Song of Rhanna (The Rhanna series)

by Christine Marion Fraser

  The talk switched to Fiona and Grant, and to the determination of both Phebie and Kirsteen to have their respective offspring staying with them.

  ‘Sparks will fly there too,’ predicted Lorn. ‘I’ve never seen Mother so het up about anything for a long time and I’m hoping she and Phebie won’t fall out over it.’

  ‘Ach, surely not,’ said Ruth decidedly. ‘They’ve been friends too long and will come to some agreement that will suit them both. Talking about friends, I made a lovely one in hospital – an old lady who lives on a farm in Ayrshire. She invited me there for a holiday any time I feel like it.’

  She went on talking about Jean Jackson, her enthusiasm growing as she described her newfound friend. Lorn listened, wishing in those intimate moments that he could turn back the clock, wipe the slate clean, arrange events so that things could be as they had always been and he could look at his wife and feel clean and good instead of feeling degraded and unhappy. He was reluctant for bedtime to come but by ten o’clock Ruth was tired and drawn and he knew that the cosy interlude had to end, that there was no way he could escape the intimacy of the bedroom. She drank her cocoa and went yawning through to bed while he saw to all the last-minute jobs both in and out of doors.

  When he finally went through to the bedroom she appeared to be asleep. Her eyes were closed, her fair hair tumbled about on the pillow. But when he got in beside her she turned and snuggled against him though he couldn’t bring himself to touch her. In some strange way he felt that he would tarnish her, soil her with hands that had so intimately explored the body of another woman.

  ‘It’s truly lovely to be with you again, Lorn.’ Her voice came, sleepy and contented as a child’s. ‘It was awful lying in that hospital bed without you. I kept thinking of you, how lonely you must have been too. I’m still a bit sore but I’ll be fine in a day or two – meantime we’ll just have to be content to coorie into each other.’

  He kissed the top of her head, glad that she couldn’t see the stark shame that lay over his face. ‘That’s all right, Ruthie, just you go to sleep and I’ll hold you in my arms and keep you safe. Don’t worry about anything, you’ll be well and strong again in no time.’

  She lay back and sighed, feeling lucky to have a husband who was so understanding. She was asleep in minutes but beside her Lorn lay awake, staring at the ceiling well into the small hours of morning.

  Several days passed and Ruth began to suspect something was wrong with Lorn, either he was ill – or – she could hardly bear to think of it – something had happened between him and Rachel. But what? Perhaps there had been a terrible argument. She thought back – both of them had been strange on her return but she had been too glad to be home to give it much thought. Now she cast her mind back. Rachel – downcast, her black eyes hooded – hiding something – hiding what? And Lorn – what about Lorn? His anger against Rachel had gone. Yes, that was it – there had been no anger left in him for the girl he had so vehemently rejected since the days of Lewis. In the place of anger there had been . . . She drew a deep breath, unable to put a name to the thing that smouldered deep in his eyes. He had worn that same look on another occasion – during the aftermath of that terrible row they had had over the question of Rachel coming to stay. He had made his peace by giving her a present and in his eyes she had seen misery and a stark look of guilt – guilt? Yes, the same look was on him this time but why should he feel guilty – unless – she drew in her breath, her whole being rebelling at the idea but it needled into her brain and refused to be ignored. She shook her head. It couldn’t be – he didn’t even like Rachel. But there had been little indication of that over the last few days. They had been formal to each other – like two people trying desperately to keep up appearances – there had been no anger in him – and all the defensiveness had left Rachel.

  Yesterday Jon and Rachel had left the island. Ruth recalled Lorn’s farewell to her. It had been short, brusque, tinged with a certain quality she hadn’t been able to define at the time. Now she saw it as the goodbyes of a man to a woman he had had some liaison with. Oh God! She was imagining it! Or was she being a blind fool trying to ignore all the signs set out before her? Suddenly she remembered something else. Jon had been his usual, quiet courteous self but she had caught him looking at Lorn in a certain way – as if at that moment he disliked him intensely and was trying hard not to let it show. Did that mean that Jon knew that something had happened between his wife and her husband and that though he had forgiven Rachel he certainly didn’t feel similarly disposed towards the man in the affair?

  Unable to bear her own wild suppositions she put on her raincoat and set off towards Glen Fallan, looking in briefly on Shona who had taken the children off her hands every afternoon since her return. Lorna and Douglas were happily surrounded by recuperating dogs, cats, a talking budgie, and the bold Sporran revelling joyfully in the centre of the activities.

  ‘They’re having a grand time.’ Shona shooed Ruth to the door. ‘Away you go and enjoy your freedom while you can. You’ll be back soon enough to dull routine.’

  The spell of good weather had broken. A soft drizzling rain was falling, blotting out the hills, adding to her sense of depression as she made her way to the Post Office to fulfil her promise to her father about keeping an eye on Behag.

  The shop was empty but for Behag clacking away at her knitting behind the counter. She looked down her nose as Ruth’s slight figure came into the premises. ‘It is yourself, Ruth,’ she acknowledged, her beady eyes roving over Ruth’s face. ‘I didny think to see you out and about so soon.’

  ‘Ay, it is me right enough,’ nodded Ruth with a gentle hint of sarcasm for Behag’s patronizing manner never failed to bring out the worst in her.

  ‘You are lookin’ well – considering,’ Behag said solicitously.

  ‘I am well enough, thanking you. I just looked in to see how you are managing.’

  Behag’s lips folded sourly. So, the lass hadn’t come to purchase anything but to ‘spy’ on her as Behag put it to herself. ‘You will find everything in order.’ Her palsied head swivelled round as she took in her surroundings with proud approval. ‘I have cleaned the place up a bitty and put things back the way I aye liked them. Totie has some queer ideas in her head about management, but of course she was aye a one for putting everything into cubbyholes where other folks canny find them.’ She studied Ruth’s face more thoroughly. ‘You’re still lookin’ a bitty pale. ’Tis no wonder of course, an inflamed appendix is no laughing matter – a bad enough thing for anybody to cope with on its own – but of course – you had Lorn and Rachel to put up wi’ as well. It’s as well you are home – a terrible thing to come back to a thing like that and you as weak as a kitten – poor sowel,’ she ended with a solicitous sniff.

  Ruth had been prepared to be friendly and polite to Behag but, as others had found to their cost, intentions like these quickly dissipated after just a few minutes in the old woman’s company. The smile froze on Ruth’s face and she said stiffly, ‘Just what are you implying, Behag?’

  ‘Nothing, nothing at all, lassie,’ Behag said evasively, her beady eyes glistening at the memory of seeing Rachel and Lorn walking together hand in hand over by Sliach. She had not been slow to spread the news and as a result several people had been eyeing Lorn askance of late, one or two going so far as to shun him in the street. ‘It’s what I see and hear I’m talking about. I canny help hearin’ what other folks are saying. You know what people are like.’

  Ruth’s small frame tensed. ‘Ay, you always were innocent, Behag.’ Her voice was dangerously calm. ‘It’s always other folks who are at fault, never yourself.’

  Behag’s eyes glittered. Viciously she clamped a bulldog clip on to a sheaf of forms and said through tightly folded lips, ‘Sarcasm doesny suit you, Ruth. I expected it from your mither of course, but never from her daughter. Oh no, I aye liked you, Ruth, you were aye a sweet-tempered lass – though lately I’ve seen a change coming over you and that’
s a pure fact. Of course, being married to a McKenzie would be enough to try the patience o’ a saint. I wouldny blame you if he’s maybe the reason you are no’ as good-natured as you used to be.’ She slid Ruth a sidelong glance. ‘It was just a pity you took ill when you did – when the cat’s away the mice will play. It’s as well you are home, I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again. That Rachel is no’ the sort o’ lass to content herself lookin’ after simple bairns. That poor wee man o’ hers found that out when he came home from his mither’s sickbed unexpected. On the night he came back he was seen wandering like a soul demented, yonder by Aosdana Bay – and he was alone mind – yet he came running off that boat as if he couldny get to see his wife fast enough. I just wonder what he saw over by Sliach to make him behave like that – ay – I just wonder.’

  Ruth stood rigid, staring at Behag’s creped hands on the counter, but she wouldn’t give the old witch the satisfaction of seeing how painfully her words had hit home. Holding her head high, she said firmly and politely, ‘If you’ll be excusing me, I have better things to do with my time than stay here listening to vindictive gossip. I will write and let my father know how you are managing – he and Totie will be home in a fortnight and then we will have the place back to normal again.’

  Turning on her heel she stumbled to the door to wrench it open. Closing it behind her she stood leaning against it, the discordant jangling of the bells plucking at every nerve in her body. She stared at the grey clouds drifting above. It was a warm humid day but she felt icy cold. Behag was a vicious, troublemaking old gossip but never did she fail to hit on some spark of truth in the things she said. She wandered home, her mind in a turmoil. Not even bothering to remove her outdoor things she sat at the fire, staring into space, coming slowly and reluctantly to a very painful decision.

  That evening when the house was quiet, she confronted Lorn with her suspicions. ‘Lorn, I have something I want to ask you,’ she began reluctantly, ‘only I – I don’t know where to begin.’

  She sat, staring down at her hands working nervously on her lap and he stood looking down at the top of her bowed head, a flush spreading across his face, as if he knew what was coming.

  ‘Well?’ His voice was tense. ‘What have you got on your mind, Ruthie?’

  A shudder went through her. The words she had to say sprang to her lips, yet the effort to get them out was almost beyond her. A long silence sprang between them, a silence laden with fearful suspense. The hearts of husband and wife beat swiftly. The sound of Lorn’s tightly controlled breathing surged through the room, adding to the unbearable tension which oozed between the two young people, growing tighter and tighter with each passing second – like an invisible noose binding them into a situation from which there was no escape . . .

  ‘Lorn – there have been certain rumours.’ At last Ruth got the words to come out. She didn’t dare look at him, a tiny dew of sweat gleamed on her upper lip, her hands felt cold and clammy.

  Lorn’s brows drew together. ‘Rumours? What about?’

  Ruth’s hands trembled. ‘About you and Rachel.’ She looked up at him then, her eyes big in her pale face. ‘Lorn, listen to me! I don’t care about the gossips and what they think they saw. I was never one to listen to a rumour. You are my husband and I’ll no’ believe ill about you. Just you tell me from your own lips that there is no truth in what folks are saying.’

  He gasped and stared at her, the irises of his eyes the colour of ripe blaeberries. No quick denials sprang to his lips. He seemed unable to do anything, but just looked at her, wearing such an expression of stunned shock that she knew her deepest fears were true. Sinking down on to the nearest chair he buried his head in his hands and whispered, ‘Oh God, Ruthie! What can I say? I never wanted you to be hurt – I would never have burdened you with it. It’s true, God forgive me, it’s true! I wish – oh how I wish I could turn the clock back! I’m not blaming Rachel – I’m blaming myself. I can make no excuse for what I did – oh God – I wish I was dead.’

  Bitterness boiled in Ruth’s breast. She felt sick and icy cold. She stared at the top of his bowed head and her voice came out hard and brittle. ‘And well you might, Lorn McKenzie – well you might.’

  She spun round and limped to the door, hardly aware of what she was doing. There was a mist in front of her eyes, a buzzing in her ears. Going through to the parlour she sank into a chair and put a trembling hand to her eyes, so stunned her mind refused to work. She felt empty, drained of all emotion, and sat looking into space for a long time. No fire burned in the parlour grate, the room was cold, but nothing penetrated Ruth’s consciousness. She sat, as frozen and as pale as a marble statue, feeling nothing, seeing nothing. Lorn didn’t follow her. In the dim mists of her conscious mind she was aware that he had left the house but she sat on, immobile. The house was very quiet, as if nobody lived there, as if the walls had never known laughter – tears. There was no sound from the children’s room, no murmur from the animals. Outside the rain drummed on the window panes, mist blotted out the trees, the hills, seemed to creep into the room to embrace Ruth in its cloying damp clutches, enclosing her in a claustrophobic world from which there was no escape. Darkness came down, creeping over the countryside like a sombre portent of doom and still Ruth sat on, her eyes big and dry in her white face.

  The tears overwhelmed her so suddenly she was unprepared for them. A great sob broke in her throat and bowing her golden head she cried as if she would never stop. Her entire body was seized by uncontrollable shuddering. She had never felt more alone, more lonely. Thoughts of her father crept into her mind. ‘Oh, Father,’ she whispered brokenly, ‘I wish you were here. You’re the only one I would have wanted at a time like this.’

  But she pushed such thoughts away. How stupid, how weak, to want her father at a time when he had just found happiness. Far better that he was away. If he had been here it would just have complicated matters further. A ghost of an idea was slowly forming in her confused mind, but the more she concentrated the stronger it grew. She sat back, lost in thought, absorbed with the new and stupendous thing which was beginning to root in her brain.

  She would go away, leave Lorn, she could never bear to stay on in the house with him, not after tonight. Ay, it was a good thing her father wasn’t here. Her strong attachment to him might have swayed her thinking and he would never have allowed her to leave the island, not without a struggle.

  Her thoughts were racing feverishly now, making and rejecting plans, going round and round in circles till she felt she would go mad. She forced herself to start at the beginning, deciding that first she must pack the necessities she would need to start her off. Stiffly she uncurled her frozen limbs and got to her feet. Going through to the bedroom she gazed round distractedly, not knowing where to begin. Lorn still wasn’t back and she made an effort to hurry, not wanting to face him – to explain. Rapidly she stuffed clothes into a small suitcase which she carried through to the little room off the parlour, the room so recently occupied by Rachel. A sweet, light fragrance still hung in the air, making Ruth shudder in revulsion. Until then all her bitterness had been against Lorn, but now it switched to the girl who had been her childhood friend. But she didn’t waste time in useless recriminations – these would come later, when she had more time to think. Just now there was too much to do if her plans were to be carried out successfully.

  Going through to the children’s room she stood looking down at Lorna. Douglas wasn’t here. He and Ellie Dawn, being so near in age, were extremely attached to one another, and he often spent the night at Mo Dhachaidh. Shona had mentioned that she was going with Niall on his rounds in the morning taking the children with her and Douglas in particular had been over the moon about this, as he loved animals of all kinds and delighted in any opportunity that took him amongst them. Ruth was glad that the little boy wasn’t there that night. She could never have taken the decision to leave him behind yet she knew she could never cope with two children on her own. Douglas was t
oo much of a baby yet – too helpless . . .

  She put her cold fingers to her lips. ‘Oh, God, help me,’ she whispered. ‘Help me, help me . . .’

  The full import of the step she was about to take struck her with full force. Looking at Lorna lying so peacefully asleep in her bed made things appear normal, as if the life she had had with her children could never change – but it had changed, changed dramatically and so suddenly she felt herself being sucked into an unknown chasm of dread. But she had made up her mind – there was no turning back now. Tears filled her eyes as she studied Lorna’s sleep-flushed face. She lay completely relaxed, her arms spread over the pillows, her earth-brown curls rumpled over her high brow. Her face in repose was beautiful. The small straight nose was sprinkled with freckles, a chaste smile lifted the corners of her mouth. Some people had nicknamed her Lorna the Smile because the upturned corners of her mouth gave the impression of a perpetual smile. It was so small a face, yet it contained a lot of character for such a wee lass. Ruth sighed deeply. How Lorn loved this child – yet she wasn’t his daughter when all was said and done. He had no real right to her really, and if it broke his heart to lose the little girl he adored then so be it – it would serve him right if he suffered for all his treachery.

  Without more hesitation, Ruth went to pack a small case for her daughter, taking it through to put it beside her own under the bed where they would be hidden should Lorn look in. But he didn’t. She lay in the unfamiliar bed, her eyes swollen and hot, an anger in her so raw and bitter she felt only a contemptuous hatred for her husband when finally she heard him come in well after midnight, his unsteady footsteps telling her that he had been drinking. He went straight to his room, clicking the door softly shut and some time later she heard sounds like those of a soul tortured by nightmares. She didn’t sleep at all that night. The hours ticked slowly by while she lay on her back, staring at the window, calm now as she plotted out the course she must take as soon as Lorn left the house.