The Shipbuilder’s Daughter

by Emma Fraser

  ‘Examine me? There’s nothing the matter with me!’

  ‘I thought you had a sore leg? Isn’t that why you’re here?’

  He gave a throaty chuckle. ‘You thought it’s me that wanted to see you. Well, well. Never been to the doctor in my life. There’s nothing wrong with me.’

  Perhaps he had a problem with his short-term memory?

  ‘Mr – um —’

  ‘Willie.’

  ‘Willie. Do you know what day it is today?’

  His eyes creased. ‘Why? Can’t you remember?’

  Margaret felt the situation slipping away from her. ‘It’s not me we’re talking about. Please answer the question.’

  ‘Well now. Church is tomorrow. So it must be Saturday.’

  ‘That’s right. Now, what year are we in?’

  ‘I think I should wait for Dr Alan. He never asks me these fool questions. Not when I’m bringing Scotty to see him. Mind you, I usually see the doctor when he comes to Loch Portain, but I needed some messages from the shop so I thought I’d just pop in here.’

  ‘Scotty? And who is Scotty?’

  ‘My dog, lass. That one there.’

  She glanced over to the collie, who wagged his tail before placing his head back down on his paws.

  She gaped at Willie. ‘You brought your dog to see the doctor?’

  ‘Aye. No one else here to look at him. Dr Alan never minds. Gives him some pills usually. Keeps Scotty going for a few weeks.’ He whistled and the collie jumped up and did a circle of the room. Right enough, the dog was limping.

  Willie looked at her expectantly. ‘If we can just have some more of those pills, we’ll be on our way.’

  When the man and the dog had left, Margaret felt a giggle rise in her throat. Soon she was bent over the consultation table, laughing so hard, she could hardly draw breath. It was a long time since she’d found anything amusing and she wished she could tell Alasdair. The realisation she couldn’t ripped the laughter from her body like a plaster from an open wound. But, she told herself firmly, she could tell him in her letter. It wasn’t the same, but it would be better than nothing. They’d agreed the safest way would be to correspond via Mairi and Flora. That way there was less chance of her father discovering where she was.

  She considered whether to log the case in the accounts book, before deciding against writing anything down. Seeing as she hadn’t actually seen a patient, she wasn’t sure whether the incident even fell into the category of consultation. She also decided not to say anything about it to Dolina, who she suspected knew all about Willie and Scotty but had elected not to tell her.

  Back in the kitchen, Dolina gave her a sly smile, confirming Margaret’s suspicions. The housekeeper had tidied away and Elizabeth was wiping the dishes, her little tongue poking out the way it always did when she was concentrating.

  Leaving James, who was contentedly bashing away at some saucepans, Margaret slipped up to the bedroom where they’d spent the night. She quickly repacked their suitcases and took them downstairs.

  ‘Miss MacGregor, could you give me directions to the cottage I’ll be staying in?’

  Removing her apron, Dolina took their coats down from the hook behind the back door. ‘I’ll take you there myself,’ she replied stiffly. ‘It’s not far.’

  ‘Thank you. And can you tell me what time the driver will be picking us up to take us to the pier in Carinish?’

  ‘I told him three o’clock. No doubt he’ll come when he’s ready and not before,’ Dolina replied, ushering them out the door.

  The rain had eased up to a soft drizzle as they accompanied Dolina along the narrow, single-track road. With James balanced on her hip and holding tightly to Libby’s hand, Margaret kept her head down and her coat collar turned up in an attempt to keep droplets from slithering down her neck. Her feathered hat was totally inadequate for this weather, the gusts of wind threatening to whip it free from its pins.

  The housekeeper nodded to the few people, mostly women, they encountered, but didn’t stop to exchange pleasantries or to introduce the new doctor and her children. She veered off the road and along a path and up a slight hill. Facing the sea was a small white-washed cottage surrounded by clumps of nettles for a garden.

  ‘This is your house. It was built for the nurse but Effie married a crofter here in Lochmaddy and doesn’t need it,’ Dolina said, opening the unlocked door. ‘You’ll find it has everything you require.’

  ‘Is there a key?’

  The housekeeper raised her eyebrow. ‘There’s no need for keys here! Never has been, never will be. An islander would rather starve to death than take anything that didn’t belong to them.’

  It appeared that even the most innocent comment from Margaret caused offence.

  The front door led straight into the kitchen. Margaret looked around her new home. ‘Having everything’ wasn’t quite how she would have put it. There were three sparsely furnished rooms – a kitchen, with a monstrous black stove on which she’d have to heat any water she needed, a small sitting room with an open fire, and a bedroom with two single beds, as well as a wardrobe and a night stand. As Dr Alan had warned, there was no electricity or inside bathroom, only a wooden privy at the end of a small path at the back of the house. A wave of longing for her home in Garnethill, so intense it took her breath away, washed over her.

  There were wall-mounted gas lamps in the kitchen and sitting room, although only oil lamps for the bedroom. Margaret noticed a storm lantern by the back door, which she guessed was for going to the privy outside or for when she was called out at night.

  ‘Probably not as grand as what you’re used to, but it’s plenty adequate for most folks,’ Dolina said.

  Margaret met the older woman’s eyes. ‘This will be just fine.’

  ‘There’s a peat stack by the door and some kindling in the byre out the back. Seonag from next door will bring you milk from the cow in the mornings, if you ask her. Payment is between yourselves, otherwise there’s the shop just down the road.’ Dolina wiped an imaginary speck of dust from the mantelpiece. ‘I made up the bed yesterday, but you should put hot water bottles in to keep it aired. The linen will get damp if you don’t. There’s also some scones, eggs, cheese and so on in the larder as well as some flour and other things you might need. I lit the stove last night.’ She lifted one of the rings on top and peered inside. ‘You’ll need to fill it up with peat before you go out again. It’s best if you try to keep it going and not let it go out.’

  ‘Thank you. You’ve taken a lot of trouble.’

  ‘Don’t thank me, thank Dr Alan. It was on his instructions that everything has been laid out for you. Well then, I best get back to my work. I’ve a lot to do and can’t stand all day here chatting.’

  Left alone, Margaret and the children surveyed her new home. Without the housekeeper’s grim presence it didn’t seem as bad as it had on first inspection. The patchwork quilt she’d sewn herself, the Royal Albert vase her grandmother had given her on her twenty-first birthday and the gilt-edged tea set Alasdair had won at a fair would have gone a long way to make it more homely, but although they’d been the last things to go, they’d had to be sold too. However, she would find something to cheer it up – even if it was only a bunch of wild flowers in a jar.

  ‘Look, there’s a bed for you and James when you come to stay,’ Margaret said, pointing to one of the single beds.

  ‘I don’t want to go, Mummy. Why can’t we stay at the big house like last night? Please say we can. I’ll be good. I can look after James and the kittens and help milk the cow again. I’ll be as quiet as a mouse. No one will even know I’m there.’

  Margaret’s heart ached for her daughter. She pulled her little girl into her arms. ‘We can’t, Libby. Dr Alan only let us stay as we’d just arrived. Miss MacGregor has a lot of chores to do, so who would look after you when I was at work? Besides, Aunty Flora’s girls will be looking forward to having you to stay with them, I’m sure. I bet they have a cow too
, and chickens. And remember you and James will come to stay with me here as often as we can arrange it.’

  ‘I don’t like it here. It’s dark and it smells funny.’

  ‘It’s dark because it’s cloudy outside. And it smells funny because no one has lived here for a while. You wait until we have all the lights on and the fires going. I’ll sew some covers for the sofa. You’ll see, we’ll soon make this house cosy.’

  Elizabeth remained quiet while Margaret put James down for a nap before unpacking her few belongings. Seeing her daughter’s crestfallen face was almost too much to bear. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she wrapped an arm around her daughter and pulled her close. She picked up the photo of her and Alasdair on their wedding day. Elizabeth peered at it from under Margaret’s arm. ‘I want Daddy,’ she sniffed.

  ‘If Daddy could be here with us he would be. He loves you both so very much. But Daddy would want you to be a big girl. He’d want you to take care of James.’

  ‘I’m still a little girl,’ Elizabeth whispered.

  ‘I know you are.’ She pulled her daughter closer. ‘Just think, Libby, Aunt Mairi lived on these islands when she was little. She told me often about what she and her sister used to get up to, all the fun they had.’

  Elizabeth turned her big eyes towards her. ‘Like what? What did Aunt Mairi do? Did she live with Uncle Peter and Aunt Flora too, like me and James are going to?’

  Margaret managed a smile. ‘Aunty Flora and Uncle Peter live in the family home where Mairi and her sister grew up. They fished for crabs and dug cockles out the sand. Wouldn’t you like to do that too?’

  Elizabeth nodded. ‘Can I paddle in the sea too?’

  ‘Only when Uncle Peter or Aunt Flora is with you, never on your own. Promise me that.’

  Elizabeth jumped up, her eyes alight. ‘I promise. Can we go there now, Mummy? Come on, let’s go now.’

  Margaret hugged her child. It was a relief to see the excitement in Elizabeth’s face. ‘Not right now, my angel, it’s still too early. But as soon as James wakes from his nap, we’ll explore the village instead.’

  Chapter 25

  The journey over the single-track, untarred roads was almost as bad as the sea crossing. Every bump – and there were several – threw them into the air. To Margaret’s surprise Johnny Ban arrived only a few minutes after three. Before leaving Lochmaddy, she and the children had lunched on the scones and cheese the housekeeper had left for them.

  Margaret’s stomach was churning. She had never been parted from her children for more than a few hours and never overnight, but in a while she’d be handing them over to a stranger. The irony that she’d run in order to keep her children only to pass them over to someone else didn’t escape her.

  Thumb in mouth, Elizabeth stared out of the window, pressing her body against Margaret’s. Happily James had fallen asleep.

  After an hour or so, Johnny stopped the car near a verge close to the shore. It seemed that here was as far as he went. There was no pier as far as Margaret could see, only a few boulders stretching out into the sea. Johnny hopped out and took Elizabeth’s bag from the boot before opening the door for them. As she stepped out of the car, the smell of seaweed pinched her nostrils. Mairi’s brother-in-law, Peter, had written to say that he would meet them with his boat to take them the rest of the way. As yet there was no sign of him.

  Johnny rummaged in his pockets and brought out a pipe which he proceeded to pack from a pouch of tobacco. Once it was filled to his satisfaction he leaned against the side of the car and placed the unlit pipe in his mouth.

  ‘This is the right place?’ Margaret asked.

  Johnny nodded. He might not speak English but she hoped that meant he understood her. Just then a boat appeared from around the corner. Johnny removed the pipe from his mouth and jabbed the stem in its direction. ‘Peter Beag.’

  A sliver of sun peeped out from behind the clouds, making the sea sparkle. Margaret watched as the boat drew closer.

  All she knew of Mairi’s brother-in-law was that he was married to Mairi’s older sister, Flora, was a fisherman as well as a crofter and that he and his wife had three children. While Mairi had gone to Glasgow in search of work, Flora had stayed behind to care for their widowed mother, marrying Peter some time before her mother had died. Peter had moved into the family home with his wife, as was the tradition when there were only women left in the house. He was also from North Uist and had fished with his father before taking over the boat when his father had become too unwell to continue.

  Peter jumped out of the boat and waded ashore, holding on to a rope attached to the bow. Margaret’s heart leaped to her throat. With his broad shoulders and dark, tousled hair, it could have been Alasdair striding towards her.

  ‘I’m sorry you’ve been kept waiting,’ Peter said. He tied the boat to a rock and said a few words to Johnny in Gaelic.

  ‘Could you ask him how much I owe him?’ It was easier to think of the small details than to think about the forthcoming separation.

  Peter turned back to Johnny. The driver replied with a few words in Gaelic, tipped his cap once more and left.

  ‘He says he’ll put it on your account. You can settle it at the end of the month.’

  Margaret hoped she’d managed to hide her relief from Peter. She didn’t want him to know how strapped for money she was.

  Peter shook Margaret’s hand before crouching down in front of Elizabeth. ‘You must be Libby. My goodness you’re a strong-looking girl.’

  Elizabeth smiled shyly and stepped behind Margaret.

  ‘And this must be James.’ James picked up a small stone and held it out, snatching it back as soon as Peter went to take it.

  ‘Thanks for coming out to get us,’ Margaret said, sharing a smile about the contrariness of small children with Peter.

  ‘And what would you have done if I hadn’t. Swam?’ He grinned. ‘Come on, Flora has a meal waiting for you. She’s looking forward to meeting you and Libby and James. So are the children. We’ve not been able to get them to sit still or to do their chores.’ He lowered his voice. ‘We’ve told them that they are the children of a friend of Mairi’s.’ He pulled a flask from his pocket and held it out to Margaret. ‘Would you take a sip of something warming? Flora made some tea in case you were thirsty.’

  ‘No. Thank you.’

  ‘Right, then. Let me take that bag. You perch yourself in the stern with little James here. Libby, you can sit at the front and be my lookout. If you see any sharks, yell.’

  ‘Sharks!’ Margaret exclaimed.

  Peter winked. ‘Only joking. You’ll see them further out sometimes, whales too, but they don’t come in – not unless they’re ill or made a mistake.’ Even the way Peter tipped his head to the side when he spoke reminded her of Alasdair. ‘Mostly they stay out in the deep waters. This bit is only covered by the sea twice a day when the tide’s in. The rest of the time you can walk from the house easily enough. As long as you’re careful not to step in the sinking sands.’ Margaret must have looked alarmed as he added quickly, ‘Don’t worry, the children will keep an eye on James and show Libby where they are. She’ll be perfectly safe as long as she knows where not to go.’

  When they were all settled, he took the oars, one in each hand, and pulled away from the shore. He pointed his chin in the direction of a building on his right. ‘That’s the school you’ll be going to, Libby. It’s not far from the house. Half an hour at the most if you walk quickly.’

  ‘Libby won’t be walking alone, will she?’ Margaret didn’t want the children left on their own for any length of time. She still feared that her father would find out where they were and would spirit the children away.

  ‘She’ll be safe enough. There’s nothing here that can harm her.’

  Except for sharks and sinking sand and the possibility of her father finding them, Margaret thought grimly.

  ‘And of course she’ll have my lot to walk with her,’ Peter added. ‘They’ll keep watch ov
er James too when Flora can’t.’

  The small boat glided effortlessly through the translucent water. Peering over the side, Margaret could clearly see the sand and rocks below. Perhaps if the weather was fine she might teach Elizabeth and, in time, James, to swim.

  But, she told herself firmly, they weren’t going to be here in the spring. They would be back home with Alasdair.

  Sandbank, Flora and Peter’s home, was larger than Margaret had expected, rising to two storeys and with several outbuildings. Surrounded on all sides by water, it appeared to be an island of its own.

  ‘It’s only because the tide’s in,’ Peter said as if reading her mind. ‘The rest of the time you can cross the fidean – that’s the bit of grass at the front – to the croft where we keep the cow and hens, unless the tide is very high. And when it’s all the way out you can walk across the sands to where I picked you up from.’