Standing Stones

by Beth Camp

  “One of you! Just one of you speak,” Moira commanded. “I can’t tell what happened from this mish mash.”

  “Right you are,” said Mac. “We hadn’t planned to take the boat all the way to Quernshead, but we followed the birds, and there we were.”

  “Go on. Get to what happened. And don’t tell me that you fell in the sea.”

  “The closer we got to Quernshead, the better the fishing got, with the gulls crying out and squawking all around us,” said Mac. “Then a big fog came rolling in. You couldn’t see where the sky ended and the water began. When it lifted a little, there we were, right in the nastiest part of Quernshead. There our little boat was with its fancy new deck, twirling around in a great whirlpool, her lines fanning out behind her like a veil. We could see great fishes in the deep there, Moira, like you’ve never seen in your life.”

  “That’s no way to tell what happened,” said Dougal. “You’re scaring her right to her bones.”

  Mac pulled a chair out to the center of the room. “Sit.”

  Moira fluttered her hands. “Tell me the rest. Don’t leave a word out.”

  “I thought we were all lost, the boat and all.” Mac looked around the room, at Moira, and at Dougal, Jamie and Colin. “There we were, in the middle of a beast of a whirlpool. I thought we’d never see land again.” He paused again. “This next is passing strange. But believe me, it happened, just as I’m telling you now.”

  “Go on,” said Dougal.

  Moira grabbed Jamie’s hand and held her breath.

  “Right in the deepest part of the hole in the water that was pulling us down, was a man. An’ he looked to be smiling at us.” Mac waved his arm. “Don’t interrupt me now. ‘Twas a selkie. That man-fish we hear about now and then. He had a good hold of one of our lines. He could see us, and we could see him. And he looked at each one of us, studying our faces. The winds were howling; the boat was turning like the devil himself had it in his hand. The deck was that slanted, you couldn't get purchase. We were shouting and crying, and the boat was twirling around. I slipped and fell into the sea. The selkie went after me. He wrapped his arms around me and brought me back to the boat. Then, he pointed at our towline, and we threw it to him, for we were lost men, and we knew it. He swam with that towline wrapped around his body, down into the center of the whirlpool and then up through the waves, and by God, he pulled us out of that sinkhole.”

  Mac sat down, his forehead dotted with sweat. “It was too close, Moira. We’ll not be fishing off Quernshead again, rents be damned. And I'm that close to tearing off the new deck.”

  The room was silent.

  “I don’t believe a word of it,” said Moira. “Except you went to Quernshead when you said you wouldn’t go. You should save such stories for the Pig’s Head and all your friends, and not give me such a fright.”

  For the first time Moira noticed that their clothes were wet. “Off with your wet things, now. Go get cleaned up. You can have supper. But don’t be talking to me.”

  “But there was a whirlpool,” said Mac. “No one would believe us if we told what happened. Not even the Queen of Heaven could make sense of this.”

  “I don’t want to hear another word. You promised you wouldn’t go to Quernshead after the last time.” Moira’s hands shook as she hung their wet jackets up in the byre. She hurried back to find Colin already wrapped up in a blanket.

  “I’ll never get the cold out.” Colin leaned closer to the fire.

  “But you’re all right?” she asked.

  “You should have been there.” His blanket dropped to the floor. “The fish were the biggest I’ve ever seen. And ‘tis true. Mac fell in.”

  Moira laid the bowls out on the sideboard next to the food chest.

  Jamie sidled close to her to whisper. “I don’t want to go out with them.”

  She wanted to tell him not to worry, that if all went well, he would be going to school on the mainland someday, but ‘twas Mac’s place and Mac’s decision. “Ah, Jamie. I thought you were working for Lady Alice.”

  “She don’t need me now the weather’s turned.”

  “Can you find something over at Selkirk?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I can ask up at Westness.”

  Jamie nodded.

  “Where’s me dinner,” Dougal cried, as they came in from outside, their hands and faces wet from washing. “I’m colder than a selkie sleeping at the bottom of the sea.”

  “Don't be talking to me about selkies. Not another word.” Moira waved her spoon at her brothers. She served up the fish stew and oat cakes, while they clattered on about the new deck and the fish they caught. Finally Colin and Jamie went to bed.

  Moira wondered if Dylan would be waiting at the standing stones this night. What would he do if she didn't go? But Mac and Dougal stayed home, as if their own beds would finally warm their bones. Moira tossed and turned on her pallet by the hearth, long after everyone had settled in for the night.

  When she slept, Dylan came to her in dreams, smiling, laughing, as he held her close, and then he vanished behind the standing stones. Moira awoke with a jerk, tears on her face.

  The fog had lifted, and the moon’s cold white light fell on her bed. All was quiet.

  I never should have promised to meet him.

  CHAPTER 23: MAC CLEANS THE STAR

  Moira touched the great scrapes along the side of the Star. She pulled her shawl close for the morning fog had not yet lifted. “I can’t believe you went up by Quernshead.”

  “Dinna worry, lass. It’s not so bad,” Mac said. “We’ll be going back out tomorrow.”

  The Star was big enough for three men, 32 feet long, wooden with its beam solid. Prow and stern were built trimmed to a point, like a drift boat. It carried two large lug sails, both adapted with booms for easy maneuverability in the unpredictable seas. The wood on the new deck was unseasoned, and the caulking shone black in the sun.

  They’d already unloaded nearly all of yesterday’s catch. Just a few of the great fish were left in the hold, great green sea cod from the very depths. Dougal filled a sack to take up the hill. Around him, women loaded cod onto hand barrows to cart the fish to the racks of wood stretched about the curved beach.

  Moira well knew the work that came next, fish dumped onto a table, filleted, then laid out on wooden racks to dry. If the family couldn’t pay the penny fee to use the tables, they laid the cod right on the gravelly sand to dry. She smoothed her hands free of salt.

  “These will bring a good price, won’t they, Mac?” Moira asked.

  “Already sold they are. And everyone's talking about the new decks as well,” he replied, tapping the side of the boat to find weak spots. He ran his fingers along the new deck as if he needed to learn its shape.

  "Do you think the new deck will work?"

  "You saw the fish we caught. We never caught such big ones before."

  “And weren't that fancy new boat over at Quernshead? I’m off,” said Moira. “They’ll be wondering what happened to me up at Westness if I don’t get there soon.” She didn’t want to leave her brothers, not after seeing the scrapes on the boat and realizing how close they’d been to not coming home at all.

  “Go along then.”

  “I’ll be asking about work for Jamie up at Westness.”

  Mac stared at her. “Did he say something last night?”

  Moira nodded.

  “Ye might as well ask for him," said Mac. "I canna see him fishing with us."

  “I want to go up to Westness,” said Colin, leaning over from the top of the boat.

  Mac tousled Colin’s head as he ducked away. “You’re needed for fixing lines, boy.” He turned to Moira. “They'll yell at you if you're any later.”

  Colin banged on the other side of the Star.

  “Let them yell all they want. They like my work.” Moira lowered her voice. “I’ve seen Dylan a few times up at Westness.”

  Mac straightened up, his large hand resting
on the deck. “Have you now. I hoped you wouldn’t see him again.”

  “I was to meet him, Mac, last night. But I didn’t go.”

  “He’s working for Lord Gordon. You can’t want to see him.”

  Moira looked at her brother. “But I do, Mac.”

  “It’s not a good time.”

  “And when would it be a good time?”

  Mac turned back to the boat. “We’ll be stopping at Pig’s Head tonight.”

  “With Colin?”

  “It’s not going to hurt him. I’ll go over to Deidre's after.”

  “You’re courting her, aren’t you?” Moira was fascinated by the thin stain of red that crept up Mac’s cheeks.

  “Go off with you. I’ll talk again to your Mr. MacInerney.”

  “And this time you'll be talking about me,” Moira said as she waved goodbye.

  Mac shrugged.

  Several fishermen came up to look at the Star, banged up as she was, the only boat that came home with a good catch.

  “Those are some fish you found out there by Quernshead,” said Bruce, a wizened crab of a fisherman whose only occupation now was lining boxes with seaweed to send lobsters to the mainland and south.

  “Aye,” replied Mac. “But we’ll not be going that way again. We almost foundered in a whirlpool. No fish is worth that. Not even these big ones.” The men around him nodded in agreement, noting the great scrapes that ran the length of the boat.

  “Was it the new deck that gave you trouble?” asked Sean. “I was that worried when the fog rolled in.”

  “I don't think it was the deck. We could fill the hold easily, and we kept all the fish we caught.”

  “One of us had to try it,” said Robert. “Glad it wasn't me in the fog.”

  “'Tis the time of year for fogs,” said Mac.

  “We had a devil of a time getting our boats in yesterday.” Sean tapped the new deck. “I heard your fish sold already. Makes it almost worth it for the rest of us to rebuild, don’t you think?”

  “I don't know. True, we got a good catch, but I fell in, and we almost lost the boat. I can’t say it was the new deck, but it changes things.” Mac shrugged. “We’ll go out tomorrow.”

  “We’ll all be dancing around on fancy new decks soon enough,” said Sean.

  The men returned to their boats pulled up on the rocky beach. No one needed a reminder about the higher rents due quarter day.

  Dougal rested his sack of sea cod on the walk outside the back porch at Westness, glad of the chance to put it down. He stood tall, easing his back muscles, not minding the light drizzle.

  “Come up on the porch, man. Don’t be standing there in the rain,” said Hargraves.

  “Thanks,” said Dougal. “I've got some fish here. Be you interested?”

  “Not for me to say,” Hargraves said. “I’ll call Mrs. MacNaught for you.”

  “You working here still? I’d heard otherwise.”

  “They kept me on. Give me odd jobs now and then, but it’s not the same.” Hargraves crouched down on his haunches and opened the sack to peer inside. “These are big ones. Where’d you catch them?”

  “Out Quernshead. Wasn’t an easy trip.”

  “That's what they said.” Hargraves touched the giant cod, still cold from the sea. “They’ll want these.” He looked behind him. “’Tis not so good here at Westness now. Next time you’re over to the mainland, you might go on to Stromness. Visit the Hudson’s Bay Company. They’re always looking for Orkney men.”

  “I hear you sign on for five years. That’s a long time to be away from home.”

  “Think, man. It’s a chance to go off island, at six or seven pound a year.”

  “That’s higher than it used to be. You get something for telling me?”

  Hargraves grinned. “Aye. I get a little something.” He glanced back at the closed kitchen door. “They don’t know everything. But it’s good pay for a young man like you who’s not afraid of working. You’ve heard the stories. Simon came back and bought his own holding. He don’t have to pay rent anymore.” Hargraves lowered his voice. “I hear Mac’s making trouble. He’ll pull you down.”

  “Things will blow over. They always do.”

  “Not this time. I heard that he, well, these fish look fine.”

  Perkins stood behind him. “Another McDonnell hanging around.” He touched the sack of fish with the tip of his polished boot. “As if we need fish here. We’ve already got all we need.”

  Hargraves kept his head down. “I was calling Mrs. MacNaught.”

  “Well, call her then, and be about your business.” Perkins sniffed and walked past Dougal to the stable, tapping his riding crop against his leg.

  The two men stood for a moment, watching him.

  “You’ve always been fair with us,” said Dougal. “Do you have to stay here?”

  “There’s nothing else for me. I’ll stay as long as I can. Keep in mind what I said about the Hudson's Bay over at Stromness.”

  “Aye. And I'll talk to Mac.” Dougal hefted the bag of fish up. “You think they’ll want these?”

  Hargraves nodded.

  CHAPTER 24: GRANNY CONNOR

  The afternoon wind pushed Moira’s skirts against her legs as she walked north from Selkirk along the headlands and climbed the hill to Granny Connor’s house. The village with its stone houses and the harbor, with its row of fishing boats lined up on the beach, looked tiny against the wide horizon of the sea. She followed the path along the ridge line and turned into a hollow. Immediately the wind dropped.

  “Come in, come in. I was hoping for a visitor today.”

  “I didn't see you down at church,” Moira said. She put the basket of eggs she'd brought on the settee.

  Moira wondered why she felt so at home here. Maybe it was the familiar smell of the peat fire, mixed with drying fish. Two small windows, their glass nearly darkened with soot, let light in. A faded patchwork quilt covered Granny's small box bed, the door left open. Her chair, its sides built up to protect her from drafts, had been pulled close to the fire where an old sheltie dog lay. On the other side of the stone fireplace, she could hear Granny’s goats rustling in the byre.

  Granny winced as she leaned on her cane and then eased in her chair by the fire. “Come sit, child.”

  Moira dragged a low stool close to Granny. “I think I’ve found the man I want to marry.”

  “Not the MacTavish?”

  “No, no,” Moira said. “It’s Dylan MacInerney. I met him at Lammas.”

  Granny Connor waited.

  “He’s not one of us,” Moira added. “He’s from Ireland.”

  “Ah, the sea, what it brings.” Granny Connor nodded. “Is he a good man?”

  “Yes.”

  “And when you’re with him, you feel as if the entire world has fallen away?”

  Moira laughed. “I knew you'd understand.”

  “'Tis a hard thing to fall in love with a stranger. Is he a papist?”

  “No.”

  “And your brothers? What do they think?”

  “They don’t want me to see him. It's all mixed up with Lord Gordon. They hired Dylan to help us add decks to our boats. Mac didn't want to work with him. But we were the first. Yesterday the Star had trouble out at Quernshead.”

  “So I heard.”

  “They got caught in a great whirlpool, Granny. Mac fell into the sea. They all could have drowned. Mac said a selkie pulled them into the whirlpool and 'twas a selkie that saved them.” Moira moved restlessly on her stool. “But I think it was the new deck. They caught these great fish, as if they were the selkie’s own. They’ll go back to Quernshead. I know it.”

  “Ah, child.” Granny Connor took Moira’s hand and held it in hers. “'Tis close to Samhain. Who knows what they might have seen.”

  “My brothers are going out again tomorrow, Granny. Will they be safe?”

  “I don’t know, child.” Granny sighed. “The sea is never safe. You cannot trust the sea. Even you
r Dylan makes his living from the sea.”

  “But he builds boats, Granny; he doesn’t go out in the ocean.”

  “You canna trust the ocean, and you canna trust men you do not know. When his job here is done, will he leave the island?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Granny looked at Moira’s open face and saw darkness coming. “Would you leave your home, your brothers and all, to be with him?”

  “Leave home and not return?”

  “And didn’t you think you would someday get married and go off to your own life?” Granny hugged Moira. “Child, it’s all a part of growing up, letting go and changing. Even at the very end of life.” She sighed. “If there's no work for him here, you’ll be going away. Or you’ll lose him.”

  Moira stared at the fire. Little flames curled around two slabs of dried peat. She couldn't imagine leaving the island and all that she knew.

  “Give me another hug, dearie. Come see me again when you can.”

  Moira hugged her fiercely. “I’ll be back.”

  Granny didn’t say anything. She smiled, but her eyes filmed over as if she were looking into the future.

  CHAPTER 25: MOIRA AND DYLAN

  When the crescent moon had risen overhead, and all were sleeping, Moira slipped out of the stone cottage and walked along the winding path that followed the headlands to the point where the standing stones shimmered in the moonlight. She sat in the shadow of one of the stones.

  Another week had passed at Westness, and she hadn’t seen Dylan. Maybe Granny Connor was right. Maybe he had already gone off the island.

  Moira counted the standing stones, seven of them in a lopsided circle. The monolithic stones had been a place to meet as long as she could remember. Dougal said that in the old days, smugglers and wreckers met here to divvy the spoils. She shivered.

  The night wind blew the grasses against the stones and hinted at cold weather ahead. Moira looked at the sea below with its constant waves and knew that nothing mattered, that she could leave it all, her brothers and the island itself, if Dylan loved her.