Thank you for the response to my Dora/Sara/Ruth Andrews story. There is more to say on that relationship, but this has been rattling around in my brain, desparate to be published.
The White Rose
"I took a slip of the little white scotch rose bush his mother brought out from Scotland long ago. Matthew always liked those roses the best - they were so small and sweet on their thorny stems."*
"Uh oh. Oh boys, this is not good. It's not good at all."
Little Matty and Tommy were over for the afternoon, their mother had a cold and had asked them to babysit for a few hours. There had been a suspicious silence for about half an hour, which in hindsight, John realised, was a harbinger of doom. Now as he peered out the front door, he could see what was left of Marilla's precious white rose bush. The bush she tended so lovingly, now hacked to pieces, petals and leaves strewn around the front yard.
It was just a slip of a thing, a little white rose bush. Tiny really, yet tenacious. It stood by the croft's front door bobbing in the wind. Its flowers had a rare, almost ghostly appearance especially when viewed by moonlight. When a traveler journeyed home the sight of it made one's heart glad and step lighter.
It predated their time in the small stone house, built by folk no one now knew. The croft had stood in that spot for decades. Each generation making the spare house their own, watching their bairns born, grow and move away. Throughout the little white rose bush watched over them all. A steady light to guide them home.
On rare sunny Scottish summer days, flowers would bloom, creating a sentinel against the green hillside. David Cuthbert would spy it on his journey home, bobbing in the gentle breeze. It looked fragile, but although a brutal wind might knock a few petals off, the rose bush flourished.
As crofters David and Constance Cuthbert had no land rights. When the Laird had told them via his agent that they were not making enough money from the land; sheep were more economical, they had to leave.
They had heard rumours up and down the valley of similar events. Last week the MacDonalds and the week before the Grays had been similarly ejected. Now they stood outside, the smoking embers providing the last remnants of warmth. A chilly wind blew smoke in their eyes, the acrid smell stayed in their nostrils for a long time. They hated to leave their home.
David Cuthbert presented his young wife Constance with the rose bush wrapped in a piece of hessian sack. It was the one last remnant of their lovingly tended garden. All that was left after the men ripped up their home.
The weather changed on this dreich day, now it began to sleet. The wind drove the slivers of ice into their cheeks. Constance tightly wrapped her shawl about her and David hugged her waist with his right arm. "Well we can't stay here."
"But where shall go?"
"The MacDonalds mentioned something about Glasgow, we should head for there."
"Aye." Constance trusted her husband in the matter. firmly grasping the rose bush in her cold red hands. They gave their home one backwards glance, thereby imprinting one last ghastly image on their brains. Their small stone house in ruins, a thin line of smoke reaching up to the glowering clouds.
The trip north, from the rural lowlands to the sprawling city of Glasgow was long and arduous. The weather was cold, and the roads muddy. They were not alone, many other folk had been tipped out of their houses too. They had with them a some food, a few coins, the clothes on their backs and the rose bush, that was all.
Eventually after a long journey they arrived in the big city. Glasgow was loud, dirty and busy. In their peasant clothes they stood out. They asked about for directions and some kind person directed them down to the docks. The River Clyde was teeming with ships, David fancied he could have walked clear across the wide river from ship to ship. The shipping agent told them there were a few destinations, America, Australia and Canada. David had heard of Canada, it was a popular destination for Scots and he believed they might be able to make a living there. A ship was found and they bought passage using up most of their coin.
Clutching each other they made their way over the gangplank and settled themselves in a bunk below decks. It was a noisome spot, but it would be their home for the next twelve weeks. Constance made the acquaintance of their bunk neighbours, other Scottish folk from various parts of the country. People they would be in close quarters with during the voyage.
The ship set sail that afternoon and almost immediately the sounds of folk being seasick commenced. David and Constance hugged each other for comfort, feeling decidedly bilious themselves. The stench intensified. If anyone had been able to keep the food in their stomach at first, the smell would have forced them to be ill shortly after, and the Cuthberts were no different. They spent the first days hunched over a bucket, taking turns as all around their neighbours were similarly afflicted.
The passage from Scotland to Canada was best forgotten. Passing as it did in the dark, disgusting hold of a tiny ship, buffeted to and fro across the northern Atlantic. David's stomach eventually settled down, but Constance's did not. She found out the reason why halfway through their voyage, as her belly began to swell.
They were relieved when land was sighted. A hurrah went up from the crow's nest and spirits aboard the ship lifted. Shortly after the ship docked at Halifax, Nova Scotia. "We'll be welcomed here, it's practically Scotland itself with that name," David remarked to Constance.
It felt strange to be on land, and in fact the rocking sensation stayed with them for hours after they disembarked. At the docks land agents were looking for labourers, promising them houses and good jobs. David as green as any new immigrant, though desperately wanting to appear more experienced, walked up to one such man and was offered a job on the spot on an island a few days' journeyaway, Prince Edward Island was its name. The agent arranged everything and along with some of their fellow passengers, the Cuthberts were bundled onto a carriage for the journey north.
The land was sparse, yet reminded them of home. It was bitterly cold though. They had been told that the winters here were colder than any they had experienced in Scotland, but found it hard to believe. Now it was apparent that the warnings had been correct. A bitter wind blew snowflakes all about. Constance feared for herself and for the rose bush she had tended throughout the voyage. It was her plan to plant it wherever they fetched up, a small reminder of home.
David started working for a rich farmer who provided them with a small house. Their son Matthew was born there, the first Cuthbert to be born in Canada. After a few years, David had saved enough money to enable them to buy a plot of good farming land in Avonlea, a small town on the island. They built their house with help from the neighbours, it was set back from the road a ways.
The Cuthbert family were quiet folk, not given to gossip. Being apart from the town suited them. David took the little white rose bush which had miraculously survived all this time and gently planted it by the front door to remind them of their little house on a Scottish hillside reluctantly left so long ago. A girl, Marilla was born in their little house, which they christened Green Gables on account of the roof colour.
Once the children were old enough, Constance told them the story of the little white rose bush; how it had greeted travellers back home in Scotland, how it had survived the ship's hold, and how it thrived despite the harsh Canadian winters.
John presented Marilla with the now torn up bush and poured its white petals into her hands. Matty and Tommy had never seen their grandmother weep, and they were very sorry to see her do it now. All she could say was a sorrowful "Oh." before she turned away for a private cry, waving John away. She stumbled out of the house walking swiftly, but without purpose. Eventually she fetched up at the trunk of an ancient apple tree, far from the road. She sank down onto its roots and sat there sobbing for some time, in deep despair.
The rose bush was her family's last tenuous link to their homeland. Marilla had watched her mother tend the bush through the harsh Canadian winters and had taken its care upon herself. She had betrayed her parents, betrayed their ancestors, betrayed her heritage.
"D-does G-granny hate us now?"
John shifted his gaze towards a tearful young Tommy. "No! Granny still loves you. She's just sad is all. That rose bush was very dear to her. Come I'll clean you both up." The boys had tracks of snot down their lips and teary eyes. They had been wailing since John had found them standing over the remains of the bush.
Davy came to pick the boys up just before dinner. Marilla had not yet returned. Davy found John sitting with the boys in the kitchen. He could see the boys had been crying. "What's the matter? What's happened?"
"The boys have been naughty."
"I'm sorry, John. What did they do?"
"They destroyed Marilla's white rose bush."
Davy went pale "Oh, boys." He looked at them reprovingly, causing a fresh bout of crying to break out. "Where's Marilla now? I must apologise."
"She went out."
"Will she be all right? I mean how long has she been gone?"
"I hope so, it's been a few hours."
"Oh. Do you think we should send out a search party."
"No, I'm sure she'll be fine. She knows the area as well as anyone. I expect she'll be home presently. If you'll just take the boys home now."
"Of course. Tell her I'm sorry. I know that bush is irreplaceable."
"I will. She knows the boys are sorry. She just has to process it, you know."
"Come boys, it's time for dinner. Give Grandpa a hug now." Both boys reached up to give John a hug and a kiss and he waved them goodbye sadly.
Eventually, after what seemed like a long time spent looking out the window, John spied Marilla coming home. Wearily she walked up the steps to the kitchen door and walked inside. John didn't speak to her. He gently led her into the kitchen and sat her down. He'd prepared a simple supper of eggs and he watched while she ate. Then he led her to their bedroom, undressed her and laid next to her in bed. She laid her head on his chest and sighed.
He woke during the night and glanced over to her, a single tear was reflected in the sliver of moonlight that snuck through the curtains.
The next morning she slept in and he crept downstairs to call Anne.
"Oh no, poor Marilla. But it's not the end of the rose you know."
"Really?"
"I planted a cutting on Matthew's grave after he died. It should still be there."
John got dressed, took a pair of gardening scissors with him and made his way out to Matthew's grave. Sure enough sitting by his grave was a familiar thorny rose bush. Apologising to Matthew, he cut a piece off and wrapped it up in a bit of cloth he'd brought along for the purpose.
Marilla was stirring when he came home and he fetched her dressing gown to place over her shoulders and led her downstairs. She wept again when he showed her the cutting. "Anne told me it wasn't the end. That she had transplanted the rose on Matthew's grave."
'I thought, I thought it was dead. I thought I'd betrayed Mama."
"You could never do that. It was an accident. The boys are just little. They didn't understand."
"Oh, the boys. They must wonder why I reacted so."
"They are terribly sorry you know. In their little boy hearts, they never imagined how important the bush was to you."
"I know. Do they hate me now?"
"Hate you? They are your grandsons. They'll never hate you. They are worried that you might not love them anymore. I told them you just needed some space."
"I did at that. I was in a sorry place."
"Where did you end up?"
"I don't know. I found an old apple tree way back off the road. I spent a bit of time at its foot. Were you worried?"
"Of course, but I figured you'd come home eventually. Mind you I was about to bolt out of the house to come looking for you, if you hadn't come home when you did. I had no idea which direction to start searching though. That was the tricky part."
"I suppose I had better apologise to the children."
"Breakfast first, I think," John ordered.
When they opened the door, they found a note on the doorstep.
DeAr GraNNy
We aRe Sowwy we kilt yor RoSe
Luv
MaTtY KeiTH and TOMMy KeItH
"My heart," Marilla gasped.
"They must have dropped it in recently. I was out here just a few minutes ago," John exclaimed.
The hugs were heartfelt when Marilla and the children were reunited. "We're sorry, Granny. We'll never do it again."
"Oh my darlings. I pray you won't, but I forgive you. It's just a silly little bush, I know. But it's important to me. D'you understand? My Mama brought it out from Scotland before I was born." At the look in their eyes Marilla laughed, "yes, a very very long time ago. It was precious to her and it's precious to me."
"I thought we'd killed it, I'm sorry Granny," Tommy added.
"I thought so too, but your clever Aunty Anne had saved a bit of it for me. I had forgotten. How lucky was that? Will you boys help me plant it again?"
They made a solemn party. Marilla, John, Davy, Millie and the twins. Davy dug a big hole, the boys took a gentle hold of the thorny bush and Marilla pushed the earth down around its roots, John watered it in. With any luck the rose bush would flourish in the same spot for many years to come.
* Anne of Green Gables Chapter 37
A/N Although the Highland Clearances are better known, plenty of farmers and other workers were evicted from their homes in the Lowlands too. The Cuthberts spoke English, so I thought they might come from the Lowlands. Most Highlanders spoke only Gaelic.