Return To Rhanna

by Christine Marion Fraser

  Niall looked at Shona. ‘She’s like her mother, utterly devious and entirely without principle—’ She pushed her fingers into his palm and a warm reassurance flooded his being. ‘Ay, she’s like her mother all right,’ he murmured softly. ‘Able to get round any man by just cocking a wee finger and smiling.’

  Part Three

  Summer 1961

  Chapter Five

  A gust of rain-spiced wind propelled Kate into the village corner shop and the door banged shut behind her of its own volition as the gale sucked in its breath before skirling away to see what mischief it could wreak elsewhere.

  The violent opening of the door had set the bells above it jingling discordantly and Merry Mary came out of her back shop in time to receive a shower of cold droplets from the outsized oilskins which had ballooned round Kate’s ears and which were being treated to a thorough shaking at the mercy of Kate’s big capable hands.

  ‘Mercy, what weather for June!’ Kate greeted Merry Mary breathlessly. ‘The damt wind is so strong it just wheeched up my raincoat and treated the world to a rare view o’ my breeks.’ She banged her shopping bag on the counter and wiped the glistening raindrops from her fresh, ruddy cheeks. ‘Ach well, never mind, at least they’re clean and there’s no holes in them so Behag will have nothing to say on that score. I saw her auld face peeping out the window o’ the Post Office and knowing her she’ll soon have it about that I as much as stripped to the skuddy in the middle o’ the village street.’

  She paused for breath and grinned broadly at Merry Mary who had taken up her favourite stance behind the counter, her arms folded comfortably on the piles of newspapers which had arrived on last night’s steamer and which no one had yet braved the elements to collect. Her bright cheery face was full of anticipation, for Kate could always be relied upon to relate a piece of juicy gossip and was adept at finding things out before anyone else. Some said she made it her business to know other people’s, but as these observations were confined to the ‘nosy cailleachs’ of the district no one bothered to take their opinions seriously.

  ‘I must say, it’s nice to see your face behind the counter again, Merry Mary,’ said Kate. ‘Is it no’ just like old times?’

  Merry Mary positively beamed. ‘Ay, I feel like I’ve never left the place and though it’s only for a wee while it will give poor Dugald a chance to decide what he’s going to do about it. I have a feeling he doesny want to let it go till he sees will Morag Ruadh be sent away to a home that deals wi’ ailments like hers.’

  Kate clicked her tongue. ‘Ach, he’ll no’ let her go. The Lord knows why he’s hangin’ onto a woman who made his life a hell but there you are, it’s the way o’ things. Strange things can happen to folks who have been conditioned to years o’ misery. They have a name for it but I canny just mind what it is.’

  ‘It is a fetish.’ Merry Mary’s tones were triumphant though she didn’t tell Kate she had only that morning gleaned the word from an article about sexual deviations in one of the magazines which she always read from cover to cover before putting them out for sale.

  Kate nodded. ‘Ay, it will be that,’ she said with assurance, unwilling to let Merry Mary have the satisfaction of knowing she had no earthly idea what it meant.

  Merry Mary clucked sympathetically. ‘Poor mannie, I am after hearing that she is as demented as a clockin’ hen and goes around singin’ lullabyes to an empty cradle. She is just like a simple bairnie, poor sowel. Isabel tells me that she sits in the bath and allows herself to be washed without so much as a murmur though last week she stood up wi’ the soap bubbles flyin’ off her bosoms and began rantin’ about the comin’ o’ the Lord and what He would do to all the sinners of the world. I wonder Dugald doesny pack his bags and run away. It’s no’ safe to have a body like that in the home and folks are terrified when she takes it into her head to go wanderin’ all over the place. Some o’ the young lads are sayin’ they can see right through her nightgown.’

  ‘Havers!’ Kate rejected the suggestion energetically. ‘No mortal body could see through thon goonies o’ hers. I swear they’re made o’ double layers o’ flannelette. Doug must wonder what a woman’s body looks like for I doubt he never clapped eyes on one inch o’ Morag’s bum. Mind you . . .’ she leaned over the counter and though there were was no one else in the shop, lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, ‘. . . there’s aye Totie wi’ her fine big breasts and other parts that men like to play with. She’s been Doug’s fancy woman all these years – I’m certain o’ that.’

  ‘Ach, get away wi’ you now.’ Merry Mary was enthralled. Impatiently she tucked away a wilful strand of ginger hair in order to see Kate better. ‘If it was the case surely Behag or Elspeth would have got wind of it by now?’

  ‘They have been discreet, very discreet.’ Kate sounded slightly peeved because discretion of any sort made her all the more determined to get at the reasons behind it and in the case of Dugald and Totie she felt badly let down because she felt that they were too clever even for her. She wasn’t sure if a chance sighting of them walking together over the cliffs was any reason to suppose that they were no more than good friends and hastily she changed the subject, broaching the one she had come into the shop to discuss in the first place. Taking the cup of tea that Merry Mary pushed over the counter, she stirred it thoughtfully. ‘I was after seein’ the new minister this very mornin’,’ she imparted between sips of tea, ‘walkin’ in the garden o’ the Manse like a body lost in a lot o’ thought and though it was pourin’ from the heavens he had no coat on and not so much as a halo to cover his head.’

  ‘And what is he like?’ asked Merry Mary eagerly, the arrival of the new minister the day before having caused much interest and speculation, for he came alone to the island, a point not in his favour. Rhanna liked its ministers to be family men. There was ‘something no’ natural’ about a man who walked alone. A good deal of secrecy surrounded the new man which not even the church elders had managed to penetrate. The Reverend John Grey, now retired, had been reticent on the subject of the minister’s background. The only fact which had been made known to the community was that he had come from Glasgow to the island because health reasons wouldn’t permit him to cotinue with a large parish.

  ‘Well, I didny get a close look at him wi’ all that rain in my eyes.’ Again Kate sounded aggrieved. ‘But from what I could see he is a fine big chiel wi’ hair as black as night and broad shoulders to him that would sit better on a farmer – he certainly didny have the appearance o’ a frail mannie.’

  ‘Ach my.’ Merry Mary clicked her tongue in dismay. ‘He will no’ be liked. A good-lookin’ single minister is just askin’ for trouble. All the young lassies will be so busy gigglin’ at him and runnin’ after him they will no’ take in a word he has to say about the Lord. The mothers will no’ like it either for young folks are silly enough these days and the kirk is about the last place they want to go anyway.’

  ‘It will be popular now, mark my words,’ predicted Kate, helping herself to the biscuits on the counter. ‘The Reverend Mark James will be havin’ a full kirk next Sabbath and no mistake.’

  The door flew open once more to admit Barra McLean. She came in a flurry of raindrops and a gust of bullying wind which catapulted her plump figure to the middle of the floor. The door swung back and forward, brushing the bells with such vigour the chain snapped and they went crashing to the floor in a tinkling heap. Kate put her back to the door and with Barra’s help banged it shut. Barra took a step or two forward and bent her head to look in some confusion at the severed bells. ‘I’m right sorry about that, Merry Mary, I’ll get Ranald to come over and fix them back up.’

  Kate gave her a knowing wink. ‘Ranald eh? My, Barra, is it no’ time you were gettin’ the bugger to pay you back for all the effort and money you have put into that shop o’ his?’

  Barra’s pink face grew pinker. ‘Well, Kate,’ she began doubtfully, ‘I don’t want paying back. It’s a joint venture. Ranald h
as put a lot into it as well and neither of us will see the benefits for a whily yet.’

  Kate nodded her head indulgently. ‘Now, Barra, you know fine what I mean. You and him are a mite more than just business partners, we all know a thing or two about that. After a man gets below the top layers he has more than one kind of business in mind. The trick is no’ to let him get too far, for then he’ll think you’re a wanton woman and free into the bargain.’

  Barra pulled herself up to her full five foot one inch and treated Kate to an unusually baleful glare. In all her years in the city she had never come across the likes of Kate McKinnon and didn’t quite know how to deal with such an outspoken and utterly frank woman. Despite having been away from the island for so long Barra had still retained many of her whimsical ways; the inherent politeness that had been instilled in her from the cradle was still very much to the fore and she had fully believed that as a native of Rhanna she would have few problems on her return. She had, however, soon found she was far wrong and was finding herself at a great disadvantage. In her years of living in a city she had readily fitted in and had been openly accepted wherever she went, but on Rhanna, she was finding it hard to integrate and to adapt herself back to the island ways. She had forgotten that certain things which were perfectly acceptable on the mainland were looked on askance by a community that was rather conventional in its outlook. She had found it easier to get on with the menfolk and in a seeking after company had turned to them for a certain amount of solace though nothing on the scale as suggested by Kate, who, though more sympathetic about her habits and her mode of dress, was nevertheless one of the key figures in the village and a person not to be trifled with. She was therefore slightly on the defensive with the formidable McKinnon and dreaded situations which took her among groups of gossiping women with the able Kate at the forefront.

  Also she had her cousin Behag to contend with. From the beginning she had made it plain that Barra was to be treated with contempt and she had managed very successfully to make her feel something of a black sheep, someone not fit to bear the good family name. She had just come from an errand to the Post Office and after five minutes of Behag’s tight-lipped silence was in no mood for Kate’s insinuations.

  ‘I think you are talking a wee bit out of turn, Mrs McKinnon,’ she imparted stiffly. ‘I don’t like what you are implying about me and Ranald.’

  Kate stared at her in genuine surprise. ‘Ach, Barra, I’m no’ criticizing you – indeed I’m thinkin’ you’ve livened the place up since you came. You are a spirited woman and I’m glad that you are no’ allowing that old prune o’ a cousin o’ yours to get you down. Whatever you and Ranald get up to is your own business but I am just sayin’ you mustny let him think he owns you just because you allowed him into your house after a respectable hour. He might get queer ideas and if he’s anything at all like my Tam he will have got it into his head that he’s in there wi’ a shout. Once a man has got a leg over the door he will no’ be long in lettin’ you see the hairs on it and anything else he might have in mind. Men are all alike when it comes to the bare facts and I am just warning you for your own good.’

  Merry Mary folded her arms and nodded her wispy ginger head in agreement, but Barra’s thundery look suggested that she was feeling anything but appeased.

  ‘Just what do you mean by that, Mrs McKinnon?’ she asked through tightly folded lips. ‘My home is just as respectable as any other body’s in this village – no’ that that’s anything to be proud of,’ she added spicily. ‘In all my years in Glasgow I never saw the likes o’ the things I am seeing here. Oh ay, you are all the Lord’s angels in the broad light of day but come nightfall the angels turn into devils and that’s a fact. As for letting Ranald into my house when all you poor innocent cratur’s are supposed to be tucked up in bed (praying no doubt to the Lord to save your lilywhite souls), the only time he came to see me was one night after I had gone to my bed. His chappin’ on my door and hissin’ through my letter box would have made a ghost rise in a panic and I got him off my doorstep in a hurry, knowing what would be said of me if one curtain had tweaked. The silly man had spilled beer all over a painting I had just finished. A watercolour it was, of the sea crashing over the rocks at Bodach Beag, and by the time I had finished trying to get the stains out, the sea had turned brown and the Bodach Beag tilting so much you would have thought he was as drunk as Ranald—’ A twinkle in her eyes wiped away her sternness and Kate threw up her hands, giving her lungs full throttle in the process.

  ‘Ach, Barra, it’s a brave woman you are right enough. Just wait till I get my hands on that Jim Jim – I’ll choke all the fables out o’ him, that I will!’

  ‘Will you be havin’ a cuppy, Barra?’ Merry Mary pushed a steaming mug over the counter while Kate produced an innocent-looking cough bottle from her shopping bag. Uncorking it she poured a generous amount into the tea and winked. ‘Seeing you are no’ everybody. Tam wouldny mind I know; he has never stopped singing your praises since thon trouble you had wi’ your lovely sign.’

  Barra had swallowed her tea in a few gulps. At Kate’s words she gave a shriek of glee and all three went into raptures as she enlarged on her reactions to the sign. Taking out a large square of red cotton from her sleeve she blew her nose and shook her head. ‘Never have I laughed so much,’ she spluttered mirthfully. ‘The idea of all the towrists sailing into the harbour and seeing that sign, my God, it was priceless!’

  She went into fresh peals of laughter and when she finally subsided, exhausted, Kate wagged a finger at her. ‘Now, Barra, you mistook my meaning about Ranald paying you back for everything you’ve done.’ Her eyes gleamed. ‘As you know he is a bachelor mannie and you are a spinster woman and I’m thinkin’ the pair o’ you are just made for each other wi’ all these crafty interests you share.’

  Barra looked at her blankly. ‘But Kate, it is not like that wi’ me and Ranald. Oh, he’s a good man and quite a considerate gentleman in his own way but never once has he hinted that there is anything more than a business arrangement between us.’

  Merry Mary shook her head knowingly and chided gently, ‘Barra, you have not yet found out all there is to know about Ranald McTavish – oh no. He had a very strict upbringing you see. His mother was aye warning him about the temptations o’ the flesh and she told him never never to get mixed up wi’ the wild women from the cities. She said they would be no good to him and would just be waitin’ till he took his breeks off before they robbed him of his wallet . . . you will have seen that he is a mite fond o’ sillar?’

  Barra couldn’t deny this and Kate rushed into the breach. ‘Ay, it’s been a weakness o’ his all his life. Whether it was his mother’s influence or just that he was born a miserly bugger he has always watched his pennies with the excuse that he was savin’ up to provide a good home for a wife when he became old enough to be wed.’

  Barra blinked in astonishment. ‘But surely – the cratur’ must be sixty if he’s a day. Maybe he feels he’s past the age to be taking a wife.’

  ‘Ach no, no, Barra,’ sighed Kate patiently. ‘The bodach has it in his head that he’s too young yet to be settling down.’

  Barra giggled girlishly. ‘I could say that now I’ve heard everything, but no doubt I’ll be learning a bit more before I’m through.’

  ‘Indeed you will that,’ nodded Merry Mary. ‘The islands are full o’ middle-aged men who believe they are too tender an age to be trauchled wi’ a wife. Wi’ some it’s calculated, mind. They wait till pension age then take a wife o’ childbearing years so that they can sit back and let the wife and bairns look to them in their old age. It works too, I’m tellin’ you. Old Padruig of Croy lives in the lap o’ luxury wi’ his pension, his wife and four strapping sons doing all the work about the croft. The only time he has to lift a finger is when he needs to pee.’

  ‘So Ranald is not the exception then?’ Barra sounded unconvinced.

  ‘Indeed he is no’,’ Kate assured her. ‘But he is just r
ipe now to be takin’ a wife and you could do worse for yourself, Barra. He has money and he is still a handsome enough chiel if you forget the wee twist he has on his face and the bunches o’ hairs growin’ out his lugs. He’s a fine clean mannie too and some are no’ so fussy about hygiene when they get older – but of course most o’ them have got their woman at Ranald’s age and wouldny care if their feets never had a single sniff o’ soap and water.’

  Barra was thoroughly enjoying herself. For the first time since her arrival she felt herself to be one of the community and as such allowed into its secrets. ‘You are forgetting I am one of the wild city women Ranald’s mother warned him about. He’ll have no eye for the likes o’ me.’

  ‘You are an island woman who went to the city to find work – there lies the difference,’ said Kate knowingly. ‘Ranald had his eye on you from the start and I wouldny be surprised if he ruined that bonny painting on purpose just to make an excuse to get inside your house.’

  ‘Get away!’ Barra’s laughing tones suggested that she was greatly amused by the whole thing and Kate regarded her seriously.

  ‘You can joke all you like, Barra, but you would be wise to take heed. I have a wee suspicion you have been washing and mending his socks for him – am I right?’

  ‘Ay, indeed, I saw no harm in helping a poor lonely man.’

  Merry Mary and Kate exchanged meaningful glances and the latter shook her head and said cryptically, ‘There you are now, I was right, Ranald has got it bad and no mistake.’ She lowered her voice to a compelling stage whisper. ‘No one single woman on this whole island has ever been allowed to touch McTavish’s personal items of clothing. Some have tried, mind, but all have been refused in no uncertain manner. You are honoured, lassie, ay indeed, and if you’re wise you’ll waste no time gettin’ his ring on your finger.’