There had never been any doubt in Kirsty’s mind that her son was a happy child. It had never struck her that he might be suffering from a lack of companionship with others of his own age. He always responded happily to the teasing and leg pulling which he got in good measure from Jamie and Euan Ally. When he was alone he was forever absorbed in examining, inventing or discovering new interests. There were endless diversions which occupied his attention; his days were full of activity from the minute he woke up until the minute he went to his bed. Kirsty had not been able to bring herself even to consider that he might be missing companionship.
When the right time had come she herself had taken him across the Sound to Clachan to enrol at the school and had been immediately reassured by his meeting with the other scholars. During his first weekend at home so enthusiastic had he sounded about his new companions, about his teachers and about his first lessons, it was evident that starting school was for him the beginning of a great new adventure. She’d prayed it might always remain so. But now she had to face the fact that Clachan School was a junior school only. So where would her son go after that? Wee Ruari was growing up and would have to go further afield to continue his education; she would likely be separated from him not for one week or even two or three in rough weather but for whole terms. She was aware that wealthy people often chose to send their children to boarding schools from a very early age, but wealthy people she assumed were different; heartless perhaps, and their children likely hadn’t experienced any close relationship with their mother. She put down her cup and scolded herself for her dreary introspection. After all, she reminded herself, island folks through the ages had had to leave home to pursue their interests, some to make their fortunes in one way or another. She must condition herself to accepting whatever might transpire. She rinsed her cup, swung the kettle over to the hob and went out to the barn to start filling sacks of hay ready for Jamie to take to the cattle when he returned from his trip to Clachan.
The snow had settled thickly on the ground, but the wind had eased and there was virtually no drifting. A heavy frost, however, had fashioned icicles to fringe the roof and sills of the house and similarly the tarpaulins and ropes that covered the haystack; crystal daggers hung from overhanging rocks and patches of sphagnum moss broke crisply underfoot.
When Jamie returned from Clachan he threw a tartan-wrapped box onto the table. ‘That’s from Mhairi Jane,’ he explained. ‘She reckons she’s been sent that many boxes of shortbread for New Year she’ll still be eating it at this time next year.’
Kirsty smiled. ‘You can’t have too many city relatives that can get to the shops when it comes to New Year,’ she said. Opening the box she told Jamie to help himself. Taking a handful, he stuffed them into his pockets.
‘They’ll see me to the cattle,’ he acknowledged, and was about to go out when there was a stamping of booted feet outside and a voice hailed them. The next moment Euan Ally pushed open the door and came into the kitchen, seeming unusually agitated.
‘Why Euan Ally,’ Kirsty exclaimed. ‘It’s not trouble that brings you surely.’
‘It’s herself,’ he burst out between hurried breaths. ‘The bairn came last night. Sooner by far than she reckoned.’
Kirsty blinked in astonishment. ‘You’re no after telling me Enac’s dropped her baby, surely? It wasn’t to be for another month or so.’ Her tone was edged with incredulity, but since his expression was reassuring she rushed on, ‘Tell me now what kind of a bairn would it be? A wee laddie just, or a lassie?’ She poured a cup of tea and pushed it towards him.
‘A wee laddie just, and not so wee either,’ he told her proudly.
Jamie got up, shook Euan Ally’s hand warmly and, after a few congratulatory words, produced the whisky bottle. Pouring out two generous measures he looked at Kirsty enquiringly but she shook her head.
‘I’ll take a dram to wet the baby’s head at the proper time, when I see him,’ she excused herself. ‘And the bairn’s fine, and Enac?’ she continued.
‘I’d say so. He’s making more noise than a flock of hungry gulls already, I reckon I could hear him half-way to here.’ He tossed off his whisky and gulped down a mouthful of tea.
‘I’d say that was a good sign to be going on with,’ Kirsty approved. ‘I’d best be getting my boots on and get ready to go and take a look at Enac. Did you make sure she was all right before you left the house?’
‘Indeed I did. She was taking the strupak I made for her and telling me to bring in more peats for the fire when I left. I reckon it was that easy for her you’d think she’d dropped a dozen bairns.’
‘I doubt there’s little enough would fash Enac,’ Kirsty admitted, as she pulled on a coat and tied an old oilskin over it.
‘Right,’ she directed Euan Ally. ‘Now I’m ready to go along with you.’
Quickly he drained his cup and reached for his cromarti. Jamie had the door open, and the three of them stood together assessing the bleak snow-blanketed moors. It was a gentle enough day with a fold of pearl-grey cloud lying supinely across the hills, their white peaks appearing above it like newly awakened sleepers peering over the bedclothes.
‘I’d best be away to the cattle I reckon,’ said Jamie. He produced a couple of cromachs and handed one of them to Kirsty. ‘You’d best take that,’ he advised, ‘though I’ll surely be there to see you back.’
Kirsty started to protest but Euan Ally cut in, ‘He has to come and take a dram with us anyway. Enac will not rest easy if he’s not there to wet the bairn’s head with her.’
‘I’m not likely to miss that for certain sure,’ was Jamie’s retort as he turned towards the barn to collect the sacks of hay.
‘And throw the hens an extra scoop of corn to see them right in case I don’t get back before dark,’ Kirsty called after him.
Euan Ally strode out, clumping forward through the snow; Kirsty kept behind him, following in his tracks.
‘It’s kind of soon yet, but has Enac spoken of naming the wee bairn?’ she asked him.
‘Indeed she has that,’ he replied. ‘I believe she’s after naming him for an uncle she has in Australia somewhere.’
His voice sounded a little tetchy she thought, and she decided not to bother him with further questions. After all, she remembered, there were numerous uncles on both sides of the family and he and Enac might have had different ideas as to whom the child should be named for. She looked across the Sound, unusually calm and sunlit and doing its best to reflect the snowy peaks of the mainland hills which stood out sharply against the blue-washed serenity of the sky. The sight was so breathtaking she felt compelled to comment.
‘It’s a fortunate child to be born on an island surrounded by such beauty.’
Euan Ally paused for a moment. ‘Aye indeed. It’s no so bad here as it could be,’ he acknowledged.
Kirsty found herself humming a favourite tune as they trudged along, and a moment later Euan Ally joined in.
‘I’m gey surprised you have enough breath to sing,’ he challenged her after a while.
‘Just about enough,’ she admitted. ‘But you’re setting the pace, and you don’t seem that short of breath yourself.’
‘Me? I’ve raced over the moors that was more thicker with snow than this, and with a full-grown ewe tied to my back and her newborn lamb in my arms,’ he claimed, increasing his pace unwittingly as if the memory urged him on. Kirsty no longer had breath left to hum.
She managed to keep up with him nevertheless until they came in sight of his ‘Castle’. The lowly cottage seemed to have snugged itself even deeper into the wintry moorland, looking as if it had belonged there for many years. Euan Ally halted and turned to her with a profoundly satisfied smile. She smiled back at him saying, ‘Aye well, we’ve made it.’
He darted forward shouting loudly and moments later it seemed, he was pushing open the door of the cottage and shepherding Kirsty inside where a welcoming Enac sat beside the glowing range, a shawl-wrapped bundle in he
r arms.
‘Well, well, and haven’t you sprung a surprise on us,’ Kirsty greeted Enac as she bent to kiss her.
‘Indeed and didn’t I surprise myself,’ Enac acknowledged. ‘Here’s me not expecting the bairn to arrive until well after Hogmanay and now he’s here at my breast’
She lifted the shawl that was almost obscuring the baby’s face so that Kirsty could get a good look at the new arrival.
‘I must admit I was noticing him kicking around a bit stronger these last few days but now I believe with so much happening I likely let the months slip by me. But he’s come and he’s welcome and being early will mean I can get back to my loom that much sooner.’
‘He’s a bonny bairn right enough,’ murmured Kirsty admiringly, ‘and hasn’t he a great look of Euan Ally about him just?’
‘Indeed that’s just the way I was thinking myself,’ Enac responded.
‘I’m away to the hill then,’ Euan Ally called, and the two women continued their adulatory conversation while the child lay quietly against Enac’s breast. Kirsty busied herself making the always compulsory and always acceptable cup of tea.
‘I reckon you will have a name for him,’ she probed.
‘Aye, that’s true enough,’ admitted Enac. ‘We’re after saying we’ll name him Adam for an uncle of mine that went out to Australia and made a deal of money. He was my mother’s brother and she used to get a fair sum from him every year for her birthday. When I wrote to him telling of her death he sent a wee note, but he had no liking at all for my father so he sent no more money. I believe he’s still a bachelor and has no family of his own to be named for him. Likely he’ll be more than pleased to hear we have a bairn that we’re going to name for him. A man likes to think he’s remembered by his family no matter how far he is away and no matter how long he’s been out of touch with them.’ Carefully she settled the baby in the cradle.
‘Maybe he’ll come over from Australia to take a wee peep at the bairn,’ Kirsty suggested.
‘Aye, maybe so,’ agreed Enac. ‘It would be a long enough way but he’d be sure of a good welcome.’
Euan Ally, back from the hill, came into the kitchen, and immediately poured himself a cup of tea.
‘And how’s the wee mannie doing?’ he asked, going over to the cradle, cup in hand.
‘He’s grand just,’ Kirsty extolled. ‘Really grand.’
‘Take care with that tea!’ cautioned Enac. ‘I wouldn’t want that you would drop a wee spot on his shawl.’
Obediently Euan Ally put his cup on the table. He opened a cupboard in the dresser from which he took out a bottle of whisky and four glasses. ‘It’s time we got round to wetting the bairn’s head,’ he enjoined.
‘Oh, but the light will soon begin to fade,’ Kirsty protested, glancing anxiously out of the window. ‘I must surely be thinking of taking myself back.’
‘Ach, there’ll be a good moon tonight, and Jamie will surely be here in a wee whiley,’ he assured her, pouring out a small whisky and handing it to her. She waved him away. ‘Ach, take a wee one now and you’ll be welcome to take another as soon as Jamie’s here,’ he pressed her.
‘No I will not,’ she demurred. ‘We’ll wet the bairn’s head the way it should be done with us all here together. Is that not the way you would wish Enac?’
‘Ach, there’s plenty,’ said Euan Ally, putting the glass to his own lips.
‘Will I not clean some potatoes and set them in a pot beside the fire,’ Kirsty volunteered. ‘And maybe I could mix you an oatcake or a scone till Jamie gets here.’
‘There’s potatoes washed and in the pan,’ Euan Ally assured her. ‘Enac told me to do that before I came over to tell you about the bairn.’ He picked up a bucket and went outside.
‘And there’s plenty scones and oatcakes in the meal bin waiting to be eaten,’ added Enac. ‘You sit and take another wee strupak and wait for Jamie.’
There was a faint noise from the baby and Enac put a hand on the cradle and gently rocked it. ‘It’s a grand cradle,’ she commented admiringly.
For a moment Kirsty’s breath caught in her throat. Enac’s remark had twanged a memory so poignant it was like a sudden sting as, once again, she was assailed by the recollection of the degree of heartache that must have been endured by the man who had fashioned the cradle with such loving care. Time had helped Kirsty to grow a kind of carapace over the anguish of his passing but a chance remark, such as Enac’s casual admiration of the cradle, could still jerk open the wound. She forced herself to take a deep breath and then to take a sip of tea before she managed to say evenly, ‘Aye, and it’s a grand bairn it’s cradling.’ Her eyes stared blankly at the small uncurtained window, not seeing the moonlit moorland.
There came the sound of voices from outside and a moment later Euan Ally pushed open the door to announce, ‘Here comes Jamie boy and he’s keen enough to wet the bairn’s head with us. Is that not the way of it, Jamie?’
Enac got up immediately and filled the teapot from the simmering kettle while the two lads stood grinning as they flapped the snow from their caps and jackets. Euan Ally reached for the four glasses, filling each of them with whisky; together they toasted the bairn’s head joyously, Euan Ally and Jamie quickly swallowing the first of the ‘wetting’, refilling their glasses ready for the toast of ‘a long life to the bairn’. Euan Ally waved the bottle invitingly at the two women but Enac had been more restrained and had some whisky left; Kirsty had merely sipped hers, though she had echoed the toast heartily.
‘You’d best drink it down,’ Jamie instructed after a minute or two. ‘We don’t want to waste too much time before we start back.’
Kirsty added the rest of her drink to the tea left in her cup and drank it quickly, suppressing a shudder. ‘I’m not keeping you back now,’ she insisted, reaching for her overcoat.
Jamie managed to swallow another dram as they said their ‘Oidhche mhaths’ and then they were out in the snow.
‘It’s a grand night just,’ Jamie remarked, looking up at the moonlit sky. ‘I believe if the boat wasn’t laid up for the winter me and Euan Ally would be talking of casting a net.’
Kirsty shuddered at the chilliness of the idea. ‘For what?’ she asked.
‘Ach, a few tiddlers just,’ Jamie replied nonchalantly.
‘It would have been talk just, I’m thinking,’ Kirsty summed up as she plodded behind him.
It was indeed a beautiful night. The full moon was sheening the water of the Sound and silvering the peaks of the hills. The still silence was broken only by the distant splashings of the tide, their own footsteps and the two cromachs crunching in the snow. Jamie appeared to be preoccupied and Kirsty was tight-lipped against the cold in case it should provoke an ache in a sensitive tooth she had. Pulling her beret down over her ears as far as it would reach and tucking her chin into the collar of her overcoat she followed Jamie’s footsteps.
When they reached the house Jamie volunteered to close up the hens. Kirsty set about replenishing the fire and swinging the kettles over the hob. Both kettles were steaming by the time Jamie came into the kitchen.
‘I’ll make us a strupak and then we can see what we need before we take to our beds,’ she greeted him. He ignored her and, going to the cupboard, brought out the whisky bottle.
‘I’ll take a dram or two before I say what I want,’ he told her.
She regarded him with raised eyebrows.
‘I should have thought you’d had plenty of drams this night,’ she taxed him.
‘Nothing like a wee dram to keep out the cold,’ he assured her. ‘Will you no take one to warm you?’ He set two glasses on the table.
‘Not for me,’ she insisted. ‘I don’t pretend to like the stuff and a cup of tea will warm me better than whisky.’
‘Suit yourself,’ he said, shrugging his shoulders. He flopped down on the bench, his eyelids lowering as his head drooped forward. She herself was tired and not particularly hungry. She brought out the remains of a
fruit dumpling and put it on the table and, after pouring herself a mug of tea, she cut a thick slice. She turned to look enquiringly at Jamie and realised that he was fast asleep. Deciding against wakening him, she ate her dumpling, drank her tea and, reckoning that he would very likely sleep until daylight, left the food on the table in case he should wake and feel hungry. Piling more peats on the fire, she turned down the lamp though knowing it would likely burn itself out before morning. She went to her bed, feeling only slightly uneasy at the thought of all the day’s chores which the birth of Enac’s bairn had prevented her from doing.
Chapter Thirteen
In the night the wind rose, besetting the land, and by morning a full gale was flinging the accumulations of snow haphazardly so that, day after day, they found themselves struggling almost blindly against the storm; Kirsty only as far as the hen-house and back; Jamie often floundering over the moors to and from the cattle.
‘Ach, they don’t wander so much in this kind of weather,’ he’d commented when she had tried to commiserate with him. ‘I’m not needing to search for them in a different place each day like in the summer.’
‘And Euan Ally?’ she enquired.
‘His sheep are feeding in the bluebell glen or thereabouts. He’s not missing any so far as I know.’
Week after week the storm raged with the occasional lull lasting only long enough to delude them into thinking that the worst was over before it returned with increased vigour, tearing the thick clouds out of the sky and leaving it, when darkness came, rigid with starshine. At length it subsided to a petulant breeze and soon they were rewarded with a gentle evening when the serrated outline of the hills was gradually absorbed by the deepening twilight until they were at one with the night. Kirsty and Jamie began to consider what the next bout of work must be.
A Breath of Autumn Page 12