Rhanna
Page 38
But stout ropes and many hands loaded it safely on to a strong cart and two wheezing Clydesdales trundled the burden away on the steep twisting road to Burnbreddie.
Few on the island owned wireless sets but those who did took their accumulators to the laird who proved most obliging and didn’t charge a penny for the use of the ever-running generator.
‘Noisy damty thing!’ spat Todd, his self-esteem much lowered in his own eyes.
News of the war wasn’t good but to most of the island it didn’t mean much. There was the excitement of watching extra vessels sailing up the Sound and British reconnaissance planes roaring overhead but, other than that, the threat of war didn’t touch the peace of Rhanna.
But Shona hung on every report that crackled from the wireless in the parlour. Niall had been very hopeful of a leave that would give him enough time to come home but not now, not when the Germans had invaded Holland, Belgium and France and were pushing the British Army on to the beaches at Dunkirk. The sombre voices of the newscaster intoned the bloody massacre the Germans were leaving on their trail and Shona shuddered and wondered about her dear Niall. He had only hinted at the horrors of war and it was difficult for her to think of him in any setting other than that of the island.
She forced her mind away from her imaginings of what the war must be like and looked towards the green fields where she had so often walked with him. Her memories carried her back to the times she had run nimbly over the fields and into the trees to await him coming off the boat. She sat by the open window, her face cupped in her hands, and dreamed of the past, till the familiar strong movements in her belly brought her to reality and she sighed with the knowledge that she could barely walk let alone run.
Her fears of becoming like Tina had been allayed. Her breasts were still firm and high and her loose garments gave no sign of the round little dome beneath.
‘Are you sure there’s a bairn in there?’ laughed Lachlan, but his careless merriment was only for the benefit of her spirits. He was keeping a sharp eye on the small child-like form who carried his grandchild. He had examined her and found her perfectly healthy; nonetheless he was watchful and Phebie was aware and tense, spending more time at Laigmhor than before.
Fergus was snappy and irritable. Lachlan and Phebie knew that it was because his daughter’s time was drawing near and he was recalling, with a painful reawakening of buried memories, that other time when the birth of a child had brought tragedy. Then he had lost a wife who meant his world, he had gained a baby whose tiny helpless life had meant nothing but which was now everything he couldn’t bear to lose.
Shona sensed the mounting tension building round her. Coupled with her inner anxiety about Niall, she became withdrawn and no more did the rooms of Laigmhor echo with her singing and laughter. The one thing she feared no more was the actual birth of her child. During the earlier months she had come out in sweats of terror remembering Tina and the awful pain of her labour. Now she was strangely peaceful and thought no more of the pain her baby would bring in its struggle into the world. Instead she tried to imagine what it would be like and formed the picture of a tiny boy with Niall’s corn curls and deep brown eyes. She knitted tiny garments and cleared a drawer to keep them in, hardly able to believe they were for a real baby and not one of Mirabelle’s dolls that still smiled at her from the shelves in her room.
One hot night she undressed and stood naked before the wardrobe mirror. She was a small girl with tumbling copper hair and eyes big and tired in a pale face. Looking at her head and shoulders she still looked like the restless tomboy that Mirabelle had scolded to be still while a ribbon was tied to keep her shining mop of hair in order. But her eyes travelled her rounded breasts and the swelling that began just beneath them. Briefly she touched her breasts then her belly for a long breathless moment. She tried to remember what it was like to be flat but couldn’t. The hard tight little mountain seemed to have been part of her for a long time now; she couldn’t visualize herself without it yet how she longed to be rid of it.
A picture of Mirabelle smiled at her from the dresser. ‘Oh Mirabelle,’ she whispered and the tears spilled over. ‘I wish you were here just for a wee whiley. I miss you, so I do. You would have grat at me in the beginning but then you’d have mothered and loved me and I could have talked to you. Father’s worried in case I’ll die like my mother, I can feel it. Lachlan and Phebie know about that time too and they think they’re being kind not mentioning it at all. Niall’s away so I’ve no one – not a soul to talk to – not really talk.’
She hugged the photo to her breast and fell on the bed to weep sadly but silently so that her father wouldn’t hear.
He lay in the darkness of his room and tried to still the restless agonies of his mind. He was afraid for his daughter but, by very reason of his manhood, felt inadequate. He wanted to comfort and reassure her and tried his best to do so, knowing all the time it was the understanding of a woman she needed. He was grateful to Phebie but she couldn’t spend all her time with his daughter and in the still emptiness of his room he listened to his own heart beating and wished that Kirsteen could fill his arms and his life once more.
June grew hotter and the island merged with the sea in a haze of heat. Shona sought the coolness beneath the spreading boughs of the gnarled apple tree but mostly she liked to sit in the cool parlour by the window.
One morning she stared towards the hazy blue sea and imagined Niall was coming home over the water from France. She watched the mail boat gliding through the smoky horizon towards the harbour and wasn’t aware that her nails were digging into her face till she took her hands away and saw blood on her fingers. Fear and hope knotted tightly together in her belly. She had felt sick with fear since the sombre tones of the newscaster had intoned that the British army had withdrawn to the beaches at Dunkirk. It was a hellish nightmare of retreat against a spitting wall of enemy fire and the soldiers were being taken off the bloody beaches in an armada of pleasure craft.
At sight of the mail boat her heart beat swiftly. There might be a letter from Niall, a wonderful letter to tell her he was safe and coming home in time for the birth of their child. Men were arriving home, straight from the terror and stench of the trenches, still caked with the mud and blood of the lost battle. Niall might be one of them, he had to be.
She got up and was aware that her legs were trembling but she went into the kitchen and began to set the table for lunch. Her father wouldn’t be home for another hour yet but she needed something to do to fill her time. She cut cold ham and thick slices of bread. The door was open, with Tot drowsing in the cool draught and the chickens clucking past her, cocking beady eyes to look for crumbs. Shona hadn’t the will to chase them so they picked crumbs from the floor and squabbled with each other. A fly buzzed, caught in the muslin curtains, and a spider hung on the sash, busily wrapping a neat parcel of midgies in its web.
It was very peaceful but Shona felt tense and nervous. When Fergus came in she fidgeted and toyed with her food and his stomach tightened with worry which made him irritable.
‘Eat your meat, lass! There’s no room for waste in this house.’
But she wasn’t listening. Erchy was coming up the road faster than was usual for him. He was mopping his brow, his usual jaunty whistle absent as he approached their gate.
Shona held her breath and Fergus too found himself waiting, the very action of chewing a mouthful of food stilled for a moment. But Erchy went on, past their gate and into the Glen. Shona let go her breath and lifted her cup to her lips with trembling hands. She felt the tears brimming in her eyes and desperately tried to stop them spilling over but Fergus saw the swelling gleam drowning the gentian blue eyes and he said quietly, ‘No news is good news, mo ghaoil, remember that.’ He stood up. ‘I must be off! Old Thyme is calving up on the hill. It’s a bad one. Bob and Mathew are with her now but,’ he smiled ruefully, ‘all hands are needed. It’s a breach and I think we’ll have to use ropes on the poor beast.’
‘Mither said can you come?’ she imparted quickly, looking past Shona to the swing that hung on a stout branch of the tree. ‘She wants to tell you somefing. I think she was greetin’, and Elspeth too, the auld Cailleach. She’s always that crabbit with me when she’s out of temper. I hope St Michael sends her a plook on her bum so’s she can’t sit down for a week!’
Shona giggled despite herself. She loved Niall’s little imp of a sister with her quick smile and roguish tongue.
The child hesitated. ‘Can I have a swing? I’m going up to play with wee Donald and I hear tell Eve is crawling now and goes into the hooses with the hens. I like it fine up there but I’d like a swing before I go.’
‘Don’t go too high,’ Shona warned and went down the track and through the gate with Tot at her heels. Shona was feeling heavy after her nap and Fiona’s message hadn’t rung any warning bells in her mind. The little girl was inclined to exaggerate and was always wishing some mishap on the unlovable Elspeth.
Slochmhor looked very serene against the green pines and Elspeth, sitting in a chair in the sunshine busily crocheting, completed the picture, though, on closer inspection, the old woman’s sharp discontented features detracted somewhat from the illusion.
‘He breeah!’ cried Shona pleasantly.
Elspeth looked up and there was an odd look in her red-rimmed eyes. ‘What’s good about it, lassie?’ she said huskily. ‘Away you go in. Mistress McLachlan’s away to meet the doctor. She asked Erchy to send him down from Croynachan. Is your father to hand or is he busy as usual?’
‘He’s up on the hill with a cow in calf,’ said Shona with a puzzled frown.
‘Aye weel, he’ll need to leave it to the others. He’ll be needed down here for a whiley. I’m gey auld to be climbin’ up hills though and you’re no’ much good in your condition. We’d best leave it till the rest get back. Do you think that would be best? Aye, it is, right enough.’
Shona felt a mounting impatience. Elspeth, with all her veiled hints and self-answered questions, could be very exasperating. ‘Leave what, Elspeth? Why must my father be here?’
Elspeth gazed into the distance. ‘There’s that young upstart Angus McKinnon. I’ll go and get him to fetch your father. Whereabouts on the hill is he?’
‘Just up by Brodie’s burn, near the Seanachaidh’s Stone. But he’s busy, Elspeth, and I wish you’d tell me what you want him for. Has somebody got a sick beast? Is that why you want my father and the doctor?’
There was no vet on Rhanna and Fergus, with his knowledge of the ails of farmyard beasts, was often called upon for his services. If the case was very bad Lachlan’s advice was also sought and at the moment no other reason for them both being called upon entered Shona’s mind.
‘Mercy on us,’ was Elspeth’s reply, ‘is that young Angus comin’ or goin’? I canny see in this haze! There’s a pot o’ tea on the stove. You’d better have a cup for you’ll need it.’ She shook her wispy head and pursed her lips. ‘The Lord has a way wi’ Him. I’m no’ one to judge but you’ve made your own bed and it’s punished we all are so it is!’
She scurried away, her spindly legs carrying her with surprising rapidity.
Shona wandered into the kitchen but it was warm there and she didn’t feel like tea so she drifted into the parlour which was in the shadow of the hill and cool in the late afternoon.
It was a pleasant room, chintzy and homely with pictures of Niall and Fiona smiling from the dresser. She went to gaze at the boyish features of Niall at fourteen and her hand knocked some letters to the floor. With difficulty she stooped to retrieve them and froze suddenly. One of the envelopes was buff-coloured and would have escaped her attention but the letter inside had partly fallen out and words leapt at her like living things. It was a War Office communication and she snatched it from the floor to read it, her whole body trembling while her eyes devoured the terrible message.
She whispered aloud, ‘It is my painful duty to inform you that a report has this day been received from the War Office that Number 206 Private Niall Iain McLachlan has been reported missing, believed to be dead . . .’
She could read no further. The letter fluttered back to the floor and she put her hands to her head, shaking it and groaning over and over, ‘No, it’s not true! Not Niall! Not Niall!’
She backed away from the piece of paper and knocked over a small table. Unheeding she tottered backwards to stand for a moment against the wall, staring with huge unbelieving eyes at the white scrap of paper on the floor. Then, with a sob, she turned and ran from the house and into the hot sunshine.
She looked round desperately but the only sign of life was Elspeth, a small speck in the distance. A great welling terror rose in her throat and she began to run, as if by the very act of flight she could leave behind the knowledge contained in the letter. The moor shimmered and danced in the haze of heat and it was to its lonely wild stretches her legs took her. Tot, lying in the shade of the porch, whimpered and sat up, looking intently at her mistress’s fleeing figure. She got up and walked a few paces but thought better of it and flopped down again, her head in her paws, her brown eyes looking towards the moor.
Shona ran through heather and gorse. Brambles snatched at her, tearing her bare legs but she was unaware of physical pain. Mentally she was in agony and her pumping adrenalin would not let her stop in her flight. Her heart pounded and there was a sharp pain in her side but she went on till she tripped and fell, her face scratched and bleeding by the shaggy moorland heather. She was sobbing, harsh dry sobs, but her eyes were dry.
Sheep, grazing nearby, looked up momentarily at her intrusion into the hush of the day, but she was of no moment to them and they went back to cropping the sparse grass among the bracken.
She lay where she was, stunned by her fall, uncaring that her face rested on sheep’s droppings and that her hair and clothes were matted and torn. The only sounds on the unending stretch of moor were her own harsh breathing, the biting of the nearby sheep and a greenshank, startled from its nest in the peat to utter its alarm of ‘krji, krji’.
After a time she raised herself on an elbow and saw nestling in the distance the rotting crumbling stones of the old Abbey. She knew now where she was going, the only place in the world it seemed to her, in her numb deep sadness, where she could ever find any peace. Her aching stumbling limbs carried her on to her destination. Was it really possible that less than a year ago she had flown with Niall, on the swift, tireless limbs of youth, to the place where they had woven their child’s fantasies; dreamed of magical impossible dreams of their young adulthood and finally, loved with the tender over-riding passion of a love that could never die because it was still at the stage of spring, yet to blossom forth into a summer never yet surpassed.
‘He’s not dead,’ she whispered, stopping to lean against a slender rowan. ‘HE’S NOT DEAD!’ she shouted in a defiance of her mental torture but the words died quickly away and only the soft sigh of empty spaces answered her. Her ebbing strength forced her to rest again at the walls of the old chapel. Her eyes swept over the gorse-covered hillock where her final footsteps must take her but for a moment she could see no familiar sign to tell her where the cave was. It was so long since she had last been to the lonely windswept spot where it seemed the thin voices of spirits of the past were borne on the breezes of moor and sea. It was a wild forgotten place, inhabited only by sheep and wanderlust cows, but with Niall it had been a happy place and their voices had echoed in the Abbey ruins and their laughter rang in the ancient cloisters of the chapel.
But she wasn’t afraid of lonely places, they had always been a balm to her spirits, yet panic now seized her because her wildly searching eyes couldn’t find the little birch tree that marked the cave
’s entrance. Niall had planted the tree and it had grown into a sturdy sapling, twisted by the wild storms of winter, but flourishing despite the moods of the weather.
Then she saw it, almost hidden by the prickly gorse that abounded in the hollow. She walked unsteadily towards her goal till she stumbled through clumps of bracken and heather into the cave. It was cool and dark after the glare of the late afternoon sun. For a moment she could see nothing but blackness but gradually everything that was familiar came into focus. The shelves with Mirabelle’s dolls, the kitchen utensils, the little spirit stove, all covered in cobwebs but there just the same, their lovingly gathered possessions.
She dragged herself on to one of the dusty wicker chairs and it was while she struggled to regain her breath that the first pain seized her, like a gripping vice in her belly. She gasped and held on to the arm of the chair and in a few moments the contraction subsided. She lay back, closing her eyes, so exhausted that she fell into a half sleep. But there was to be no rest for her. The second pain was longer and more intense, like something inside tearing her apart. She put her fist to her mouth and even as she endured the pain she knew she was going into the first stages of labour. Sweat broke on her brow, she felt sick with fear and her hands grew clammily cold. She fingered the locket at her neck and fumbled to take it off so that she could gaze at Niall’s smiling face, to see the dark honest eyes she loved looking back at her.
‘Oh Niall, Niall,’ she murmured brokenly, ‘if only you were here. Our child’s going to be born soon and I need you so.’
She clutched the locket and looked slowly round the cave and all the memories it contained came crowding into her mind. More pains came and in between each one she remembered some incident in time she had shared with Niall. It was their place of dreams and of a love that had conceived the child she was going to have. Slowly, fear was replaced by a new feeling, one of confidence in herself. She knew how to deliver a child, she had all but delivered Tina’s daughter, and it hadn’t been so difficult. She knew what to do with the birth cord too, she had watched Biddy doing it. A smile slowly lit her small tired face. What more fitting than that her baby should be born in the small haven where it had been conceived?