suffering. We’re both good at it. I tipped another kettle-full of water into the basin. It barely covered the bottom. One more kettle-full would have to do. I stared into the flames of the fire, trying to figure out what was wrong with ma. She wasn’t ill because she wouldn’t hide it if she was.  Something must have happened, but I couldn’t figure out what. Finally, the kettle boiled for a third time and I tipped the contents into the basin before stripping myself and climbing into the hot water.

Ma watched me scrub the mud off myself with a piece of cloth for a while. The she sighed and stood up and filled the kettle up again, hung it on the fire and then kneeled down beside me. She took the cloth from me and began to scrub the dirt off my back.

‘I saw you staring at the hills again,’ she said, softly. I turned to look at her,

‘You did?’

She nodded. ‘I know what you think about, when you do that. You want to travel; you want to see new things but most of all you want to leave. Oh Bill, if I could only help, if only we had more money…’ she began to weep.

‘Don’t cry, ma, I don’t want to leave. It was a silly childhood fantasy. I just remember it when I look out over the hills. I would never leave you. Of all the places I could go, I would choose to stay here, because this is my home and my home is with you,’ I said gently.

‘Oh, my darling!’ Ma cried, pulling me to her chest. I closed my eyes and breathed in her warm, flowery smell. I was instantly taken back to my childhood. Every scraped knee, every case of the sniffles I remember her hugging me like that, her homely scent filled me with comfort and the sense of security. I felt like nothing bad could ever happen when she hugged me like that. I opened my eyes, my head foggy with memories, but a small purple-red welt underneath her left ear was enough to bring me back to the present.

‘Ma, what’s that under your ear?’ I asked, pulling away.

‘What?’ she lifted her fingers to the welt, ‘oh that, it’s nothing. Nothing at all,’ she mumbled, pulling her greying braid over her shoulder to cover it up.

‘What’s happened?’ I demanded.

‘It’s nothing, Bill, nothing!’ she said, standing up to take the shrieking kettle of the fire.

‘But…’ I started, but she tipped the water from the kettle over my head before I could finish. The matter was closed.

 

I HOPE YOU ALL DECIDE TO READ ON!!!!

ALSO PLEASE CHECK OUT MY FRIENDS KATE’S WATTPAD HER NAME IS scallywagsrule AND SHE DEFINITELY AND AUTHOR TO LOOK OUT FOR! I COULDN’T HAVE FINISHED REIN IN THE HIGHLANDS WITHOUT HER! THANKS AGAIN READERS LOVE FROM GRACE XOX