by Emma Fraser
‘I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you having her. Having them both. I don’t know what I would have done otherwise.’
‘Och, a couple more children in the house is nothing to us. The girls and Lachie enjoy having James to fuss over and Libby to show off to.’
Margaret pressed a few pound notes, almost all of what she had left, into Flora’s hands. ‘I’ll give you more at the end of the month.’
Flora took the money reluctantly. ‘You’ll do no such thing! This is more than enough. Those little mites hardly eat us out of house and home. Libby might need a new dress or two for the winter, though. I can easily knit her a cardigan and she can have the dresses Mary has grown out of if you like, but I imagine you’ll want her to have her own things. You can get what you need from either the J.D. Williams or the Oxendales catalogue. Just write to them and they’ll send you one, but you can borrow mine in the meantime. They let you pay Cash on Demand or by instalments.’
‘Then that’s what I’ll do. How is Peter?’
‘He’s been out fishing since Monday. I’m expecting him back tonight, God willing.’
‘You must worry about him when he’s at sea.’
‘What would be the point in that? I trust in the Lord to look after him. Now, how have you been getting on? Are you settling in over by? Have the locals got over the fact that their new doctor is not only young, but a beautiful woman to boot?’
‘Not so much of the young or pretty, I’m afraid. The wind plays havoc with my hair.’
They smiled at each other in mutual sympathy. Odd, how even when times were hard, women still cared about their appearance.
‘You’re looking better than when I last saw you. You don’t seem so lost as you did when you arrived,’ Flora continued.
‘Now I know there is progress with Alasdair’s case, I feel so much better. And I have my work to keep me busy. That helps too. As does knowing you are caring for the children. If they can’t be with me then I’m glad they’re with you. But I miss them… I miss Alasdair.’ Her voice cracked a little.
Flora patted her hand. ‘Of course you do. As well as your old life. My dear, I can only imagine what you’re going through.’
‘I owe so much to you and your family. How I’m ever going to repay all your kindness I have no idea.’
‘Och, away with you. We like having the children here. You’re in a spot of trouble and we’ve all been in that place at one time or another and if we haven’t, then it’s likely a day will come when we will be. That’s the way we island folk see it anyway. You and Alasdair helped others when they needed it, so it’s only right that we should be here to offer you a hand now.’
‘Whatever you say, I will always be grateful to you.’ She stood and shifted James on to her hip and kissed his cheek. ‘Shall we go find your sister?’
After Margaret had seen everything Elizabeth wanted to show her, they returned to the house. Flora was wrapping some scones and cheese in a cloth.
‘I’m afraid we are going to leave you and Libby and James to your own devices for the remainder of the afternoon. I don’t know if you noticed the people lifting peats on the croft up by on your way in?’
‘Yes. Matter of fact I did.’
‘Well, that’s the Coopers’ peat bank. It’s a tradition here that we all help each other with the peats and the hay. We’ll do one croft and move on to the next. It means that the elderly who have no youngsters at home can get theirs in. The men are usually out fishing so most often it’s the women and children who do it.’
‘And you’re planning to go there this afternoon?’
‘It wouldn’t be right if I didn’t. You do understand, don’t you? If you were able to stay the night we’d have all evening to blether.’
‘The children and I could come too. Libby and I could help, perhaps? I’m sure we’ll find enough up there to keep James out of mischief.’
Flora looked at Margaret and laughed. ‘I don’t mean to be unkind but those hands don’t look as if they are used to rough work. No, it’s good of you to offer, but people would only feel uncomfortable with the doctor there. Certain things just aren’t done and the doctor working the peats is one of them. Besides, it will give you time to spend with your wee ones on your own. The girls will be coming too and Lachie is already up there so you’ll have the house to yourselves.’
Shortly before it was time for Margaret to leave, she and the children went upstairs and laid out the dress, shoes and socks Elizabeth was to wear to her first day of school on Monday.
‘Are you looking forward to starting school?’ Margaret asked, holding James in her arms. She wished that she could have been the one to take her daughter to school, or at the very least be there to hear all about it when she returned.
‘I’m going to learn to read and write. Then I’ll be able to read the letters you send by myself and I can write back to you.’
Margaret ruffled Libby’s hair. ‘I would like that. Very much.’
It was almost as bad saying goodbye to Elizabeth and James as it had been the last time, except that today she would be leaving them with hope in her heart that soon they’d be together again. James was falling asleep in her arms. Holding him close to her, and hand in hand with her daughter, they walked across the sands to where the others were helping with the peats. Flora took the now sleeping James from Margaret and laid him down on a little bed she had made from sacks on top of springy heather. Margaret kissed his plump flushed cheek, inhaling the scent of him and trying not to cry. When she bent to kiss Elizabeth goodbye, her daughter clung to her with a ferocity that took Margaret’s breath away. ‘Don’t go, Mummy.’
‘I have to, sweetheart.’
‘Then take me with you.’
‘I thought you liked it with Aunty Flora and the children,’ Margaret whispered.
‘I do. But it’s not the same as living with you.’
‘I know. But it won’t be forever.’
‘How long?’
‘Libby, come and see this,’ Annie called over. ‘It’s the biggest butterfly you’ve ever seen.’
Elizabeth looked across at Annie then back to her mother. Margaret gave her a gentle push. ‘Go on. Before it flies away.’
‘Goodbye, Mummy,’ Elizabeth said and set off as fast as her little legs could carry her.
‘Goodbye, Libby. I’ll see you soon.’
But her daughter was already out of earshot.
When Margaret, tired and dispirited at being parted from her children once more, let herself into her cottage that night, it was to find that her little house had been transformed. It had been clean before but now it shone. The stove was lit and giving off a good heat, a pot of soup simmered on the side and a mound of scones, savoury and treacle, had been set on the kitchen table as well as a jam jar of wild flowers.
Tears pricked behind Margaret’s eyes. Seonag, the woman who left the milk for her each day, must have done all this while she was away. It was unexpected and thoughtful.
She heard a creaking coming from her bedroom and a few moments later, to her astonishment, Dolina appeared in the kitchen. Margaret almost leaped two feet in the air.
‘Good grief, you gave me a start.’
What was Dolina doing here? It was one thing for people to just walk in when she was at home, but to be wandering around her house when she wasn’t was too much.
Her heart still thudding, she wondered if she’d left anything incriminating lying around. There was their wedding photograph, but Dolina would think it strange if it wasn’t on display, and her letters from Alasdair. But those she kept hidden away at the bottom of a drawer.
‘You’re back then,’ Dolina said, removing her apron.
She didn’t appear the least bit perturbed to be caught in Margaret’s house. ‘Yes. As you can see.’
‘I’ve just put a hot bottle in your bed.’ Dolina looked around the room. ‘There’s some soup and fresh scones for your supper.’
‘You brought them?’
‘Aye, well, I saw the smoke coming from the kitchen the other day. Can’t have you setting the place alight, can we?’
So it had been Dolina, not Seonag, who had done all this!
‘I’ll be back in the morning to stoke up your fire,’ Dolina said. ‘That’s a piddling wee thing you had going. I’ll need to see to Dr Alan’s breakfast after that.’ Her forehead furrowed. ‘Not sure how I’ll manage you both but I’ll find a way.’
It appeared that Dolina was intent on becoming her housekeeper too. But Margaret didn’t need or could afford to pay for one. Besides, Dolina was Dr Alan’s housekeeper and Margaret couldn’t imagine him being pleased at having to share.
‘This is all very kind of you, but don’t you think you should check with Dr Alan?’
Dolina sniffed. ‘I have already spoken to him and he said he was happy for me to help out here when I’m not seeing to the folk waiting for the doctor. It’s only a five-minute walk from the surgery and it won’t take me long to see to you. I can cook for you the same time I’m cooking for him. He never eats everything I make anyway. Claims I make far too much.’
‘But —’ Margaret didn’t want to admit she couldn’t afford to pay her – not when she was trying to save every penny. Neither was she sure she wanted Dolina in and out of her house.
‘You’ll be out and about at all hours same as him. And if you are like himself you’ll be missing meals and not tending to your fire. We can’t have the new doctor getting sick now, can we?’ She folded her arms and studied Margaret. ‘I heard you saved that mother in Locheport. And the baby too. They’re saying if you hadn’t been there, things might not have turned out the way they did.’
So it seemed as if Dolina was coming to accept a female doctor could be as good as a male one. Nevertheless, Margaret was touched.
‘I was only doing my job,’ she murmured.
Dolina sniffed. ‘Aye, well. So you say. But if you don’t do your job in future it won’t be because you’re hungry or out of sorts. Not if I have anything to do with it.’ She picked up an armful of Margaret’s laundry. ‘Now, I can’t stay here chatting all day. I have things to be getting on with.’
Chapter 29
Margaret first noticed Caroline MacIntosh when she’d looked into the waiting room on her way into the surgery. She’d been sitting quietly, a little apart from the others and not participating in the general, almost festive, atmosphere in the room. There were seven patients waiting to be seen, an old man with a jam jar filled to the top with straw-coloured liquid she knew must be urine, two women in their best skirts and jackets, three children who looked as if they’d had their faces scrubbed to within an inch of their lives, and Caroline, who was first on the list Dolina had given Margaret.
Caroline was dressed neatly in a tan skirt, navy blue jumper and a Peter Pan-collared yellow blouse. Her brogues, although they had clearly seen better days, were polished to a high shine, and her auburn hair had been neatly brushed and gathered off her face with a yellow ribbon. But despite the care she’d taken with her appearance there was no disguising her undernourished frame. She was thin to the point of scrawniness.
‘Now, Mrs MacIntosh, what can I do for you?’ Margaret asked when Caroline was seated in her consulting room.
‘I wouldn’t have come – I didn’t want to bother you, but my Donald insisted.’
‘You aren’t bothering me, I promise. It’s my job to see people. Why don’t you just tell me what’s wrong?’
‘It’s my leg. It won’t heal. I bumped my shin a few weeks ago and I didn’t think anything more about it. But since then the place where I bashed it has turned into a sore. I’ve put poultices on it and everything but it’s not getting better. In fact it’s getting worse.’
‘Could you take off your stockings and pop up on the examination couch so I can have a look?’
Margaret washed her hands while Caroline did as she was asked.
‘How have you been feeling otherwise?’ Margaret continued, moving towards her patient. There was an open wound on her leg about an inch in diameter and the skin was red and inflamed around the edges.
‘Och, a little tired. But that’s not surprising. It’s a busy time of the year.’
‘Anything else. Any other aches and pains. Fever?’
‘No.’ She glanced at Margaret from under her lids and blushed. ‘I think I might be pregnant, though. I’ve been needing the toilet a lot. My breasts are tender and I can’t remember the last time I had my monthlies.’
‘That might account for your tiredness. I notice we don’t have a record for you. You haven’t been to see us before?’
‘There’s been no need. I’ve only stayed down this end of the island since my Donald and I got married a few months ago. I’m from the other end.’ There was a wry twist to her lips as she said the words.
‘The other end of the island? You mean Grimsay?’
‘No. South Uist.’
‘Lie back and relax. I’d like to feel your tummy. You don’t need to take your dress off. Just pull it up.’
She washed her hands again and waited until Caroline was settled and comfortable. ‘So your husband is from here?’ Margaret asked, moving her hands over the younger woman’s abdomen. As she did, she thought she caught a faint, fruity smell on her breath. ‘I mean from North Uist.’
‘Oh yes. And his family. They’ve lived here for centuries. Not that they have anything to do with us.’
Margaret was surprised. Everything she’d learned so far about the islanders suggested they were a close-knit community, as close-knit as the people in Govan had been; mothers looking after daughters, fathers after sons and neighbours helping one another without being asked. Without close cooperation like this, the islanders couldn’t survive.
‘Why is that?’ she asked.
‘They can’t forgive him for marrying from the wrong side. Like most of the folk on South Uist, I’m Catholic, you see. And they are staunch Wee Free. They’re worried I’ll convert him.’
‘I see.’ She remembered what Dr Alan had said the night she’d arrived. About which church she was going to attend. It hadn’t occurred to her that one side of the island would be Protestant and the other Catholic and that this would be a source of conflict.
‘It’s the same with my family,’ Caroline said. ‘They won’t have anything to do with us either. They think anyone not born into the faith will burn in hell.’ She grimaced. ‘We were lucky to find a priest in South Uist who agreed to marry us in the chapel in Daliburgh. Most people closed their curtains so they wouldn’t have to see us pass.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Margaret said. Once it would have been incomprehensible to her that a mother could turn from her daughter for any reason. Not now. Would parents ever realise that they couldn’t live their children’s lives for them? She couldn’t imagine ever treating Elizabeth the way her mother had treated her, or Caroline’s mother, her daughter.
She palpated Caroline’s stomach. She thought she could feel the edges of a uterus distended by pregnancy, but it was too early to tell.
‘If you remove your drawers I’ll do a quick internal examination.’
But that was inconclusive too. Margaret thought the uterus was soft – and the edges of the cervix were bluish – both possible signs of pregnancy, but neither was sufficiently so for her to be sure.
‘I can’t be certain you are pregnant. We’ll need to wait a week or two to find out.’
Caroline looked crestfallen. ‘Oh Doctor, I was really hoping you’d be able to tell straight away. About me having a baby, I mean.’ She sat up and adjusted her clothes. ‘I was so looking forward to telling Donald. I know he’d be over the moon. And our parents – if they knew they were going to have a grandchild, how could they continue to stay away?’
Margaret didn’t have the heart to tell her young patient that having a child didn’t always bring families closer together. ‘We’ll know one way or another soon enough. Come back and see me in a couple of
weeks and I might be able to tell you. In the meantime, do you think you can pass some water into this container for me? And when you’ve done that I’d like to take some blood – just to make certain everything’s as it should be. I’d like you to wait, however, until I’ve tested your urine. Now, let me see your leg again so I can clean your wound and redress it.’
But everything wasn’t going to be all right for Caroline. Recalling the sweet smell on Caroline’s breath, Margaret asked the nurse to check for sugar in the urine while she was testing for albumin. Effie was in her late thirties or early forties, with dark wavy hair and a ready smile. They stood together and watched as the urine turned orange.