Standing Stones

by Beth Camp

  When her back began to ache and her legs were cold from the damp, she walked to the center of the circle of stones. Here a small flat stone remained, dried flowers scattered on the grass before it. Alice looked to the sea and then methodically in each direction, back to the island, searching its hills and valleys for other markers or stones. She had read in the Archaeologia Scotia report her father had sent that these stones could be linked to other ancient sites. Turning, she spotted a slight boy in bare feet, his trousers not quite reaching his ankles.

  “Hello,” she called.

  The boy stood at the far edge of the stone circle.

  “Come here,” she called again.

  “You're from Westness?” he shouted back.

  “Yes, I am. Come here.”

  The boy approached, his thin face uncertain. “I saw you drawing.”

  “What is your name?”

  “Jamie McDonnell.”

  “I know your sister, Moira.”

  “Aye. She works over to Westness.” Jamie touched his cap. “You're Lady Alice.”

  “Yes, I am. What are you doing out here?”

  The boy pulled open a creel slung over his shoulder. He lifted a layer of grass to show a pile of small dark gray eggs. “Gathered them. Over there.” He nodded toward the cliffs.

  “You climb on the cliffs?”

  “A little.”

  “Just like that, with no shoes?” Alice asked.

  Jamie grinned, the gap between his two front teeth showing. “Aye.”

  “Do you want to see?” Alice held up her sketch book.

  Jamie nodded. They sat on the ground and bent over the sketch book while Alice turned the pages.

  The boy studied the drawings intently. He looked again at the standing stones and back to the drawing. “I like your pictures.”

  “My father taught me to draw back home in Edinburgh. He’s interested in old things. Do you draw?”

  “We did some in school when I was younger. I liked it well enough.”

  “Show me.” Surprising herself, Alice handed the sketch pad and pencil to Jamie. He held the pencil in his grimy hand as if he’d never seen one before. “Go ahead. Draw one of the stones.”

  Jamie bent over the sketch book and drew, his concentration so intense it was as if he were alone. The standing stone emerged on paper, the lines rough and true. Alice was content to sit beside him and watch. She wondered if she would ever have a son like this. She sighed. The boy had so much talent, yet he was hanging over a cliff to gather eggs. If what Pastor McPherson had told her was true, he would be on a fishing boat far too soon. “I’ve been reading about old stones like this. Are there others like this on Foulksay?”

  “I know a few places. One’s further up the coast.” Jamie waved to the north. “One's on the other side of the island. Both are a good walk from here, though.”

  “Did I see you at Westness recently?”

  “Yes, mum. I was looking for a job.”

  Alice noted his thin clothing. “Could you help me measure and draw some of these stones? And maybe take me to the other old places? I will pay you.”

  “Aye. I’d like that.”

  Alice wanted to reach out to him, to smooth his hair, to give him a warmer coat. “Tomorrow then, in the morning.” She looked at the sky. “We’ll hope for good weather.”

  “Can it be in the afternoon, mum, like today? I help my brothers in the morning.”

  “In the afternoon? Certainly. Come to Westness as soon as you can.”

  “I’ll be there, mum.”

  Alice watched Jamie run down the path back to Selkirk, his creel tucked under his arm. So this was Moira’s brother. He would spend the rest of the day down at the beach to bait hooks, she guessed. The boy was so thin she wondered if they truly had enough to eat. God willing, they could always eat fish.

  By the time Alice returned to Westness, it was nearly supper and quite dark. The two maids were just lighting the lamps throughout the house. Alice pulled off her jacket as she walked up the central winding stairs to her rooms to change.

  “Lord Gordon wanted to see you earlier,” said Mrs. MacNaught as she helped Alice take off her wet skirt and boots.

  Alice pursed her lips. “Did he want to see me before supper?”

  “He said you were to come to his office the moment you came in.” Mrs. MacNaught shook the wet skirt out and spread it over a chair near the fire to dry. She avoided looking at Alice.

  “Very well,” replied Alice. “That will do for now. I’ll go straight down as soon as I've changed.”

  Alice tapped on the door to Gordon’s office and waited for a few moments. She heard nothing. She tapped again.

  “Yes, yes, come in.”

  Alice found Gordon with papers spread over his desk. He looked up as she entered. “And where have you been all day?”

  “Out walking. I took my sketch book up to the standing stones above the cove.”

  Gordon stared at her, silent.

  “Papa wrote me about them, asking for drawings. He thinks they may be similar to the standing stones at Stenness.”

  Gordon pushed a set of papers aside and sighed. “I wanted to ask you, have you seen Pastor McPherson?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Not yet?” Gordon stood. His letters and papers scattered to the floor. “But I asked you weeks ago to work with him.”

  Alice was silent.

  Gordon’s face flushed red. “What are you, some kind of foolish girl who must be kept in her room before she does what she is told?”

  “Perhaps it is better not to shout,” said Alice.

  “Don’t tell me not to shout.” Gordon slapped a book and it fell to the floor. “This is my office and my house, and you are my wife. You are to meet your responsibilities.”

  Alice felt a surge of anger. “This is foolishness. All this uproar. Just because I wasn’t here this afternoon when you called for me. Why are you so angry?”

  He grabbed her wrist, holding it tightly. “Tell me now. Are you pregnant?”

  “Pregnant?” Alice shook her head. “No, I’m not.”

  He pulled her toward him until their faces were inches apart. Alice saw spittle shaking on his lips. “I want sons.”

  “Gordon, let go of my wrist.” I am his wife, thought Alice. He cannot do this.

  He held her for a moment longer and pushed her from him. He sat heavily on one of the side chairs. “Leave me.”

  Alice rubbed her wrist. Her anger evaporated. Something was wrong. “I don’t understand, Gordon. You know we both want children. It must be something else.”

  Gordon turned his face away. “I can’t talk about it. Just leave me.”

  Alice closed the office door and stood by it a moment. There were no servants in the hall, but they knew. They always knew.

  Gordon looked at the papers strewn on the floor. Alice was not to blame. William Gray’s letter lay crumpled on the desk. On the way back from Bangladore, one of their three ships had foundered and sunk along the Barbary Coast. The captain of the second ship had thrown much of its precious cargo overboard to survive the storm, and the third ship hadn't yet arrived in London. Gray reported that the exchange was talking of another market crash, as bad as the one in ‘25.

  It was a disaster. He would have to travel south to ask Alexander for another loan. He could see his brother’s face now, narrow and supercilious. Of course, Alexander would tell his wife about his poor brother, banished to this god awful cold and dark island with an intractable and infertile wife, yet unable to make a living even with Alexander’s largesse.

  Gordon felt the blood rushing in his temples. He rubbed his arm again. The pain lessened slowly. Raising the rents would not be enough. He would have to begin evictions.

  CHAPTER 15: SCOTT'S MERCANTILE

  Deidre buttoned a lace collar over her black dress and stepped into the kitchen. “Good morning, Mother. Are the girls awake?”

  “Not quite yet. I heard Penelope stirring.” Anne
leaned over the stove, one of the few iron stoves on the island, her back to her daughter. “Fetch me some more peat, and we’ll call them to breakfast.”

  “Yes, Mother.” Deidre ran down the stairs and started to fill a large tin pail with peat from the bin in the storage room at the back of the store. It was cooler downstairs, but her heart felt light.

  “Good morning, daughter. You’re up early this morning.”

  “Not so early, father. I’m to see Pastor McPherson this morning.” She put the scuttle down as she surveyed the store. “I should be back by noon.”

  “Your mother talked to me about the Pastor just last night. He’s a fine man. Single, you know.”

  “Father, I’m going to work at the school with him, not marry him.” She shuddered. “Not the Pastor.”

  “I know. I know. But he's an educated man. You could do worse. Here, give me that. It’s too heavy for you.”

  “No, I’ll take it up, Da. I just wanted to say good morning.”

  “And a good morning it is. We’re busy already.”

  The store was a little dark in the gray morning light. Mac stood with several other men around the pot-bellied stove in the middle of the store. He was taller, and his dark hair seemed to catch the light.

  “Breakfast is ready if you can come up, Father.”

  “All right.” William patted her arm. “Boys, I’m going upstairs for a moment. Be back in a few.”

  Mac turned at his voice and saw Deidre. He walked to the back of the store. “And a good morning to you, Mistress Scott.”

  “Good morning. You’re not out fishing this day?”

  “Not when I could be talking to you,” He grinned, and Deidre flushed. “Let me carry that up for you,” he said.

  “No, I’ve got it. I’m fine.”

  “I insist.” He leaned close to Deidre to pick up the pail. “You smell nice this fine morning.”

  “Please. Let me be.”

  “Ah, ladies don’t carry such heavy things, Deidre, and you are definitely a lady.”

  Deidre’s heart hammered. She wondered how much he remembered about her. She gave up and followed Mac up the stairs.

  “There you are, Mac,” said William. “Mother, you know Mac.”

  Anne nodded a greeting, her eyes on the bubbling porridge.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Scott. Where do you want this?” Mac held the heavy pail up as if it were weightless.

  “By the stove. No need for us to keep you from your work.”

  “’Tis hard at work I am already, Mrs. Scott.” He gave Deidre a wink. “Lifting and carrying for Scott Mercantile when I could be fishing.”

  “Ah, Mac, you’re fishing already, fishing for compliments,” said William. “Go on with you now. Mayhap you can walk Deidre over to the school since you’re so busy.”

  “Father,” interrupted Anne. “She’s to see Pastor McPherson this morning.”

  “Toosh. Let the boy walk her up to the manse. Take your cloak, Deidre. You’ll be working soon enough.”

  Deidre pulled her cloak on, eager to leave the warm kitchen before her mother said something irredeemable. Penelope and Charlotte whispered and stared at Mac waiting by the door, the pail of peat forgotten by his feet.

  Then Deidre was outside with Mac, glad of the morning wind that smelled of the sea.

  “’Tis good to see you back home.” Mac looked at Deidre as they walked along the boardwalk in front of Scott’s Mercantile. “Watch out for the mud here.”

  “I know about the mud, thank you,” Deidre replied. “I didn’t realize how much I missed the island.”

  “We think nothing changes, and then everything changes. You were off teaching. That must mean you still enjoy your books.”

  “You remember?” Deidre was a little surprised.

  “Of course I remember. You were the prettiest girl at the Grammar School. I think I lost my heart to you.”

  “Those days are long gone, Mac.”

  “Remember how we used to hide from Mr. Carruthers to read Ivanhoe?”

  “I remember. Do you still read?”

  “Not so much. Did you bring any books with you?”

  “A few.”

  “Jamie's a reader. He's in school, though he’s close to his last year.” Mac was silent for a moment, staring at the street before him.

  “What will he do when he’s done with school?”

  “I don't know. He’s young yet.” Mac shook his head. “Are you coming to Lammas tomorrow eve then?”

  “I wasn’t planning on it. Not yet. It’s too many people and too soon.”

  "Ah, it’s never too soon to have a bit of a dance. Mayhap you’ll dance with a hulking old fish like me?”

  Deidre laughed, feeling as if the years she had stayed in Inverness fell away, and her only worries were over who she might dance with at the Assembly House. “Dougal still fiddles, does he?”

  “So you remember Dougal, and not me.”

  “Who could forget his fiddle-playing? No one can listen without being moved to cry or dance. That I remember. And your sister, she was so wild.” Deidre bit her lip.

  Mac laughed. “Moira’s working up at Westness now, but I don’t like it. Me Da died while you were gone. It’s just the five of us now.”

  Deidre took Mac's hand. “I heard. I’m sorry about your Da.”

  “He was a good man. Better that he went when he did than to see what the new laird is doing.”

  “I’m hired at the school because of him, Mac.”

  “Aye, but I’m thinking we’ll have higher rents ahead and maybe worse.”

  “You don’t know that, do you?”

  “I’ve heard some things. We’ll find out come Lammas.” Mac grimaced. “Nothing will help if he takes the bread out of our mouths.”

  “My father thinks well of him.”

  “Mayhap I'm worrying for nothing. ’Tis glad I am that you’re home. Come tomorrow eve to Lammas, then, will you?”

  “Aye,” said Deidre. For once, she didn’t think of what might have been.

  CHAPTER 16: LAMMAS

  Dougal flourished his bow at the crowd. He nodded at two other musicians, and they began another reel. A few couples and several youngsters danced near the stage. Men gathered in clumps near barrels of dark home-made harvest ale at the far end of the Assembly Hall.

  Moira looked over the gathering of bobbing heads from her vantage point by the musicians, her foot tapping. The hall was nearly full. Crofters had come in from all over the island, and the men were back from the second herring run. She saw a few strangers scattered among those she knew so well.

  Along the other side of the hall, Lord Gordon and Lady Alice watched the dancers. Heads of households had visited Lord Gordon all day, paying the rents and taxes that were due and presenting the freshly baked harvest oat cakes that now lay sliced and ready to eat on the sideboards.

  The bodhrán’s steady beat compelled everyone to dance until sweat rolled down their faces. Chairs had been pushed to the side of the Assembly Hall, and the birds flew out of the rafters at the noise.

  Mac brushed the top of Moira’s head. “You look like our mother, with your dark hair and your blue eyes.” His voice boomed in her ear over the noise of the music. “Not dancing? I see some good men here tonight.”

  “Aye. Too bad they’re too shy to dance,” Moira replied.

  “Watch out the MacTavish doesn’t find you.” He turned, spotting Deidre. “I’m off for a bit of dancing meself.”

  Moira watched Dougal’s fingers fly over the fiddle. She felt proud of him, and her feet tapped the rhythm of the drum. The dancing grew frantic as more people pushed into the hall. Moira closed her eyes and gave herself over to the dance, the music keening in her head and heart. A strong arm held her at her waist and twirled her around.

  Moira’s eyes flew open. “And who might you be?”

  “I’m Dylan, from across the water, ready to dance your feet off and steal your heart.” He grinned and bowed.

 
; Dylan was much shorter than her brothers, wiry, and dark when they were fair, his hair curly with sweat. His eyes, nearly black, sparkled. He smiled again, and Moira felt her breath catch. “Dance with me?”

  She gave him her hand, and they danced one set after another, until they were both breathless.

  “Any others like you at home?” he asked.

  “No, not a one. Just me,” Moira shouted over the music, turning away and then back as he twirled her to the music.

  “Ah, ‘tis fortunate I am, for then I’ll only have me heart broken once.”

  Moira laughed. His hand caught and held hers, and his dark eyes dared her to let go.

  “Wait until you meet my brothers.”

  “And how many brothers do you have, all tiny men, as small as trolls, no doubt?”

  “Four brothers,” she replied on the next round. “Mac, Dougal, Colin and Jamie. All of them are giants compared to you.” She glanced over at Dougal and waved. “There’s Dougal.”

  “He looks ferocious,” said Dylan. “Does he have an evil temper?”

  “None of my brothers would harm a soul.”

  “Then why is he glaring at me like that?”

  “Maybe he worries about your intentions.”

  “Ah, my intentions are only good where you are concerned.” Dylan swung her away and back in another spin. “Care to step outside for a bit of a walk?”

  Moira nodded. She wasn’t sure she should go with him, but then they were outside, away from the music, the cooler night air on her face a welcome respite. “You’re new to the island?”

  “Aye. I’ll be here a time. Mr. Scott put me in a room over at Mrs. MacLean’s house, close by where they plan to build the pier.”

  “How come you to Foulksay?” Moira asked as they turned around the small square in front of the Assembly House, the stars white dots of light above them.

  “’Tis a long story, one to break your heart,” Dylan replied. “You’ve heard of the troubles in Ireland?”