The Wind from the Sea

by Mark Neilson

  An émigré Scot, from Canada. A bell went off in Jonathon’s mind.

  ‘When your family emigrated to Canada, did they own little more than the clothes on their backs?’ he asked.

  ‘We were flat broke. My dad was laid off, after years of bad fishing.’

  ‘And you’re an outdoor man – anyone can see that from your face.’

  ‘I am.’ Campbell’s eyes were twinkling. He was enjoying this.

  ‘Do you have anything to do with trees?’

  ‘I spend my life among them.’

  Jonathon’s heart was beating as if about to burst from his chest. ‘You didn’t, by any chance, know Andrew Carnegie?’

  ‘A grand old man,’ said Campbell. ‘A tough old son-of-a-bitch when you were dealing with him on business. But a heart of gold. Yes, I was truly privileged to be his friend.’

  Jonathon shook his head. ‘You can’t be …’ he said weakly.

  ‘I am.’ Campbell grinned. ‘I caught a first-class berth a couple of days before the Foundation’s letter. On impulse. Left them to tell you I might be dropping in. I decided I was due a vacation. To visit the Old Country, meet my grandparents, see the place my mom never forgot.’

  His smile became rueful. ‘I didn’t bargain on researching your hospital quite so closely. But you run a sound little outfit here. Good doctor, good nursing staff, good reputation. My grandparents tell me that it’s the mainstay of … what did they call them? … the “fishertoons”.’

  ‘Well, I’m damned,’ Jonathon said weakly.

  ‘Quite the opposite,’ Campbell said. ‘How much are the lawyers asking for this place?’

  Jonathon told him. Crossing his fingers, below the level of the bed.

  Campbell nodded. ‘I’d be disappointing Andrew if I didn’t bargain them down from there,’ he said briskly. ‘Right, cancel all plans to evacuate the building. Your hospital equipment – and myself – are going to stay right here. You too. But first, I’m going to need a lawyer …’

  He grinned. ‘This bit of hospital business, I am going to enjoy …’

  Still dazed, Jonathon walked into the empty women’s ward, where Aggie and Mary were cleaning under the beds.

  ‘Oh, it’s you,’ said Aggie, glancing up. ‘I saw the legs and thought it was somebody important.’

  Jonathon towered over them. ‘Stand easy, slaves. I’m going to make us all a cup of tea,’ he announced.

  Aggie sniffed suspiciously. ‘Has he been drinking?’ she asked Mary.

  Mary rocked back onto her heels, head to the side.

  ‘He looks sober,’ she judged.

  ‘Does this offer stretch to biscuits with our tea?’ Aggie asked hopefully.

  ‘Say the word, and I will run down to the town, and buy some.’

  ‘Consider it said,’ Aggie replied. ‘And there are witnesses.’

  Jonathon sat down heavily on one of the empty beds.

  ‘Hey! I’ve just straightened these sheets,’ Aggie complained.

  ‘You will never guess who I’ve been talking to,’ Jonathon said.

  ‘There’s only Angus Campbell through there.’

  ‘Wrong. That’s our fairy godmother, who is lying through there.’

  ‘A fairy godmother with stubble?’ Aggie queried.

  ‘Why is he our fairy godmother?’ Mary asked, rising from the floor.

  ‘Behold this place,’ said Jonathon. ‘Everything that you see is ours: the beds, the chairs, the walls, even that old damp stain on the ceiling.’

  ‘He has been drinking,’ Aggie sighed.

  ‘Angus Campbell is a friend of Andrew Carnegie. The friend, the one the Foundation asked to help. He has seen us, likes us, and is helping. He wants a lawyer, a banker, and his chequebook. He is buying the building from Johnnie Meldrum’s heirs. Then giving it to the town – all threats removed, all documents signed and sealed.’

  He smiled at Aggie: ‘You may close your mouth,’ he said benignly.

  She did, with a click. ‘He’s doing what?’ she asked.

  ‘You heard.’

  ‘But I don’t believe.’

  ‘Feel free. Believe. This place is ours.’

  Jonathon suddenly swooped down, lifted her from the floor, and started dancing round the space between the beds with her.

  ‘Stop it, you daft idiot,’ she laughed.

  It felt good, so good, to have his arms around her – even in fun. And good to see in his laughing face the boy she had always known.

  ‘Stop it,’ she repeated. ‘Angus Campbell will change his mind, if he sees us behaving like this.’

  ‘I don’t care,’ said Jonathon. ‘Well, I do care, if it’s going to cost us the hospital. A day ago, we had no future. Now – or within a couple of weeks – we need never worry again about losing our hospital.’

  He turned, gripped Mary’s shoulders, shaking her gently. ‘We can throw open our doors to patients again! We can plan, think through what we need to do to turn this place into a modern hospital. Go back round local businesses and local people to raise funds for new beds, new equipment – even new paint, once we’ve got everything else we need. This place is ours!’

  It was impossible not to be caught up in his enthusiasm.

  ‘Whoever would have thought …’ said Mary. ‘We did no more for Angus Campbell than we’d have done for anybody. No bowing, or scraping: just treating him like an ordinary man.’

  ‘That’s what he likes,’ Jonathon said, more soberly. ‘We had no cause to try and impress him. He was just a stranger, somebody we could have done without, when we were closing down. But we put our own plans aside and dealt with his emergency. Then nursed him back through the effects of the anaesthetic and his early recovery. Without making a special fuss over him, because we didn’t know that he was in a position to help us.’

  ‘If we’d known, I’d have put extra sugar into his tea,’ said Aggie.

  ‘But you didn’t – that’s the whole point.’ Jonathon smiled down at Mary. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘An hour ago, I had nothing to offer. Now there’s a job for both of you, if you want it. Head nurse for you, Mary. Trainee nurse and chief tea-maker for you, my quine. Neither of you need ever gut a fish again.’

  He pointed a quivering finger at Aggie. ‘But you will have to do what you’re told by me,’ he warned.

  ‘No chance!’ scoffed Aggie. ‘Are you serious? About the job?’

  ‘Cross my heart and hope to die,’ said Jonathon.

  ‘More to the left,’ she ordered.

  ‘Wrong. Your heart, contrary to popular belief, is under your sternum – your breastbone. In the centre of your chest. That’s your first theory lesson.’

  Aggie ran her hands over her hair, realization dawning. ‘I’d never have to leave wee Tommy on his own again!’

  ‘Then I’ve got one nurse?’

  ‘As of now,’ she said. ‘When do we get paid?’

  Jonathon laughed. ‘When there’s money. What about you, Mary? We can find a way to let you study nursing. I can help you with the book side of things, give you all the clinical training you need. You can sit, and pass, your nursing qualification in a couple of years.’

  The light died in Mary’s eyes. She frowned.

  ‘Jonathon, can I think about that for a bit?’ she asked.

  Surprised, he said: ‘Of course you can, my dear. But you are central to every plan I have, for this place. We need a good nurse. That means you.’

  Mary’s shoulders drooped.

  ‘I’ll wash my hands and make the tea,’ she said.

  Frowning, Jonathon watched her leave. ‘I thought she’d jump at my offer,’ he said. ‘She’s not still thinking about that crazy doctor idea, is she?’

  ‘Who says it’s crazy?’ Aggie demanded.

  Jonathon shook his head. ‘Doesn’t she realize that she will have to study to get into medical school? Then seven long years after that, including her clinical experience? She could be in her thirties by the time she qualifies – if she ever l
asts the pace, and passes her examinations. You don’t just wish to be a doctor. It takes years of study.’

  ‘She knows all that.’

  ‘Ah well,’ Jonathon said. ‘No point in crossing bridges until we come to them. First things first. We have our hospital back! I feel like dancing … madam, will you do me the honour of this dance?’

  ‘I certainly won’t,’ said Aggie primly.

  Then she was picked up and whirled into something which might have been a lively waltz – or a drunken polka, or just about anything. No point in trying to guess which steps came next. She left her feet to look after themselves, and hung on for grim death.

  ‘Sorry!’ he said, tripping over her, for the umpteenth time.

  She hauled him to a stop.

  ‘Jonathon!’ she said firmly. ‘You’ve got two left feet.’

  ‘It’s the orchestra. They’re an absolute disgrace.’

  ‘I don’t hear any orchestra,’ she said, still in his arms.

  ‘Exactly. They should be playing louder – and in tune … and all at the same time …’ Jonathon’s voice gradually tailed off.

  They were standing very close, in each other’s arms. Smiling.

  Somehow, without knowing who made the first move, they were kissing. Gently, almost in surprise. Then intensely, with real passion.

  Jonathon finally eased her away. ‘What happened there?’ he asked nobody in particular. Then his hand came up to touch the dark curl on Aggie’s neck. ‘That curl,’ he said. ‘It’s been haunting me. It’s perfect. Your neck is perfect. In fact …’ he turned her slowly round at arm’s length, ‘… the rest of you is pretty perfect too. When did it happen, Aggie? When did you become this beautiful woman?’

  She curtsied. ‘Thank you, kind sir.’

  Then the words were out, before she even knew that they were there.

  ‘Is this a leap year?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ he replied. ‘Why?’

  ‘Pity. Because, if it was, I was going to ask you to marry me.’

  Jonathon stared at her. Somewhere in the old house, an old clock was ticking slowly: the only sound in the place.

  ‘Shouldn’t you get down on one knee, or something?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ll get down on two, if it makes any difference.’

  Jonathon studied her, then a slow smile broke on his face. ‘That’s it,’ he said. ‘I’ve just solved a problem that has puzzled me for years. I have always loved you – that’s why I’ve never looked at any other woman.’

  He scooped her up into his arms and strode out of the ward.

  ‘Where are you going?’ she gasped, clinging to his neck.

  ‘Through to see Angus Campbell. To show him that he’s bought me a wife as well as a hospital.’ Jonathon smiled. Then looked down on her. ‘But you’ll still have to make the tea,’ he warned. ‘No special privileges.’

  ‘It’s a deal,’ said Aggie, burying her face into his neck.

  The wind from the sea was bitingly cold. Mary wrapped her shawl more tightly round her head and shoulders. Only seven months before, she had hurried down this slope towards the harbour, joy in her heart: because at last she had come home, to pick up the threads of her life again. Now her step was slow, and her heart was heavy.

  So much had happened, in between.

  The harbour was deserted. At the end of the winter fishing, the men were back with their families, taking things easy for a bit. After the New Year had passed, the harbour and its shipyards would be full of life again, as boats were winched up and repaired, getting ready for the year ahead. Until then, the drifters were moored two and three deep around the quays.

  Mary walked slowly under the harbour wall then stopped, looking down at the solitary figure below. Sitting on the raised edge of the hold, hunched over the pad on his lap: drawing something that existed in his mind alone, because his head never came up, to check the subject.

  ‘I thought I’d find you here,’ she said.

  His face lifted: his eyes, which were the colour of the sea, quiet and guarded. ‘Mary Cowie,’ he said.

  The hairs on her neck tingled, each time he spoke her name like that.

  ‘What are you drawing?’ she asked.

  ‘Scribbling. Just passing the time.’

  Mary dropped the shawl from her head. ‘I didn’t come down to see you land from the south,’ she said. Having had to fight herself to stay away.

  ‘I wasn’t looking for you,’ he lied.

  They studied one another: he made no effort to climb the ladder to the quay; she didn’t ask to come down, because it was bad luck for any woman to step on any fishing boat. Although her own luck could scarcely be worse.

  ‘Jonathon’s offered me the nurse’s job,’ Mary said.

  He waited, then asked: ‘And?’

  ‘I’m thinking about taking it.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I want to stay here, in this place. With my friends.’

  And you, she added silently.

  ‘Wrong decision,’ he said quietly. ‘You’re a fighter. A fighter should always fight, not hide away. What’s happened to the fire that was in your belly? Your hunger to be a pioneer? One of the first women doctors?’

  ‘That doesn’t matter anymore,’ she said.

  ‘It does. Deep down inside. I can see its flame.’

  She dropped her head, unable to hold his gaze.

  ‘There is an alternative,’ she began.

  ‘Which is?’

  Despite the biting cold, Mary’s cheeks burned. ‘I could study, through in Edinburgh. Try to get into Elsie Inglis’s hospital, to be trained with the other college girls. Study for years, just to catch up with them. Then study to become a doctor. When I don’t know if I have the brains – or the courage – to finish the job. And I would never know where the money to buy my next meal was coming from.’

  He watched her silently.

  ‘Come with me,’ she said. ‘Come back to the city, to study art.’

  ‘Me? Leave my own people and my work behind? I’m born to be a fisherman – not to stake my future on a talent I’ve only just discovered.’

  It was no more than the truth. She was asking him to come and share her sacrifices, and the risk that everything might easily be in vain.

  ‘I need your courage,’ she said honestly. ‘I can’t do this on my own.’

  ‘Nor can you do it leaning on a broken reed,’ he told her grimly. ‘On a man who still can’t sleep, who gets the shakes. Who is afraid.’

  ‘We could be scared together. Help each other overcome our fears.’

  She should be ashamed, a woman offering so openly to share her life with any man. But this wasn’t just any man: it was Neil, and she was driven by her fear.

  Because there was more than studying which scared her. She had worked among these pioneers, and had no illusions about what she would be taking on. If she went to Edinburgh, it wouldn’t be just to enter medicine. It would be to move into the front line of politics, to fight in that other war; the war that had still to be won. The fight for women’s rights – where men were the main enemy. It was a bleak and lonely campaign: you couldn’t fight men for women’s rights, then go home to live with one. From what she’d seen, none of these fiery women warriors could sustain a relationship with a man.

  But Neil was unique: the only man she knew who might understand the broader context, and support her; who could help her to define and guard a space which would be theirs alone.

  Where she could be a woman, not just a warrior.

  They could be the exception to the rule. Without him at her side, she would be condemning herself to loneliness, whatever her studies won.

  Their eyes locked. In his face, she could read his indecision.

  His eyes dropped, and he closed the child’s exercise book he used for sketching. There was something utterly final in that gesture. ‘I cannot tell you how honoured I am,’ he said quietly. ‘But she travels fastest, and furthest, wh
o travels alone. I would be worse than a sea anchor to you. I would only drag you down.’

  ‘A sea anchor saves lives in a storm,’ Mary argued.

  ‘As you will. But first, you must become a doctor.’

  The wind ate into her bones. She felt old, and cold. Unwanted. Pain and tears were welling up, from deep inside.

  ‘Then it’s no?’ she asked, fighting them.

  He stood silently. Mary lifted her shawl, automatically covering her head again, and walked leadenly from the harbour.

  ‘Because I love you too much to say “yes”,’ he finally replied. When he knew she was gone, and would never hear him.

  He opened the exercise book with fingers that shook, and found the page where he’d been working. A young woman’s face, tilted slightly, looking directly at the artist, laughing. There was wind in her hair, teasing it from her face, giving it movement and life. A sparkle of light and humour in her eyes. For the first time, he had caught light, and set it down on paper.

  It was Mary’s face. All that he would have of her to remember.

  It had rained all morning, and was raining still. A small grey rain that stung with the intensity of its cold. Down over the harbour, Mary could hear the seagulls calling endlessly. For many years, the sound of home.

  She looked along the station platform. Two or three knots of people waiting for the Aberdeen train. Huddled together for warmth, their umbrellas up and slanted against the endless Buckie wind.

  She was on her own. Sneaking off, like a thief, because she couldn’t bear the thought of having to say goodbye to anybody. Up at the water tower, she saw the engine taking on water, steam swirling round its wheels.

  She wished Aggie well. Wished her and Jonathon all the joys that life could offer – joys that would never now be hers.

  Once again, she was leaving home – her future stark and uncertain: heading south to Edinburgh with barely enough in her purse to cover a couple of months’ accommodation. Bruntsfield Hospital: she had heard so much about the place. Were they still training women doctors? Would they take her in, as a student? How would she earn the money to keep herself there?

  What if they shook their heads and closed the door on her?