High on a Mountain

by Tommie Lyn

  “Of course. I need my breakfast. I have work to do and a man can’t work on an empty stomach.”

  Mùirne sat up and looked at him for a moment. She dropped her head, and her fingers began making little folds and twists of the blanket.

  “I…don’t know how to cook porridge.”

  “You’re teasing me, aren’t you?”

  “No. I don’t know how.”

  “But all women know how to cook porridge. You’re a woman, you have to know how,” he said.

  She didn’t answer, but flopped back onto the bed and yanked the blanket over her head. He heard her sniffling and pulled down the covers. She was crying softly.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

  “You’re angry. You…you’ve never been angry with me before,” she said.

  “No,” he said. “I’m not angry. I’m just surprised. You’re supposed to cook for us. That’s what wives do.”

  She jerked the covers over her head, and he pulled them down again. He kissed her cheek softly and stroked her tangled curls away from her face. She put her arms around his neck, kissed his lips, and all thoughts of food left him.

  Later, when they got out of bed, Ailean went next door to see if his mother had any porridge. He found Brìghde bustling about, doing her morning chores.

  “Ma,” he said. “I’m hungry.”

  “Tell your wife to cook your breakfast.” Brìghde went on with her work.

  “Mùirne doesn’t know how to cook. Do you have any porridge left?”

  Brìghde stopped what she was doing, put her hands on her hips and gave Ailean a sharp look. “She doesn’t know how to cook?”

  “No.” He looked away, unable to meet her stare.

  Brìghde sighed. “Maybe there’s enough left for you.” She scraped the sides of the pot and put the cooled oatmeal into a wooden bowl. “It’s not much, but maybe it’ll keep you from starving. You’re fortunate I haven’t washed the pot yet.”

  She set the bowl on the work table and put part of the leftover porridge into a second bowl. Ailean grabbed the bowls and started for the door.

  “Wait a minute. You probably have nothing for a noon meal, either.”

  Ailean didn’t reply.

  Brìghde spread two pieces of clean linen on the table, laid slices of bread and cheese on each one and folded them into packets. “There. At least the two of you can keep body and soul together for one more day.”

  “Thanks, Ma.” Ailean set the bowls on the table and kept his eyes averted as he tucked the two packets inside the upper folds of his féileadh-mòr . He picked up the bowls of cold porridge again and hurried out the door.

  She shook her head and muttered, “He marries, but not only do I have to keep feeding him, he brings me another mouth to feed, too. I’ll have to teach the girl to cook or I’ll have them on my hands from now on.”

  ____________

  After they ate, Mùirne begged him to spend the day with her as she tended his father’s flock of sheep.

  “I can’t do that. I have work to do,” he told her.

  “But you always used to come and sit with me.”

  “We were courting then. And when I came home, I had to do more chores to make up for the time I was with you.”

  “Please,” she pleaded.

  “No, my love, there’s too much work I have to do. I have to get that field cleared for planting, and it’s going to take a lot of time to get it ready. Besides, you’ve always looked after your granda’s sheep by yourself.”

  “These sheep don’t know me yet. And I…don’t know this place. I don’t know where to take them to graze.”

  “All right, I’ll have Ma or Una tell you the best place for grazing.”

  “But…I don’t know your mother that well. And what if these people should come where I am…”

  “What people?”

  “The people who live here, the neighbors.”

  Ailean grunted in frustration. “Understand this, I can’t go with you today. Ma can show you where to go. And the neighbors are good people. You should know, you met them all at the wedding.”

  “Yes, but you were with me then, to protect me. I…I don’t know them, I…I…”

  Tears welled up in her eyes, and her hands began to tremble. He couldn’t understand why she was distressed, but he saw she was afraid and troubled. A small touch of pity interrupted his growing irritation. He brushed his hair from his face and tried to calm himself. He slipped an arm around her shoulders.

  “I don’t know why you’re so upset, Mùirne. There’s nothing to be afraid of. You can do this.”

  She put her arms around his waist, buried her face against his chest and clung to him. He wanted to shrug out of her embrace, wanted to pull away, a jitteriness climbing up his spine along with a growing awareness of his diminishing freedom.

  But he clenched his teeth, willed himself to hold her, to comfort her. When her trembling subsided, he released her and pulled her arms loose from their tight grasp. He put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her away, holding her at arms’ length.

  “How about this—how about I go with you and help you find a place for the sheep to graze today. I’ll go do my work, and then I’ll come back in the evening and bring you home,” he said. “All right?”

  She nodded reluctantly.

  Dealing with Mùirne’s fears and weaknesses over the first weeks of marriage was hard for Ailean. But it was even more difficult for him to accept that her presence curtailed his personal freedom. He had always been ready to go where ever his impulses led him, to do whatever he was moved to do.

  But being married meant he had to consider Mùirne’s needs as well as his own. He couldn’t decide one moment to go to the mountaintop and the next moment set off on the path to the peak.

  The loss of his freedom rankled.

  On a clear, cold Sunday morning in January, Mùirne burned the porridge. They left for church without breakfast. Ailean discovered on their return home Mùirne had not planned a noon meal. The coolness between them escalated into a stony silence as cold as the breeze off the loch.

  “Why won’t you talk to me?” Mùirne asked at last.

  Ailean didn’t answer, afraid if he spoke, he would spew angry words and shatter their brittle relationship beyond repair. He ran a hand through his hair and began to pace the floor within the confines of the tiny cottage.

  He felt caged, constricted, and he itched be free to climb the mountain. He wanted to feel the exhilarating wintry wind on his face, wanted to watch the sun glinting on the rough surface of the loch, wanted to escape the ever-tightening bonds of his marriage, if only for a little while.

  He donned his bonnet, went to the door and lifted the bar.

  “Where are you going?” Mùirne asked.

  “To climb the mountain.”

  “But…but why?”

  “Because I want to. It’s a beautiful day and—”

  “But I thought we could spend the day together. It seems we’re never together any more. Not like when you used to come see me, before we were married…”

  Ailean clenched his teeth, pulled the door open and stood in the open doorway, the crisp breeze catching the hem of his féileadh-mòr, lifting it, tugging at it. He looked at the mountain, felt the stirring of a desire to run up the slope, free from restraint or obligation.

  For a brief moment, he wished he’d never married Mùirne, wished he was still at liberty to do as he pleased. And he regretted the day on the drovers’ trail by Loch Lomond when he’d looked into her eyes, and, as it seemed to him now, lost his senses. He tried to banish the thought as quickly as it entered his mind.

  “Ailean,” Mùirne said, her voice low and soft.

  He scuffed his foot on the floor, his vexation growing stronger by the minute.

  “Ailean.”

  He turned his head toward her unwillingly, not wanting her to see the anger and annoyance he was sure sparked from his eyes. Her head
was bowed over her twisting, wringing hands, and he could see only the delicate curve of her cheek over which trailed a curly red tendril. Her loveliness claimed his attention, reawakened his tender feelings. At that moment, she raised her head and looked into his eyes. A single tear spilled onto her cheek, trickled over the hard wall of his selfishness, and melted his heart.

  “Mùirne, I’m sorry. I—”

  “I’m sorry, too.”

  A half-smile formed on her trembling lips. His breath caught in his throat, and desire flooded through his body. The hot surge erased his frustration as though it had never been.

  He closed the door, lowered the bar and went to her. He took her in his arms and kissed her, picked up her small body and carried her to the bed.

  ____________

  Over the next several weeks, Mùirne worked hard at learning to be a wife. Brìghde taught Mùirne how to cook and clean, and she learned to take care of some housewifely chores competently. The young couple settled into a comfortable routine: days of hard work and nights of love and joy.

  But a bit of Ailean’s high-spirited exuberance eroded as he watched some of his dreams slip away.

  ____________

  Latharn’s mother didn’t notice the difference in her son when she first returned home from Edinburgh. But gradually she became aware of a pervasive sadness and ill-temper crystallizing within him. Somehow, Latharn had lost his intense, lively outlook on life, his readiness to enjoy himself when any opportunity presented itself. And he exploded into anger at every small annoyance.

  She attributed this change to his despondency over the loss of his father. But she felt a minor misgiving when she realized his grief, rather than abating with the passage of time, was becoming a central part of his character. She judged that he was capable of feeling either unhappiness or anger, but little else.

  His childhood tantrums had never been corrected by his indulgent father, and now those tantrums had become frightening rages which could be triggered by the slightest frustration.

  One morning, Latharn accidentally sloshed his morning tea onto his fresh tunic. He flew into a rage, flung the cup at Catriona and kicked his chair over as he left the table to change his clothing. His mother sat staring, her hand over her mouth. She shrank from him when he returned to the table, afraid of her own son.

  FOURTEEN

  Since Ailean and Mùirne were starting their married life, they had no provisions stored from harvest and no garden to provide food. Elasaid gave them three hens as a wedding gift, and the eggs the hens laid were their only source of food except what others shared with them.

  Occasionally, Ailean and Coinneach took Aodh’s leisters to the shore of the loch and speared fish to eke out Ailean and Mùirne’s meager diet. Sometimes they caught enough to share with others on the croft.

  The fish and game on the clan lands belonged to the chief, and crofters had no right to them. But the chief and his tacksmen looked the other way because of Ailean’s circumstances, as they did at other times when the harvest was sparse and the crofters needed the fish because they were going hungry.

  ____________

  Latharn traced the gossip about the sword fight back to Dùghall. He sent for Dùghall and Odhran.

  “I’ve been hearing some idle talk,” Latharn said as he paced back and forth in front of the two men, his hands clasped behind his back.

  Dùghall looked at Odhran, shifted his stance nervously and turned his eyes toward the ground.

  “Don’t you want to know what it’s about?” Latharn asked. “Either of you?”

  Neither Dùghall nor Odhran spoke.

  “What about you, Dùghall? Aren’t you curious? Don’t you want to know what I’ve heard?”

  Dùghall shifted his gaze back and forth from Odhran to Latharn, then looked at his feet again, still silent.

  “Someone has been carrying tales about my fight with MacLachlainn. People are laughing at me behind my back,” Latharn said. He stamped a foot on the ground and shouted, “Some are even laughing in my face!”

  Latharn slowly approached Dùghall, the glare in his eyes hard and pitiless.

  “I do not tolerate ridicule, Dùghall,” Latharn said quietly, the softness of his tone more ominous and frightening than his shouting.

  Dùghall’s breath came faster, but still he remained silent.

  “So, you’ve nothing to say? No defense?”

  Dùghall said nothing, but his breath became shallow panting.

  “Maybe this will loosen your tongue,” Latharn said, and he slapped Dùghall’s face so hard he spun the man around.

  Dùghall lost his footing and fell at Latharn’s feet. Latharn kicked the man in the stomach, again and again, unable to stop himself. Odhran didn’t move, as if frozen in shock, watching the assault.

  Latharn grasped Dùghall’s tunic with both hands and lifted him to his feet. Dùghall bent double, groaning and clutching his stomach. Latharn pulled Dùghall up until his face was mere inches away from Latharn’s.

  “Remember this! No one does something to me and gets away with it. You pay for what you do to me,” Latharn shouted. He flung Dùghall against the wall and stomped away.

  ____________

  When planting time arrived, all the families on the croft prepared to drive their animals to the airigh. Each summer, when the women and children stayed in the huts at the airigh to tend the animals, the women milked the cows and ewes and made cheese and butter. Ruairidh allowed his crofters to pay part of their yearly rent in goods they produced, including the cheese they made each summer.

  Mùirne knew Ailean would stay with the men on the croft to plant the oats, barley and other food crops, and she would be expected to stay at the airigh with the other women and the children to help tend the animals. She had spent her summers growing up at the MacPhàrlain’s airigh and knew what her responsibilities would be. She wasn’t happy about prospect of being away from Ailean, but she was not afraid.

  The morning of the move, they rose early, and Mùirne started cooking their porridge. At the sight and smell of the boiling oatmeal, her stomach roiled, and she had to run outside to retch. She heaved again and again and vomited bitter yellow bile. Mùirne spat it on the ground and leaned back on the wall of the cottage, feeling weak and nauseated.

  She wondered what she had eaten the night before to have caused this stomach upset. She had never felt so utterly sick. When the nausea passed, Mùirne went back inside, but the smell of porridge accosted her again, and she hurried out the door.

  Ailean finished dressing and came to see why Mùirne ran outside.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked when he saw her braced against the outside wall, leaning over heaving.

  “I don’t know,” she said when she was able to speak. “I’m just so sick.”

  “Come lie down.”

  “No. I can’t stand the smell of the—” she said, and at the thought of food, she heaved again.

  “I’ll get Ma,” he said and ran to his father’s cottage.

  He pounded on the door and shouted, “Ma, come quick! There’s something wrong with Mùirne!”

  Brìghde came to the door, wiping her hands on a rag. “What is it, son?”

  “I don’t know. She says she’s sick. I’ve never seen her like this. I don’t know what to do. She won’t come inside and lie down…” His voice trailed off as he followed Brìghde back to his cottage.

  Mùirne was leaning back against the wall again, her eyes closed, her face pale.

  “What’s the matter, Mùirne, dear?” Brìghde asked.

  “I…I’m just so sick. I’ve never felt so bad,” Mùirne answered, her voice weak and shaky. “I feel so weak.”

  “Come, let’s get you into bed. You can lie down awhile and maybe you’ll get your strength back, and you’ll feel better.”

  “Oh no. I can’t go back in there. The porridge, the smell…” she said, leaned over and retched again.

  “Ailean, go bring a blanket for her to lie on,
” Brìghde ordered. She supported Mùirne’s forehead with one hand and put her other arm around Mùirne’s waist. “When did this start? When did you get sick?”

  “Just this morning. When I started to cook, the smell, I…”

  Brìghde smiled. “Do you think you might be with child?”

  Mùirne opened her eyes and looked at Brìghde. “What?”

  “This sickness might mean that you’re going to have a baby.”

  “A baby?”

  “Yes, my dear. That’s what can happen when you marry a man and lie together, you know.”

  “But…”Mùirne fell silent. A baby. Ailean’s baby. A baby from their love. A fluttering feeling of excitement mingled with the nausea. A baby!

  Ailean rushed out the door with a blanket and held it out to his mother.

  “Spread it on the ground, son, so she can lie down until the sickness passes.”

  Mùirne watched him spread the blanket for her and smiled. A baby! A feeling of love and tenderness for him swept through her and she wanted to be held in his arms, but she allowed Brìghde to help her down onto the blanket.

  A faint smell of scorched oatmeal drifted out of the open door.

  “The porridge! It’s burning!” Brìghde hurried into the cottage.

  Mùirne raised her hands to Ailean. “Sit with me, please.”

  He sat beside her and took her hand, his brow still furrowed with worry. “How are you feeling? Any better?”

  “Much better. My dear Ailean, I love you so much.”

  “I love you, too.”

  Brìghde rejoined them. “That pot is going to need some scouring. I put water in it and set it aside to soak for awhile,” she said and looked at Ailean. “Hungry?”

  He nodded.

  “Go have some porridge, if your father and Niall have left any in the pot.”

  “No, I need to stay with Mùirne.”

  “Mùirne will be all right. Go. Eat,” she said.

  He looked at Mùirne. She smiled and said, “I’ll be all right. Do what your mother says. Go. Eat.”