Storm Over Rhanna

by Christine Marion Fraser

  Kate was voluble in her grief, Aunt Grace serene and dignified. On the way out of the kirkyard she took Bob’s arm and held it tight.

  ‘Look at that, just look,’ hissed Kate to Tam, ‘she canny be up to her old tricks already.’

  ‘Ach, she’s just needin’ a bittie support,’ returned Tam, his mind still on the service. ‘She has lost her man after all and ’tis natural she’ll need help to get over it.’

  ‘Oh, she’ll no’ be long in doing that,’ muttered Kate darkly and hurried Tam away down the brae, uttering a distinct ‘Hmph’ on passing Bob and Aunt Grace.

  But they didn’t notice. ‘We’ll wait a month or two,’ Aunt Grace was telling Bob, ‘it wouldny be decent to do it right away and I need a wee whilie to get myself used to another man.’

  ‘Grace, you are a wee bittie upset at Joe’s passing?’ hazarded Bob, doubtfully.

  ‘Of course I am,’ said Grace, surprised. ‘Never, never will anyone take his place. I loved that old rascal wi’ all my heart but he told me himself, “After I’m gone you mustny allow the dust to settle under your bed, Grace, for if you do you’ll allow only a chanty to disturb it and no chanty on earth is a match for a man’s slippers, as you have discovered yourself.”’

  ‘Ay, Grace, I see what you mean,’ nodded Bob, who didn’t, and he was still puzzling over her words as he got ready for bed that night with his chanty tucked under the bed and his slippers safely anchored on his own two feet.

  Everyone wanted to talk to Mark, to shake his hand and tell him what a fine job he had made of seeing Old Joe to his last rest, but more than that they wanted to ask when he would be coming back to Rhanna to preach for them again.

  ‘I can’t tell you that,’ he replied in answer to all the queries, ‘I don’t know what my plans are for the future, and I would be lying if I said I was sure I was coming back at all.’

  It hurt him to say that, but what hurt him even more was the genuine sorrow displayed by all those wonderful people he had come to know and love so well. He stood in the kirkyard, watching them walking dejectedly away and so lost was he in his reverie that he didn’t hear a soft footfall behind him and started with fright when a voice said quietly at his elbow, ‘It was a wonderful service, Mark, Old Joe would have loved every minute of it.’

  ‘Megan,’ he swung round to face her, ‘I didn’t see you in the crowd.’

  ‘No, I stayed at the back, beside Shona and Niall and the others. I knew you were here of course – on Rhanna I mean. Grace called me out the morning Joe died – he had gone by then and so had you. I heard how you had come over especially for him, it was a fine thing to do.’

  ‘It was an honour,’ he spoke rather abruptly, ‘I had always hoped to have the privilege of sharing his last hours and I’m glad he sent for me. It’s an experience I’ll never forget.’

  A silence sprang up, thick, heavy, widening the distance between them although they stood so close to one another. The autumn leaves whirled about their feet, yellow; red; amber; emphasizing the poignancy of things that were done with, reminders that summer was past and the wild days of winter stretched ahead. He moved away from her suddenly. ‘Please excuse me, I have to go, I promised Kirsteen I would be back in time for dinner and then I must pack. I’m leaving on tomorrow’s steamer.’

  He was away, walking quickly, reaching the gate almost before she had time to realize his intentions. ‘Mark, please, wait, oh please.’ Her breath caught, she ran to catch up with him and take hold of his hand. It was warm despite the chill of the day. Her fingers curled round his and she said pleadingly, ‘Mark, we have to talk. I – I know how much you’ve been hurt and I hate myself for being the cause of any pain you have suffered . . .’

  Roughly, he pulled his hand away from hers, his eyes dark with all the emotions he had locked away in his heart for so long. ‘It’s too late for recriminations, Megan,’ he said harshly, ‘if we could turn the clock back it might have worked but not now, definitely not now! I’m a changed man and nothing can ever be the same again.’ He spread his hands in appeal. ‘Don’t you see, I’ve lost everything that was ever precious to me in my life? First my wife and daughter, after that my dog, my home, my self-respect – and worst of all, I’ve lost my faith! I can’t go back to preaching now—’ he gave a short, bitter laugh. ‘What could I talk about? Strength? Willpower? Me that has none of either left? I’m not a fit person to teach anybody anything.’

  ‘Mark, please don’t talk like that,’ she begged, ‘we all have our weaknesses and you couldn’t help being ill . . .’

  ‘Ill? Ay, that’s as good a way of putting it as any. I have been ill—’ he broke off to stare at her for a long, timeless moment. ‘Do you know where I’ve been all this time, Megan? Have you any idea at all?’

  ‘Shona said something about a collapse—’

  ‘I’ve been drying out, Megan. You, as a doctor, should know only too well what that means! I wasn’t man enough to fight the situation I found myself in so I cracked up, gave in – call it what you like, it all amounts to the same thing in the end, and if I can’t successfully run my own life without turning to the bottle how the hell can I pretend to help other people run theirs?’

  ‘Because you have the strength to face up to your own shortcomings and are humble enough to admit you have them. And you are strong, Mark, you’ve come through this virtually on your own but it needn’t be like that ever again. What I felt for Steve was infatuation pure and simple. When I saw him again I soon realized there was no depth to him, that it was you I loved and had done right from the start. He knew it too and was never done arguing about you. He was drunk that day in Glen Fallan because I told him I was staying here to be near you.’

  Mark’s jaw tightened. ‘And yet you went off with him, in front of everyone, leaving me to think the worst and to hell with the consequences!’

  She recoiled from his anger, and yet there was about her an aura of strength that he recognized and admired despite his bitterness. ‘I went, Mark, because he threatened to make your life hell after what you did to him in front of half the island. He was going to ruin you and I – I just couldn’t stand by and let that happen.’

  ‘But it happened anyway, didn’t it, Megan?’ His voice was cold and distant. ‘It was too late for all of us and what’s done is done, there’s no turning back now. I’m leaving the ministry, and –’ his gaze swept over the purpled hills and his voice broke – ‘I’m leaving here. I won’t bother you again with my clumsy attempts to win your affections. All that’s over with, I promise you. I’ll never allow myself to fall into the position of losing my self-respect for any woman ever again, it hasn’t been worth all the sacrifice.’

  ‘Very well, Mark,’ she stepped back a pace, and already it seemed that a yawning chasm separated them, ‘have it your way. But first – I want you to see something, to discover for yourself what the power of love and respect can do. If you come with me to the Manse I’ll show you . . .’

  His head jerked up. She saw a gleam of fear in the smoky-blue eyes that had once been so calm and fearless. ‘No!’ he spoke the word vehemently. ‘I’ll never go back there! I hate that house now!’

  ‘Mark, give yourself one more chance. Come back with me. I’m not trying to hurt you again, Mark, I only want to help.’

  He hesitated, seemed about to walk away from her, then he said in a strange, stilted voice, ‘Alright, but I can only spare a few minutes, I never wanted to go back there . . .’

  Before he could change his mind she began walking ahead of him, glancing frequently over her shoulder to make certain he followed. He went along slowly, unwillingly, his dragging feet rustling the dry leaves that littered the driveway leading up to the door of the big, proud house. He kept his head lowered, never once looking up as he traced her footsteps up the stairs and into the hall, but when he saw that she was making for the kitchen he stopped dead and cried, ‘No, Megan, not there! Please, not there!’

  For answer she held out her hand, sa
ying, ‘If you don’t face up to this now, Mark, it will haunt you for the rest of your days.’

  Very slowly he went forward, like a man in some dread and terrible dream, till finally he stood on the threshold of the room that had haunted him for so long.

  But all traces of the tragedy had been erased. The walls were bright with new paint and paper; half a dozen of Barra’s little watercolours were arranged tastefully around the room; several of Dodie’s painted stones decorated the gleaming windowsills together with huge vases of yellow chrysanthemums; the dining chairs and the refectory table had been completely restored to their original condition; the Welsh dresser and the big oak sideboard shone with fresh polish; the range had been black-leaded till its surface was like satin; a cheery fire leapt up the lum; Tib, Tab, and Tub were preening themselves on a big, fat cushion on the hearthrug – and on Mark’s own special chair a small, golden bundle sat looking at him with meltingly anxious brown eyes, its fat, floppy, puppy paws hanging over the edge of the seat in perfect repose though tensing a little now, as if their owner had been caught doing something it shouldn’t.

  ‘Mutt!’ The name was torn from Mark on a sob. For one tremulous moment he imagined that his beloved dog hadn’t died in the fire after all, that somehow he had escaped and was here this morning to welcome him back. ‘Mutt,’ he said again, hopelessly now as he realized his mistake and didn’t quite know what to do next.

  Megan slipped quietly into the room to take the little dog in her arms. ‘This is one of Mutt’s pups, the other three were black and white, only he had his father’s markings.’

  ‘Mutt’s pups.’ Mark shook his head, remembering how a big, floppy, golden dog had looked at him beseechingly from Tigh na Cladach’s gate . . .

  ‘I know, it was a surprise to me too,’ Megan kissed the pup’s ears. ‘They were here when I came home. Shona couldn’t wait to show them off and Muff was very pleased with herself – Shona thought you might like to see this one, he’s too young yet to be away from his mother, but – take him, he wants to go to you.’

  Mark took the fragile little body in his arms. The puppy trembled, gazed at him in mute appeal, its small pink tongue coming out to lick his face and plant wet kisses in his ear.

  ‘Oh God, you planned this, you and Shona between you – I can’t have it, I won’t—’ He sat down suddenly, hugging the animal to him, burying his face into the silky warmth of its droopy ears, the quiet tears spilling from him while the little dog whimpered its moist sympathies into his neck as its father had done before it, instinctively and without restraint.

  ‘Who did all this?’ Mark asked eventually, not looking up but making a sweeping gesture with his hand that expressed all.

  ‘Everybody had a hand in it, John and Hannah Grey, the laird, who personally saw to it that the table and chairs were properly restored. The islanders painted and papered, Tina cleaned and polished, Dodie spent nights on end painting his stones and even then thinking they weren’t good enough for someone like you. Barra did the paintings, local views of all the places you love best . . .’

  Hesitantly she went over to kneel down beside him and take his hand. ‘They all love you, Mark, and want you back very, very badly – as I do.’

  He raised his head then and she saw in his eyes a return of the Mark she had known and loved before fate had intervened in their lives. ‘Megan – Meggie,’ he murmured, reaching out to touch her face, her hair. It was like silk. He ran his hand over it, through it, heard the soft, whispering swish of it gliding through his fingers. Their lips met, lingering, gentle, then he gave a little cry and crushed her to him, his mouth now hard and bruising over hers. Over and over they kissed till the puppy whimpered a protest beneath their pressing bodies. They laughed and drew apart to gaze at one another in a daze of longing.

  ‘Mark, I love you so much,’ she traced the outline of his mouth with her finger, ‘I think I always knew it but that day up at Dodie’s cottage, when you held him in your arms and were so patient and gentle with him, I didn’t just love you for the passionate, warm man that you are, I loved you for everything you portrayed. You’re such a good man, Mark. Watching you with Dodie I wondered if I could ever match up to what you stood for in this community. Later, when I thought about it, I decided I could never, never be as unselfish as you . . .’

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Meggie!’ He sounded angry again. ‘Don’t make me out to be something I’m not nor want to be. I’m as human as the next man and certainly can’t and won’t live up to the image you describe. I think I’ve already proved what I am so don’t try and make me out to be a martyr. I just couldn’t live with it.’

  She laughed a little uneasily. ‘You’re right of course. I think Shona must be right about me. She told me to grow up and stop behaving like a silly schoolgirl. It’s just – when I came back here and discovered you had gone, I really thought I might never see you again. I can’t believe you’re back and that I’m sitting here with you now, loving you so much I can see nothing of reality for the pink glow in front of my eyes. But you’re right, you aren’t perfect and neither am I, both physically and morally . . .’

  She reddened and turned her face away from him, but he put his thumb under her chin and made her look at him. ‘Meggie, darling Meggie, none of us is morally perfect but physically you’re beautiful – in every way that I can see.’

  ‘That you can see!’ It was her turn now to be angry. ‘Do you know why Steve rejected me that first time? Because of my physical imperfection – oh hell! What’s the use of trying to hide it? Look, Mark, look and see for yourself what he hated!’ With an almost defiant gesture, she tore back the collars of her blouse to reveal a large birthmark staining the creamy skin over one breast. ‘It’s ugly, isn’t it?’ she demanded tearfully. ‘Because of it, I’ve always felt ugly and unattractive and never thought any man would want me – Steve certainly didn’t. He only followed me here because it bruised his ego to have any woman, no matter how flawed, run away from him.’

  To her surprise he laughed, his eyes crinkling, his head shaking in disbelief. ‘Ugly? Saunders wasn’t just thick, he was blind as well. You’re lovely, Meggie, never think anything else.’ Tenderly he touched the discoloured skin, a smile hovering at the corners of his mouth. ‘If you think that’s bad, wait till you see mine – though on second thoughts I don’t think I’d better show it to you, not yet anyway – and certainly never in front of the animals.’

  They collapsed laughing into one another’s arms. ‘You’ll stay?’ she murmured into the tiny white hairs at his ears.

  ‘Ay, I’ll stay, Meggie, but – don’t try to stop me calling a meeting. I think the people have a right to decide if they want me back as their minister – or not.’

  ‘Oh, Mark,’ she pulled away to look at him, ‘must you? No one need ever know – except for the few who do and who will never say anything anyway.’

  ‘I know, Meggie,’ he said softly, ‘and so does God.’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  There were so many people gathered in the Portcull village hall that latecomers were forced to stand at the back when it became clear there wasn’t a single spare seat available.

  Outside the wind was rising, squalls of rain blattered against the window panes, but such was the murmur of voices inside that no one heard anything other than what their immediate neighbours were saying. They were all wondering to one another why Mark James had called them here tonight, as in fact they had wondered why he was still on the island after Old Joe’s funeral.

  Speculation was high, fabrication was rife, imagination ran riot, and when Mark appeared and climbed onto the platform a great ripple of interest rose to a crescendo before it abruptly ceased so that everyone became aware of the rain on the panes, the wind soughing mournfully round the building.

  All eyes were pinned on Mark, so alone up there, so tall and proud and dignified with the light catching in his hair, glinting on the silver pin he always wore in his lapel, a simple little pin
depicting Saint Andrew, the Patron Saint of Scotland. Looking down on the sea of upturned faces he knew panic. Megan had been right after all. He needn’t have called this meeting, no one would have been any the wiser if he had stayed quiet, kept his secrets to himself – he saw the bright gleam of Shona’s hair, Tina’s honest face, the Reverend John Grey’s silvery thatch – they knew, they knew everything but their loyalty to him was such that they hadn’t breathed a word to another living soul . . . He drew a deep breath and saw Megan smiling at him from the front row. She had tied her hair back. Her face was shining and looked newly washed. She looked like a small girl sitting in a school assembly hall. His heart lurched. He loved her, God, how he loved her. She had gotten over her horror at his proposal to lay his future publicly before the islanders. She was proud of him now, had given him every encouragement to face up to this evening.

  And he had needed her support, God how he had needed it . . . McKenzie of the Glen got up suddenly from his place beside Kirsteen and began stamping at the floor with his feet in an effort to extinguish the contents of his pipe, which had spilled out in a careless moment.

  The attention was switched to Fergus and from him to a red-faced Kirsteen who had hurried to her husband’s aid.

  It was all the diversion Mark needed. ‘Thank you, Fergus McKenzie,’ he said silently and cleared his throat. He began by thanking everyone for coming out on such a night. His voice, hesitant at first, steadied, grew calmer, deeper, so that very soon the resonant tones that everyone knew so well, reverberated round the hall, even reaching those at the back who had been worrying in case they would miss anything.