Rhanna

by Christine Marion Fraser

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ said Niall politely.

  Dodie showed his stained teeth. ‘Not the best manure!’

  ‘Oh yes, the best,’ stated Niall positively.

  ‘Mine’s the best,’ argued Dodie.

  ‘From Ealasaid,’ said Shona, so taken up with the treat she hadn’t wanted to stop and discuss the merits of manure.

  ‘Not from Ealasaid,’ grunted Dodie. There was a cryptic pause in which the youngsters waited patiently.

  Dodie opened his mouth, hesitated, shut it again, and time ticked on. He seemed to be coming to some great decision and finally blurted out, ‘If I tell you a secret promise you’ll not utter it to a livin’ soul.’

  The children, their interest fully roused, agreed solemnly to keep the secret. Dodie’s face was as animated as they had ever seen it.

  ‘It’s mine!’ His head shook at the enormity of his confession and his carbuncle wobbled.

  Niall looked puzzled. ‘Your what?’

  ‘My manure!’

  ‘From Ealasaid,’ said Shona again.

  Dodie was growing frustrated at their lack of understanding and burst out, ‘From me! I empty my po on the rhubarb patch every day!’

  ‘Your what?’ cried the children in horrified unison.

  ‘My chanty!’ babbled Dodie excitedly. ‘The best I told you!’

  Niall stared at his stick of rhubarb with new eyes and Shona looked at the remainder of hers with fascinated interest. She sniffed. It smelled like rhubarb, there was nothing unpleasant about its looks yet . . .

  ‘The best?’ urged Dodie with childlike enthusiasm.

  ‘Did you wash it, Dodie?’ asked Niall suspiciously.

  ‘In the wee burn, always in the wee burn!’

  ‘Och well,’ grinned Shona and finished her rhubarb.

  Niall giggled and ate his also and Dodie was delighted. He trundled to a pot on the fire and poked its contents with a bent fork. In the pot was a piece of venison. Every year the laird gave out venison and every year the islanders grumbled because the portions got smaller. ‘Mean auld Bodach!’ was the usual comment. ‘He keeps the best for himself to feed the faces o’ thon fancy folk from England!’

  Dodie prodded his venison and commented mournfully, ‘The joints I’ve seen at Burnbreddie. Great muckle lumps o’ meat! Ach! It would make you sick so it would. And he’s at it again! The things I’m seein’ up there!’

  Dodie had a knack of making cryptic comments which never failed to rouse the interest of his listeners.

  ‘What things?’ asked Niall.

  Dodie shook his head slowly. ‘Worse since my leddy lies up most of the time. I’m not sure what they cry her ailment.’

  ‘Hypochondria!’ proclaimed Niall, triumphantly repeating the word his father used when referring to Madam Balfour of Burnbreddie.

  ‘A queer trouble just,’ mourned Dodie. ‘And his is no better.’

  ‘What is his trouble, Dodie?’ persisted Niall.

  Dodie blushed primly. ‘I shouldny say.’

  ‘We won’t tell anyone,’ coaxed Shona.

  The old eccentric hesitated, not because his knowledge wasn’t for children, but what he had to tell involved human relationships which were always such an embarrassment to him.

  ‘I couldny help seein’,’ he said apologetically. ‘I was workin’ in the big hayloft and they came in . . . the laird and one of his fine lady guests with . . .’ He cupped his hands in front of his chest. ‘Big udders!’

  Shona giggled explosively but Niall nudged her. ‘And?’ he encouraged curiously.

  ‘They shut the door but I could see, plenty light in a hayshed. He was kissin’ her and gruntin’ like a pig and the next thing . . .’

  ‘Yes?’ urged Niall.

  ‘He pulled out her udders – big they were – very big.’ He paused and his vacant eyes were lit with an expression that could be described as humorous. ‘I never knew a lady’s udders could be like Ealasaid’s!’ He stopped and a terrible screech escaped him and his big hands clutched his stomach. It took a couple of alarming minutes before the children realized he was not in pain but laughing, Dodie the doleful who had never been known to laugh, making a noise like a rusty hacksaw, his mouth stretched wide with enjoyment.

  ‘Did he do anything else?’ asked Shona.

  Dodie nodded, his carbuncle wobbling wildly.

  ‘Lots more! She was laughin’ all the time but she stopped when he threw her on the hay and went at her like a ruttin’ stag and she was bleatin’ all the time like an old yowe. It was terrible just! Not natural at all, not like the beasts, no, oh no!’

  Niall’s eyes gleamed. When he was striding home down the winding hill track he turned to Shona. ‘Let’s get Agnes and Stuart and go up to Burnbreddie after tea! We’ll get into that hayshed and wait for the laird. He just might bring a lady in there tonight.’

  ‘But we promised Dodie we wouldn’t tell anyone.’

  ‘Agnes and Stuart aren’t anyone, they won’t tell. They kept all our other secrets – our marriage and everything,’ he finished significantly. Shona hopped joyfully. Her hair had long ago escaped the ribbon and tumbled over her shoulders in silken strands. Her face and arms were a golden brown and Niall noticed these things that hadn’t been important enough before for a second glance.

  ‘Your hair’s nice,’ he said and touched it briefly.

  She looked at him quickly wondering if he was teasing because sometimes he called her Caillich Ruadh which meant Red Witch. The name infuriated her and if he touched her hair it was only to pull it. But there was a new look in his brown eyes and for a moment they stopped and stared at each other. Then she pointed down to Laigmhor.

  ‘Uncle Alick’s here! I’ll see you after tea!’

  She was off, a rushing bundle of windblown hair and long legs. He watched her and kicked a stone vigorously.

  ‘Bugger Uncle Alick!’ he muttered and felt better. He raced home to help his mother lay the table, thinking about the adventure to come.

  ‘Mother.’

  Phebie looked at her sturdy son expectantly.

  ‘I know that oldish folk like you and Father make love to make babies . . . that was why you had me and Fiona.’

  Phebie hid a smile at being described ‘oldish’ at thirty-three but waited with suitable composure for the rest of the question.

  ‘If you can do it and really old people can do it . . . well, you must like it a lot.’

  Phebie looked slightly startled. She and Lachlan had always been frank with their son and knew that now he was at the stage of puberty his questions would become intricate but Phebie wasn’t always prepared for the turn they would take.

  ‘Y-yes I suppose so,’ she faltered wishing Lachlan was home.

  ‘Why is it then that big girls like Fiona Taylor and Annie McKinnon let boys kiss and cuddle them and enjoy it fine but if the boys put their hands on the girls’ udd – breasts they get their faces slapped?’

  Phebie searched for the right answer. ‘Well – I suppose the girls do enjoy cuddling, it’s only normal, but it’s the girls who have the babies and no girl wants a baby out of wedlock.’

  ‘Some do.’

  ‘It can’t be helped sometimes but it’s best to wait for marriage.’

  ‘It seems silly but I suppose you must be right,’ said Niall and Phebie went thankfully to tend Fiona.

  Shona flew to the farmyard and straight into Alick’s arms. He lifted her high.

  ‘My, but you’ve grown into a bonny big girl,’ he laughed, holding her against the backcloth of sky till his arms ached. His handsome face was alight because he was truly fond of his niece and often regretted that she hadn’t come to them as a baby. Mary hadn’t given him children. She told him she was too delicate but she was strong enough to go gallivanting to the French Riviera. She was there now with a ‘friend’. Alick didn’t know if it was male or female and cared less. He had his own way of making his life bearable. He had a good job and Mary had been left a lega
cy by a great-aunt so they both had the means to indulge their whims. But he wanted a child and sometimes he thought the only reason he came back to Rhanna was to see Shona. He knew Fergus wasn’t particular about his visits but they tolerated each other well enough.

  He put Shona down.

  ‘I’ve brought you a present.’

  ‘Where? Och, where is it?’

  ‘Hidden in your room. You’ll have to search for it – after tea. Mirabelle will spank me if I dare to hold up tea.’

  ‘You’re too big to be spanked!’

  ‘Not by Mirabelle! She might even do it with my pants down.’

  They roared in delight but Alick broke off suddenly, his gaze lingering on the slim young woman who had just come through the gate. Her short crisp hair gleamed gold in the sun and her breasts were firm under her thin summer dress.

  She waved to Shona. ‘I’m just handing in some things Mirabelle asked me to get at Portcull. I’ll see you later.’

  ‘Who was that?’ asked Alick in admiration.

  ‘Father’s friend and my teacher,’ said Shona proudly.

  He whistled softly. ‘I think I’m going to enjoy my holiday, Shona. Now, will you allow me the honour of taking my arm? We shall go in to tea in style.’

  From the kitchen window Mirabelle saw the look Alick threw at Kirsteen. The old lady liked Alick. He was dashing and gay, bringing a lot of laughter into Laigmhor. He hugged her and made her laugh girlishly with his nonsense. But somehow she knew that this visit was going to be different. He had never met Kirsteen before because she usually went home to her parents in Oban for the summer. But this year she had decided to have a summer on Rhanna simply because she could hardly bear parting from Fergus. She was his ‘bit mistress’ in Rhanna language but she had borne the label well. At the beginning the gossips tore her to pieces but she had held her head high though she knew that if she hadn’t loved Fergus so deeply she would have fled the island’s malicious tongues and endless speculation.

  How could anyone know of the heartache her love had brought? They couldn’t know of the nights when her empty arms ached for him. These nights outweighed the ones he came to her in the schoolhouse and they shared an intimacy that fulfilled her but couldn’t compensate her aching heart. But they were the wonderful times when they shut out the world. Locked in his arms she was safe and wanted but the time always came for him to go back to his other world. In the four years of their relationship he had told her that she was beautiful, that he wanted and needed her but never once had he told her he loved her and she wondered if he ever would.

  They had discussed Helen. She had persuaded him to talk of her and in time he poured out his heart till it really seemed he had brought the years of suppressed grief out of his heart forever. But Kirsteen asked herself if he clung to memories because they were safer than real life. You could think about them, laugh or cry then shut them away till something recalled them to mind again. She wasn’t sure that Fergus really wanted to love again and sometimes she wondered how long she could go on with the affair. In her mind she left Rhanna many times but then he came to her and swept away all reason with his lovemaking. She was glad she had decided against going home to Oban for the holidays because that green and blue summer on the island was the most wonderful she had ever known. Fergus, once too busy to take time off, now left the running of the farm in Hamish’s capable hands and spent every day with her. He cared nothing for the gossips and walked with his arm round her waist making her feel guarded against the covert looks that followed them. They walked for miles and picnicked in places as far away as Croy where tiny sheltered bays abounded. They swam in the warm waters from the Gulf Stream and made love on the hot white sands with only screaming gulls for company.

  Once she cried against his broad chest and he was bewildered.

  ‘What is it, my Kirsteen?’ he whispered into her golden hair.

  She looked away from him, far away over the blue-green waters of the Atlantic.

  ‘I wish we could sail away over the sea, you – might forget then.’

  He knew what she meant. ‘I’ll never forget, as long as I live, Kirsteen. It would be impossible to forget someone you were so happy with. Have you forgotten Donald?’

  ‘No, but I wouldn’t let his memories stand in the way of my happiness. He wouldn’t want that.’

  ‘Nor would Helen!’ he cried, his black eyes clouding. ‘She isn’t standing in the way. She was a gay wee thing herself and liked others to be the same. Aren’t you happy, Kirsteen?’

  A look of incredible sadness came into her blue eyes and she turned away again but he cupped her chin in his hand and made her face him. ‘My Kirsteen,’ he said huskily. ‘You’re a daft wee thing sometimes. Don’t be sad. When I say I can never forget Helen I mean it, but she is part of my past life. You are now. I’m not a fancy man with words but I could never picture my life without you now.’

  He kissed away her tears and his strong arms held her close but she longed to cry out that she wanted to be his wife, to have him declare his love for her by marrying her, but instead she lay silently against him, content for the moment to be in the safe circle of his arms.

  But Mirabelle did not mince words on the matter.

  ‘When are you going to marry the lass?’ she demanded regularly. ‘The poor wee soul has waited well for you and had to thole a lot o’ auld gossips into the bargain. How she’s stood it I’ll never know. She’s a fine lass – too good for her name to be thrown about like a bit cow dung.’

  ‘In my own time, Belle,’ he told her unfailingly.

  ‘Just like a man to think you can ay ca’ the tune! A bonny lass like that could have any man o’ her choosin’.’

  Another time she told him, ‘It’s high time the bairn had a mother! Are you too selfish to see that?’

  ‘She’s done fine with you all these years!’ he snapped.

  ‘I’ll not always be here!’ she had said strangely.

  ‘Are you ill?’ he asked in some alarm.

  ‘I’m old,’ she said briefly and he couldn’t argue with that.

  Fergus couldn’t really explain his reasons for hesitating. Kirsteen was sweet-natured and sensitive. He was happy when he was with her, she made him laugh. Her physical make-up was exquisite and his desire for her a constant torment when they were apart. She was an endearing, wonderful young woman and he knew he would never find another like her, but, he asked himself a thousand times, did he love her enough to let her take Helen’s place in his home? Helen had loved him enough to tolerate his strange moody tempers but could Kirsteen? Did she love him deeply enough? Did he really love her or did she merely satisfy his physical appetites? He tortured himself with indecision. At times he cursed that storm-swept night when utter despair of mind and body had driven him to the refuge of her arms, yet common sense told him that fate would have found some other way of bringing them together in the end. She had haunted him since their first meeting in the wood and the night of the storm, when everything seemed against him, had merely provided him with the chance he had waited for. Sometimes the fear of losing her to someone else brought him out in a sweat. Mirabelle was right about Kirsteen. She was attractive and the openly admiring glances she drew from other men couldn’t be denied.

  The day Alick arrived his fears became stronger than ever. He came in to wash before tea and saw them together at the table, her golden head next to Alick’s dark one. She was emptying her basket and Alick was making silly remarks that made her giggle. She turned when she heard Fergus and her face lit up but no one had time to speak because Shona came bursting into the kitchen holding an elegant and expensive doll. She didn’t play much with dolls except in the long winter nights when her family were brought down to the kitchen to play at ‘wee hoosies’. More often her doll’s pram contained Tot who was very partial to being tucked up cosily with a frilly bonnet tied over her silky ears. But Tot had no time for such frivolities of late for she was the proud mother of five tiny pups. Their arri
val had caused quite a sensation because they were pure-bred spaniels whose father could only be Hamish’s gun dog. It was Tot’s first litter. She had spurned every dog who had dared to attempt to court her but had obviously fallen for the charms of Whisky and was now too busy with her babies to share her time with such mundane things as dolls. But the dolls were neglected in summer anyway and sat droopily on the shelves in Shona’s room, each one a reminder of every Christmas of her life, stitched patiently by Mirabelle so that a new doll would be hanging from the top of her stocking to greet her on Christmas morning. She loved her rag dolls but each one was really just a replica of the last so the extravagantly dressed ‘town’ doll took her breath away.

  ‘I couldn’t wait, Uncle Alick!’ she cried happily. ‘She’s the most beautiful doll in the world!’ She ran to hug Alick who lifted her to the dizzy heights of the ceiling.

  Mirabelle, tired and hot at the stove, was hurt. She knew that the bought doll outrivalled all those she had ever made but love had gone into every stitch executed by the light of a paraffin lamp, causing her tired old eyes to smart with the strain. A lump came to her throat. She knew she was being childish but she couldn’t help it. Lately her aching tiredness had caused her to be more than usually sensitive and the crushing pains in her chest made her come out in weak sweats. Lachlan had been blunt when she had asked him to tell her the truth and had told her she must ease up or he wouldn’t answer for the consequences. But she had been as blunt as he.

  ‘I’d rather go quickly, Lachlan my laddie. I’ve not been idle in my life and I’m not going to start now. You won’t tell a soul, mo ghaoil?’ she went on pleadingly. ‘I’d not want anyone pampering me and looking at me like I was a frail wee chick just hatched.’

  Lachlan looked at her ample figure and smiled, though his heart was heavy. Mirabelle’s heart condition had shocked him deeply. She was the type of woman who gave everyone the impression she would go on forever; she was the tower of strength that people leaned on without thinking that she might possess the same human frailties as themselves. Her very appearance belied any hint of illness: she had been, and still was, a jolly rotund figure, ample of bosom and bottom. Her round face was cheery and her sympathy for others showed in the compassionate warmth of her grey eyes. Her skin was pink and white and she looked the picture of health except for a tiredness deep in her eyes.