Storm Over Rhanna

by Christine Marion Fraser

  But even when she had got as far as washing his face and hands he was loathe to allow her to go further, putting up all sorts of verbal barriers in her path, the main obstacle being his inherent modesty and the fact that ‘it jist wasny decent for a leddy to look at any part o’ a man’s private body’.

  Sitting herself on the bed, Mairi swirled a soapy sponge over his bony shoulders and spoke to him in her soft, soothing voice. ‘Do you mind that time the Huns were on Rhanna, Dodie? Ay, well that was the time Mistress Gray had a wee ceilidh for them and thon big Jerry – Zeitler I think he was – had managed to get dung all over his clothes and everything and Mistress Gray made him steep himself in the zinc tub, there in the scullery for everybody to see. I mind at the time thinkin’ he would have that funny wee Hun sign everywhere and could only stand there gawpin’ at him while he swore at me in German and turned an odd blue colour in the face . . .’

  Dodie was so entranced listening to these revelations about someone else’s ‘private body’ that he forgot to feel embarrassment at his own and before very long Mairi had him bathed, dressed in a pair of ‘her own Wullie’s pyjamas’, and smelling so strongly of talcum powder he sneezed mightily and demanded a cuppy to ease his tubes.

  Then and only then was Doctor Megan allowed back into the room, her composed face giving no hint at the relief she felt on seeing a clean and shining Dodie, sitting up quite perkily against his pillows, one horny pinky crooked daintily as he lifted his cup to his lips, for he could put on the airs and graces when he liked, and he was determined to show the ‘leddy doctor’ he could display gentry mannerisms when the mood took him.

  To her further relief he allowed her to examine him without too much fuss, and soon she was able to put her stethoscope away and tell him that there was nothing wrong with him that a regular diet of good food wouldn’t cure.

  ‘I’ll see to him,’ Mairi offered in her calm, unflustered way. ‘Wullie is working over at Nigg the now and passes by Dodie’s house every morning in his cart. It will be no bother to me to clean and cook for an old man who asks little o’ anybody. I would have done it long ago but the old rascal wouldny hear tell o’ it. He’s that thrawn betimes he deserves a good skelping but ach – he wouldny be Dodie if he was to allow us all to fuss and palaver over him though he let himself go too far this time, that he did.’

  Megan laid a hand on her arm. ‘Thank you, Mairi, for all your help here today. I don’t know what we would have done without you, you’re a good, good woman.’

  Mairi looked at her with round eyes. ‘Ach, Doctor, I’m no’ good at all. I have just done what anybody else on Rhanna would have done in the circumstances. It’s the way o’ things here, we all help one another in time o’ need.’ She smiled her oddly beautiful smile at the young woman. ‘’Tis just a pity you haveny found that out for yourself yet, we don’t all go around gossipin’ our heads off – though of course,’ she added hastily, ‘it fills the time when there’s maybe a queue in the shops and everybody anxious to find out a wee bittie news about somebody else.’

  With a pleasant nod she took herself off to the kitchen to clear away the things she had used to wash Dodie, leaving Megan to go outside to talk to an impatiently waiting Steven, and Mark to go through to the bedroom to talk to Dodie.

  ‘You can have as many visitors as you like,’ he smiled, ‘and that includes myself, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Ach no, I’ll no’ be mindin’,’ acquiesced Dodie graciously. ‘Mairi will have all the wee bitties o’ dust cleaned up by then and will maybe polish the fender if she knows visitors are comin’.’

  ‘Something will have to be done about Dodie,’ Megan told Mark when he finally emerged from the cottage.

  ‘I know,’ he said and that was all, turning away from her and striding over to the car without another word. Despite the heat of the sun she felt suddenly cold and was glad of Mairi’s undemanding chatter on the otherwise silent journey down to Portcull.

  Something was done about Dodie, several things in fact. A few days after Mark had found him lying unconscious by the wayside, he and Grant McKenzie walked together along the hill track, Grant chatting in his easy friendly way, small talk designed to keep the old man’s mind off the letter he had received from the laird, requesting him to call in at Burnbreddie House at his earliest convenience.

  A much recovered Dodie, still thin and pale to be sure but well fed and well rested after spending three days in bed, with Babbie, the doctor and Mark keeping a watchful eye on him and Mairi in regular attendance, was not anxious to reach the Big House and would have turned back but for Grant’s persuasive hand under his arm. Dodie was glad of the companionship of this strong young McKenzie for he had been greatly alarmed to receive the epistle from the laird, and had spent an agonizing time of it imagining all sorts of dire meanings in the few words he had read over and over, in bed and out of it, sitting in the sun or by his lonely grate.

  ‘I’m thinkin’ maybe the laird is going to put me out my house,’ he confided to Grant in a thin, frightened whisper. ‘He’s likely heard about me bein’ ill – and forbye . . .’ he gulped and looked at Grant through tear-filled eyes, ‘I’ve been late wi’ my rent this whilie back, I’ve no’ been able to work wi’ me no’ feeling like myself since Ealasaid fell over the cliff and ’tis feart I am just in case I’ll maybe get put into one o’ they awful homes they have over on the mainland.’

  Burying his face in his hands he began to weep, softly and helplessly, a fragility about his thin, humped shoulders that brought a lump to Grant’s throat.

  ‘Dodie, Dodie.’ Throwing his arm about the old man he spoke gently and reassuringly. ‘Nobody’s going to send you anywhere you don’t want to go, far less Burnbreddie. He’s a decent sort and would never deliberately hurt anyone, especially someone like yourself who has always worked so willingly and so hard to the Balfours as a whole. He’s probably just heard you’ve been ill and wants to see for himself how you are now, that’s all.’

  ‘He could have called to see me,’ Dodie whispered wetly, adding with a touch of stubbornness, ‘he wouldny have got his feets dirty, Mairi had the place that clean you could have eaten your dinner off the floor and that’s more than can be said for that muckle place he bides in, even though that Peggy thinks it’s the best kept house on Rhanna.’

  They went on, Dodie’s big, clumsy boots dragging, Grant trying to urge him on at a faster pace. It was a warm, sunless morning with a pearly mist swirling over the undulating stretches of moorland, but gradually it was drifting away, revealing the steep crags of Sgurr nan Gabhar and Sgurr na Gill shouldering their way out of their misty scarves.

  A rustling and moaning came from somewhere close by, Dodie’s voice tailed off in a rusty squeak, Grant’s head jerked up. Out from a heather-covered knoll a young cow popped her head and mooed gently at them, her breath coming out in little puffs.

  ‘Ach, is she no’ bonny just?’ Dodie forgot his fears, he seemed to soften and melt and went quivering towards the cow, speaking softly to her as he advanced till finally she allowed him to stroke her and pour words of love into her furry ears.

  ‘She is just like my Ealasaid,’ he blubbered the words wetly into the animal’s neck, ‘only younger wi’ a different colour to her and maybe a bittie more meat to her bones.’

  A tiny calf gambolled up, friskily kicking up its heels, heedless of Dodie, intent only on nuzzling its mother’s flank before fastening its soft lips round one of her small teats. It was one of Venus’s offspring, hundreds more were scattered over the island. Croynachan had had a busy and profitable time hiring out his bull. Now that summer was fully underway, the young shorthorn’s services were much in demand. It was a long time since he had broken free, he needed his energies for better things and was very contented these days. No one was more glad than Croynachan that the animal had proved its worth, farmers and crofters alike were singing its praises and were delighted to have Venus in their fields serving their cows.

  �
��She has a calf!’ Dodie went daft altogether. ‘My, my, would you look at it, ’tis beautiful just – like the one Ealasaid gave me three summers ago . . .’ The tears were spouting, spilling over once more.

  ‘Dodie, we must get along,’ Grant hastened to say.

  ‘Ach, I’m just coming.’ Dodie’s voice was husky, unwillingly he abandoned the peacefully grazing cow, the rapturously sucking calf, his footsteps faltering until Grant took his arm and made him hurry along.

  As they neared Burnbreddie House Dodie came to an abrupt halt, his face haggard with apprehension. ‘It will be the cup,’ he whispered in abject terror. ‘It wasny me that took it though I aye kent in myself the tink stole it from Burnbreddie. Surely Mr James wouldny have told on me, he didny say eechie or ochie at the time or make me feel I had committed a sin.’

  ‘Told what, Dodie? What cup are you talking about?’

  ‘My bonny silver cup, the one given me by a tink years and years ago. I’ve never had the likes in all my life, just delft cups wi’ cracks in them. Thon wee cup is like a miracle for it makes even water taste like wine and is also a fair treat filled wi’ my very own rhubarb.’ He threw Grant a sidelong, apologetic glance. ‘I can eat it you see wi’ my very own silver spoon, the neighbour o’ the two I gave your mother when Lorn and Lewis were born as twins.’

  A grin widened Grant’s mouth. ‘I know the ones you mean, she treasures them yet and all o’ us, at one time or another, have wondered where she got them.’

  Dodie fidgeted but said proudly enough, ‘Your mother knows the truth o’ that though it was a wee secret between her and me. I paid for them myself, out o’ the money I got for doin’ wee odd jobs to Burnbreddie. The third spoon is my very own secret, we all have them and this is one that will go wi’ me to the kirkyard when my time comes.’

  Grant gave a shout of laughter. ‘No flies on you, Dodie! Silver cups and spoons; maybe a silver tea service for all I know! Will it ever end, I wonder?’

  ‘Ach no, there is no silver tea service,’ Dodie was shocked, ‘just the spoon and the cup . . .’ He stared at Grant with watery, haunted eyes. ‘Maybe the police will be there waitin’ to take me to jail! Why else would the laird send for me, he’s never done the likes before—’ he dug in his feet. ‘I’m no’ goin’, I’m just no’ goin’ and no’ a soul can make me.’

  ‘Oh ay you are,’ Grant said gently. ‘You’re going because I’m here with you to see you through. I’ve never let you down yet, have I?’

  ‘No, lad, you haveny.’ Dodie gulped miserably and allowed the young man to take his hand and lead him along as if he was a lost child.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The laird was preparing to set out for his morning ride and was in the hall, pulling on his riding boots, when his wife Rena ushered Grant and Dodie through the door.

  ‘Fine morning,’ he greeted them pleasantly, giving his boots a final tug and wetting the tip of one finger to apply it to a minute speck of dirt on the otherwise immaculate leather.

  The years had been kind to Scott Balfour, sixty past he was slim and fit-looking with a dark moustache and a big bushy beard disguising his overfull lips and receding chin. He was held in respect and liking on the island, for while he and his wife took occasional holidays abroad he had never been an absentee landlord but one who was content with his life on Rhanna and fair in his dealings with his tenants.

  Every summer he held fetes on the wide sweeping grasslands of the estate, and every Christmas without fail he threw open the doors of Burnbreddie House to give parties and balls to his tenants, annual events which were much anticipated and appreciated by young and old alike.

  He made it his business to acquaint himself with the islanders and their problems, and just lately had been granted the earth-shattering privilege of being invited to partake of ‘a wee taste’ of Dodie’s famous rhubarb, quite amiably allowing himself to be seated on a kitchen chair outside in the sun while Dodie went to fetch the treat, together with a ‘wee polkie o’ sugar’ into which he was instructed to dip his stick of rhubarb. He had complied with obvious relish, flattered at being singled out for such an honour, displaying also a rare understanding of the ways of the more eccentric in his midst.

  Straightening from his ministrations to his boots he smiled encouragingly at the visitors, but before anyone could make a move Dodie began to speak in a rush, in his excitement lapsing into Gaelic so rapid and confused that not even Grant could understand much of it.

  ‘Dodie got your letter,’ Grant explained when Dodie had talked himself to a tongue-twisted halt, ‘he asked me to come along to—’

  ‘Give him a bit of moral support.’ Scott Balfour nodded understandingly and motioned towards a door near the stairs. ‘In here.’ He led the way into a tastefully furnished study. As they entered, the doors of a cuckoo clock on the mantelpiece flew open abruptly and out popped a gaily painted wooden bird frantically to proclaim the hour.

  ‘I couldn’t resist it when I spotted it in a shop in Austria,’ Scott Balfour said with a laugh, ‘Rena won’t have it anywhere in the house so I’m stuck with it in here.’

  Dodie was entranced by the clock, so much so he appeared to have forgotten his anxieties and just stared fascinated at the mantelpiece as if willing the closeted cuckoo to come flying out once more.

  The laird looked at the old man and said pleasantly, ‘I hear you’ve been ill, Dodie, and trust you’re feeling better now. I wanted to pop along to visit but something or other kept cropping up so I sent a letter instead and here you are, still a bit pale-looking but on the road to recovery, I hope. Sit down, old man, you and I are going to have a good long chat about certain matters that have been on my mind for some time now.’

  Dodie had torn his eyes away from the clock, they now raked the laird’s face, fear-filled, completely void of their usual dreamy expression. ‘You’ll no’ take my house away from me, will you, Mr Balfour? I’m fine and fit now wi’ a good few wee jobs lined up for me. I’ll pay the rent next week, maybe sooner, I have a few wee things I can sell, my own things, no’ anything that’s stolen, I wouldny want to go to jail, I’d die in jail! I dinna want to go to one o’ they homes on the mainland either, I’ll no’ be a bother to anybody again, you can have your wee cup back, I only supped from it a few times and it’s as good as new . . .’ He began to babble, the words catching in his throat, all mixed up with dry, painful sobs that shook his bony shoulders.

  ‘Dodie,’ the laird was up, throwing his arm round the bent back, ‘come on now, what’s all this about jail? No one’s going to send you away from here, I only want to talk to you, that’s all. Sit down, sit down, old chap, take the weight off your feet. Grant, be a good chap and get him a whisky.’ He indicated a drinks trolley set in a corner, all the while clapping Dodie on the back and uttering words of comfort. Taking the proffered drink, he set the glass to Dodie’s lips and made him take a few sips before pushing him into a comfortable, leather-bound chair.

  ‘Now you take it easy, old boy,’ he instructed kindly, ‘catch your breath, let yourself relax, you’re all tensed up.’

  Dodie was very glad to do as he was bid, and only when he was breathing evenly did the laird speak again. Placing his clasped hands under his whiskery chin, he regarded the old man thoughtfully.

  ‘Now, listen to me, Dodie, and for heaven’s sake try to keep calm. I’m not an ogre and would never do anything deliberately to hurt you, you surely know me well enough by now to realize that, don’t you?’

  ‘Ay, Mr Balfour,’ whispered Dodie.

  ‘Right, now that we’ve got that settled we’ll get down to the reason I asked you to come here.’ After that the laird didn’t waste time. ‘First a house. Mark – the minister – spoke to me some time ago about his concern for your welfare, old boy, and your taking ill the other day was the final crunch. He was worried about you living by yourself in that lonely cottage, out of reach of the village and no immediate neighbour to look in on you should you need help. But before all th
at I had decided you had become – well, not to put too fine a point on it, my dear chap – less independent than you used to be – age and all that, happens to us all. Both Mark and I decided a move nearer the village would be the best thing for you, I’ve been waiting for a suitable house to become available and now one has, Croft Beag . . .’

  ‘But – I like my cottage!’ Dodie wailed, utterly dismayed at this fresh turn of events. ‘Och, Mr Balfour, say you’ll no’ put me out! I dinna want to go, I’m fine where I am wi’ all my homely things about me and my wee hoosie wi’ the fancy German pattern on the roof . . .’

  ‘Dodie,’ interposed the laird gently, ‘the house I have in mind is a crofthouse with a piece of land attached, and though it’s near the village it’s not right in it. You can put your German sign where you like and will have plenty of privacy with only Mairi McKinnon and her family as your nearest neighbours.’

  ‘Mairi? I fair like Mairi, she’s no’ like these other nosy cailleachs.’ The threatening tears were suddenly arrested.

  ‘Yes, Mairi, and I shall personally arrange with her to clean and cook for you, leaving you free to do all the things you love doing, like painting your stones . . .’

  ‘And gardening,’ put in Grant eagerly, ‘Croft Beag has a fine bit o’ cultivated ground and you aye said how much you would like a proper garden, Dodie.’

  ‘A real garden,’ Dodie’s eyes were shining, not with tears but with a new-found enthusiasm, ‘I’ll be able to grow plenty rhubarb and sell it to the towrists in the summer – flowers too, these bonny wee orange trumpets and these others wi’ the faces that smile all the time, even in the rain.’

  ‘The place will be rent-free of course,’ continued the laird magnanimously, ‘in return for all the hard work you have done for my family over the years – and a croft wouldn’t be complete without a few hens and a cow grazing the field – and just think, Dodie, in the summer you wouldn’t have to go tramping all over the island looking for her.’