Rhanna

by Christine Marion Fraser

  He struggled to sit up. ‘Mrs Travers, I’ll be managing these myself!’

  ‘Ach – a thrawn one I see! You can put them on while I phone the doctor. You’re in a terrible mess so you are! I didn’t think a gentleman like yourself would get into such a state.’

  ‘Nor did I, Mrs Travers,’ he said ruefully. ‘Just a wee thing I had to sort out for myself.’

  ‘Aye.’ She folded her hands over her stomach and looked at him. She was a cheery little woman with pink skin and greying hair. Her experience of human nature had made her a good judge of character and she could tell that the crumpled big Gael was no habitual drunk. ‘Aye,’ she repeated softly, ‘you’ll sort it out in this bed for that’s where you’ll be bidin’ for the next few days I’m thinkin’.’

  She was right. Dr Mason was slow and lumbering but he discovered Fergus’s weak lung immediately.

  ‘Bed,’ he said briefly, folding his stethoscope and stuffing it into a large pocket. ‘For at least four days. I’ll give you some pills to clear the inflammation and a bottle to ease your tubes.’

  Mrs Travers had come into the room to hear the verdict. ‘I’ll see he takes them, doctor . . . and don’t worry, the laddie will get the best of attention here.’

  The doctor winked at Fergus. ‘A real tartar but a heart of gold for all that. You stopped at the right hotel, lad – Maggie Travers is the best unqualified nurse in Oban.’

  Fergus was strangely content to stay in bed in the bright cheerful room; it was a little haven; he felt shut off from the world and for the moment he didn’t want the world so he was as happy as it was possible to be. He knew he was living in a fool’s paradise but he didn’t want to think of the future. One half of him wanted to go back to Rhanna but the other half rebelled against it. For the past seven months he had fully believed that the day would come when he must meet Kirsteen again, it had been there, always at the back of his mind, that lovely romantic illusion of their reunion. Now it had all been taken away and he was numb. He didn’t want to think of a life without Kirsteen, he didn’t want to face the thought of the empty years ahead, so for the moment, he pushed Rhanna, with its familiar things and people, far into the recesses of his mind. It was enough just to lie and listen to the outside world, the sounds of the waterfront, people laughing and shouting, just as long as he didn’t have to take his place in that demanding world outside his room he was content.

  Mrs Travers coddled him and reminded him so much of Mirabelle he put his hand out once and squeezed hers gently.

  ‘You’re good to me so you are. Why are you so?’

  ‘Och, because I always wanted a laddie like you, and because that old bone-shrinker’s right – I enjoy nursin’. My poor old Murdy only has to sniff and he’s in bed cuddlin’ a hot bag . . . besides . . .’ She patted his hand. ‘I liked you, son. You have a troubled hert and though I might not mend it at least I can try and keep it cheery.’

  Murdoch Travers blustered in to see Fergus. He brought beer and a pack of cards and amiably helped Fergus to forget himself. He spoke about shinty and fishing, sunsets and boats, showing a breezy enthusiasm for everyday topics till even mundane things like having a bath sounded like a crazy adventure. Maisie Travers dimpled into the room with washing bowls and food trays. She was the Traverses’ only child and at the age of twenty-five giggled coyly like a schoolgirl and blushed prettily. She flirted with Fergus, bending low over his bed so that he got an unparalleled view of her smooth firm breasts.

  One day he ran his fingertips over the smooth skin of her face and the feel of it brought back memories of what it was like to love a woman.

  ‘You’re a nice girl, Maisie,’ he said softly. ‘Why have you never married?’

  ‘I’ve never met the right man,’ she answered. Her green eyes looking into his and her lips parted showing small white teeth. On an impulse he drew down her dark head and kissed her briefly on the mouth.

  ‘You will, Maisie,’ he said gently. ‘You’re a bonny lass.’

  He was well enough now to go into that world which had seemed so hostile to him. He stepped into a world of spring. Daffodils were bursting everywhere and the birds were singing. He looked around. This was Oban, Kirsteen’s home town, he had to know the places she had known. He walked to the school where she had been a teacher; like a small boy he peered through the railings and pictured her there, blowing her whistle, calling the children to order.

  He went to the hospital where she had given birth to his son and tortured himself with mental pictures of her writhing in pain, the way Helen had writhed giving birth to Shona. He trod again up the hill to the cottage with its gay blooming garden and its air of waiting for people of the past to step into the present to bring it back to life. A curtain fluttered at a window and he knew he was being observed. In a way he felt sorry for Mrs Fraser. She was like him, lonely and waiting and knowing it was hopeless.

  He was grey and tired when he got back to the hotel. Mrs Travers tutted disapprovingly and made him go back to bed.

  ‘First day out your sick bed and you tramp the streets for hours. Are you demented, laddie?’

  He pulled the sheets round him. ‘Aye, you could say that.’

  ‘I know fine. It’s a lass, isn’t it?’

  ‘You know too much!’ he said grimly.

  She folded her hands over her stomach in characteristic fashion. ‘No, laddie, not enough! You puzzle me, you puzzle us all.’

  ‘You’ve been talking! I should have guessed.’

  ‘Discussing more like. A fine young man like yourself shouldn’t be alone! You are alone, aren’t you? Why else would you be here breaking your hert?’

  He sighed and put his hand over his eyes. ‘I was married . . . a grand lass she was! We were happy, very happy, then came the bairn, my daughter Shona, and Helen died having her. I was a bitter man for a long time – dammit I even resented my own child! But the years healed and a time came when I met another lass, fine she was, too good for me but we were to be married, then . . .’ He indicated his empty sleeve. ‘This happened. I thought she wouldn’t want me and she knew it, she’d waited too long already! So she went away and it’s nigh on eight months since I last saw her.’

  She nodded. ‘So you came looking for her?’

  ‘Aye, I’d written but her mother kept back the letters, now Kirsteen’s gone and no one knows where, she never even told her mother. What chance have I of finding her . . . she could be anywhere in the world!’

  Mrs Travers sat down slowly on the edge of the bed. ‘Kirsteen . . . you wouldn’t be talking of Kirsteen Fraser, would you?’

  He looked at her wildly. ‘You know her? You know Kirsteen?’

  ‘Of course I do,’ she said softly. ‘Oban’s quite a big place but we all know the other and Kirsteen being a schoolteacher was well known – aye, and well loved too. Poor child, her mother wanted her to be a saint and her father just fell in with everything Maudie Fraser wanted. He was a kindly wee man but henpecked if you know what I mean. He loved his daughter and was proud of her – they both were – maybe too proud. When she came home from that island where she went to teach she came home with child and they nearly died of the shame! Oh . . .’

  She stared at him and he nodded. ‘Aye, Mrs Travers, my son – and I swear I knew nothing about him till that first night I set foot in Oban. Mrs Fraser would barely let me over the door but she told me enough to make me wish I’d never been born.’

  ‘Your son, Mr McKenzie?’ She studied him. ‘Aye, right enough, that dark hair, and the dimple, just plunk in the middle o’ his wee chin. A bonny wee mite he was. Kirsteen brought him round here often before she went.’

  ‘Kirsteen’s been here?’

  ‘Aye, she was never a stranger in this abode. Near demented she was with her mother accusin’ her o’ bein’ a hussy and a shame to the family. Blamed she was for her father dyin’ and he with a weak heart for years. The lass was so good to her parents too, she kept them in bread and butter ever since she grad
uated. Her father wasn’t strong enough to work, you see, and it was Mrs Fraser going out on wee jobs that saw her girl through college. But Kirsteen paid them back in full . . . oh aye, she did! She even sent money from Rhanna. Mrs Fraser was always going on about her good lassie.’ She nodded sadly. ‘That was why she took it so bad – the bairn, I mean. She gave the girl no peace. Oh, she offered to give them a home but can you picture it? The accusations and the tears? She could turn them on like a tap could Maudie Fraser. Yes, Kirsteen came round here often, Mr McKenzie, I saw her getting near to breaking, then I heard she couldn’t take any more and she just went away one day and never came back.’

  He grabbed her arm eagerly. ‘Do you know where, Mrs Travers? Oh please God that you do!’

  ‘Ach laddie, I wish I did but somehow I’m thinkin’ we’ll not be seein’ Kirsteen again.’

  He lay back on the pillows and her kind heart turned over when she saw the long dark lashes glistening with tears. ‘There, laddie,’ she said huskily. ‘I know fine you love that lass and she will be loving you too. Ach, it’s a funny old world so it is, but God will let you meet again.’

  He opened his eyes and looked at her pleadingly. ‘If you hear anything . . . any little thing that will help me find Kirsteen . . . will you let me know?’

  She pulled a hanky from her apron and blew her nose loudly. ‘You can count on me, son. I’d like nothing better than to bring the pair o’ you together again.’

  He looked at her seriously. ‘I’m glad I met you, Mrs Travers, I don’t take to a lot of folk and they don’t take kindly to my dour tongue. Last year I lost two of the finest friends I had in the world and I’ve felt a gap at their going. You’re a nice body and Murdy’s a fine man, I’d like fine if you’d befriend a man like myself – maybe come to Rhanna for a holiday now and then. Laigmhor’s a big place and there’s only myself and Shona.’

  Her face beamed with pleasure. ‘Och, I’d like nothing better. We’re quiet here out of season. I’ve never been to the Hebrides and Rhanna sounds a lovely island.’

  Fergus looked out of the window at the grey clouds scudding across the sky. It was a windy, salt fresh day, the kind of day Shona loved. All at once he felt homesick.

  ‘Rhanna is lovely,’ he said quietly.

  ‘And Maisie too?’ Mrs Travers was saying.

  He came back from his thoughts and smiled.

  ‘Yes, Maisie too, though Rhanna might be a bit quiet for such a spirited lass.’

  ‘Och, Mr McKenzie, Maisie’s a shy girl, she’s country bred . . . and she’s very fond of yourself too and I’m sure would love to stay at that bonny farm you talk about.’

  But he wasn’t listening, his mind was wandering over the sea to Rhanna, and he knew he was ready to go back. There was nothing now to keep him in Oban.

  PART SIX

  SUMMER 1939

  TWELVE

  Shona raced to the top of the hillock behind Laigmhor and shaded her eyes to look towards Portcull. She had heard the ferry tooting its funny little horn while it was still in the Sound of Rhanna.

  It was a morning of pearly mist and though it was nearly the end of June the dew lay heavy in the fields. There was the promise of another long hot day and she was breathless when she reached the top of the rise. Her breasts rose and fell quickly and when she saw the ferry tying up in the harbour she fell to her knees on the wet grass and a soft little chuckle of pleasure escaped her slightly parted lips.

  ‘Niall.’

  She spoke the name gently, savouring the sound of it. The smell of peat smoke drifted lazily from Portcull and she breathed in the scent of it ecstatically. Everything was going to be wonderful that day. Niall was home. They had the long summer days ahead. He could forget about his studies at the veterinary college in Glasgow. Together they would roam Rhanna and while away the lazy hours of all the lovely lazy days. They always had so much to talk about yet just being quietly together was a queer intimate kind of happiness.

  Tot came labouring up the hill. She was eleven now, rheumaticky and slow, but still willing to leave her basket to follow her mistress.

  Shona swept her up and kissed her silky ears. ‘You’re a lazy Cailleach,’ she said lovingly, ‘and I’m going to carry you the way I did when you were a silly wee pup. It seems a long time ago, I was just five and Hamish gave you to me for a birthday present.’

  She stood with the old dog clasped to her and that day of her fifth birthday came back with blinding clarity. She remembered all the moments she thought were forgotten. Her father giving her the purse she still treasured; Mirabelle and the patiently knitted black stockings she had hated; Hamish with the wriggling bundle inside his coat. That had been the day she’d fought with Niall in the post office and Mirabelle had smacked her for her rudeness. She remembered it all as if it had only just happened but Mirabelle and Hamish were dead, her father was still as lonely as he had been on her fifth birthday, Tot was old and no longer romped.

  Shona felt a little catch of sadness in her throat. For a long moment she stood, a slender graceful figure silhouetted against the sky, then her deep blue eyes looked again to the harbour and bubbling joy took the place of poignant memories.

  She hoisted Tot against her shoulder and ran over the field path, taking the short cut to Portcull.

  She saw him first and for a second she said nothing but stood among the trees watching. Every few months away from Rhanna brought changes in him. She had noted each different aspect of his growing years with surprise but with an acceptance that it must be so. Yet, though there were the inevitable changes, he had still remained boyishly handsome, his voice was gruff and a fine fair stubble grew on his tanned face if he forgot to shave, but the boy had been more predominant than the man.

  Now she gave a little gasp of surprise at sight of him. She hadn’t seen him since Christmas because he hadn’t managed home at Easter. He had broadened and his chest was deep, his bare arms muscular and strong, and he was even taller than her father. But more than anything she noticed the fair little moustache. It changed his whole appearance and made the boy a man.

  She shrank back among the trees, afraid that because he looked so different his whole character and personality would be different also. Then she heard the gay jaunty whistle and saw the corn curls bobbing in time to the tune.

  A leaf tickled her nose and she sneezed. He looked up and she went flying out to him, a jumble of petticoats, sun-burnished hair, and breathless giggles. He threw out his arms and she ran into them and he hugged her so tightly Tot wheezed in protest.

  ‘Shona,’ he breathed against her warm silken hair. He tore her away from him. ‘Let me look at you – you skinny wee thing.’

  ‘Och, Niall I’m not.’ She laughed protestingly, wishing he hadn’t pushed her out of his arms so quickly.

  He saw the beauty of her slender, sixteen-year-old figure, and his heart beat swiftly. She was wearing a flimsy white dress and he could see the top of her breasts, the skin there was white and looked like satin and her neck was long and graceful. His eyes travelled to her face and he could see the tiny fair hairs on her smooth, peach-bloom cheeks. She was standing against the breaking sun and gossamer strands of hair gleamed like copper.

  ‘You . . . look nice,’ he said casually. ‘You’ve filled out a wee bit since Christmas.’

  ‘Is that all you can say?’ she cried angrily. ‘I don’t like that silly wee bit hair on your face! You don’t look like you at all!’

  He threw back his head and roared with laughter. ‘Well, you haven’t changed! Still a damt wee spitfire! Caillich Ruadh!’

  ‘I hate you, Niall McLachlan! Gordon McNab from Port-voynachan thinks I’m beautiful!’

  Niall glowered at her. ‘And who’s he then?’

  ‘Just – a man! I’ve Ceilidhed with him and I danced with him at Neil Munro’s wedding. Four nights it went on – it was grand. I was drinking port and got quite merry and he kissed me twice.’

  Niall grabbed her arm. ‘You’ve neve
r mentioned him before! Did he only kiss you?’

  ‘I’m not telling! Anyway, it’s none of your business. You never kiss me – well only like a brother – not that I’d be wanting it any other way,’ she added hastily.

  ‘I’m not letting you go till you tell me about Gordon McNab!’

  His fingers were digging into her bare arm and she winced but he wouldn’t give in.

  ‘What about all the girls at the college?’ she countered. ‘Don’t tell me you haven’t kissed some of them!’

  ‘And what if I have?’

  Her nostrils flared. ‘Oh, so you have a fine carry on in Glasgow have you?’

  ‘That I have, and a girl called Isabel is my special favourite. She lets me cuddle her a lot . . . nice wee arse she has too.’

  Her cheeks were scarlet and tears of rage danced in her eyes. ‘Och, you’re a dirty bugger, Niall McLachlan – always did swear like a heathen!’

  ‘You’re swearing!’

  ‘Who’s Isabel?’

  ‘Who’s Gordon McNab?’

  She looked at him and a twinkle shone through the tears. ‘A lonely old man of sixty who’s just come to Rhanna and does odd jobs at the farms.’

  ‘And Isabel is the college cat who sleeps on my bed and has kittens twice a year.’

  They burst out laughing and he threw his arm round her and hugged her close.

  ‘Silly wee thing,’ he said affectionately.

  Dodie came loping behind them. ‘He breeah!’ he greeted mournfully. ‘I have just come from Shelagh’s house! She is asking for the doctor.’

  ‘I’ll tell him, Dodie,’ said Niall.

  Dodie paused to study Niall. ‘My, but it’s growing you are just. I thought you might have failed a bit in Glasgow. I hear tell it’s a dirty smelly place with thon motor cars killing people all the time.’

  Niall laughed. ‘It’s not like that really, Dodie. It is noisy and a bit smelly but it’s interesting and I appreciate Rhanna all the more for being away.’