Song of Rhanna (The Rhanna series)

by Christine Marion Fraser

  The heated colour left Ruth’s face, she turned white and reached for a chair for support. ‘How dare you speak ill of my mother!’ she blazed. She gave a short, bitter laugh. ‘Maybe she was right all along, she spoke through madness, ay, but she wasn’t always that way.’

  Shona’s lips folded grimly. ‘Ay, she was like what you’ve become, Ruth, a woman with no forgiveness in her heart and because of that she died a lonely, bitter soul whom nobody loved.’

  ‘I think you had all better leave my house,’ Ruth’s tones were frighteningly calm. ‘I never invited you here and you are not welcome in this home.’

  ‘What home?’ Shona threw at her scornfully, angry at herself for the turn of events but unable to take a single word back. She looked around her disdainfully. ‘How can you live here, Ruth? How can you let Lorna live here? Lorn sent you money – you could at least have swallowed your pride and used it to make things better for the wee one. Look at her, she’s not the same bonny bairn I knew, she looks ill. What kind of a life is that to give a child – you’re just using her to get back at Lorn and that in itself is the worst crime any mother can commit against her own child.’

  ‘Things will get better,’ Ruth said stubbornly, her breath coming quickly. ‘I was ill when first I came to Glasgow and couldn’t work, now I have a job and Lorna is well looked after by a neighbour. Besides, none of it is any of your business – any of you – what I do with my life and the life of my daughter is my affair.’

  Grant looked at his hands and spoke quietly. ‘Lorna is my brother’s affair too, Ruth. He worships her and you’re using her to punish him.’

  ‘Oh, he has to be punished,’ Ruth said coldly. ‘He made me suffer enough. Do you honestly think I enjoy any of this? There have been times when I have been tempted to run back to Rhanna and leave it all behind – then I remember the humiliation – the pointing fingers, everyone talking about the innocent little fool who lost her husband to her best friend.’

  Shona took a deep breath, determined to hold on to her temper. ‘Wasn’t some of that your own fault? I think Lorn tried to warn you right at the beginning . . .’

  Ruth was incredulous. ‘Warn me! Warn me that he knew, given the chance, he was going to be unfaithful! What kind of a man is he?’

  ‘A very human man,’ Shona groped for the right things to say. ‘He’s not the sort to be swayed by the attentions of women – but I think he must have recognized the danger with Rachel and opposed her coming to stay with you. Didn’t the pair of you have a row about it right at the start?’

  Ruth remembered that first really serious row with her husband. ‘Ay,’ she said slowly then bitterly, ‘But at the time I thought it was because he couldny stand Rachel – little did I know it was because he knew he couldn’t trust himself to be alone with someone I thought was my friend.’

  ‘Och, c’mon, Ruth; he could hardly tell you how he felt, could he?’ hazarded Grant.

  ‘It might have been better if he had,’ Ruth cried passionately. ‘Then none of this might ever have happened – anyway – you can say what you like, I’m not coming back and that’s final!’

  Up till then, Totie hadn’t uttered a single word. She had been staring into the fire, listening to the arguments bouncing back and forth. She lifted her head and turned her strong face to Ruth.

  ‘Have you ever stopped to think how many people, other than you and Lorn, have been made to suffer by all this? When I was going to marry your father you made it plain how concerned you were about his happiness – well as it turned out, we were sublimely happy till we came home and found out you had left, taking the wee one with you. Where was your concern for your father there, Ruth? You were so wrapped up in your own misery you gave no thought to the misery he might feel – no, nor the hell he has gone through since you left. He worships you and looked every day for a word that would let him know how you were. If you thought he was unhappy during his time wi’ your mother you should see him now. He is suddenly an old man with no interest in any of the things he once loved. I am his wife and I have to stand helplessly by watching him growing unhappier wi’ each passing day – and you have the cheek to think I was the one who was going to make him unhappy! I haveny had a damt chance to prove what kind o’ a wife I am yet and I’m getting sick o’ the ghost o’ his daughter coming between he and me.’ Totie’s voice shook slightly as she finished speaking but she had made her point well. Something of the old Ruth shone through, her mask of hardness fell away and a flash of her former vulnerability showed through the pain in her eyes.

  ‘I was too ashamed to write,’ she whispered. ‘Every waking day of my life I took up my pen to write to my father but always I was so sick with misery – I – I just couldny do it. I – I think it would be better if he just forgot all about me. He has you – I’m thinking he will no’ need me so much—’

  ‘He’s always needed you,’ Totie interposed harshly, her green eyes flashing. ‘And how in the name o’ heaven could he forget his own lassie! You have a lot o’ growing up to do yet, my girl, and it’s high time you started or Shona will be right – you will become as bitter and as unforgiving as your poor mother and that is something I wouldny wish on anybody.’

  Ruth was ashen and trembling so much that Shona went to put a comforting arm round her shoulders and to ask if she had any brandy or whisky in the house.

  ‘In the wee cupboard under the sink.’ Ruth pointed a shaking finger and Shona went to pour out a generous dram of whisky which she made Ruth swallow.

  ‘I feel better now.’ Ruth set the glass down on the hearth and folded her hands in her lap, her flaxen hair falling over her face, hiding it. ‘Please go now,’ her voice was so low it was barely audible. ‘I know you came here with the best of intentions but I – I wasny ready for you – for any of you. I’m tired, I need time to think; so please go.’

  ‘You will write to your father, Ruth?’ It wasn’t a question but a demand. Ruth looked at her stepmother’s strong, determined face and nodded.

  ‘Ay, I’ll write – just let me have a bitty more time to think everything over – tell him – I think of him every day – I love him.’ Her voice broke.

  The visitors began to take their leave but as Shona turned away Ruth blindly sought her hand. ‘It’s been – wonderful to see all your bonny faces.’ She raised her face and Shona saw the tears drowning the purple orbs. ‘You’ve brought a breath of fresh air into this dingy room.’ She glanced round at her surroundings and her lips twisted. ‘I hate it, Shona, I want more than anything to get away from it – but if I do – it won’t be to come back to Rhanna. I haveny the courage to face anyone there again – please try to understand.’

  Shona gazed at little Lorna peeping at her through her fingers. ‘There was a time, Ruth, when I thought you were made of sterner stuff – that you could be as tough as any McKenzie any day and able to stand in front of the wind to dare it to stop blowing. Now I see how mistaken I was.’

  It was a harsh and hurtful thing to say. Shona hated herself for it but it was a shot in the dark, a last hope that she could shock Ruth into coming to her senses.

  Ruth’s eyes had grown dark with hurt. ‘I learned, Shona, that to stand in front of the wind is only asking to be broken by it – as I was when for once in my life I defied Lorn and asked Rachel to stay.’

  Shona shook her head. ‘The shoots of a broken tree very often grow taller, stronger, than they were originally. If you gave yourself the chance, Ruth, you wouldn’t allow anything to stunt the growth of your spirit. You’re not so frightened of life as you would have yourself believe – I think underneath you are still the same girl who half-killed a boy in school because he called you names – and you were just a shy wee lassie when that happened, how much of that spirit has developed with time only you know – and only you can do anything about it.’

  Unable to bear the pathos in Lorna’s face a moment longer she went hurriedly through the dark lobby to where the others were waiting in the close. Reachi
ng out she made to pull the door to but before it clicked shut she heard the unmistakable sound of Lorna crying, her heartbroken sobs smiting the hearts of those who stood outside Ruth’s door, looking at each other and knowing that their mission had been in vain.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Lorn tossed and turned, adrift in an uneasy world of dreams that gave him no rest. So it had been for the past three nights, ever since Grant and Shona had told him they had been to see Ruth and of the outcome. He awoke with a start, the sweat moist and warm on his brow, his heart beating uncomfortably fast. Dawn was just a promise in the sky to the east, the house slept, only he, it seemed, was unable to find solace in the merciful world of real sleep.

  He had dreamed again, dreamed of Ruth and his children, but unlike the nightmares of past nights when he had watched them floating further and further out of his reach, this dream had been eerily real, as if someone was inside his head talking to him, telling him what he had to do. He stared wide-eyed into the darkness, knowing that it had been Lewis who had come to him, to guide his subconscious mind to make a decision which though drastic, became more feasible the more he thought about it.

  ‘All right, Lewis,’ he thought, ‘this time I’ll listen, this time I’ll heed what you are trying to tell me.’

  The luminous hands on the clock on the mantelpiece were at five o’clock and he would have to get up immediately if he was to accomplish what was in his mind. Raising himself up he reached out to pull the heavy curtains across the window before swinging his legs out of the bed. The fire in the hearth had long ago faded into ashes and he shivered as the keen air of morning seeped into him. Fumbling for his sticks he hauled himself upright and made his way over to the bureau to light the lamp, his heart in his mouth lest he should make a noise, giving a hint to those upstairs that he was up and about. He got dressed, cursing his awkwardness, willing his limbs to move with more speed. It took him half an hour to reach the top of the stairs, another ten minutes to get to the door of his son’s room. It was his first trip to the upper part of the house in months and by the time he had accomplished it he was trembling, a combination of suspense in case his mother’s door should open and a tiring of muscles that were awkward and tensed. He knew every stair that squeaked, every floorboard that creaked, nevertheless he imagined that every fumbling step made enough noise to waken the dead. For fully five minutes he stood in the dark passageway to gather himself together then carefully he turned the handle of the door and with his heartbeat drumming in his ears moved stealthily inside to thankfully shut the door behind him. A nightlight flickered in a safety container atop the chest of drawers, left there by Kirsteen to still the fears that had beset the little boy since his father’s accident. Lorn reached the bed and sat down, very aware of his shaking legs.

  His son lay spreadeagled, his sleeping face cherubic in the faint light. Lorn stared at him and licked his dry lips, wondering if he could possibly go through with what seemed an impossible venture. Then he thought of his empty life, the longings, the frustrations, and before he could change his mind he reached out to gently shake his son awake. The child immediately began to whimper. Lorn enclosed the small body in his arms and spoke calmly. ‘Weesht, weesht, babby, it’s your father, don’t cry.’

  Douglas rubbed his eyes to stare in disbelief at his father. A smile broke over his face, his pearly teeth showed.

  ‘How would you like to go with me on a big boat?’ Lorn whispered persuasively. The child nodded eagerly. ‘You can only come if you promise to be very, very quiet and do exactly as I tell you.’

  Seeing the whole episode as a new and exciting game, the child allowed his father to dress him. ‘Stay close by my side,’ Lorn instructed. ‘We canny put on any lights so you’ll walk behind me and hang on to my jacket. You must not make a murmur when you pass your Granpa’s room. After that, creep downstairs like a mouse and wait for me in the kitchen.’

  More than thirty minutes later all Lorn wanted to do was to sit in the warmth of the kitchen and relax by the slumbering fire but he daren’t allow himself to ease up for a moment. Somehow he got Douglas a warm breakfast but he himself was unable to eat and smiling inwardly at what his mother would say, he heated up the remains of the tea from the night before, and sat drinking it with one eye on the clock. The animals had barely stirred at the unusually early intrusion into their world. Ben lay on the hearthrug, his nose in his paws, his tail flicking the whiskers of Bramble who always slept curled into the flanks of the old sheepdog. A yawning Douglas was inclined to coorie down beside the animals and go to sleep too and for a while Lorn let him have his way while he wrote a note for his mother which read: ‘I have taken Douglas and we are away on the early boat to see Ruth. I knew you might have worried about me going on my own and that is why I didn’t disturb you or Father. Don’t worry, I can manage. This is something I have to do and Douglas is being a wee man about it all. I am hoping to come back with Ruth and the children – if it doesn’t work out that way I’ll be coming back on my own. Lorn.’

  Propping the note against the clock on the mantelpiece he sat down and rubbed the back of his neck. He was tense, unable to relax for a second, worried in case his father should rise and catch him out before he had even started off on his journey.

  He aroused Douglas and got him into his outdoor clothes then he checked to make sure that he had enough money in his pocket. ‘C’mon, son,’ he ushered the little boy to the door. ‘You walk beside me and don’t make a sound going down the path. The boat is waiting in the harbour and we will have to go now if we want to get on it.’ The glen road was reached without mishap. Lorn stood for a minute, gazing down the winding grey ribbon that led to Portcull. In days gone by he could have covered the distance in no time but now the village seemed a formidably long way off. Taking a deep breath he set off, the pads on the end of his sticks making little squelching sounds with each step. Although it was only seven o’clock there were signs of stirring in the houses he passed, smoke was spiralling from the chimneys of the village houses, one or two people were going about their business. Tam was coming out of his gate a little way off and he stopped short at sight of Lorn and his son making their way towards him.

  ‘My, my, I never thought I’d see the day,’ Tam greeted Lorn with a beaming smile. ‘It would seem that my granddaughter has the power in her hands right enough. Where are you heading and I’ll give you an arm?’

  ‘The harbour.’ Lorn’s explanation was brief and inwardly he blessed Tam for his tact on this occasion as not once did he ask the purpose of Lorn’s early morning journey. Lorn leaned gratefully on his arm and they arrived at the harbour much sooner than he had ever expected. He looked at Tam’s honest, happy face and impulsively confided, ‘I’m going to see Ruth, Tam, to have everything out once and for all.’

  ‘Good luck to you, son.’ Tam shook his hand heartily. ‘I’ll expect to see the lot o’ you back on the next boat for I’ll be keeping my fingers crossed for you.’

  He helped Lorn up the gangplank and saw him settled in the saloon before going off, a gay little whistle between his teeth. Half an hour later the boat sailed away from Portcull Harbour to the excited chatter of Douglas who was enthralled with everything he saw. Lorn stared out of the porthole, saw Rhanna slipping away. Now that he was on his way the coil of nerves in his belly began to unwind and he was aware of a strong sensation of confidence stealing through his being. ‘You’re there, Lewis, you bugger,’ he whispered, and smiled. The boat hooted, swung round to head out to sea, taking a father and son away from the island as it had taken mother and daughter on a spring morning many many months before.

  Ruth stared at Lorn as if she was looking at a ghost. ‘How – how did you get here?’ she gasped, her eyes big with shock.

  ‘Same way as you, no doubt. I took a taxi from the station, it brought me right to the door.’

  Roughly he pushed past her, somehow managing to hold Douglas’ hand in a firm grip despite the encumbrance of his walking sticks.
Ruth came quickly in at his back, her eyes feasting on the little boy who stood in the middle of the room as if transfixed.

  ‘Douglas,’ she whispered, holding out her arms. ‘You’ve grown, my wee laddie, you’re no longer the baby you were.’

  But Douglas sidled away from her to stand behind his father’s back and almost simultaneously Lorna went to hide behind her mother’s skirts; her thumb jammed firmly in her mouth.

  Lorn’s mouth twisted. ‘Do you see what we’ve done to them, Ruthie? We’re all strangers to one another – in just a few short months.’ He twisted round and grabbing his son’s hand pulled him forward. ‘Here he is, Ruthie, your son, I’ve saved you the bother of coming to collect him. He’s all yours.’

  His voice was hard, but only to hide the dreadful feeling of insecurity that had beset him the minute he stepped over the threshold. The venture was one of the biggest gambles he had ever taken in his life and he was already beginning to regret it – if Ruth called his bluff he was finished – and he would be left with nothing.

  Ruth’s heart was pounding so fast she felt she would faint. For the last few nights she had dreamed continually of Lorn, now here he was, living, real; standing in the shabby little room of which she was so ashamed. He was as tall as ever but that was all. The aura of strength that emanated from him came only from within, he was frail looking, his shoulders drooped, the sticks that held him up were not so much a surprise to her but a silent accusation which aimed directly at her heart. The truth was she had given little thought to what the accident must have done to him. In her mind he was almost indestructible, she had imagined that he would still be the powerful, upright McKenzie of her last memories of him and the reality of seeing that he was just as frail and susceptible as any other human being struck her like a physical blow.