by Beth Camp
The first stars came out. Soon the night sky filled with their twinkling bright lights, the Milky Way a cloudy ribbon woven above. Moira wondered how long she should wait. Then Dylan was beside her, his long hair loose around his shoulders. All her worries fled.
“You weren’t here last week, love,” Dylan said.
“Yes, I know. Did you wait long?”
“Ah, dear heart, I waited all night.”
Moira thrilled to hear his words and thrilled again at his touch as he held her hands. Nothing had changed. “You heard about my brothers? They nearly drowned. I couldn’t leave them.”
“I heard. All’s well then?”
Moira nodded.
“Not to worry, for I would wait a hundred nights to see you again.”
“I thought you had gone.”
“I wouldn’t leave without coming to see you first.” He tucked Moira close. “I’ve been all over the island, trying to work with those trolls. Your brothers are the most stubborn of all.”
“It's the trouble they had at Quernshead. Dougal said it might have been the new deck.”
“Lord Gordon is ready to fine them all or send them to the bottom of the sea, he’s that mad.”
“He can't make the other fishermen change their boats like we did, can he?”
“He can. There's something driving him. I don't know how far he'll go. I just wish Mac and Dougal would help me more with the fishermen is all.”
“Mac said he would talk to you about us. Did he?”
“Some. All that doesn’t matter.” Dylan spread his coat on the grass. “Come here, love. I see you’re shivering.”
Moira snuggled in his arms, content to be close to him, warmer now that he was near. His arms circled her. She could sense the standing stones around them, with all else – the stars, the moon, and even the sea – far, far away. She felt as if she were falling off her world and into his.
Dylan groaned. He pulled her closer as if he could forget the week’s frustrations in her arms.
“Dylan, I want to be with you.” Moira nestled close to his neck and breathed in the salt from his skin as if it would fill her heart. She felt as if this were the moment she’d been waiting for all her life.
“Are you sure? There’s no going back.”
For answer, Moira unbuttoned his shirt and brushed her hand across the hairs on his chest. He gave in, rolling on top of her and kissing her breathless. Her heart began pounding. Here and now, she thought, we become one. She expected the pain when he entered her, but she didn’t expect the sheer joy that thrummed through her body.
Dylan went still. “Ah, sweet. I didn’t know.” He kissed her neck.
“I knew. Hush.”
Later, when Dylan fell asleep, Moira watched his eyelashes flicker on his cheeks. She wanted to memorize every detail in the light of the waning moon.
“You look at me as if you expect me to vanish,” said Dylan, his voice raspy with sleep.
“Who can see the future?” Moira felt close to tears.
He held her close. “Come away with me.” He tipped her face up. “We can go to Inverness or Glasgow, or wherever you wish."
“Stay with me, Dylan,” Moira replied. “No one cares you’re not an islander. You could fish with my brothers. They would come to love you as I do. Please.”
“I’m working for Lord Gordon. That doesn’t make me any friends.” He looked to the sea as if he were smelling the salt air for the last time. “Ireland’s my home. I hoped to return, but no matter. If you wish it, we will stay here.”
Moira wanted to say she would go with him, for she couldn’t bear his sadness.
“And if we can’t stay here?” she asked.
“Then we'll leave.” Dylan cradled her again in his arms. “Perhaps you already carry my son. And that would be a good thing, for I've seen too many deaths in my family.”
“I’d like us to marry. With the proper words, and my family and friends standing up for us.”
“Then it’s decided.” He kissed Moira.
Moira could taste the sea in her tears, for this was the first step to leaving her brothers and leaving the island, all that she had known, just as Granny had said.
Around them, the sky lightened. The sun lit the tops of the standing stones. Moira knew her brothers would soon be up. “Come home with me now. ‘Tis time my brothers knew you.”
CHAPTER 26: THE MCDONNELL COTTAGE
Mac and Dougal sat close to the hearth. Their low talk stopped the moment Moira and Dylan entered the McDonnell cottage.
“'Tis past dawn, Moira. Why did you bring him here?” said Mac, rising. Dougal stood behind him, glowering. She’d never seen them so angry.
Moira held Dylan’s hand tightly. “We’re to marry.”
“Like hell.” Mac thrust his face close to Dylan. “I’m the oldest. I’m the one who marries first. And I don’t know this man.”
“You can get to know him,” Moira stepped in front of Dylan. “I’d be pushing up heather if I wait for you to marry first. I love him.”
“And where would you sleep?” Mac gestured at the dark confines of the cottage. “There’s no room here.”
“What are you saying?” asked Moira. “You know we’ll do what everyone else does. We’ll build a little room off the side. Or we’ll live up at Westness.”
“He’s not one of us. That’s enough reason to say no,” said Mac. “He never came proper to ask permission. Ye’ll be damned one way or another.”
“Listen to me, the two of you. He is already my husband. And that makes him brother to you. Either we stay, or we go.”
“Ah, Moira, did you have to do this? Did you have to go and do this?” Mac said.
Moira gritted her teeth. The cottage felt smaller than ever she’d known with everyone standing and glaring at each other.
Dougal broke the silence. “'Tis done. We better see if Pastor McPherson will marry them.”
“Aye.” Mac stepped closer to Dylan, so close Moira feared they would fight. Neither stepped back.
“Can you fish, then?” asked Mac. His lips stretched into a thin smile. “I’ll bet you can. You’re a quiet one, though. Will you fish with us? On our little boat, the one with the new deck. The one that nearly pulled us into a whirlpool.”
“I work for Lord Gordon,” Dylan replied. “For now. I dinna know so much about fishing as I know about building boats and farming. But I know boats. I can help the other fishermen, if they let me.”
“We do well enough as things are,” said Mac. “We don't need your help.”
“Lord Gordon is set on this,” said Dylan. “I’ve seen what happened in Glasgow and in Inverness. When the smaller fishing boats, like yours, are rebuilt, more fish are caught.” He shrugged. “It's a better living. More money for the rents, even here.”
"'Tis enough you have our sister and not our boat too,” said Dougal.
Dylan nodded once. “One day you may be glad it’s me that’s leading the rebuilding.”
Moira looked at the three men, bristling at each other. “Not now,” she said. “Not everything needs to be decided now. Dylan is here to stay. People know him already. They saw us dancing at Lammas. 'Tis no surprise that we’ll marry.”
“True enough,” said Dougal. “Mac, let it go. He’s to be your sister’s husband.” He shifted his attention to Dylan. “And that means to honor and to love until death do you part, right?”
“I will so honor her,” he promised.
Mac reached out to Moira. “Moira, you’re sure you feel this way about this man? There’s no going back.”
“You already know how I feel about Dylan. I didn’t think you’d be so upset.”
“You didn’t think. What if McPherson won’t marry you? Think of that.” Mac threw up his hands. “No more nattering. You’ve taken a lover. That’s all. The whole island will be talking about it. There's a chance you'll be called before the congregation for fornication. This is what you wanted. Now you live with it.” Mac turned away. “We'll all
live with it.”
“Mac, I’m sorry.”
Mac waved his hand at the cottage. “This is our home. You’ve brought him here. He’s now part of us. Go on. Get yourselves ready for church. We’re all going this morn, and we’ll face them down.” He stared at Dylan. “All of us.”
The McDonnells filed into the church with Dylan and sat along an entire row. As they settled in their places, heads bobbed forward and back; people nudged each other and whispered, even when Pastor McPherson entered.
Pastor McPherson stood in front of the altar and simply waited. Slowly the buzz of conversation died down. He looked at his congregation, face by face, and then began, his lilting voice holding their attention.
“This morning, my children, we see a stranger among us. ‘Tis not so far to St. Andrew’s Day that we can’t tell the story of a certain bishop.” Pastor McPherson looked at his hands folded before him. The congregation settled to quiet.
“This bishop was a high and mighty man, dazzled by possibilities and nearly snared by the devil himself. He was surrounded by a crowd who approved his every word. A beautiful woman sat by his right hand, tempting him with thoughts he should not have had. At the very moment he could not look away from her, a stranger came to the gate with a loud knocking.”
A few heads turned to look at Dylan.
Pastor McPherson raised his voice. “The stranger is outside the gates now. The woman whispers in the bishop’s ear, and he says the stranger can only enter that grand gathering if he answers three questions. ‘Tis the devil in the very form of that beautiful woman who asks the first question.”
“‘What is the most wonderful thing God has made in a small form?’”
Pastor McPherson paused to study his congregation. “The pilgrim said it is the human face, for it reveals such wonderful diversity and uniqueness, each one different and a gift from God. Look to your neighbor. Look to those you know. Do you not see the signs of God’s gift in your neighbors' faces?”
The people looked around at each other as if they were all strangers. Moira saw Lady Alice in the front pew, leaning to a nearby parishioner.
“Can you see the wonder of God’s creation?” Pastor McPherson’s words rang out in the church. “We hear. We speak. We smell and taste. We remember, and we reason. Each of us a little differently. The pilgrim’s answer was applauded in that ancient company. And yet the gate was barred to him.”
“The woman, preening at the side of the bishop, asked: ‘At what point is earth higher than heaven?’ Those standing near the bishop gasped. Who could answer such a question?" asked Pastor McPherson. "We all know that God’s heaven is higher than earth. Yet the pilgrim pointed to that place where Christ’s body, made of our flesh, and thus of the earth, is higher than heaven. We know this was no ordinary pilgrim. So too did the bishop and his company. This was St. Andrew at the gate.”
“Yet a third question was asked: ‘How far is it from earth to heaven?’ How far is it, my dear ones,” Pastor McPherson asked, “From what we know every day to what remains a mystery? This question we each must ponder in faith, for our souls to live in God’s grace hereafter.”
“But St. Andrew replied in a loud voice, ‘I cannot answer that question. Go back to the one who sent you and ask him.’ With that, the woman shivered and vanished. The bishop, with tears in his eyes, cried out to allow the pilgrim to enter. The pilgrim’s answers had saved his soul. But St. Andrew could not be found.”
“So, my children, how do we know what is true and what is false? Do we fear the stranger at the gate with different ways? Do we truly know those who are close to us, those we see every day? Do we trust those on high to lead us safely into a perilous future? Where is Saint Andrew with his clear, loud voice to warn us of danger?”
“We do not know if the stranger at the gate will bring good or evil. We do know we cannot step away from suffering. We face hard decisions that will bring tears to our eyes, but we know in our hearts what is right and what is fair. Winter comes. Listen to your heart, meditate on God’s word, and trust in God’s mercy. For that comes to us from no stranger.” Pastor McPherson bowed his head. The congregation was silent.
Moira felt tears fill her eyes. Dylan sat next to her. It was enough.
After services, the McDonnell family gathered in the front room of the manse. Mac spoke first. “Thank you for meeting with us, Pastor McPherson.”
“Sit, sit. I imagined we would be talking together when I saw Mr. MacInerney with you this morning.”
“I’m not going to hide the issue, Pastor. It’s Moira, our sister, and this man, Dylan MacInerney. They wish to marry.” Mac’s lip twisted. “This man works for Lord Gordon, but Moira tells me he is a good man.”
“These two young people want to marry?” Pastor McPherson beckoned to Moira and Dylan to stand closer.
“Aye. As soon as the banns can be read,” said Mac.
“Are you saying they must marry?” Pastor McPherson glared at Dylan.
“That’s what I’m saying.” Mac prodded Dylan to speak, but Pastor McPherson turned to Moira.
“So, Moira, can you speak for yourself in this? Did this man force you?”
Moira shook her head.
“Did he seduce you?”
Again, Moira shook her head.
“Are you with child?”
“I do not know, sir.”
Pastor McPherson turned to Dylan. “Did you lay with this woman?”
“Aye, Pastor. I have.”
“And is it your intention to marry this woman and to support any children?”
“If the banns be read, yes, we will marry. As to children, if they come, I will do my best.”
“By hell,” said Mac. “You'll do more than your best.”
“None of that now.” Pastor McPherson turned back to Dylan. “But you’ll marry her?”
Dylan nodded. “I have so promised.”
“The way ahead does not bode well. Not for either of you.”
Moira clung to Dylan’s hand. She felt as if time had stopped. What would they do if he said no?
“You understand, the two of you, that you have committed an offense against the sacrament of marriage. If I bring this to the elders, you may face punishment. As you have both made a commitment to marry, that can be set aside. It's the coming before the congregation I'd like to avoid,” he mused.
Moira and Dylan held hands as they waited for his next words.
“Ah, I’ll not stand in your way as you came to me and to the church first.” Pastor McPherson slumped into his chair. “I’ll post the banns this afternoon. Go, children, and think on this further. These days are hard enough. Before you leave, Mac, a word.”
Moira led Dylan outside the manse. “I’m sorry, Dylan. I didn’t think it would be this difficult.”
Dougal was right behind her. “You better not change your mind.”
“I’m not changing my mind. I will do whatever your sister wants, if she will be my wife.” Dylan clipped Dougal on the shoulder.
Dougal glowered at Dylan. “I’m not so sure of you.”
“I know. You’ll see.”
“Aye. I’ll see. But as Moira loves you, then you’re my brother. I will stand by you as you love Moira and if you stand by me.”
“I will stand by her and all of you. I love her more than anything I know.”
Dougal shook Dylan’s hand formally. “Then, you’re part of our family, you are.”
Mac came out of the manse, shoving his cap on his head. “Go ahead home without me. Dougal, come with me. There's trouble.”
CHAPTER 27: THE MARRYING
In the next weeks, Moira caught barely a glimpse of Dylan at Westness. When he wasn’t working at Scott’s Mercantile, ordering materials for the retrofitting of boats, he went out fishing with her brothers. Dougal stayed beside him, their voices together a kind of music, but Mac remained glum and withdrawn.
Dylan paid the marriage contract to the church, and the elders accepted their apology. Th
eir names had been entered in the parish session book, and the banns read. Tomorrow afternoon, they would be married. This was her last night alone. Moira turned on her pallet. Outside, the light of the new moon outlined the heather.
Yesterday everyone had come to their cottage. First the men moved their two cows and goats from the byre into a temporary enclosure and penned up the chickens. The women cleaned the outer room, while the men set up two wooden plank tables on barrels. Then the women baked oatcakes and bannocks throughout the day. Colin carried a great pot in, borrowed from Granny Connor, and the women made a fish stew. Mac brewed ale, the small casks now banked by the hearth for warmth. Colin and Jamie scrounged for rock limpets at low tide and brought up a creel of white fish caught near the shore. Dougal slaughtered three of her precious chickens.
At night, the plank table was covered with a white cloth. The cottage filled to near capacity as the women squeezed inside. Moira sat on a low stool to the left of a half-barrel full to the brim with freshwater.
Mac knelt down. “I do this in place of our father,” he said, carefully removing her shoes.
“And I do this in place of your mother,” Granny Connor said, as she removed Moira's stockings. Granny Connor took Moira's feet in her hands, patted them, and made a circle over the water, murmuring a blessing. As she put Moira's feet into the tub, the women gathered close to help with the washing. The younger women pressed in first with much laughter, for they were hunting the ring Granny had dropped into the tub.
“I've got it!” Maggie cried, her cheeks flushing. She held up the small ring for all to see. “'Tis a good sign.”
“And who would you be planning to marry?” asked Catriona.
“I'll be finding out, won't I,” replied Maggie.
Granny Connor emptied the tub outside and leaned it against the wall by the door. “Make sure to close up the dogs and keep this in the sunlight all day tomorrow.”
The party broke up slowly. “We'll see you in the morning, early,” the young women assured Moira. Granny Connor and Lenore, balancing her baby on her hip, left last.