Song of Rhanna (The Rhanna series)

by Christine Marion Fraser

  He went on his way on a somewhat breathless but tuneful whistle leaving Ruth to wander back into the kitchen clutching her mail. Propping Lorn’s on the mantelpiece, she turned her attention to her own, savouring all that was on the envelope, the postmark, the date of posting, the tiny R which Rachel used to personalize mail to her and which had always eluded even Erchy’s eagle eyes. She wondered if she would have time to read it and really savour the contents before Lorn arrived home, then with an unusually impatient gesture she slit the envelope and sank down on a chair by the fire. Rachel’s name as a solo violinist was becoming widely known, though the very island from which she had sprung was the last place to hear much about her successes with everyone tending to rely on what was passed by word of mouth.

  Through regular correspondence Ruth had followed her friend’s career, a pride glowing in her as she read accounts of concerts all over Britain and Europe, a wonder in her when Rachel had written to tell her that she had signed contracts with recording companies, the resulting records selling worldwide. She had made recordings with the London Symphony Orchestra, played the Beethoven Violin Concerto with the Radio Frankfurt Symphony Orchestra, recorded with the Orchestre National in Paris, and had also done concerts with them. Her husband, Jon, had given up his musical teaching to be her manager, travelling everywhere with his young wife. To Ruth it was like a fairy tale and she never tired of hearing about her friend’s exciting life. Yet, though Jon and Rachel had a fine house in Salzburg in Austria, Ruth could always detect a hint of homesickness in almost every letter Rachel wrote. At the moment she was in Glasgow recording a concert for the BBC. Her name had recently been in all the papers, hailing her as a young Scottish virtuoso. Yet her letter gave hardly a mention of these latest happenings. It lacked sparkle. The big, sprawling, untidy writing filled the pages, yet said little of importance. Towards the end Rachel mentioned how exhausted she was. Jon had flown home to Germany to be with his aged and ailing mother.

  ‘I have almost finished my commitments here,’ Rachel wrote. ‘Before Jon left he urged me to go home to Rhanna for a long holiday. You’ve no idea how I long to get home, Ruth, so I am taking Jon’s advice. He will join me as soon as his mother is able to be left. I will be arriving about Easter and wondered if you could book me in at the hotel. I know there isn’t enough room to swing a cat but I will put up with anything so long as I am home. It’s a quiet enough place – except when the bar opens and my Grandpa Tam and his cronies come in to prop it up. Kate, my gran, would let me stay with her, I know; but now that she has old Joe to look after she has enough to contend with. Forbye that, she never stops talking and I think I would end up deaf as well as dumb! I want to be really quiet for a while with only the sound of the sea in my lugs so the hotel it is. When Jon comes we’ll go and stay with Babbie and Anton for a while. I don’t want to go there on my own because they are both out all day and, while I want to be quiet I don’t want to be exactly buried. I’ll have to be here for a week or two yet and then I’m free! Free! Free! I’ll drop you a note nearer the time to let you know the time of my boat. It’s funny, but I don’t think I would feel right coming back to Rhanna and your bonny face not at the harbour to greet me. My love to Lorna and Douglas and my regards to Lorn.

  Yours as ever, Rachel.’

  Ruth folded the letter and put it into her apron pocket, a frown creasing her smooth brow. It seemed wrong somehow for Rachel to be staying in the Portcull Hotel when she had her mother’s house to go to. Yet Ruth knew only too well that Rachel’s mother had never gone out of her way to make her daughter feel welcome at home. Oh, she was proud enough of her talented eldest child, but she had never understood her or gone out of her way to even try, and things hadn’t been made easier since her marriage to big, strapping Torquill Andrew. Rachel had made it quite plain that he would never take her adored father’s place. Both Annie and Torquill were well aware of the fact with the result that relations between the three were always somewhat strained.

  Ruth gazed thoughtfully into the fire, her curtain of fine flaxen hair falling over her face. A surge of excitement grew inside her. Supposing – supposing she were to ask Rachel to stay with her? It would be lovely to have someone her own age about the place and there was a spare room at Fàilte, a tiny room to be sure, situated off the parlour to the front of the house, but Rachel would have plenty of privacy there and all the peace and quiet she could ever want.

  The idea grew in her, making her heart beat a little faster as her mind went racing ahead, forming joyous plans. She saw herself, walking with Rachel over the moors or down by the sea, talking in that uninhibited way she had always talked with Rachel, confiding in her as she had confided in no other, with the exception of Lorn and her father. In her mind she became a child again, the years rolled away and she saw herself with her friend, her fair head against the other’s raven curls, whispering, laughing, the wind tossing their cheeks to roses, wrapping their skirts about their legs. In her mind picture she wasn’t wearing a caliper because somehow the exhilaration of Rachel’s company had always made her forget the ugly leg brace she’d had to wear from infancy, made her forget too that her friend couldn’t communicate with words.

  With her there was freedom too, the kind of wild, glorious abandoned freedom that went hand in hand with a girl who looked like an untamed gypsy, whose long brown, graceful limbs had never been fettered by stockings or shoes when she was a child. Always, whenever Ruth thought of her, she saw her as she had been, running barefoot over the moors, splashing in the warm, sunlit summer seas . . .

  ‘Favver!’

  Lorna’s joyful cry broke rudely into her thoughts. With a start she came back to reality to hear the harsh puttering of the tractor as it trundled up the track.

  ‘The tatties!’ She jumped up to remove the heavy pan from the fire, scalding her fingers on the lid which slipped from her grasp to clatter on to the hearth. ‘Oh – bugger it!’ she muttered under her breath but was relieved to find that she had rescued the potatoes before the water boiled away.

  ‘Swearing in front o’ the bairns.’ Lorn came in, striding over to kiss her hot cheek and squeeze her round the waist.

  ‘Lorn, be careful,’ she protested. ‘This pan is heavy and if you go on like that I’ll drop it on your toes.’

  He took the pan from her and set it firmly on the range. ‘Is that any way to greet a hard-working husband? All morning I’ve been looking forward to coming home to my bonny sweet-tempered wife and my angelic bairns – and what do I find? A wife with a de’il in her eye and a son who’s filled his breeks from the look of the bulge at his backside – even poor old Ben canny make up his mind whether to come and welcome me or stay where he is for fear of being molested again.’ He bent to pick up Lorna and swing her high in the air. ‘This is the only decent human being in sight – aren’t you, my bonny wee lamb? Have you got a kiss for your tired and hungry daddy?’

  Ruth pushed back her hair and looked at him silhouetted against the window, Lorna’s rosy delighted face just inches from his. His powerful body seemed to fill the kitchen; the masculine aura of him filled her senses. Sometimes she couldn’t believe that Lorn McKenzie was hers: strong, silent Lorn who had filled her life with love and happiness for four years now. He had matured a lot since those early days as her husband, yet at heart he was still the boy who had almost drowned in his own shyness the night he took her to her first dance at Burnbreddie House. Nowadays though, he was more able to hide his feelings, so that very often she didn’t know what was going on behind those deep dark eyes of his. His head was thrown back, the light caught the auburn glints in his hair, played on the boyish planes of his deeply tanned face, lingered tantalizingly on the wide, sensual contours of his mouth.

  Douglas bounced on chubby legs and gnawed the rail of his playpen; Ben peeped out from under the couch, the frilly bonnet tilted rakishly over one eye; Bramble, a big black and white tom, sat on one of the chairs at the table, his huge green orbs gently panning over the
jug of milk set temptingly close to his whiskers.

  Ruth gave a peal of delighted laughter. Oh, it was good, so very good to be Mrs Lorn McKenzie, to have children that drove her to distraction one minute and to pinnacles of joy the next; to live in this cosy homely cottage with a man who often infuriated her, but more often delighted her.

  He threw her a responsive grin and went to the sink to wash, Lorna dancing attendance at his side, passing him the soap, toddling to fetch a dry towel.

  A few minutes later Douglas was changed and sitting in the little baby chair his father had first made for Lorna. The seat was closed in on all sides with a fitted tray at the front and castors screwed at the bottom so that it could be pushed where it would. The little boy banged his spoon on the tray and Lorn ruffled his hair, so fair it was almost white. Lorn leaned his elbows on the table and looked at his wife. ‘Nice family we have here, Mrs McKenzie.’

  ‘Ay,’ she agreed softly, ‘very nice, Mr McKenzie.’ She fingered the letter in her pocket. Lorn would never agree to have Rachel stay with them. He had resented her since her rejection of Lewis, the twin brother who had meant the world to him and who had died tragically when he was just eighteen. Lorna was Lewis’ daughter, conceived in those troubled days when he hadn’t had long to live and had turned to Ruth for comfort. In the beginning he had loved Rachel, but she had had her career to think about and had gone away from the island, not knowing how desperately ill Lewis was. Ruth had been there when he had needed love so badly and little Lorna had been the result of that strange, unreal, tempestuous affair. Lorn had married Ruth, had given his brother’s child a name and a secure start in life – yet Ruth knew that he blamed Rachel for all that had happened. Ruth sighed softly to herself. She realized that he had good reason to feel as he did – yet – it was all in the past now – it was time to forgive and forget, life was too short, too sweet for such bitterness.

  ‘I got a letter from Rachel this morning,’ she hazarded somewhat defensively.

  He looked up, his blue eyes smouldering with a strange resentment as he said heavily, ‘She never lets go, does she? Yet she was quick enough to ditch Lewis when it suited her. And how is our brilliant prodigy? Still hopping around Europe with poor old Jon tagging at her heels?’

  ‘No, she’s in Glasgow,’ Ruth answered quietly. ‘She wants to come home to Rhanna for a rest.’

  He lowered his head and went on eating. ‘The wanderer returns, eh?’ His lilting voice was heavy with sarcasm. ‘Well, I’m sure Annie and Torquill will put out the flags – after all it must be – how many years since her last visit?’

  Ruth kept her voice level. ‘The year Mam died and Shona lost wee Ellie.’

  ‘Oh well, easy come, easy go.’ His tones were flippant. ‘I canny understand why she bothers to come back at all. After all, she has the world at her feet: why make the effort to come back here when she has made her life elsewhere?’

  ‘Because she was born here, that’s why,’ Ruth couldn’t keep a note of anger out of her voice. ‘Rhanna is in her blood and no doubt it will be till the day she dies.’

  He glanced up and she saw that he was smiling. ‘Ay, of course it is,’ he said quietly. ‘I was only teasing you: you never could stand me saying a word against Rachel, could you? For your sake I’m pleased she’s coming back. There was always something between you and her that was good and strong. You were always able to see the best in her and always quick to forgive her for anything she did – even though you knew that her ambitions took first place to everything – even people. She has a hard streak in her, Rachel, while you’re as soft as butter. Maybe it’s a good mixture, it saw the pair o’ you over a few hurdles. I hope it will always be like that.’

  ‘Oh, it will,’ she said with assurance. ‘And Rachel isn’t hard, not in the way you think, she cares about things far more than you’ll ever know. Mostly folks only see what they call her hard side, but I’ve seen the other and it’s truly good and beautiful.’ She subsided, content enough for the moment to know that she had broken the ice and had got him talking about Rachel. Her eye alighted on the letter propped on the mantelpiece. ‘Oh, I nearly forgot, Erchy brought you a letter as well. It’s from Grant and I know what’s in it, but will let you read the news for yourself.’

  Lorn took the proffered envelope and tore it open eagerly, his face lighting as he devoured the hastily written scrawl. ‘Bugger me! He’s done it at last – and Fiona vowed she would never have bairnies. Well, they’ll have to settle on dry land now. Much as Grant would like it they won’t be able to bring up a family on the high seas.’

  ‘Shona got a letter too – no doubt so did your father and Lachlan and Phebie.’

  Lorn put the letter on the table and sat back. ‘Father was going over to Shona’s at dinner time so he’ll know he’s to be a grandfather again. Wait till I see Mother, she’ll be over the moon, I know fine she’s hankered for years to have her eldest son about her skirts. If they decide to come back here to settle she’ll go daft with happiness.’

  In the excitement over family discussions Rachel was forgotten, but after Lorn had driven away in the tractor Ruth read her letter again and when she had cleared the table and washed the dishes, she bundled the children into outdoor clothes and walked with them over the shorn winter fields to Mo Dhachaidh, Rachel’s letter tucked into the pocket of her coat.

  Chapter Two

  A blue banner of smoke was pouring from the chimney of the sturdy stone house in Glen Fallan, tossing hither and thither in the wind sweeping down through the narrow funnel of Downie’s Pass. In the neat garden a few early daffodils were swaying, their yellow trumpets rising above clumps of snowdrops and crocus; in a walled-off enclosure at the side of the house a tiny girl with fluffy fair hair was playing with a spaniel puppy, her shrieks of laughter ringing merrily in the air. She was Ellie Dawn McLachlan, all of nineteen months old, small, neat, her rosy face aglow with health and happiness.

  Ruth looked at her daughter. ‘Are you coming in with me or would you rather stay out here and play with wee Ellie?’

  ‘Stay with Ellie,’ Lorna’s tones were decided. ‘I’ll look after her and Douglas.’ Seizing her little brother by the hand, she led him through the gate where they were both received ecstatically by Ellie and the puppy.

  The smell inside Mo Dhachaidh was a concoction of disinfectant and medication from the surgery where Niall saw to the ails of the island pets, and a mingling of new-baked bread from the kitchen. Shona was in the surgery, wiping it down energetically with carbolic, a smell which evoked a certain revulsion in Ruth as it reminded her so much of the antiseptic confines of the Temple during her mother’s day. An assortment of brushes and other cleaning utensils were arrayed round the cheerful little waiting room at the back of the house, proof that Shona had been busy there too. She was oblivious to Ruth’s arrival, immersed as she was in scrubbing the table, a gay tune tumbling from her lips. Every so often she paused in her task and bent to speak soothingly to a cat and two dogs who, ensconced in wire cages, were recovering from recent surgery. Some time ago she had thrown years of caution to the winds and had taken to ‘wearing the trowser’, her abandon due in part to her sister-in-law Fiona who had used every opportunity to press her into ‘going modern’. On her last visit home Fiona had brought back two pairs of smart slacks which she had presented to Shona.

  ‘They cost me a small fortune,’ she had said severely, ‘and if I find you’ve shoved them to the back of a drawer I’ll – I’ll choke you with them.’

  ‘Ach to hell,’ Shona had giggled with devilment. ‘Of course I’ll wear them and make all the purple-legged cailleachs so green with envy they’ll be red in the face talking about me to prove they’re not jealous, if you see what I mean.’

  ‘Very colourful people,’ Fiona had commented dryly and they had both erupted into gales of laughter.

  Thanks to years of restriction imposed on her by her mother, Ruth wouldn’t entertain the idea of wearing trousers, though she often
looked at Shona with envy and wished she had the courage to throw off her conventions. Most of the younger women on the island were ‘covering their legs’ as the menfolk mournfully put it, and Ruth studied Shona for the umpteenth time and wondered if she would look as good as the older woman if she could pluck up the courage to dress like her. Slender in her dark slacks and yellow jersey, a wisp of yellow scarf holding back her tumble of auburn hair, Shona could have passed for thirty instead of the forty-one she was. Ruth watched her, struck by her abundant energy, by her exuberance, her enthusiasm. Yet she had suffered a lot of tragedy in her life. Little more than two and a half years had passed since the death of her beloved daughter, Ellie, just thirteen years old with all her life in front of her. Shona had suffered a nervous breakdown and in the trauma of that dreadful time she and Niall had been on the verge of drifting apart. Then, to everyone’s joy, Ellie Dawn had arrived on the scene, giving back to her parents so much that they had lost.

  Ruth smiled with affection at Shona’s oblivious back and coming forward into the room she said severely, ‘Shona McLachlan! Are you deaf? I’ve been standing here for ages watching you steaming ahead like an express train.’

  Shona turned a sparkling face. ‘Ruth! I didn’t hear you come in. Did you hear about Grant and Fiona? Ach, of course you did! No doubt that gossiping Erchy will have told half the island by now. It’s lovely, isn’t it, to think there’s going to be another bairn in the family? I can hardly wait to see that pair to tease them about it. After all the talk about careers coming before everything.’

  During this discourse she had swept Ruth into the kitchen where she flopped herself down on a battered but comfortable rocking chair which she had inherited from Biddy, the old nurse who had previously owned the house. ‘Will you take a strupak with me?’ she inquired rather breathlessly. ‘I could be doing with a good hot brew. I started in the surgery this morning and I had to try and finish it before Niall gets back from Kintyre tonight. My throat is parched with all those antiseptic fumes so I’ll make a good big pot and then spend the rest of the day running to the wee hoosie. Is Ellie all right out there? She girned all morning to get out to play with Sporran and in the end I gave in if only to get them from under my feet for a whily.’