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Authors: Doris Davidson
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could hold out against her. Olive never listened to anybody.
‘I’ve left Patsy with her,’ Gracie told Joe after she had made her telephone call. ‘She didn’t want me.’
‘Patsy’ll cope with her. I’ve often thought she’d make a good nurse, she’s got the right touch.’
‘Oh, Joe, don’t put that idea in her head. I don’t think I could stand it if she went away, as well as Neil.’
Joe stood up. ‘I feel awful about not going to London, but there’s nothing we can do.’
Gracie poured herself a cup of tea when he went out. There was nothing they could do, but that was another Ogilvie gone now. The tears which had refused to come before rushed to her eyes now. It
was terrible to think that Donnie had been the last son – the last who would bear the Ogilvie name, for it was a girl-child he’d had, and Queenie would marry one day and change it, the
same as all his sisters had.
Gracie sat up. She would have to let her sisters know, but she couldn’t phone Hetty until she came to herself, and she’d have to wait until she could think straight before she wrote
to Flo and Ishbel in Wanganui and Ellie in Edinburgh. Ellie, next to Donnie in age, had been closest to him, and would be worse hit than any of them. Telephoning her would be the kindest thing to
do, but the call to Hetty would be as much as she could bear.
Concentrating on thinking what to say to her sisters her tears came to an end but, for the first time since their mother’s death, she felt resentful that they all looked on her as a
mother-figure, even Ellie and Flo, who were older than she was. It had started because she had been living in the family home, but she had left there almost two years ago and she was as vulnerable
as they were. That was exactly how she was feeling – vulnerable and alone. The tears flowed again, self-pity mingling with grief for her brother and his wife. She was saddled with Queenie . .
. no, responsible for her until she had a husband to take over the duty. But the girl wasn’t sixteen till April, and she would have to stay on at school till she passed her Highers, like
Donnie had wanted. That would be a year or more yet, and another two or three until she earned enough to support herself. And what if she wanted to go to the university? It would be even longer
till she was working.
Gracie’s musings came to an abrupt stop. What on earth had got into her? It didn’t matter how long it was. Queenie was part of the Ferris family now, not a hated encumbrance but a
beloved addition, to be cherished and loved like their own daughter, until they both married or until she herself died. She pulled out her handkerchief to dry her eyes. It wouldn’t do to let
Queenie see that she’d been crying. The poor thing needed someone to depend on, not an unstable, nervous wreck.
It was almost an hour later before the two girls came into the kitchen, both faces showing signs of the trauma they had been through. ‘Mum,’ Patsy said, her teeth chattering,
‘can we have a cup of tea, please? We’re both freezing.’
Gracie jumped to her feet. ‘I should have lit the gas fire for you, but I didn’t think. Sit down and heat yourselves at this fire and I’ll put the kettle on.’
Sitting on one of the old armchairs, Queenie said softly, ‘Can I see Mrs Bertram’s letter, Auntie Gracie?’
‘Do you think you should? Maybe you should wait a while.’
‘I’d like to read it now. I want to know . . .’
‘Yes, I suppose you do.’ Gracie took the letter out of the dresser drawer and handed it over, watching anxiously as her niece read it.
‘She’s over the worst of it, Mum,’ Patsy observed.
After a few minutes, Queenie looked up with moist eyes. ‘I . . . I’d like to keep it . . . please, Auntie Gracie?’
‘I’m not sure it’s a good idea, but . . . well, all right.’
‘Would you mind if I spoke about my mum and dad?’
‘If you think it’ll help . . .’
For the next half hour,
‘I’ve left Patsy with her,’ Gracie told Joe after she had made her telephone call. ‘She didn’t want me.’
‘Patsy’ll cope with her. I’ve often thought she’d make a good nurse, she’s got the right touch.’
‘Oh, Joe, don’t put that idea in her head. I don’t think I could stand it if she went away, as well as Neil.’
Joe stood up. ‘I feel awful about not going to London, but there’s nothing we can do.’
Gracie poured herself a cup of tea when he went out. There was nothing they could do, but that was another Ogilvie gone now. The tears which had refused to come before rushed to her eyes now. It
was terrible to think that Donnie had been the last son – the last who would bear the Ogilvie name, for it was a girl-child he’d had, and Queenie would marry one day and change it, the
same as all his sisters had.
Gracie sat up. She would have to let her sisters know, but she couldn’t phone Hetty until she came to herself, and she’d have to wait until she could think straight before she wrote
to Flo and Ishbel in Wanganui and Ellie in Edinburgh. Ellie, next to Donnie in age, had been closest to him, and would be worse hit than any of them. Telephoning her would be the kindest thing to
do, but the call to Hetty would be as much as she could bear.
Concentrating on thinking what to say to her sisters her tears came to an end but, for the first time since their mother’s death, she felt resentful that they all looked on her as a
mother-figure, even Ellie and Flo, who were older than she was. It had started because she had been living in the family home, but she had left there almost two years ago and she was as vulnerable
as they were. That was exactly how she was feeling – vulnerable and alone. The tears flowed again, self-pity mingling with grief for her brother and his wife. She was saddled with Queenie . .
. no, responsible for her until she had a husband to take over the duty. But the girl wasn’t sixteen till April, and she would have to stay on at school till she passed her Highers, like
Donnie had wanted. That would be a year or more yet, and another two or three until she earned enough to support herself. And what if she wanted to go to the university? It would be even longer
till she was working.
Gracie’s musings came to an abrupt stop. What on earth had got into her? It didn’t matter how long it was. Queenie was part of the Ferris family now, not a hated encumbrance but a
beloved addition, to be cherished and loved like their own daughter, until they both married or until she herself died. She pulled out her handkerchief to dry her eyes. It wouldn’t do to let
Queenie see that she’d been crying. The poor thing needed someone to depend on, not an unstable, nervous wreck.
It was almost an hour later before the two girls came into the kitchen, both faces showing signs of the trauma they had been through. ‘Mum,’ Patsy said, her teeth chattering,
‘can we have a cup of tea, please? We’re both freezing.’
Gracie jumped to her feet. ‘I should have lit the gas fire for you, but I didn’t think. Sit down and heat yourselves at this fire and I’ll put the kettle on.’
Sitting on one of the old armchairs, Queenie said softly, ‘Can I see Mrs Bertram’s letter, Auntie Gracie?’
‘Do you think you should? Maybe you should wait a while.’
‘I’d like to read it now. I want to know . . .’
‘Yes, I suppose you do.’ Gracie took the letter out of the dresser drawer and handed it over, watching anxiously as her niece read it.
‘She’s over the worst of it, Mum,’ Patsy observed.
After a few minutes, Queenie looked up with moist eyes. ‘I . . . I’d like to keep it . . . please, Auntie Gracie?’
‘I’m not sure it’s a good idea, but . . . well, all right.’
‘Would you mind if I spoke about my mum and dad?’
‘If you think it’ll help . . .’
For the next half hour,
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