Shona settled herself into her chair with her ledger but was promptly interrupted by Woody who jumped up and prepared to make herself comfortable. ‘Ach, get away, you lazy creature,’ scolded Shona, but feeling too lazy herself to lift the cat down she settled back instead and stretched her bare legs to the sun. It was very warm and utterly peaceful with the burn tumbling over the stones and the soft breezes rustling the leaves of the rowan trees which grew among the pines at the foot of the hill; the summer sky was blue; for as far as the eye could see, the moors stretched, green and languorous. She closed her eyes, letting her thoughts take her back once more to what had been a very pleasant week. Niall had snatched some hours off and they had gone to picnic at Aosdana Bay, paddling in the freezing water, shrieking with agony as the waves splashed them. Ellie had swum beside them, giggling at their antics.
They had all participated in the haymaking at Laigmhor and it had been lovely, working together in the scented fields, enjoying the banter, enormously hungry for the home-baked scones and thick crusty bread served with lashings of raspberry jam. They had quenched their thirst with creamy milk or the home-brewed beer supplied by Tam and poured straight from the cask.
Fergus, delighted at the sight of the furrows of cut hay spread out to dry, had started an impromptu ceilidh, there in the fields, his bronzed face alight, his dark head thrown back. Shona had marvelled at him, her father, shy, aloof, so carried away by the joy of the moment, singing as if in thanksgiving, the deep, clear notes of the Gaelic song bursting spontaneously out of him. Then embarrassment had stilled the song, and he had reddened, but it was too late, the tune was taken up till it rang round the fields. The evening that had followed was a memorable one, with everyone dancing to the tunes from hastily acquired melodions and accordions. The ineffable joy of watching Kate, skirts held high to display long pink drawers, oblivious to all but the gaiety of the moment, skirling and hooching while the sun crept lower in the western sky, was something not to be forgotten in a hurry. She was joined by her daughter, Nancy, much recovered from her recent operation, as her laughable antics ably proved.
From the high shorn fields the sea was visible in the distance and everyone paused to watch the great fiery ball of the sun wavering above water of molten gold before it gradually sank over the horizon, leaving in its wake a sky lit to flame shot through with streaks of lilac and turquoise.
Dodie, his calloused hands stained green from working in almost every hayfield on the island, got slowly and surely inebriated on Tam’s beer, and when everyone began to dance again he made no objection to Mairi taking his hands and coaxing him into a shambling attempt at a jig. So carried away did he become he forgot himself completely, gave vent to an abandoned screech which was meant to mimic that of Kate’s, and without any warning whatsoever he threw his legs high in the air, kicking off his big wellingtons in the process.
With exaggerated shrieks everyone had scattered but it was all lost on Dodie who, eyes closed, lips stretched in bliss, was left alone in a little clearing, dancing in stockings well ventilated by holes. His bare, mottled toes curled into the shaggy stubble of the field, making everyone shudder and wonder if he had any sensation in his soles or if the beer had rendered his sensibilities numb.
At midnight Todd had played a solo on the pipes, his sturdy figure silhouetted against the silvered sky to the north, his feet rustling through the drying hay. The haunting airs had drifted down the glen, mystical, magical, drawing the islanders from their homes so that they came to Laigmhor in an eager throng, anxious to join in the revelry.
When Todd retired perspiring, Lorn had taken up his fiddle, soon joined by Jon and Rachel who had come with their own violins. And all enmity was forgotten that endless summer night as the fiddles played and everyone danced, their moods dictated by the music, joyous and wild one minute, soft as a breeze the next.
Shona had drifted in Niall’s arms, held close, contentment satiating her being. At 3 a.m. as a pale milky dawn was breathing over the eastern hills and the birds were starting to chatter, she had walked home beside Niall, Ellie asleep in his arms, her young face beatific in its repose, her long legs dangling in comical awkwardness. Shona smiled to herself at the memory of the ceilidh, thought about the enthusiasm of the villagers afterwards and their keenness to do it all again someday.
The heat of the sun was making her drowsy and she felt lulled into sleep by Woody’s purrs. The pen slipped from her fingers and rolled onto the grass . . . a touch as of thistledown brushed her mouth and she smiled lazily. Only a child could kiss like that, warm, innocent, undemanding. She put up a finger to the moist little circle on her lips and murmured, ‘And the child stole a kiss from her mother’s lips, only to give back a millionfold the little that she had taken.’
With a start she realized she was quoting aloud a poem Ruth had written and which had been published in one of the Scottish magazines. She had cut it out and pasted it into a scrapbook where she kept all of Ruth’s poems and short stories.
She opened her eyes. Ellie was standing against the sun, dressed in white shorts and a pink cotton blouse. Her legs were a deep brown lightly sprinkled with tiny fair hairs which glinted in the sun; her knees were scuffed and scratched from numerous falls and entanglements with Woody’s sharp claws; her hair was in plaits, shining threads of it flying loose. The ripeness of the summer sun lay on her smooth cheeks, her mouth was curved into a smile which held traces of pensiveness. ‘These are lovely words. Did you make them up?’
‘No, Ruth did. I keep all her poems. You must read them sometime. Folks nowadays have forgotten the beauty of poetry.’
The little girl stood back, arranging her limbs for inspection. ‘I’m ready. Do I look all right to be going on The Sea Urchin?’
‘You’re bonny, a bonny wee sailor. Have you got everything you need?’
‘Ay, don’t forget you’ve been dinning it into my lugs all week. I’ve got enough woollies to last a month and so many pairs of knickers I’m thinking of setting up a shop on Hanaay. My sea boots are on the boat and I’ve packed a bra just in case my bosoms suddenly start sprouting while I’m away.’ Her dimples deepened as she glanced down at her flat chest, and made a face. ‘Mind you, it would have to take a miracle but Mac’s sister is said to be a bit of a speywife so maybe she’ll put a spell on me, make my bosoms grow so big they’ll sink the boat and all in her.’
She choked with laughter and Shona got to her feet giggling. She cuddled her daughter to her. ‘I’ll miss my daft wee Ellie. What am I going to do without your singing? I’ll be deafened by the silence in the house. When you come back you might find that I’ve changed into a sad old crone, all warty and whiskery.’ She bent her back and made a hideous face which brought skirls of glee from her daughter.
‘Ach, Mother, you’re the one who’s daft. We’ll only be away for a week and you could have come with us if you’d wanted.’
Niall came out of the house, laden down with cases which he set thankfully on the grass. ‘Phew! What have I let myself in for? She’s only thirteen and already she carts her entire wardrobe with her. Mac goes out with what he stands up in and except for some jerseys which I keep on the boat I’m wearing everything I’ll need.’
‘As long as you’ve got plenty of clean socks and pants – oh and toothbrushes – Ellie . . .’
‘Ay, Mother, I’ve got mine,’ Ellie said with calculated patience.
Niall grinned and saluted. ‘And so have I.’ He came forward and put his arms round Shona while Ellie folded her arms in mock resignation and lifted her eyes to the sky.
‘Are you sure you won’t come with us?’ he whispered into Shona’s ear. ‘I thought you would have jumped at the chance.’
His hair tickled her nose, his newly washed skin felt cool against her face. All week she had swithered about whether to go on the trip while Ellie coaxed and persuaded and Niall actually went as far as getting her cases down from the top of the wardrobe.
‘Somebody has to look after
things here,’ she said evasively. ‘There’s Woody and the hens and the phone to answer – and I thought I might bring Lorna over here for a day or two. I’d love to have her to myself for a whily.’
‘You know Kirsteen said she would look to all that.’ He sounded peeved and once more she hesitated, thinking how lovely it would be in weather like this to sail in The Sea Urchin to the small island of Hanaay where she knew she would be assured of a welcome. The people there had taken Niall to their hearts and eagerly awaited his visits. Both Niall and Captain Mac were glowing in their accounts of the hospitality they had received and Mac’s sister, Nellie, had gone as far as to get her spare room ready in case Shona should arrive. But she couldn’t turn her back so easily on her obligations on Rhanna. Though Kirsteen had offered to look after things she was already fully committed at Laigmhor with several grown men to see to; over and above she had Ruth’s baby to look after now that Morag Ruadh had returned from hospital where she had been kept under observation. She had lost the use of her left arm and leg and her speech had been slightly affected as well. Her return meant even more work for Dugald, and Ruth had taken to going over every day to help out, leaving Loma with Kirsteen who, though more than willing to take the baby, was noticeably tired looking.
Shona stroked the back of Niall’s neck soothingly and whispered, ‘Please understand, I can’t let Kirsteen take on another thing at the moment. I promised I would go over to help out, take Lorna off her hands now and then—’ She paused, wondering if that was the real reason for staying behind. Not to help Kirsteen but to spend some time with a delightful infant whose tiny intelligent face creased with smiles at sight of her? No – no – She pushed the thought away. Kirsteen needed her, quite a few folk needed her. Niall and Ellie wouldn’t enjoy the trip the less because she wasn’t with them.
‘We’ll have to go.’ Niall stepped back. ‘Mac took supplies onto the boat last night and he’ll be wanting to get off.’
He lifted the heaviest of the cases. Ellie having grabbed the lightest. His free hand went out to her and she clung to him, her face full of anticipation for the adventure ahead. They had said their goodbyes to Slochmhor and Laigmhor last night, Ellie insisting that she had to see her grandparents then, as the likelihood of finding them all at home during the day was remote.
Niall was starting to walk away, something in his demeanour suggesting that he had dismissed Shona from his mind. It was ridiculous. Niall was seldom ruffled – yet she had sensed his keen disappointment when she had finally refused to go with him.
She wanted to run after him, to tell him she loved him, to hear like reassurances coming from him. She started forward, but they were too far away now, her action would seem like too much of an afterthought. ‘Take care, dearest Niall,’ she murmured and raised her hand, waiting for the moment when they would turn and wave back, but they were walking on, chattering, laughing, all at once divorced from her, shutting her out.
On impulse she raced to the hill behind the house and looked down on the grey winding ribbon of the road. The two people she loved most were mere dots, enclosed by the moors, embraced by the mountains which made them seem smaller still. A great sense of loneliness overwhelmed her and she found herself whispering, ‘Look back, oh please, look back.’
As if in answer to her prayer Ellie turned at that moment, waving back towards the house, making Shona upbraid herself. She should have waited, Ellie always waited till she was a certain distance away before raising her hand, she hadn’t forgotten – nor had Niall. His hand came up too and they were both walking backwards, waving, shouting towards the house, last farewells she couldn’t hear, their voices were being carried away in the wind.
She cupped her hands to her mouth and cried, ‘I’m up here!’ and waved both hands above her head, feeling somehow that it was very important that they should see her, that for them to go thinking she had turned her back on them would be something she would feel sad about for the rest of her life. Desperately she tried to attract their attention but they neither saw nor heard her and with a sigh she wandered back down to the house to resume her neglected paperwork. But a restlessness had seized her and she couldn’t settle. After a few minutes of nibbling furiously at the end of her pen she jumped up and started off briskly down the road, vaguely hoping that she might catch up with them, see them to the boat after all.
But the road stretched, deserted but for the sheep and the Highland cows which roved at will, munching the succulent roadside grasses by day, plodding down to the beaches in the evening to stand with their hooves in the cool water. As she neared Laigmhor she could just see two bright heads bobbing in the distance then the road dropped and they disappeared from view.
Kirsteen hailed her from the garden and glad of the diversion, she went through the gate and up the path to the front door which was seldom used, the family always having favoured the side entrance leading straight into the kitchen. Lorna was in her pram which was parked on the little lawn to the side of the door. She lay under a cool frilly canopy, kicking her bare legs in the air, examining the intricacies of her own hand, turning it back and forth, her brow furrowed in wonder. She was dressed in a yellow cotton dress and nothing else except a nappy and a white cotton sunhat with the wide brim shading a face wreathed in smiles at sight of Shona’s head peeping under the canopy.
‘I’m praying she stays clean,’ Kirsteen said fervently. ‘Ruth’s aunt is taking her back to Coll for a week. She came to see Dugald and Morag but when she realized just how difficult the whole situation is she offered to take the baby off Ruth’s hands to allow her to be more with Morag.’
‘What!’ The question was torn sharply from Shona. Spinning round she stared at Kirsteen questioningly. ‘When did you say the baby was going?’
‘In a wee whily – as soon as Aunt Grace has had a bite to eat. She’s a good soul and Lorna will be fine with her. As well as allowing Ruth more freedom it will give me a rest – I’m not as fit as I thought I was,’ she ended with a rueful smile.
‘But I could have looked after Lorna!’ The words were torn from Shona in a flurry of rage. ‘I said I would come over to help out. You or Ruth only had to mention it to me and I would have had the baby over at Mo Dhachaidh to stay for as long as it was needed. Oh God, Kirsteen! Surely you’re not so blind as to see that I love having her – I – I’ve been looking forward to coming over here to help with her, take her out in her pram!’ Her eyes were bright, her cheeks red with temper, but Kirsteen, weary with broken nights and busy days, was in no mood to deal with anyone’s tantrums, let alone Shona’s.
‘It’s up to Ruth to decide what’s best for her own baby,’ she said rather coldly. ‘Besides, we were all under the impression that you were going off with your own family.’
‘Who told you that?’ rapped Shona curtly, fighting down an almost irresistible urge to shout. Her fists were clenched at her sides, so tightly the knuckles showed white.
Kirsteen ran her fingers through her crisp curls in a weary gesture. ‘Niall did – and Ellie too – they seemed convinced that you wanted to go and were only pretending otherwise. When they came over last night Niall laughed and said you would change your mind at the last minute because all week you had been dithering about whether to go or not. As a matter of fact your father was surprised to learn you didn’t jump at the chance right away. You’re always saying how much you miss Niall and you do tend to moon around till he comes back, so it was natural for us all to assume you wouldn’t want to be left on your own when you had the opportunity to enjoy yourself with your husband and daughter.’
‘Moon around!’ Shona picked out the phrase that most annoyed her. ‘Just where did you get that idea, I’d like to know? I have plenty and enough to keep me busy.’
‘Have you?’ Kirsteen sounded unusually sarcastic but Shona was too incensed to realize that it sprung from weariness and a desire only for a little peace.
She almost stamped her foot and had to exert all her control not to do so.
Cheeks crimson, nostrils white, she grated, ‘Ay, I have that, Kirsteen. I’m not Ruth; you can’t keep your eye on me at every turn, so can’t possibly know what I do with my time. As for all these assumptions about me! It’s high time everyone realized I have a mind of my own!’ Kirsteen stared in disbelief at this but Shona, fury making her oblivious to the ludicrousness of her own words, went racing on. ‘If I had wanted to go with Niall I would have said so from the start and that’s an end of the matter.’
Kirsteen’s blue eyes were sparking now. ‘Good!’ she clipped. ‘Now we all know where we stand and for once I might get a bit of peace and quiet around here!’ She turned away, throwing over her shoulder, ‘It’s hot, I’m going to have some lemonade. Are you coming – or can’t you make up your mind?’
Shona’s nostrils dilated, she hesitated, then decisively stamped after Kirsteen. The kitchen was cool after the heat of the sun, with all the windows thrown wide to catch the breezes. Aunt Grace was at the table, very erect, one finger crooked daintily on the handle of a rose-sprigged, bone china cup, part of Kirsteen’s best tea service. A widow, sixty behind her, with a fat, genial pink and white face in which bright beady eyes peered inquisitively, quaintly old-fashioned in her attire, slow and calm and capable in her manner, she looked like a small battleship, guns drawn in, ready to fire them if the need arose. Her saucer placed strategically under her chin, a drip at her nose from the steaming tea, the cherries in her frayed hat dangling cheerfully over ears which looked in danger of amputation from the half dozen or so fierce-looking hatpins which held the creation in place, she cocked a beady eye at the flies sticking to the fly paper above the window, seemingly enjoying the buzzing of their trapped wings.
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