The Shipbuilder’s Daughter

by Emma Fraser

  ‘How are you today, Kirsty?’ Margaret asked.

  ‘Better. I don’t feel so hot. My boobies aren’t so sore either.’

  ‘Can we go upstairs so I can have a look?’ As she stood, Margaret squeezed Alec’s shoulder. ‘We’ll talk more before I leave.’

  When she finished examining Kirsty, pleased to find that her temperature was normal and the sore red, hard bit on her breast much reduced, she asked her to get dressed.

  ‘We need to have a chat.’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘Let’s stay up here where we can’t be heard. Now, Kirsty, I need to ask you some more things about the baby.’

  Kirsty’s face turned bright red. ‘He’s with the minister’s wife. Daddy told me.’

  ‘How do you feel about that?’

  Kirsty was silent for so long that Margaret began to wonder whether she’d forgotten her question. ‘I think it’s good. The minister’s wife is kind. She will look after him. Better than me.’

  ‘You know it’s unlikely you will get your baby back?’

  ‘I gave him away.’

  ‘Yes you did. Because you hoped he would be with someone who could care for him.’

  ‘And because I didn’t want Daddy to find out.’

  ‘And now your daddy knows?’

  Kirsty looked baffled. ‘I don’t want him back if that’s what you’re asking – least not all the time – but I would like to see him sometimes.’

  ‘Oh, Kirsty. I know you do. But you do know if he is adopted you will never be able to take him back to live with you?’

  ‘When you say adopted, do you mean given to another mummy to keep forever?’

  ‘Yes. To someone who will love him and look after him.’

  ‘But I would never see him again?’

  ‘That depends. I think we should include your father in this discussion.’

  They went downstairs where Alec was waiting. ‘How is she?’ he asked.

  ‘Improving. Another day or two and she’ll be fine.’

  ‘Good. I’m glad.’

  ‘Alec, we need to finish our discussion. And I think it’s best if Kirsty is involved. Do you mind if I sit?’

  ‘Of course not. Where’s my manners? Forgive me, Doctor, I’ve had a lot on my mind.’

  ‘Now, you know Kirsty’s baby is being looked after by the minister’s wife?’ Margaret said when they were seated.

  ‘Yes. She’s a good woman. I’m glad it’s her that’s looking after him.’

  ‘As I said, the police aren’t going to take Kirsty’s case any further, but they’ve made it quite clear that the child should not be returned to Kirsty.’

  ‘I keep telling you, I don’t want him back,’ Kirsty said. ‘I don’t think I can look after him.’

  ‘We’ll do it together, mo ghràidh. I can still remember how to change a nappy. I’ve looked after you all these years, haven’t I?’

  ‘I know you think you can look after him. But what happens in the summer? When you go back to the fishing?’ Margaret said.

  ‘I won’t go back.’

  ‘Then how will you support both Kirsty and the child?’

  ‘We’ll manage.’

  ‘Oh, Alec, whether you give up fishing or not, they won’t let Kirsty keep the child. There is another solution. There is a couple who don’t have children of their own, I can’t say who yet, who would dearly love to keep him. They know Kirsty is Ruaridh’s mother and would be happy for her to see him whenever she wanted. I believe they would make very good parents to Ruaridh and I think when you know who they are, you’ll agree.’

  ‘We don’t even get a say?’

  ‘You do. That’s why I’m here. You could still appeal to the court, but there is a good chance that they will remove Ruaridh from Kirsty – they might even decide to prosecute her after all – and if they do remove him, he might go to the mainland to be adopted. In which case neither you nor Kirsty will ever see or hear about him again. But I know that the couple who wish to adopt him would be happy for you both to keep in touch with him. Now, there is a chance that they might move away one day and take him too, you should understand that, but I think it’s unlikely. They both have good jobs here, although the wife will give hers up should you agree to let them have Ruaridh. They have a lovely, big house and more importantly – plenty of love to lavish on him.’

  Alec scratched his head. ‘I don’t know. Maybe. Depends on who the couple is.’

  ‘I can’t tell you that at the moment. I want you and Kirsty to talk about it some more. I’ll come back in a few days and if you are thinking you might let this couple have him, I can tell you who it is before you make a final decision. How does that sound?’

  ‘It sounds as if we have no choice,’ he replied glumly, before standing. ‘Thank you, Dr Margaret, for everything you’ve done for us.’ Margaret stood too, still unsure of whether she had helped or betrayed the two people standing in front of her. She took her young patient’s hand. ‘Kirsty, have a think about everything we’ve talked about. I need you to understand one very important thing, however. If you agree that this couple can take Ruaridh, you will never, ever be able to take him back.’

  Her next visit was to Caroline. It didn’t escape her that one woman had given her child away while another was risking her life just for the chance to hold her child in her arms.

  This time her young patient didn’t come to the door when she heard the sound of Dobbin’s hooves and, for one terrible moment, Margaret wondered whether she was inside and unconscious, having slipped into a coma.

  But when she went inside it was to find Caroline sitting in a chair, her knees covered by a blanket and her husband by her side reading to her. Caroline’s face was pale and drawn, and she had clearly lost more weight.

  ‘Oh, Dr Margaret. We never heard your horse. Otherwise we would have been at the door to greet you.’ When Caroline made as if to get out of her chair, Margaret hastily told her to sit back down.

  ‘You and Donald are as bad as each other – not letting me do a thing. See how good I’m being?’

  It didn’t matter how good Caroline thought she was being – one look at her was enough to tell Margaret that her condition was deteriorating.

  She examined Caroline before pressing her Pinard stethoscope over her belly. The child’s heartbeat was strong. She almost wished she hadn’t been able to hear it and that the child had died. That way she could deliver the baby and Caroline would have a chance. The effect the pregnancy was having on her diabetes and consequently her health was already irreversible, but it was still possible that, if no longer pregnant, Caroline might have a few years left. However, the longer the pregnancy continued the less likely that was.

  ‘Baby’s heartbeat is normal,’ she said, replacing the Pinard in her bag.

  ‘That’s good, isn’t it?’

  The poor, poor woman still didn’t fully understand how grave her situation was.

  ‘Caroline, sooner or later the baby will begin to suffer the effects of your diabetes. I need to test another sample to see how that is, but I’ll do that once I have you in the antenatal annexe. I want to admit you to there so we can keep a closer eye on you.’

  Caroline’s eyes filled with tears. ‘But then I’ll be away from Donny. I don’t sleep well when he’s not here.’

  ‘Nevertheless it’s the best place for you. Or you could still go to Glasgow.’

  ‘What will they do there that you can’t do here?’ Donald asked. ‘You told me there wasn’t anything. Have you changed your mind?’

  ‘No, I’m sorry. Nothing has changed. There is nothing the doctors in Glasgow can do for Caroline that we can’t do here. And that is very little. All we can hope for is to try and keep Caroline and her baby alive as long as we can.’ And to try and save her life once the baby died, which it almost certainly would. She didn’t like being so frank with the couple, but they had to know what they were dealing with.

  ‘I don’t want to leave my home,’ Caroli
ne cried.

  ‘I know you don’t, but as your doctor, I’m saying that you need to. If you won’t go to Glasgow you have to come into the antenatal annexe, where I can keep an eye on you. Have you had any fainting spells?’

  Donald looked at his wife, who gave him a pleading look in return.

  ‘She doesn’t want me to tell you, but she has,’ Donald said. ‘Yesterday. I gave her some sweet tea as you told me to and she felt better after a while.’ He turned to his wife. ‘You need to listen to the doctor. If she says you should go to hospital, then you have to go. If you won’t go to Glasgow, you must go into Lochmaddy.’

  ‘I want to stay with you.’

  ‘Och, I’ll be there as often as they let me. Please, mo ghràidh, do this. If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for me.’

  Caroline closed her eyes for a long moment. ‘Very well. I can’t fight you both. Can I come in tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes. But no later. Can you take her, Donald? I don’t want her walking.’

  ‘Aye. I’ll take her. I’ll find someone to give us a lift on their cart. And if I can’t, I’ll just have to carry her all the way in my arms.’

  Margaret didn’t like to leave Caroline at home even overnight. But on the other hand, there was actually very little they could do for her on the antenatal ward – except carry out a Caesarean section if the baby did start to become distressed. She almost wished she’d insisted Caroline go to Glasgow – that way she’d be someone else’s problem. She gave herself a mental shake. Glasgow or here, the outcome would likely be the same. At least here Caroline was in familiar surroundings – and with her beloved Donald.

  Chapter 39

  A gentle hand on her shoulder woke Margaret from a deep and dreamless sleep. Dolina was standing over her, the light from the small paraffin lamp she was holding casting a ghostly glow over her sharp features. Margaret swallowed a shriek just in time.

  ‘What is it, Dolina?’ She pushed the blankets aside. Dr Alan was away attending a meeting in Stornoway so she was on call, but it was rare to be disturbed during the night. Margaret fumbled for her alarm clock and peered at the time. Midnight! It felt as if she’d been asleep for only minutes. It seemed the moment Dr Alan left the island everyone had come down with something. She’d been run ragged all day.

  ‘Oh, Doctor, I’m not sure how to tell you.’ It was only the second time Margaret had seen the usually taciturn woman upset. And more than upset: she was clearly distraught.

  Alarm spiralled down Margaret’s spine. ‘Tell me what?’ She bolted upright and gripped the older woman’s arm. ‘Tell me what, Dolina!’

  The wind howled, rattling the window-frames as if trying to shake them loose.

  ‘It’s Libby. She’s not well. They sent one of the neighbours to come and tell us. He’s ridden all the way from Grimsay.’

  ‘Did she say what’s wrong?’ Margaret launched herself from the bed.

  ‘No. Just that she needs a doctor. And her mother.’

  Margaret was throwing on her clothes as Dolina spoke. Why did Dr Alan have to be away? ‘I need to get to Grimsay. Now. What’s the quickest way?’

  ‘The tide’s on the way in. The neighbour said that someone would meet you with a boat at Carinish pier. You finish getting dressed and I’ll send word to Johnny Ban.’

  ‘Go! Hurry! Tell him there’s no time to waste.’

  When Dolina left, Margaret finished getting dressed. She could hardly do up the buttons of her cardigan, her hands were shaking so much. What could be wrong with Elizabeth? Scarlet fever? Whooping cough? An accident? Dear God, she could be dead already!

  She sucked in a few deep steadying breaths. Panic wouldn’t help her child. But damn this island. Damn the lack of modern facilities, the lack of transport, damn the fact there was no way she could telephone Sandbank to find out about her child.

  She hurried downstairs and automatically checked her bag. As she knew it would be, it was fully packed with everything she might need for an emergency. It was an unbroken rule. After every call-out, everything that had been used was replaced.

  Dolina appeared back at the door. A rumpled-looking Johnny Ban was standing by the door of his car. As soon as Margaret stepped outside the wind almost knocked her from her feet. There was no chance any of the ferries would be able to arrive or leave until the storm died down.

  ‘Get me to Carinish as fast as you can,’ Margaret said.

  He muttered something in Gaelic.

  ‘What’s he saying?’ Margaret asked Dolina.

  ‘He says he’ll drive as if the devil himself were after him.’ Dolina gripped Margaret by the shoulders. ‘I’ll pray for you and the wee lass.’

  The journey seemed interminable despite the fact that, true to his word, Johnny Ban drove the car as if the devil himself were after them, which in a way, Margaret thought despairingly, he was.

  Peter was waiting with his boat at Carinish Pier, rain dripping from the rim of his hat and down his face.

  ‘Is she…?’ She couldn’t bring herself to complete the sentence.

  ‘She’s poorly, but she’s still alive,’ he replied. ‘Flora is with her.’ He helped her into the rocking boat.

  ‘James?’

  ‘He’s right as rain. We kept him away from his sister as soon as we realised something was wrong.’

  Thank God. She didn’t know how she could bear it if both her children were ill.

  ‘What’s her symptoms?’ Margaret asked, forcing herself to think like a doctor and not a mother.

  ‘She’s burning up. She’s had a cough these last few days, all the children have, so we didn’t think anything of it. But yesterday she wouldn’t get out of bed, wouldn’t eat anything. Flora wanted to call you but I persuaded her to wait a day. God, I’m sorry. I should have listened to the wife. She has more experience of these things than I do.’

  He should have called for her before now and it was on the tip of her tongue to tell him so but he looked so dejected she bit back the words. If anyone was to blame it was her. She should have fought harder to keep her children with her. But there was no point in thinking about what should have been, she had to get to her daughter.

  The boat struggled to make headway against the combined force of the wind and the waves but at last they were pulling up outside Sandbank. Margaret jumped out of the boat before Peter could lift her ashore, uncaring that she had to wade the last few feet.

  Flora came hurrying out of the house, her normally neat appearance ruffled. ‘You’re here. Thank God.’

  ‘How is she?’ Margaret panted.

  ‘She’s not good. I’ve done everything I can think of. Kept her cool, bathed her forehead, tried to make her drink, but…’

  Margaret didn’t wait to hear the rest. She burst through the front door, taking the stairs up to her child two at a time, not stopping to acknowledge the children sitting on the stairs, their faces white with anxiety.

  Elizabeth was lying in the bed, her face flushed with fever. She didn’t respond when Margaret called her name. She resisted the impulse to cradle her child in her arms and quickly felt for a pulse. It was rapid and weak.

  ‘It’s all right, Elizabeth. Mummy’s here,’ she said past the lump in her throat. ‘Everything is going to be fine.’

  She grabbed the stethoscope out of her bag.

  Her daughter’s eyes flickered. ‘Mummy?’ she whispered.

  Thank the Lord. She hadn’t slipped so far away that she didn’t know her mother.

  ‘Could you lift her?’ Margaret said to Flora, who had followed her up the stairs. ‘I need to listen to her chest.’

  Flora did as Margaret asked. Elizabeth was floppy and unable to hold herself upright.

  Margaret pressed the bell end of the stethoscope to her daughter’s chest and listened. There it was – the unmistakable crackle of pneumonia.

  Pneumonia wasn’t always a death sentence, she told herself. Elizabeth was a strong child – a healthy child before this and she’d been well lo
oked after. She slid the bell of the stethoscope over her child’s heart. It was still beating strongly, although rapidly.

  ‘What can we do?’ Flora whispered.

  Margaret pulled Elizabeth into her arms and nestled her child’s head against her breast. ‘There is nothing anyone can do for her,’ she said, ‘except keep her cool and wait for the fever to break. And pray.’

  ‘Shall I send a telegram to Toni to let Alasdair know?’ Flora whispered.