Rhanna

by Christine Marion Fraser

  Shona bent and smacked the newcomer hard on the bottom and the golden bundle looked up at her with surprise in its blue-brown eyes.

  ‘Naughty!’ reprimanded the little girl severely. ‘You mustn’t plague Ben, he’s an old Bodach and you treat him with respect. Now – I wonder what I’ll call you. Tot would be a good name, you’re such a teeny wee thing!’

  Mirabelle grunted. ‘Aye, and ye’d better fetch a cloot for that lochy on the floor. She’s your doggy and that means you must train her. I’m too auld for such capers!’

  An hour later Shona was skipping beside Mirabelle on the narrow track to Portcull.

  ‘A whole shilling,’ she sang. ‘Can I spend sixpence, Mirabelle, and buy lots of sweeties? I’ll get you some Granny sookers if you like. Och, isn’t it a lovely day? I feel so clean in the wind!’

  But Mirabelle didn’t agree and pulled her coat closer to keep out the biting wind.

  Merry Mary’s shop was a place beloved by all the island children. It smelled of apples and boot polish and everything from bootlaces to bobbins of thread could be had there. But it was the jars and jars of colourful sweets that interested Shona and she spent a lovely time pondering over her purchases while Merry Mary and Mirabelle gossiped. The shopkeeper’s real name was Mary Merry but the islanders had repeatedly got it back to front and she eventually stopped correcting them knowing it to be a fruitless task. She was an Englishwoman; but she had spent thirty of her sixty years on Rhanna and instead of being a ‘new incomer’ she was now honoured as an ‘old incomer’ and, because she spoke Gaelic like a native, the younger generation could hardly believe she was an Englishwoman and loved her dearly because her nature suited her name. She was a quaint little creature with limp ginger hair, a big happy smile and a large wart on the end of her nose. The children were fascinated by the wart. Its hold seemed so precarious on the large square nose it had become a challenge as to who would be the first to see it fall off. The child to witness its demise would receive a halfpenny from every child on the island, so Merry Mary’s shop was very popular indeed. Though she sometimes wondered why her door would open to admit a solemn-eyed youngster who merely stared at her briefly before turning out of her shop without a purchase.

  ‘Did you hear about Dodie?’ she asked Mirabelle eagerly. ‘He’s gone and got himself a cow so he has.’

  ‘Ach, away wi’ you! Dodie will never manage a cow. He canny look after himself!’

  ‘Well, he’s got one right enough! It’s a queer looking beast and its udder so big it near has to leap over the damt thing! But Dodie says it will give him plenty milk. He’s that sick of trekking to the bottom of the hill where Mathew leaves his can and sometimes it’s been knocked over by a damt yowe and nothing in it but grass and sharn!’

  ‘And where did he get the cow is what I’m thinking? Poor Dodie hasny twa farthings to rub together and these beasts cost money so they do.’

  ‘The laird gave it to him for doing wee jobs about the estate. Aye, and it was a dear cow sure enough for the laird doesn’t give anything for nothing and Dodie has worked most of the winter to get the damt cow.’

  ‘Aye, well he’ll be lucky if he doesny have to go further than the end of the track to work the udder. These hill beasts just roam where the will takes them.’

  ‘Ach well, he has a wee hut to keep the beast in but he’ll have to comb the hill every evening to get her in for the night so that he’ll get his morning milk.’

  The two shook their heads sadly and murmured ‘Aye’ by way of sympathy for Dodie, the island’s eccentric. He was what was quaintly referred to as ‘a wee ways wrong in the mind’ yet everyone knew by experience he was by no means lacking in intelligence and was not to be cheated out of a farthing. He lived alone in a tiny remote cottage in a treacherous hill track between Glen Fallan and Nigg, the minute Clachan perched on the cliffs near Burnbreddie. His real name was Joseph, conjured from the bible by his mother who had borne him out of wedlock and who had died when he was thirteen leaving him to fend for himself. He had never been able to pronounce the name and his childish pronunciation was so familiar to everyone his real name had been forgotten with the passing of time.

  ‘Ach well,’ sighed Merry Mary, ‘it’s good luck to him for he’ll have a job getting milk from the damt thing at all with thon great hands of his. Ten thumbs he was born with and no mistake!’

  Shona had made her choice and proudly brought out her new purse.

  ‘My, what a fine purse,’ commented Merry Mary. ‘And a whole shilling to spend too. Have you been saving your pennies then?’

  ‘It’s my birthday and Father gave me the purse and the shilling.’

  Merry Mary had argued with Fergus the day before over the price of tobacco and she wasn’t feeling kindly disposed to him. Her lips pursed till they were almost touching her wart.

  ‘Things are looking up indeed! He must have been in a good mood right enough for he’d fight over a halfpenny like a bull over a cow when he has a mind!’

  ‘Aye, we’ll get going now,’ said Mirabelle and hastily bustled her charge away.

  Behag Beag looked up when the bell over her door jangled to admit Mirabelle and Shona, and a gleam of blatant interest showed in her beady eyes. Phebie and Niall were in the shop too and it was always vaguely exciting when Laigmhor and Slochmhor met.

  ‘Ach, it’s yoursel’, Phebie!’ Mirabelle’s greeting was cheery for she was extremely fond of the doctor’s wife. ‘And Niall! What a big loon! Dodging school, is it?’

  Phebie smiled. ‘He’s got a bit of a cold but feeling better today and driving me crazy so I thought to come out for a message or two. Hello, Shona.’ She stooped and looked into the little girl’s blue eyes. ‘What a bright bonny lass you are this morning.’

  ‘It’s my birthday,’ explained Shona.

  ‘Y-es . . . I know.’ Phebie stood up and Behag stopped rustling papers to listen better. A silence fell over the shop and Mirabelle glared at the postmistress.

  ‘I’ll have some stamps please, Behag . . . and you’d best pay attention to what you’re doing! The last time I got stamps from you they were covered in blotches from your inky fingers!’

  Behag stuck her nose in the air and went to get the stamps.

  Shona and Niall stood beside the high wooden counter and regarded each other shyly. Niall, now a sturdy seven-year-old, was tall for his age with a mop of corn-coloured curls and his father’s deep brown eyes and quick smile. Shona had seen him often, kicking stones on the road on his way to and from school, a whistle never far from his lips. It was his gay whistling that alerted her to the fact that he was passing Laigmhor and she would leave whatever she was doing to race to the gate and watch him in the distance. Sometimes he saw her and waved and she waved back wistfully, longing for the day when she too would be going to school. Now that day was drawing near.

  ‘I’m going to school soon,’ she volunteered.

  ‘You’ll be in the infants’ section,’ said Niall in slightly superior tones. ‘In amongst the rest of the babies!’

  Shona’s eyes blazed. ‘I’m not a baby! I’m five and you’re cheeky for saying such things! Anyway, Mirabelle’s been teaching me things. I can count to twenty and I can do the alphabet and – and I’m sure I can do a lot more than you!’

  Niall’s young face darkened. ‘And you’re nothing but a right wee crabbit baby and spoiled too! Why don’t you ever come out to play instead of keekin’ at folk on the road?’

  Shona stamped her foot and tears of anger gleamed in her eyes. ‘Because I was too little before! But I’m big now and I will be out to play! And I’ve got a new puppy who’ll come with me everywhere but you won’t because you’re a nasty cheeky boy and I don’t like you!’

  ‘Wee baby!’ he taunted but his eyes showed a regret at the turn of things because he had noticed Shona McKenzie often and in his toddler days had longed to play with her, but, for some reason, he wasn’t allowed to visit Laigmhor and it had puzzled him because on Rhanna p
eople Ceilidhed all the time. Eventually he had come to the conclusion that the McKenzies thought themselves above other people, so aloof that their little girl wasn’t allowed to play with a doctor’s son. Yet he admired the strapping figure of Fergus McKenzie and always shouted a cheery greeting when they passed, even though the big man’s reply was hardly more than a grunt.

  Phebie and Mirabelle had been having a quiet chat at the other end of the counter but turned at the sound of shrill childish voices.

  ‘Bairns!’ cried Mirabelle. ‘What on earth are you mumpin’ about?’

  Phebie came over to her son, ‘Niall, I heard you call Shona a baby! Say you’re sorry at once!’

  Behag lurked in the little cubbyhole she proudly called her ‘back shop’ and listened gleefully. It seemed that even the children of Laigmhor and Slochmhor couldn’t agree.

  Niall shuffled his feet. His head dropped on to his chest and his words were low. ‘I won’t! She called me cheeky and I’m not! I’m not!’

  Phebie grasped his hand and pulled him out of the post office, rushing him angrily away. Mirabelle grabbed Shona by the back of her collar and bulldozed her outside away from Behag’s long ears. It was seldom that Mirabelle got really annoyed but now her eyes shone with rage. She hurled Shona round a corner and whirled her round.

  ‘You wee bitch that you are! Causin’ a rumpus in that Cailleach’s shop! It’s a good skelpin’ you’re gettin’ this very meenit, birthday or no’.’

  And there, in the middle of Portcull, Shona found her knickers at her ankles and her bottom soundly spanked. The sharp sting of Mirabelle’s heavy hand made her want to cry, but humiliation and determination would not allow a single protest to escape. Two Portcull children passed and shouted, ‘Baldy bum!’ and her face grew red with shame.

  Mirabelle hastily pulled up the knickers and yanked her charge away. The two walked home in dejected silence but at the bottom of the track to Laigmhor Shona looked up at Mirabelle with a gleam of mischief in her eyes.

  ‘Och, I’m sorry, Mirabelle! Don’t look so angry, because your face was made for smiling and you look awful funny with your mouth all twisted like Behag’s. I’m not sorry about that Niall though. He is cheeky and I’m not a baby!’

  Mirabelle took a large hanky out of the folds of her voluminous attire and blew her nose soundly. She looked down at the child’s upturned face. ‘Ach well, I’m sorry too for skelpin’ you on your birthday. We’ll not mention a word to a soul for I shouldny have bared your wee bum and you shouldny have been so cheeky. It would be nice if you made friends wi’ Niall so mind your manners in future.’

  Nancy turned a rosy face from the stove at their entrance and the puppy pranced to meet them, leaving a pool in its wake.

  ‘That doggy!’ exclaimed Nancy in exasperation. ‘I’ve had my feet chewed all mornin’ and slipped on a great platter o’ shit! I dropped all the spoons and they got covered in skitter. Poor auld Ben stood in it and I had to wash his feets, clean the pup and wash my stockin’s for they were reekin’ and me meetin’ Archie tonight for the Ceilidh at Croft na Beinn.’

  Nancy was very down to earth and never used dainty words no matter who she was addressing. Her entire family had the same indelicate use of language but were not less liked for it.

  It had been rather difficult for Mirabelle when Shona first started to speak because Nancy’s colourful expressions were the ones the toddler could pronounce perfectly. For a time the housekeeper had dreaded when someone dropped in for a Strupak and the day Madam Balfour came to discuss some business had been the worst of all.

  Mirabelle had completed the delicate intricate embroidery of the chairback covers that had been given to her from Burnbreddie and the laird’s wife had called to collect them. In raptures over the faultless work, with Mirabelle intent on explaining how a certain stitch was executed, neither noticed the small figure stagger unsteadily into the parlour till gleeful ecstatic baby tones announced. ‘Vat bloody dog’s farted! Vat bloody dog’s farted. Fink he’s shit the floor!’

  Madam Balfour’s mouth had dropped open and Mirabelle had scooped Shona under an arm and borne her hastily away.

  Now Shona knew better than to repeat Nancy’s words though she still giggled on hearing them. The young woman’s language was more earthy than ever of late and there was a sparkle in her. She was ‘walking out’ with young Archie Taylor, eldest son of Croft na Beinn and a summer wedding was in the offing.

  ‘I’m sorry about the mess,’ apologized Shona, grinning. ‘I’ll train her as quick as I can, Nancy. And thank you for the apron. Now I can help Mirabelle make scones without getting in a mess.’

  Mirabelle groaned at the thought of her charge making merry with flour and currants and Nancy sniggered wickedly. Fergus came in and they all sat down to stovies with cold meat followed by apple tart and fresh cream. Later, when Nancy was clattering busily with the dishes, Shona went with Mirabelle to scatter meal for the hens.

  ‘Greedy creatures!’ said Mirabelle mildly, watching while the hens squabbled and pecked.

  But Shona’s thoughts were far away. ‘I’m a big girl now!’ she said almost to herself.

  ‘Aye, you are that,’ agreed Mirabelle.

  ‘And I’ll have a lot more freedom now, won’t I?’

  ‘That’s up to your father, mo ghaoil.’

  ‘Och, but he’s away with Hamish to Rhumhor to buy some piglets and I want to do something very badly.’

  ‘Well, you know where to go. Is it a wee pup you are that knows not how to control itself?’

  ‘Mirabelle! You’re laughing at me! I want to go away up on the moor with Tot. All by myself . . . without you, Mirabelle.’

  The old lady looked thoughtful. She was thinking of the scene in the post office and knew the time had come for the child to learn some independence. In a few weeks she would be off to school which was a very competitive world full of little humans who could be cruel to sheltered and inexperienced children. She patted Shona’s head.

  ‘Aye, my wee lamb, away you go.’

  The reply was so unexpected that for a moment Shona was nonplussed, for she had expected an argument. She had been allowed to certain places on her own, like Hamish’s cottage, and she had often gone on an errand to Portcull, but the wide open spaces of the island had demanded an adult escort because there were many hazards inland that were a challenge even to the experienced.

  ‘I won’t go far,’ she promised breathlessly and ran indoors for Tot, then raced down the track and on to the road. She was like a wild thing that had been caged up for too long. She sped on to the moor and kept on running. The sound of a burbling burn was music in her ears, the cold sharp air streamed into her lungs and wakened every cell to pulsing life. Her hair streamed in the wind and the ribbon came undone to fall unnoticed in the rusty bracken. Eventually she rolled over in the heather, panting and laughing. The pup rolled too, barking and biting, and the child giggled, spreading her arms wide and looking at the racing grey clouds above, feeling herself riding with them in a great surge of freedom. Heather tangled in her hair and she buried her face in the sweet smell of the straggling shoots. Raising herself on one elbow she looked at the scenery spread below. Laigmhor sprawled untidily, tiny from this distance. She strained her eyes for a sign of life and saw Mirabelle, a tiny doll figure hanging out clothes. Suddenly she felt queer and sad. She loved Mirabelle, she loved her father, she loved Laigmhor, but she knew now that it wasn’t enough. Now there had to be more loves, more people and places in her life and she felt a traitor to the people who had surrounded her for as long as she could remember. There were so many new feelings inside herself she didn’t understand and she felt she wasn’t ready for them because there was a lot of old feelings she didn’t understand either. One of them was about her mother. She knew she ought to have a mother because Mirabelle read her stories and they always had mothers in them. She had asked Mirabelle where her own mother was and had been told she was in heaven. That was another mystery because n
o one seemed to know where heaven was though it was mentioned all the time in the bible and when Reverend John Grey came to visit her father she had heard him talking about this place called heaven but it hadn’t made any sense because he’d used so many big words.

  She knew her mother was buried in the kirkyard so she really couldn’t see how she could be in heaven and in the kirkyard at the same time. How could something that grown-ups called a soul be with God, when the body belonging to that soul was deep under the ground?

  Tears sprang to her eyes at the idea of her mother being in a wooden box buried in the earth. It must be terrible because beetles and worms and all sorts of creepies were in the soil.

  She knew her mother had been beautiful because there was a photo of her in the parlour but she seldom saw it because the parlour was hardly used now. But Mirabelle had shown her another one that she kept in a little cardboard box in her room. It was a nicer one than the parlour photo because it was more natural and the delicate cameo face was smiling, the eyes alight with some secret joke. But to her it was only a photograph and she felt nothing except a great pride that her mother had been so beautiful.

  It was very strange that her father never spoke of her mother because Mirabelle had said he loved her very much. How could you love someone and not speak of them even if they were dead?

  Mirabelle spoke of her own mother and two sisters who were dead yet could be recalled by just talking about them.

  It was all very mysterious and sad and difficult to understand.

  She sighed and wrapped her arms round Tot who was sound asleep on her chest. It was lovely to feel the warm trusting bundle against her and she wished she had been able to let Niall see her puppy. She was sorry she had argued with him. It was the last thing she had wanted to do but her quick temper had let her down again and she vowed to try and keep it in better control. She chuckled. A temper was a funny thing because you could lose it yet still have it. Other things were easy to lose but difficult to find. She hoped he would never get to hear about her being spanked outside Behag Beag’s shop. Just thinking about it made her face grow red.