‘Are you sure she didn’t say anything?’ he had asked almost pleadingly.
Jean’s voice had been warm with sympathy. ‘I’m sorry, lad, she wouldn’t say.’
‘How was she? Did she look well – is Lorna all right?’
‘Ay, they’re both right enough – peakit mind – but that’s to be expected when you live in the city.’
‘So, they’re in the city – does that mean Glasgow?’
‘Ye ken as much as me. I’d like to help. I tried to talk some sense into the lass but she’s changed from the time I knew her in hospital – guarded is the word – ay, and she’s lost that bonny soft sweet nature o’ hers too – hard is what she is now. She only came to leave a wee thing for Davie and me for Christmas and to ask me to post the parcel to the bairnie – nary a word about where she’s staying, what she’s doing. I fancy she’s pining for her wee boy or she would never have bothered to come here wi’ gifts for him. She knew you would phone me when you saw the postmark and she told me to tell you – she doesny want to see you again – if she ever comes back it will be for the wee one. I gathered she’s working hard to get some sort o’ home together for her bairnies.’
He had put the phone down, saddened and defeated. Douglas had enjoyed exploring the contents of the parcel but in a thoughtful moment he had looked up to ask, ‘Where’s Muvver?’
He had asked that question frequently in the beginning, but gradually he had ceased to ask and had immersed himself in the delights of the farm. Now Lorn realized that the little boy had not forgotten, that somewhere at the back of his young mind lay the mystery of his mother’s sudden disappearance. The arrival of the parcel had brought the ghost of Ruth into Christmas, blighting it for everyone. A ceilidh had been arranged to celebrate the return of Grant and Fiona to the island and to welcome Ian Lachlan McKenzie into the world. Everyone sang, the strains of the pipes and the fiddles filled the room, the seanachaidhs spun their magical tales by the fire’s glow, laughter and joy filled the house, and Grant watched his young brother’s attempts at jollity and knew he would never get truly well till the ‘miracle o’ Ruth’ made it possible.
Chapter Seventeen
The Rev. Mark James was sitting in the back of a taxi driving through Glasgow’s east end. He had spent a few days in the city, visiting some of his old parishioners who had hailed him with delight and had been anxious to hear about the new life he had made for himself in the Hebrides. He sat back, feeling pleased at the success of his trip, but glad to be heading for the station and the train that would take him to Oban. Yet all through his contentment of spirit there ran a strangely restless anticipation at the thought of going home. He always felt like that after a spell in the city but this time there was something more, an exhilaration mingling with a sweet longing which lay deep at the core of his heart. No matter how much he tried to ignore it, it wouldn’t go away and so he decided the best way to be rid of it was to face up to the fruitlessness of such useless hankerings. Immediately the sweet, serene face of Megan Jenkins darted into his mind, so clear he could see the pale milkiness of her skin – her soft brown hair gleaming in the sun . . .
He was totally unprepared for the sight of Ruth McKenzie limping dispiritedly along on the opposite side of the street, little Lorna holding tightly to her hand. Startled out of his reverie with such suddenness he was confused, his train of thought leapt from Megan to Ruth and his mind began to race. Leaning forward he opened the glass partition to the driver’s cab and requested him to stop.
‘No’ here, mister, I’d get done if the police caught me on a yellow line.’
The man’s tones were very decided and the minister glanced desperately outside. He couldn’t let Ruth escape now. ‘Dear God, not now,’ he prayed quickly. Just then Ruth halted and appeared to scan the busy thoroughfare as if she was looking for someone or else – the thought came swiftly to the minister’s mind – she was checking to make sure that no one she knew was watching her.
Mark James turned his dark head away. The taxi driver had slowed but was definitely not stopping. Mark James looked again. Ruth and Lorna were disappearing into the mouth of a close, and he had to know if this was where she was staying. Raking in his pocket he found his wallet and, extracting two pound notes, waved them enticingly through the partition. The driver scratched his head, muttered something, then drew the vehicle to a halt at the pavement.
‘Don’t you be long now,’ he said grumblingly. ‘If you’re no’ back in five minutes I’m for the off.’
‘Two ticks.’ The minister was already swinging his long legs outside. A few quick strides took him over the road. He paused at the close mouth and looked cautiously up the narrow dark cavern. It was deserted and he went quickly in to scan the nameplates on the doors. R. Donaldson. The name on the scratched metal plate leapt out at him. She was here all right and she was using her maiden name – little wonder she had been so difficult to locate. He hesitated, wondering if he should knock the door, but no, he decided against it, he might only succeed in frightening her away. Much more sensible to go back to Rhanna and let her family know where they could find her.
In his wisdom, the minister did not approach any of the people directly connected with Ruth. They were all too emotionally involved to be able to see things objectively and so he went to Grant, Shona and Totie, people who were only too aware of the problems but who were far enough back from them to be able to view them in a clearer light. Shona was in the kitchen when the tall, handsome figure she knew so well came in, the black cap of his hair glistening with raindrops, his skin fresh and clean looking after the walk over the glen road.
She too had just come in from feeding the hens. Her rain-studded cheeks were glowing, her thick mass of auburn hair tossed into disarray by the bullying January winds.
He glanced at her appreciatively, his white teeth showing as he said softly, ‘Your hair is as bonny as a wet autumn leaf – yet there was a time you took it into your head to lop the whole lot off with a pair of kitchen shears.’
The flush on her cheeks deepened. ‘Fancy you remembering that. Niall never lets me forget it but I didn’t think that you—’
His smoky gaze held hers. ‘There’s a lot I remember about you, Shona, some things can never be forgotten.’
She took a deep breath. ‘I know – yet they must be hidden or they could shock and hurt other people, even though we didn’t sin in the true sense of the word. Ruth was shocked when I let it slip about us . . .’
His head jerked up. ‘You told her about – what happened?’
‘Oh, not in so many words,’ she was angry at herself for the slip. ‘I was just going on about things and it came out. Ruth was – well you know Ruth, she’s so naïve about certain things – at least she was until this affair over Lorn and Rachel. I think that’s why she finds it so hard to forgive Lorn: she seems to have forgotten how readily he forgave her and accepted Lewis’ baby . . .’ She stopped short, horrified at herself. ‘Forget I said that,’ she pleaded, flustered and red-faced. ‘I don’t usually go around giving away family secrets – I think – well – you caught me unawares and one thing seemed to lead to another.’
‘So,’ he murmured almost to himself. ‘Lorna is Lewis’ child and Lorn took Ruth and married her when perhaps he wasn’t ready to bear such responsibilities.’
‘I always felt that,’ she said miserably. ‘Lorn was always so steady and levelheaded but I think in every one of us there’s a wildness that has to be unleashed – sooner or later – there has to be an outlet.’
He regarded her steadily. ‘I know what you’re trying to say, Shona, and believe me, what you have just told me will be safe with me – you know you can trust me.’
‘Ay, I can trust you, Mark,’ she said softly. ‘Always I could trust you.’
He studied her intently. ‘There is something I want to ask you. I’ve already spoken to Grant and to Totie Donaldson and they have agreed to do as I ask – I’m hoping you will too.’
She heard him out in silence and when he had finished it was to give him the answer that he had expected. ‘Ay, I’ll go with Totie and try to talk to Ruth.’ She sighed deeply. ‘It won’t be easy, mind; Ruth might be quiet but there’s another side to her that I know well. She can be as stubborn as a mule’s arse when she wants.’ Her dimples showed. ‘There I go again – swearing in front of a minister.’
‘I’ll always be more than that to you, Shona.’ His voice was soft, serious.
‘Ay, I know, but I’m hoping you’ll be more than that also to a certain young woman whose path you have crossed but briefly but who might already be destined to walk the same road with you eventually.’ She looked at him from under her lashes and they both burst out laughing.
‘You’re a romantic, Shona McLachlan, but I warn you now, this isn’t the time to start playing Cupid. At the moment we’re concerned not with me but with Ruth and Lorn. Despite what has happened those two were meant for each other and the sooner we get them back together again the better.’
That evening Shona confided her doubts about the venture to Niall. Taking her hand he kissed it and looked laughingly into her face. ‘Shona, mo ghaoil, if anybody can talk to Ruth you can. She’s always trusted you and will surely listen to reason . . .’
‘As long as I don’t lose my temper,’ she wailed. ‘Ruth can be infuriating at times and she hasn’t stood firm all this time to be taken in by me and my sermons.’
‘Grant will keep the whole business on a steady level,’ he said with conviction. ‘Of all the McKenzies he’s the one blessed with the most cool-headed sense.’
‘Cheeky brute,’ she laughed. ‘Just for that I won’t massage your tired old back tonight.’
His brown eyes twinkled. ‘My back is neither tired nor old – but maybe I ought to stop talking about it and prove it to you.’
‘First things first, my lad. This trip to Glasgow for a start, the minister thinks we ought to go as soon as possible and I for one would like to get it over with.’
He glanced through the window to the rain sweeping across the hills. ‘Gales are forecast for the next week. I’d feel happier if you left it till the weather has settled.’
But she shook her head. ‘Blethers! If I don’t go on the next boat I’ll never make the effort. I’ll ask Kirsteen to look after Ellie, though I won’t say why I have to go to Glasgow. Grant and myself will cook up something between us, and no doubt Totie can do the same though Doug’s lost so much interest in everything I doubt he wouldn’t hear if she said she was going to the moon.’ She frowned. ‘I wonder how Totie will handle Ruth. She isn’t exactly renowned for tact and can be a bit of a bully if something gets up her hump – she’s angry at what Ruth’s stubbornness has done to her marriage and she might not be able to hold her tongue.’
Niall shook his head. ‘Ay, Totie’s all that and more but she can be gey canny when she likes. Don’t forget, she was never a bosom friend of Morag’s yet for years she managed to hold her tongue so that neither he nor Ruth would be hurt.’
‘I wonder why the minister asked three of us to go? Surely it would be better for just one of us to talk to Ruth?’
Niall’s answer came readily. ‘Our Mark James has his head screwed on. He knows how much Ruth has trusted you in the past, and if anyone can persuade her to see sense you can. Totie was chosen because of her direct connection with Doug. Totie’s the person to make Ruth squirm for hurting her father – Grant’s the levelheaded one of you all. If Totie goes too far, or if you look like losing that witch’s temper of yours he’ll be there to wave the olive branches.’
She giggled and threw a cushion at his head and in the scuffle that followed she forgot for the moment the mission that lay ahead of her.
Ruth opened the door and stared speechless at the three people standing on her doorstep, but in seconds she seemed to compose herself, her expression altering to one of deep suspicion.
‘Quite a deputation,’ she said flatly. ‘Three against one.’
‘Can we come in, Ruth?’ Grant was the first to speak. ‘We’ve come a long way and could be doing with a cuppy.’
Ruth didn’t answer at once. The draught blew in from the close mouth, swirling round Totie’s legs, making her shiver. Unlike Shona she wasn’t wearing ‘the trouser’ and though her lisle stockings were sturdily thick they weren’t adequate enough to combat the chill of the draughty Glasgow streets. Sleety rain was swirling along the pavements, billowing into the narrow aperture in which they stood and Totie stamped her feet in some impatience. Several weeks had passed since the minister’s discovery of Ruth’s whereabouts. Continual storm force winds had made travel difficult and January had moved into February before the storms had abated sufficiently for the journey to Glasgow to be undertaken.
At Grant’s words, Ruth moved reluctantly back into the dark, cavernous lobby. With a mere flick of her head she invited them inside and all three thankfully left the chill-ridden close, though each looked at the other in some trepidation as they walked through the lobby and into the only apartment contained therein. The house was a single end, a recess in the wall contained a double bed, the sink and cooker were situated under the half-barred, grubby-looking window in which a pane of glass had been replaced by a piece of plywood. The room contained little furniture, two chairs, a table, some odds and ends. But it was clean and polished, a bright fire burned in the grate. On the floor, on top of the only rug, sat a little girl, hands folded passively in her lap, her big eyes staring solemnly as the visitors came into the room. At first Shona didn’t recognize her as the happy, intelligent child who had roamed in carefree acceptance of the glens of her birth. Her face was thin, her once rosy skin blotched and pale.
‘Lorna!’ The name was torn from Shona, more a cry of protest than a recognition.
‘She’s had the measles – but she’s over the worst of it now.’ The words spoken by Ruth were succinct and held undercurrents of defiance. Lorna didn’t move from the rug and rushing forward, Shona lifted her up to cuddle her to her breast.
‘Lorna, Lorna,’ she crooned gently. ‘Don’t you know me? Don’t you remember your Aunt Shona? I used to tickle you – like this.’
The child lifted one shoulder shyly, the ghostly dawning of a smile hovered at her mouth. ‘Aunt Shona.’ She whispered the name as if she couldn’t believe it then slowly her arms crept round Shona’s neck and tiredly she laid her head against the comforting shoulder. Shona was too overcome to speak again. Ruth didn’t invite them to sit down and they all stood, awkward, embarrassed, Grant’s brawny figure looking ridiculously out of place in the tiny room, Totie’s solid, big-bosomed form equally so. She was wearing her fur jacket and one of her big floppy fur hats to match and though they had seen better days they endowed her with an air of affluence in the shabby surroundings.
Meaningfully Shona glanced at the others and flounced rather than walked over to one of the chairs to sit herself down and put Lorna on her knee. Taking her cue, Totie marched over to sit on the remaining chair leaving Grant awkward and red in the face till Shona patted the arm of her chair and bade him sit beside her.
Ruth glanced round the room. ‘It isn’t much – no’ yet – but at least it’s a roof and by the time I’m done it will be like a wee palace.’
Shona lowered her face and nuzzled Lorna’s hair. Never had she felt so depressed in any surroundings, not even in old Meggie’s blackhouse with its atmosphere of ageless dignity and cosy welcoming warmth. How could Ruth bear it after the charm of Fàilte, the clean open spaces of Rhanna? And this was where Ruth hoped eventually to bring Douglas – that sprite of the countryside who had all his babyhood days known only the freedom of being surrounded by light and space. She shook off her depression and felt some of her spirit returning. She would have to talk Ruth out of remaining here, try to get her to come back to Rhanna, if not to Lorn at least to some place where her children could have the kind of life that was their birthright.
‘I’ll make tea.’ T
he shock of events had brought colour to Ruth’s face but now it was receding leaving her pale and drawn with dark circles under her eyes. She was also much thinner than she had been; her clothes hung shapelessly on her body, her limp was very pronounced as she went to the sink to fill the kettle.
‘How did you know where I was?’ She tossed the question resentfully over her shoulder.
‘Mr James was in Glasgow a whily back and saw you coming in here,’ Totie explained.
Ruth turned, her face set. ‘Mr James, eh? I might have known he would come snooping about – he seems to be very good at finding women who have left their husbands.’ She looked meaningfully at Shona as she spoke and immediately Shona’s cheeks flamed and sparks flew from her eyes. But no! She wouldn’t let her temper get the better of her – not after coming all this way.
Tea was drunk in an awkward silence then everyone seemed to speak at once though it was Grant’s deep voice that won in the end. He told Ruth about Lorn, about the accident that had rendered him a near invalid for months.
‘Douglas – what about him? He – wasn’t hurt, was he?’ It was a cry of anguish, torn from Ruth in concern for her child.
‘Douglas is fine,’ Grant assured her. ‘He’s a resilient wee chap – not so his father. He’s made progress but there is a deep unhappiness inside him which is impeding his full return to health. You know what that is, Ruth.’
Her cheeks reddened angrily. ‘Ay, too well I know!’ Her face was set and hard. ‘He allowed the lusts of the flesh to rule his head – and now he is being punished for it.’ Everyone stared at her with disbelieving eyes. If it hadn’t been Ruth standing there they might have thought Morag Ruadh had uttered the words, and Shona couldn’t stop herself conveying this to Ruth.
Song of Rhanna (The Rhanna series) Page 29