Enac chortled. Kirsty was too prudent to offer to dry the wet trousers by hanging them over the kitchen range.
‘How did he come to be sitting in the sea,’ she enquired.
‘Didn’t he slip getting off the boat just. He was there no more than a minute or two or he might have drowned more than his breeks!’
Once the range had arrived and been installed at the ‘Castle’ and the chimney thoroughly tested and approved, Euan Ally and Enac lost no time in settling themselves into their new home. Uncle Lachy had begun, in response to ever more urgent pleas from Enac, to set about erecting a sturdy lean-to bothy at the back of the house large enough to accommodate her loom. She had already gathered enough crotal for the dying of the wool from the first shearing of their sheep flock and was anxious to begin weaving before the rest of the vegetable dyes succumbed to the winter. The English couple, hearing of her intention and becoming intrigued with the likelihood of there being a Westisle tweed, had extracted from her a pledge that she would allow them to purchase the first length she wove, pledging an adequate sum of money to ensure she remembered her promise. Enac was very pleased. She had been well tutored and had learned to weave good tweed even before her mother had died. She was more than eager to start work.
‘So you had Dugan to see you,’ Jamie questioned when he came in that night. ‘He was wanting to see how we were getting on with Euan Ally’s “Castle” since he’s heard so much about it in Clachan.’
‘He wanted to see how the island was doing now that the two Ruaris have passed on,’ she apprised him, and went on, ‘He says we could do with a good muirburn and also that we have too many grouse by far.’
‘Aye, I believe he might be right enough about that,’ agreed Jamie.
‘He reckoned I could make a bit of money letting the shooting and even catering for a couple of guns: bed and a bowl of porridge only,’ she stressed. ‘He said to let him know if I had a mind for he could maybe send over one or two folk.’
‘You’re thinking on it?’ Jamie queried.
‘No, no,’ she rejoined, ‘but I said I would keep it at the back of my mind just.’
Jamie was quiet for a moment.
‘It might be a good idea though,’ he said. ‘I reckon you could make two good bedrooms up in the loft, and you could maybe get Lachy started on it while he’s still here,’ he suggested.
This, she thought, coming from Jamie, sounded strangely out of character.
‘That’s a job that must wait until the cold weather is here, and you and Euan Ally are not so tied to the fishing,’ she stated.
‘Maybe so,’ he agreed with a shrug.
He returned to the subject, however, one evening a few weeks later. Kirsty was ironing and Wee Ruari, who was home for the annual potato lifting, was preoccupied in fashioning some sort of animal shapes from corn stalks. A little exasperated at the urgency she imagined to be in Jamie’s tone, she replied testily.
‘Jamie, you’re in that much haste to clear the loft I’m thinking you must know of some tourie that would be wishing to take a room here. Is that the way of it?’ she probed.
‘Ach, no one at all,’ he responded quickly. ‘And not until the summer comes anyway. But there’s plenty of rubbish up there, and it’s going to take a wee whiley to shift is it not?’
‘It will surely,’ she had to agree with him.
Wee Ruari held up his bunch of com stalks and inspected it critically.
‘I reckon that “some tourie” is that lassie you took a great liking to when she and her father were staying with Mhairi Jane in the summer,’ he interjected innocently.
Kirsty looked at him in surprise.
Jamie shot the boy a repressive glance. ‘There was no such lassie,’ he denied hurriedly.
Unperturbed, Wee Ruari continued inspecting his corn stalks. ‘Willie Bhan was after saying there was,’ he insisted.
Jamie scowled. ‘Then Willie Bhan was talking nonsense just,’ he asserted and, snatching up a piece of rope that had been hanging over a chair, made for the door with what struck Kirsty as unseemly haste.
With eyebrows still raised she looked after him. Jamie had obviously been embarrassed but she forbore from asking Wee Ruari to reveal any other comments Willie Bhan might have made. Thoughtful, she continued ironing, letting her mind play around with the possibilities. If the Clachanites had suspected any hint of a romance between Jamie and the lassie who had briefly visited Westisle, he would indeed have suffered plenty of teasing, though none had reached her ears. She had noticed a kind of attraction between the pair but had assumed that the lassie’s departure from Clachan had meant the end of the matter. Jamie had made no subsequent reference to the lassie, nor had he appeared to be in any way suffering from a sense of deprival. Could they have kept in touch? she asked herself. It seemed unlikely but she reminded herself that it was Jamie who collected all the mail and brought it to the island, and it was customary for him and Euan Ally to extract their own correspondence before handing the bag over to her. She would be ignorant of any contact between the couple unless Jamie himself had chosen to tell her. Was Wee Ruari right she wondered on reflection.
She finished the ironing, draped the fresh clothes over the rack, folded the ironing cloth and put it away in the cupboard. She was still pondering as she began to prepare the evening meal, gently chiding herself that perhaps she had been a trifle insensitive in dismissing the thought of there having been any lingering relationship between the lassie and Jamie. Perhaps she too should have indulged in a little light-hearted teasing. He could possibly have wanted to confide in her.
With a slight surge of misgiving she decided to start clearing out the loft, resolving to do it discreetly, not saying anything to Jamie but waiting for him to perhaps notice what was being done so that he could comment nonchalantly without suspecting she might have guessed the possible reason for any urgency. There was no urgency of course, for no touries would be prepared to come at this time of year. The plan worked. Shortly after she started not only Jamie but also Euan Ally and Enac made time to help dispose of the piles of old netting, sacks of ropes and other miscellaneous fishing gear which was of no further use.
Kirsty was dragging a bundle to the head of the stairs when she heard Enac exclaim excitedly. Kirsty joined her in the corner of the room.
‘Is it not beautiful just!’ Enac had shifted a pile of netting and was gazing at something which had been hidden below it.
Kirsty caught her breath as she saw Wee Ruari’s’ old cradle, her mind jumping instantly to the memory of the man who had lovingly carved it; the man who had given her his heart but who, out of respect for his brother, had never let her know until he lay on his deathbed. For a moment she was unable to speak.
‘Ruari Mor carved it himself when Wee Ruari was born,’ she managed to say after a few moments. ‘He was good with his hands.’
‘Indeed, he must have been,’ enthused Enac, running her hands over the polished wood.
Kirsty suddenly knew what she had to say.
‘You must have it for your bairn mo ghaoil,’ she offered. ‘It is surely of no further use in this house.’
Enac demurred politely, but couldn’t restrain her pleasure when finally prevailed upon to accept. She went searching for Euan Ally to tell him while Kirsty, glad to be alone for a moment, let her thoughts drift back to that halcyon period when, her baby gurgling in her arms, she was probably more content than at any other time in her life. The sound of footsteps on the stairs brought her back to the present; with a slight feeling of weariness she went back to her tidying.
It was Enac who, it seemed apropos of nothing, put the question that Kirsty would have liked to ask Jamie.
‘When was Mhairi Jane after saying that yon professor and his daughter had booked to come and stay with her?’
‘I believe it will be sometime in the summer,’ said Jamie with a show of indifference.
‘I reckon they might be wanting to stay a few days over here then,’ Ki
rsty observed. ‘They seemed to find plenty to interest them.’
She caught Euan Ally’s covert glance at Jamie as if expecting some reaction, but none was forthcoming.
When the loft was finally cleared they decided that it was indeed big enough for two reasonable bedrooms, despite the slope of the roof reducing headroom at the sides. Timber was brought from the mainland and Lachy, Enac’s lean-to being finished, was prevailed upon to risk his eternal soul and come into the widow’s house to erect the partitions and door frames. He had only completed the basics however when, saying he felt the breath of autumn on the wind, he returned to Clachan in good time for the serious deer-poaching season. He had undertaken to return ‘with the spring and the spiders’ if the English couple were still of a mind for him to build up their chosen ruin into a holiday cottage. He had added to that, ‘if the Lord spares me’, a proviso which Enac dismissed with a contemptuous, ‘More like if his wife will allow him out of her sight for that length of time again.’
After Jamie and Euan Ally had, a little inexpertly, put the finishing touches to the woodwork, Kirsty and Enac set to with paint brashes while ‘the boys’ brought wax-cloth for the floor, two beds, two chests of drawers and two cupboards from the mainland. They also obtained two cured sheepskins from the Clachan shepherd which Kirsty brushed and combed to make two soft mats to lay beside the beds.
‘I reckon these are rooms fit for lords and ladies,’ gloated Enac.
‘Aye, I’d say they were good enough,’ agreed Euan Ally. ‘What do you think Jamie?’
‘Right,’ murmured Jamie, looking a trifle impatient at being asked his opinion on a matter which he wished to be regarded as unworthy of his attention.
Kirsty surveyed the room critically.
‘It’s me that’s the loon for forgetting to ask you to get me four jugs and two basins from the stores when you were on the mainland. Maybe you’ll get them the next time you go.’
Jamie looked at her enquiringly.
‘They’ll need to have somewhere to wash themselves,’ she explained.
‘But why four jugs and only two basins,’ he asked.
‘They’ll need hot water as well as cold surely,’ Kirsty reminded him. ‘Touries won’t be content to splash their faces with a handful of cold water the same as you and Euan Ally just.’
‘Aye, I suppose,’ he sounded unconvinced.
‘And any gentleman that would wish to come might wish to shave himself,’ Enac was quick to point out. ‘You would need to give them hot water on Saturdays anyway, so they could shave ready for the Sabbath.’
Recalling her time at the boarding house, Islay, Kirsty observed knowledgeably, ‘It’s natural enough for some men to wish to shave every day, not only for the Sabbath just.’
‘Then I reckon they must be mighty proud of themselves,’ commented Jamie dryly.
‘On the mainland I believe there’s plenty that does Jamie,’ Euan Ally assured him. ‘And if they don’t they leave their beards be until there’s enough growth to cut with scissors.’
‘Or sheep shears,’ chuckled Enac.
Chapter Eleven
The Sound swiftly began to take on its wintry aspect; the hill peaks beyond Clachan rarely shed their thick pelts of dark cloud, against which background the occasional speculative gull appeared to have been bleached white. The Two Ruaris had been laid up in her winter berth, leaving only the small and less seaworthy Katy to make any necessary trips to Clachan to take or bring Wee Ruari to or from school. When Brachty, the only cow that was being milked, decided for herself that she wished to have the shelter of the byre at night and began to present herself at the gate of the croft as soon as she perceived the dusk beginning to deepen, Kirsty knew it was the portent of more turbulent weather. It started with a roaring gale that was almost dizzying in its savagery and which continued with no noticeable moderation for close on three weeks. It confined her son to Clachan and with each successive day Kirsty grew more and more despondent but, despite her earnest prayers and entreaties to the Almighty, the wind showed no sign of slackening sufficiently to enable the Katy to cross the Sound to collect Wee Ruari. She grew daily more tense as the school winter holidays approached. And Christmas day was coming! Christmas had never been celebrated nor even alluded to during her own childhood and youth but when she had worked in the boarding house she had learned from the conversation of English visitors of what an exciting day it was in England; of how the children looked forward, often for many weeks, to the visit of some Father Christmas who would bring them presents; of how he would expect the house to be decorated to welcome him; of how he would bring them invitations to lots of parties. It had all sounded so intriguing that as soon as her son had reached the age of two she had introduced him to the idea of there being some small but very special recognition of Christmas Day. She’d even marked it with red crayon each year on the agricultural calendar so she herself would not forget. Presents such as shop toys were out of the question, of course, since north of Glasgow few places recognised Christmas and only then in a desultory fashion. Parties were impossible with but one child on the island and precious little likelihood of there being any winter transport even if other children would be permitted or indeed would want to come. So far each year, she’d managed to bake a special sort of cake and decorate it as best she could. Jamie’s last visit to the mainland had surprisingly yielded a box of sweeties which had joined the cake already in the oatmeal bin keeping fresh. The sweeties were called coconut kisses and they were pink and white and sugary so she was sure Wee Ruari would love them. She’d baked shortbread in easily identifiable shapes of men and animals and fish, which she would wrap in a piece of bleached flour sack tied with coloured tape or twine saved from parcels sent by the English couple, to give as a Christmas present along with the new jersey she’d been knitting for him. She always knitted a jersey for him at Christmas-time and he always appeared overjoyed to get it. She’d spied out a few small twigs of greenery, but had left them outside ready to bring in on Christmas morning to decorate the house. But still the gales raged on, making the crossing to Clachan unthinkable.
Kirsty knew she could not console herself, as she had at Halloween, that her son would have more fun in Clachan with his school friends since, so far as the children were concerned, once Halloween was over their year’s merrymaking ceased. The school would be closed for the scheduled end-of-year holiday but it was generally assumed that the closure was primarily to give the teachers a break so as to prepare themselves for the important celebration of Hogmanay. To the children it meant little more than being available for extra chores like carrying peats or water from the well or hay to the cattle out-wintering on the moors. And yet there were no sulks! Such work was part of growing up which was exciting enough. Such fun as they had was mainly derived from watching the normally dour and strait-laced adults growing daily more absurd as they steadily imbibed the spirit(s) of the New Year! It was not until four days after the official school holiday had begun that Kirsty woke from an uneasy sleep to the sudden realisation that the wind had ceased to thud against the walls and roof of the house. Reckoning the calendar would be declaring it to be the day before Christmas Day, she rose swiftly and dressed, intending to hurry along to Jamie’s room and waken him to the knowledge of the calm but as soon as she opened her bedroom door she saw there was already lamplight in the kitchen and Jamie was bending over the stove stirring a pan of brose.
Her heart leaped. ‘Oh Jamie, are you thinking maybe the weather has settled enough for you to get across to Clachan?’ Her voice was taut with muted hopefulness but, born and bred in the islands as she had been, she knew only too well that no woman must ever urge a seaman to risk combat with an angry sea against his better judgement. She waited tensely to hear his verdict.
‘I reckon it might be, but there’ll still be a good swell in it,’ he replied.
Kirsty breathed a little easier. His tone had inspired confidence and she allowed herself to think about the poss
ibility of the celebration going ahead as planned. Even though it was still too dark to assess the conditions in the Sound she felt she could safely begin her final preparations.
It was barely light when Euan Ally arrived.
‘There’s a good roar of swell out there yet,’ he said to Jamie.
‘Aye, I reckon there will be,’ Jamie agreed.
But as the day lightened the sea calmed, though the crash of the swell along the shore could still be heard. Euan Ally and Jamie had gone outside for a look at the weather but were soon back to announce that they would be away to Clachan within the hour. Kirsty murmured a grateful thanks to the Almighty and spurred herself to briskness, happily humming a tune as new ideas for pleasing Wee Ruari darted into her head.
The day was darkening again when her son came bounding into the kitchen.
‘I’m here,’ he announced himself, quickly discarding his oilskin and sou’wester and kicking off his gumboots.
‘I see you’re here,’ she responded warmly, pressing her hands on his shoulders. ‘Aye, and you’ve grown a few more inches I believe since I last saw you.’ She would have liked to hug him but knew he would dodge away.
He backed against the door frame where Jamie had always marked in pencil his height at each holiday from school.
‘You’ve topped the last one at potato lifting I believe,’ Kirsty exclaimed, squinting at the wall. ‘Jamie will tell you for sure as soon as he’s back.’ She buttered a scone and gave it to him.
He stuffed a good half of it into his mouth before speaking thickly, ‘Ally’s Uncle Lachy has given him a haunch of venison for Hogmanay.’
‘Indeed! So they won’t go short over the holiday as Enac had begun to fear, with the weather being as bad as it has been.’
A Breath of Autumn Page 10