Rhanna

by Christine Marion Fraser

  Such a lot of tragedy had happened that summer on Rhanna yet he felt happy. Oh, he would go back to Edinburgh but Mary might not get so much of her own way in future. He wanted children and she was going to provide them. Perhaps a firm hand was what she needed. He had also decided to pull himself out of the rut of his easy job and look for something where he would have a say in decisions of importance.

  His new mood must have showed. Fergus saw something in his brother that hadn’t been there before. ‘You’re doing grand,’ he would assure Fergus when his breathing was at its most difficult and he hadn’t the strength to clear his lungs. Alick made him sit up and his back was pummelled till he cried aloud in pain but there was no mercy till he coughed up the thick red sputum.

  Shona flitted from house to house like a pale little ghost, feeling she didn’t belong anywhere. Phebie was gay and warm-hearted but her life was a busy one. Alick was occupied with the farm. Kirsteen was loving and sweet as always but Shona sensed a withdrawal of the spontaneous affection she had displayed so readily in the past. Shona wondered why and shed lonely tears. She so badly needed to love and be loved. It was a time of great adjustment in her life and she needed to turn to someone. She couldn’t know that Kirsteen, knowing she must soon leave all that she loved, was unconsciously steeling herself for the parting. She loved Shona whose every glance was her father’s. His blood flowed in her veins, his defiance and pride were hers, and Kirsteen wanted to hold on to any spark that reminded her of the man she loved. Instead, she turned away and fought to hide her feelings from Fergus’s child. Shona was hurt, but the pride that had been born in her wouldn’t let her show it.

  She went every day to the schoolhouse. She bathed her father’s head and held the cup to his lips when he was thirsty. He smiled at her, a funny wistful smile and held her hand tightly. Often he fell asleep holding her hand and she liked to sit there just looking at him. He had always been so active and elusive she hadn’t often had the chance to study him closely. How beautifully sensitive his mouth was; his jaw was strong with a tiny dimple in the middle of his chin; the tip of her pinky fitted in perfectly. It was strange to watch the pulse beating in his neck, it made her afraid, yet it fascinated her. Often she counted it beating to a hundred and more. It was a funny sad feeling to see him lying in bed. She hadn’t often seen him in bed till this awful illness. His lashes were long and dark, curling a little at their tips. His hair was so black; she had always loved the way it clung round his head in crisp waving curls. Sweat plastered tiny baby curls at his ears. It was during one of her ‘private looking times’ that she noticed one or two small white hairs in his sideburns, they were very wiry and stood out from the black. The sight of them made her want to cry. She had always thought of her father as a big boy but those little white hairs belonged to a man not a boy. Each day after the discovery she studied his black curls and was thankful she could find no more of the wiry white ones. Eventually she grew to love the tiny white hairs; they were part of him and she loved all of him. She even knew how many there were, seven at the right side and three funny jaggy ones on the left. She hugged herself because they were her secret. Probably not even Kirsteen knew exactly how many of the little white hairs he had.

  She could never look at him as long as she would have liked because either Biddy or Lachlan hustled her away. She didn’t have Niall to talk to. He had gone to an aunt in Dumfries for a few days, to be fitted for his school uniform. He had grumbled about going.

  ‘I canna stand the way Aunt Elly fusses,’ he confided. ‘She hops about like an old chookie and makes me eat salads all the time. I don’t think she’s heard of mealy herring or chapped turnip and Uncle George does awful things like picking his teeth at the table.’

  Nevertheless his eyes gleamed. He liked the shops in Dumfries. His father had given him a whole pound to spend and he liked Aunt Elly’s two boys who were very worldly without being superior.

  Shona longed to see Niall’s sturdy boyish figure. She wondered what it would be like when he was away all the time. There were only three weeks left but she pushed the thought far away and took Tot over the moors to the cave. Together they snuggled on a mattress of moss and heather. She was as lonely as Tot whose babies had been taken from her. Each afternoon they slept together on the bed, snug in the cave.

  The days dragged on, each one feeling like a year to Kirsteen who spent most of her waking hours by Fergus’s side. When he was asleep she just sat looking at him, engraving a picture in her mind that she might carry it with her forever. One day Biddy caught her staring trance-like at the strong handsome face.

  ‘Aye, he’s a bonny man, my lassie,’ said Biddy with assurance. ‘But time he had a woman to look to him.’

  Kirsteen looked at the old nurse. ‘What was he like, Biddy . . . when he was a wee boy?’

  ‘A fine laddie but a strange one. Always quiet – not in a shy way but a quiet kind of strength – funny in a wee laddie but then his mother put too much upon his young shoulders. It wasn’t right to make him feel he should never give in. But it was her way. She loved her bairns but ended up making one too reliant and the other . . . ach, poor Fergus – to him it’s a sin to show weakness. It’s hard to shake off the habit of years but I see a change in him, he’s learnin’ we’re all weak in one way or another.’

  Kirsteen looked over her shoulder at Fergus and a wry smile twisted her mouth.

  ‘His pride is his weakness, Biddy.’

  Biddy frowned in puzzlement. ‘He’s proud I’ll grant you, too damty so for his own good, but what way is it a weakness, mo ghaoil?’

  ‘Because he is not its master, it rules his head and his heart. His pride is the master . . . and oh God! how I wish he’d get the better of it! It has touched too many lives with its greedy need for power. A little pride is a good thing, Biddy, we all need it, but too much is a curse!’

  Biddy looked mildly astonished. She didn’t understand Kirsteen’s logic but sensed that the words were a cry from the heart. ‘There, my lassie,’ she soothed kindly. ‘You have a queer way of putting things but I think I understand a wee bit. Now, let’s get his bed changed, you’d think a herd o’ cows had trampled it for weeks!’

  Kirsteen had already informed the Education Authorities she was leaving her post for health reasons and had asked that a replacement teacher be sent for the start of the autumn term. It was short notice but she didn’t care, she was beyond caring about her responsibilities, she only knew she had to leave Rhanna. Every moment spent near Fergus weakened her resolution to leave him. Every sense in her was dulled except those that reeled with the engulfing love she felt for him. All else was unimportant and she knew she had to get away so that she could get a truer perspective of her feelings.

  She tried not to think of a life without him, she only knew she wasn’t going to wait for the moment when he must tell her he couldn’t marry her. She couldn’t bear that, she couldn’t bear to go on as before, so she had to break away while there was still time.

  The day dawned when Lachlan examined Fergus and pronounced him well.

  ‘You’ve a heart like an ox or you’d never have come through. We’ll fish the Fallan yet! It’s been a while since I had a nice fresh trout for supper.’

  Fergus glowered at the stump of his arm. ‘Fish? With this? Don’t haver, man!’

  ‘The Fergus I once knew would let nothing stop him. Is it letting a little thing like losing an arm stand in the way then?’

  Fergus struggled up. ‘Dammit!’ he exploded. ‘It’s fine for you to stand there and . . .’ The rueful twinkle in the doctor’s brown eyes compelled him to smile. ‘Aye,’ he said slowly, ‘we will fish the Fallan and a damt red face you’ll have when we weigh in our catch!’

  With returning health came a growing awareness of all that had passed since the scented summer evening of his marriage proposal. He had lost so much, yet, when he thought of Alick and Shona, he felt he had gained a lot too. He felt closer to them than he had ever been. Alick was no lo
nger a boy, the days of crisis had turned him into a man; Shona was a loving little girl again, throwing her arms around him with a zeal that sent him flying backwards on the pillows. His journeys near the deep valleys of death and his eventual escape from them made him vividly aware of the dear things of life. It was so good to feel those child’s arms, the sweet, near, earthly touch making him respond with equal warmth.

  In the lonely hours he journeyed back in time, reliving the years with Mirabelle. She had always been in his life and her going left a gap that he had only begun to appreciate. He still expected her ample motherly figure to come bustling through the door, scolding or fussing in the way they had all taken for granted, and tragically had never realized how much it meant till her motherly arms were no more. He couldn’t bear yet to think of Hamish. The loyalty of the big Highlander was too near, too poignant to remember. Instead he forced his mind into the present and Kirsteen. In his darkest hours she had always beeh there. Even when his strength had reached its lowest ebb and his mind sank into one timeless abyss after another he had been aware of her presence, the power of her love reaching down, down into those dark depths, willing him to struggle out of them and upwards to meet her love with his. Because of her he had wanted to make that awful endless struggle to live and because of her he had won.

  Propped up on pilows he watched her. He noticed that she was very pale with dark smudges under her eyes. His heart turned over with love. Her nights of nursing him had drained her, yet she uttered no word of complaint. She was quietly jubilant that he was getting better, yet he sensed a change in her. It was indefinable, but he knew that in some way she was different. He was suddenly afraid. He couldn’t bear it if she loved him less than before the accident. He looked down at the useless stump of his arm. Was that it? Did his appearance repel her to some extent? But not Kirsteen! They had loved too deeply, he knew her better than that. Yet he needed reassuring, he had to know.

  ‘Kirsteen.’ He reached out for her, his voice husky. ‘My dear little Kirsteen . . . do you still love me? I watch you and thank God for you! Are you still just a wee bit glad we met that day in the woods by Loch Tenee?’

  She was taken unawares. She had steeled herself for such a moment but when it came she wasn’t ready. She looked at him, at his hand reaching out for her, the naked doubts of her love for him in his burning dark eyes.

  A sob caught in her throat and she was beside him, holding his head against her breasts. She ran her fingers through his thick hair and kissed the nape of his neck.

  ‘I wish – oh how I wish we could have that day again,’ she whispered brokenly. ‘I loved you the moment I saw you. I wish we could have a thousand moments like that again, my Fergus!’

  He wiped her tears away with a gentle finger. ‘We’ll have a million moments like that, Kirsteen.’ He kissed her tenderly on the lips.

  Three days later Kirsteen watched Rhanna fade into the blue of the sky. It was a hot day and there was no horizon. Sky and sea were one and the green island with its blue mountains was ethereal in the distance.

  A group of sheep huddled on the boat, their plaintive cries rivalling the lost threading mews of the circling gulls. To Kirsteen the whole scene had a dreamlike quality. She felt she must soon waken to see Fergus smiling at her. She hadn’t said goodbye to anyone, not even Phebie or Lachlan, because she knew they were hurt at her going and would try to talk her into staying.

  The cross currents in the Sound swayed the boat, making her feel sick and giddy. Deep in her womb something quivered and stirred and she knew that she was leaving Rhanna with a child growing in her, its tiny foetal heart already pumping the blood of Fergus McKenzie through its living tissues.

  PART FIVE

  SPRING 1934

  ELEVEN

  It had been a winter of severe winds tempered by mild damp spells. A short, cold snap in February brought the deer down from the hills and it was quite usual to see them sharing a potash from the same pail as an unruffled cow.

  Dodie kept a special little supply of hay for the deer. Strewn a few yards from his cottage it attracted a number of the gentle-eyed, gracious creatures which he loved to watch.

  Dodie was very contented with his lot these days. He had acquired several hens who supplied him with his breakfast eggs; as well as Ealasaid, he had a ewe in lamb. Fergus had given him the sheep in return for the horseshoe which he said had helped him to get well.

  When March came the ewe gave birth to twin lambs and all three were housed cosily with Ealasaid because Dodie couldn’t bear the idea of the baby sheep weathering the high winds. The ewe and her family trotted after him like devoted dogs and he shouted at them or waved his arms but to no avail. Inwardly his heart brimmed over with love for his animals and he strode over hill and moor in his flapping raincoat and flopping wellingtons with the sheep plodding faithfully behind.

  He was helping with the lambing at Laigmhor and three figures in the field watched his coming.

  ‘Dodie had a little lamb . . .’ chanted Shona, giggling.

  Mathew shook his head. ‘Ach, he’ll never sell the damty things. He’ll make pets o’ them and keep them forever! It’s wondering I am you gave him the yowe, McKenzie.’

  Fergus looked at the stooping tattered figure whose mouth was forming the familiar ‘He breeah!’

  ‘He has more in him than meets the eye,’ said Fergus quietly. ‘Dodie is smelly, dirty, and eccentric, but his heart’s as big as his head! When he came to see me . . . the time of the accident, he left behind his stink but he also left behind his faith and I needed all I could get then. He’s a cratur nearer to God than any of those kirk-going hypocrites who talk behind each other’s backs. Aye, Dodie’s a good man.’

  Mathew said nothing. It was hard-going, working side by side with Fergus. Mathew was grieve now and honoured, yet awed, that he had been given such a responsible position. He was eager to please, yet in his own reserved way tried to appear nonchalant before Fergus. He was also embarrassed at having to give orders to men twice his age yet they had been pleased that he had been given the job. He was the likeliest choice. The other men had their specific skills whereas he knew a little about everything. It was what he didn’t know that frightened him. He was marrying in the summer, the little cottage that had been Hamish’s awaiting him and his bride. Fergus had given Maggie the option of staying on but she was unable to bear Rhanna without Hamish and had moved back to Edinburgh to live with a sister.

  The prospects of the job excited Mathew. He liked and respected Fergus but he wished a thousand times that he had some of Hamish’s strength of character and maturity.

  ‘Bide your time, lad,’ advised Bob. ‘McKenzie didny pick you for your looks! Just ca’ canny and don’t put these muckle great feet o’ yours in the shit afore it sets. McKenzie canny eat you, damn it! He’s a thrawn bugger and respects a body wi’ a bit gumption but see you don’t tell him his business. Mind you . . .’ Bob stroked his grizzled chin reflectively. ‘He’s no’ so girny since his accident. I’d say he’s learnt a bit about patience.’

  Mathew took Bob’s advice. He didn’t indulge in superfluous chatter; he respected Fergus’s supremacy yet, if he felt he was right and Fergus wrong, he clung to his opinions and was surprised to find that the older man acceded quite agreeably.

  Shona ran to meet Dodie at the gate. He handed her a little bunch of snowdrops he had found growing in a sunless corner of his garden. It was March, late for snowdrops, so they were therefore all the more precious.

  ‘Thank you, Dodie,’ she breathed and held the frail white drops against her cheek. Snowdrops made her think of her mother because two months before, on her eleventh birthday, she had gone with Phebie to the Kirkyard and on her mother’s grave had placed a huge bunch of snowdrops. Phebie had helped her to understand so much about her mother that she had missed because all the jealously guarded memories had been hoarded from her. Shona thought the story of her mother and father was a lovely one and she cried in bed when she thought ab
out it; but for her it was really just a story – when she looked at her father she saw him not with her mother but with Kirsteen whom he had been going to marry but didn’t. She wondered why. She had thought about it over and over and could find no answer. She didn’t know why Kirsteen had left so suddenly and her father didn’t seem to know either. No one seemed to know, not even Phebie who had been Kirsteen’s close friend, but Shona suspected that all the evasive answers she received were the usual grown-up solutions for things they didn’t want to discuss.

  She would have found out from Mirabelle. Mirabelle had been evasive in her own fashion but in her guileless way she would let little things slip. She had solved many a mystery through the old lady’s unguarded remarks.

  Thinking of Mirabelle still brought a lump to her throat. A lot of the cosiness had gone from her life. Laigmhor had lost a lot of its homeliness since Mirabelle’s going but the old housekeeper had taught her well. She was now adept at baking and could prepare reasonable meals. Kate McKinnon, all her family married except William, came in three times a week to clean the house and wash clothes. With her earthy tongue she was a colourful intrusion into the drowsing quiet of the farmhouse. Sloshing clothes about in a big tub, with soap suds piling over on to the floor, she regaled Shona with accounts of her family’s latest exploits.

  Shona knew that Nancy liked the physical aspect of marriage, everyone on Rhanna knew, but Kate had the privilege of knowing more than most.

  ‘Aye, in heat is our Nancy,’ she informed Shona as she lustily swished clothes on the scrubbing board. ‘She tells me she makes poor Archie so tired of a night he can’t get up in the morn to milk the cows. His father’s sick o’ it I tell you . . . mind you, he was a bit of a lad himself in his younger days! Aye, fine I know it too! We came home from a Ceilidh one night and he got me into a shed. Before you could blink, there they were! All hangin’ out! Balls on him like a prize bull! His hand was up my skirt in no time and I had to slap his face for him. ’Tis a pity we have to pretend not to like the things we like but a lass had to hold on to her self-respect in those days.’