The Skye in June

by June Ahern

  “Not since author Amy Tan's early writings has a woman's voice so strongly resonated from one of San Francisco's most famous neighborhoods”. – Jim Toland, author Fire And Fog

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  The Skye in June

  By June Ahern

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  Published by

  June Ahern

  Copyright (c) 2011 by June Ahern

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  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

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  Cover Art by Cynthia Sprugin

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  June Ahern’s other books

  The Timeless Counselor: The Key to a Successful Psychic Reading

  City of Redemption – A Novel

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  Dear Reader, Some words and usage of language might be unfamiliar to you. It is authentic Glaswegian terms and slang words and not errors in spelling. For instance, a Scottish character says, “…he’s no right” for “…he’s not right.” The Scots will often say no instead of not and yer for your or you’re, mah for my, ain for own, a child might say mammy instead of mommy because that is how most bairns (children) from working class Glasgow referred to their mothers. A baby or wee child (toddler) is referred to as a wean. Other examples are didne (didn’t), wouldne (wouldn’t) couldne (couldn’t) One character might use slang while another speaks words in a way with which you are familiar and that’s like anywhere else in the world––it depends upon educational background and choice. Enjoy learning new words!

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1 Glasgow Scotland

  Chapter 2 Battle of Will

  Chapter 3 The Gypsy Fortune Teller

  Chapter 4 The Orange Walk

  Chapter 5 Family Sorrow

  Chapter 6 Leaving for a New Life

  Chapter 7 Reaching the Shores of America

  Chapter 8 Eureka! San Francisco

  Chapter 9 Making the Home Sacred

  Chapter 10 Holy Savior School

  Chapter 11 The Novena

  Chapter 12 We Have a Friend

  Chapter 13 Remembering Helen

  Chapter 14 The Secret World of Magic

  Chapter 15 Hogmanay in San Francisco

  Chapter 16 News from Scotland

  Chapter 17 Hopes and Fears

  Chapter 18 The Spirit of Friendship

  Chapter 19 The American Dream

  Chapter 20 Wicked Behavior at Holy Savior

  Chapter 21 Kindred Souls

  Chapter 22 Dancing with the Moon

  Chapter 23 The Castro Theater

  Chapter 24 The Surprise

  Chapter 25 Sister Noel’s Mystical Teachings

  Chapter 26 May Day

  Chapter 27 Aftermath

  Chapter 28 The Devil Passed Through

  Chapter 29 Banished

  Chapter 30 The Consequences

  Chapter 31 Shrinking June

  Chapter 32 Swimming with the Mystics

  Chapter 33 The Circle Widens

  Chapter 34 The Wise Man

  Chapter 35 Cleansing June's Energy

  Chapter 36 Jagged Edges

  Chapter 37 Blessed be

  Notes

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  Chapter 1

  GLASGOW, SCOTLAND

  May 31, 1950

  THE RAIN DRIZZLING down the windows of the taxi shrouded the riders inside. Cathy MacDonald, the sole passenger, leaned her head against the misted window. She was bound for St. Andrew’s Infirmary to deliver yet another wean.

  “Does he have to hit every bloody stone in the road?” she muttered under her breath as the taxi bumped along.

  Cathy’s fingers dug into her seat as she readjusted her bulky body. No position seemed to bring relief to her discomfort. She let her head fall forward onto the back of the driver’s seat.

  “Don’t ye worry, Missus. I’ll get ye there in time.” The rough sandpaper voice of the taxi driver startled her. “Ah know all about how fast those weans want out. Got eight bairns of mah ain,” he said laughing loudly and began to name all of his children along with their ages ending with the youngest wean, a baby only a one month old. “Yer man’s Jimmy MacDonald, right?”

  His talking only irritated her, but not wanting to appear unfriendly she tried to focus on what he had said. Her response came as a muffled sound that could have been an answer or a retreat from the question. She caught him taking a peek at her through the rearview mirror.

  “So, yer Mr. B’s daughter then?” he asked.

  The driver, along with so many others in Glasgow, deeply respected Willie Buchanan, or Mr. B, as he had been known for as far back as anyone could remember. Mr. B had earned a reputation for being a fair man. Years ago he had rallied a group of well-off citizens to provide funds in support of youth soccer teams for the town’s underprivileged children. He had insisted that the money be shared equally between Catholic and Protestant teams––an unusual act, since prejudice between the two religious groups was still very intense in Scotland. Although some people protested, most citizens supported his efforts.

  The taxi swerved sharply to avoid a pile of building rubble. Cathy moaned in protest. She fell away from the driver’s seat and closed her eyes. She took a deep breath in and then blew out sharply as jolting cramps came one after another. If Jimmy hadn’t been so worried about getting to his second job, he could’ve been with me. She was sure that if her husband were with her, he’d tell the driver to slow down. She didn’t want this ride to be over too quickly. She wasn’t ready to walk up the four broad, stone steps to St. Andrew’s Infirmary to lie on a bed under a sheet, waiting. She moved her hands over her belly and whispered hoarsely, “Wait, wee one. Just a bit longer.”

  It was eight o’clock at night by the time they arrived at St. Andrew’s. The driver offered to help her up the steps.

  “No,” she said adamantly, assuring him that she had been on the same journey to the Infirmary enough times before. She paid him and he tipped his cap before hurrying off to his next fare.

  Cathy hesitated for a moment before walking up the steps to St. Andrew’s. She took in a deep breath of the cool night’s air and was momentarily mesmerized by the silhouette of the gibbous moon. It would not fully illuminate the night for a few more hours when spring’s late twilight would drop into darkness. Rain clouds moved above, blanketing the moon. To Cathy, the light and dark of the Scottish sky was like the passing of time. Gently caressing her belly, she remembered a time long ago when she had stood on a hilltop surrounded by the celestial beauty of the Scottish Highlands. The moon, like this one, had not reached its fullness. It had hung high in the northern skies as she drew down its power to her and with her hands over her heart made a wish for the future. Cathy shuddered at the memory of the force of energy that had surged through her body when she had uttered that wish. Exhilarated by the rush of the energy, she mistakenly believed her desire had been granted. Now, in sadness, Cathy looked away before seeing the clouds were once again revealing the moon.

  Her legs shook as the life within her pressed downward, reminding her of her reason for being there. She seized hold of the metal railing to pull herself up the steps while supporting her huge belly with the other hand. Her well-shaped calves were of little help to her tiny frame burdened by the weight of pregnancy. She reflected on her earlier five visits there to deliver her babies. She hoped this birth would be easier. Painfully, she moved down the corridor of the infirmary toward the maternity ward whi
le keeping her moans to a minimum so as not to draw undue attention.

  Nurse Flora Hamilton met Cathy in the maternity ward. She was a tall, florid-faced Highlander who had been at St. Andrew's Infirmary for many years and was one of Cathy's favorite nurses. She escorted Cathy to a birthing room and helped her change, get into bed, and then gently laid a white sheet over her.

  “I’ll be right outside if you need me,” Nurse Hamilton said gently. She left the door partially open behind her.

  Cathy was all too glad to be left alone. She lay panting, staring at the hallway light shining through the half-closed door. After a while, she heard footsteps rapidly clicking on the polished floor outside her room. The nurse entered the birthing room.

  “Dr. MacFadden should be here presently. He said the baby was quite overdue and had been expected by early May. Is that right, dear?”

  Cathy didn’t answer as the nurse took her pulse.

  She put her hand on Cathy’s belly and glanced up to the round clock on the wall. A worried look crossed her face. She said, “Well, don’t you worry now, dear, we’ll take good care of you,” and rearranged Cathy’s sheet before leaving her alone.

  Cathy turned her head to the window and saw that the darkness had finally arrived. Laboriously, she pulled herself up out of the bed and shuffled to the window. The strong beams of the moon’s light sprayed across her face as she peeked through the curtains. With great sadness she remembered the death of her first born at St. Andrew’s. Quickly, she said a prayer to Our Lady, Jesus’ Mother that this new baby would to be delivered safely.

  Firm, measured footsteps came down the hospital corridor. The nurse scooted into the birthing room to announce Dr. MacFadden’s arrival a moment before he entered. The doctor, a six-foot-four Highlander, was a stylishly handsome man. He had been the attending physician at all of her girls’ births. She trusted him completely. He knew her greatest hopes and fears. After her last delivery Dr. MacFadden had tried to convince Cathy not to have any more babies because of the difficulties she experienced with each of the births.

  “Hello, Mrs. MacDonald. I am glad you came back to visit us, but so soon?” Dr. MacFadden said pleasantly, putting a hand on the pregnant woman’s shoulder. He then picked up Cathy’s chart from the bedside table and, loosening his tie, read in silence. He looked at his watch and said, “Labor pains every minute for the past three hours? Well, let’s get that baby out before the witching hour is upon us.”

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  Chapter 2

  BATTLE OF WILLS

  JUNE 1, 1950

  BY EARLY MORNING, the hushed murmur from women lying in hospital beds holding their newborns gave the ward a peaceful, happy feel. The new mothers in the six-bed ward were served pots of steaming black tea with creamy milk and sugar.

  Cathy felt a wave of contentment flow through her tired body as she enjoyed a cup of tea. She had only a few hours of sleep after delivering her baby in the first hour of the new month. This birth was the hardest one yet.

  Shortly after the birth when Nurse Hamilton placed the baby in Cathy’s arms, the nurse had said, “Our Lady must have something special for you two in this life.”

  Looking down to her baby in a bassinet next to her bed, Cathy wondered what Jesus’ Mother would have in mind for them in the future. She did hope that this new child would bring to her what she longed for––peace of mind. She also intuitively sensed that, although she was only thirty years old, this would be her last child. She moved the blanket back. “We made it, my wee pet,” she whispered, tenderly and traced the roundness of her new daughter’s pink face.

  The baby opened her eyes and stared inquisitively up at her mother. Cathy hoped this baby daughter would capture Jimmy’s heart. He had said unkind things to her for not giving him a son, as though his wife gave birth only to girls just to spite him.

  It’s best not to dwell on that, Cathy resolved, refreshing her tea. She peeked over the rim of her cup at the young mother in a bed next to her. “What did you name him?” she asked.

  With a teacup at her lips, the full-faced young woman widened her large, dark-brown eyes at Cathy. Putting down her cup, she said, “How’d ye know ah had a boy?”

  “The blue blanket the nurse wrapped him in.”

  “Oh, aye, of course! Look at him. He’s lovely. Like a wee clootie dumpling wrapped in a cloth.”

  Cathy laughed heartily at the young mother’s description of her baby. Babies wrapped in blankets did indeed resemble the Scottish boiled pudding wrapped in a towel. Politely, she inquired further, “Is he your first?”

  “Oh, no. Mah third.”

  Surprised by the answer, Cathy mumbled, “Oh my!”

  The woman didn’t look much out of her teens, although she already had that gravel tone of a voice heard in heavy smokers.

  “And he’s got a big bawface just like his two brothers,” the young woman said, extending a hand to Cathy. “I’m Jenny. Ah see ye had a bonny wee lassie. Oh, look at that tuft of fiery red hair. Lovely, isn’t it?” She pointed to the pink, blanket-wrapped baby and saw a red curl popping out from the blanket.

  Cathy leaned over and moved the blanket from her baby’s face.

  “She’s the spitting image of ye. Except for the red hair. She’s no yer first either, eh?”

  Cathy looked at the younger woman’s large round face that the Scots called bawfaced and smiled before answering Jenny. “Goodness no! I’ve got four girls at home and now this wee one.” …adding quietly, “One passed away right after birth.”

  “Oh! How horrible fer ye. I’m so sorry.” Jenny smiled sympathetically at the woman with the sad blue eyes and pale, flawless skin.

  Cathy looked away from Jenny’s pity and then with a sly smile, gestured to the young woman to hand over her teacup. “Would you like me to read your tea leaves?”

  “Ye can do that?” Jenny asked in surprise.

  “Well, I never have before, but a tinker once read mine. It can’t be that hard.”

  “What’d she say tae ye?”

  “She said I’d have a lot of bairns. She got that part right. And she said I’d cross a bridge of gold to live in a faraway place. Maybe I’ll be happy there.” Cathy reminisced for a moment about what else the gypsy woman had told her. She put down her cup. “Let’s have a look and see how many more weans you’ll have.”

  Taking the last gulp of tea, Jenny handed over her teacup and plunked down her plump bum next to Cathy on the bed. She peered over the older woman’s shoulder, intently watching and quietly waiting for news of her upcoming good fortune. Cathy took the cup in both hands. She moved it from left to right, looking at it from different angles. The women tilted their heads to the right as Cathy angled the cup in that direction.

  Jenny held her breath in anticipation until she could wait no longer. “Tell me ye see gold in mah purse and me in a big hoose. Oh, and one more wean. Ah want a wee lassie the next time.”

  Cathy studied the leaves in the cup. She didn’t see a big house for the younger woman. Pointing out a collection of leaves clinging to the side of the cup, Cathy said, “See that boat there? Aye, well, that’s bringing you good news from abroad.”

  “Is that right? Mah sister just left for Australia for a new job! And mah ma’s hoping she’ll find a man, too! What else do ye see?”

  Looking back into the cup, Cathy prophesied, “I see your husband will get a promotion at work next year. Then maybe you will get a bigger place.” She handed the teacup back to Jenny and smiled. “There you go.”

  “Oh! I am a lucky woman!”

  The women laughed and began to chat about babies.

  At that moment, Jimmy MacDonald, a stocky, working-class man, strolled into the ward. His sour look dampened the women’s laughter. They froze in place for only a brief second before Jenny stepped away from Cathy’s bedside.

  He walked quickly over to his wife’s bed, pulled up a straight back, wooden chair and sat down with a thud. His long, sharp nose narrowly separated his
squinty, hazel eyes, which he set directly on Cathy. In his deep, throaty voice he inquired, “How ye doing?”

  She covered herself with a sheet, pulling it up around her milk-swollen breasts. “Alright. I had a girl.”

  He rubbed a hand over his face as though to wipe away the tiredness from it, saying nothing.

  “Take a wee peek at the baby. She’s lovely.” Cathy nodded her head toward the bassinet.

  He hesitated and she wondered if her husband was afraid if this baby, like the last one––shrieked bloody murder when he held her. No doubt, she thought, the reaction from the baby was from the smell of whiskey on his breath. This time she smelled no alcohol on him.

  Jimmy rose slightly to lean over it. The baby’s eyes fluttered then suddenly opened wide. He pulled away. “Looks like your mother, staring at me with those watery blue eyes.”

  Although she understood he must be tired from work, she was in no mood to listen to his grouchiness. Staring him squarely in the eye, she retorted, “I was thinking she looked like your mother.”

  Jimmy leaned in closer, clutching the blanket in his thick calloused fingers. “Don’t you speak ill of the dead. You hear me, woman?”

  Cathy was afraid Jimmy’s rough Glaswegian voice was embarrassingly loud. She quickly glanced around the ward to see if the other women could hear them quarrelling. They were busy with their own babies and paid no heed to the MacDonalds. She bit back her angry words, not wanting to add to the tension between her husband and herself.

  He took a deep breath and said more quietly, “Shouldne be taking time off work, but I just wanted to see you.” He gave her a weak smile.

  She didn’t smile back.

  “Your mother’s already getting on my nerves telling me how to take care of my girls,” he complained.

  “Tsk. She’s just trying to be helpful, Jimmy.”

  “When are you coming home?” he bleated.

  “Dr. MacFadden thinks I need to stay a wee bit longer.”

  “What’s he know about what we need?” he snarled. “Me and the lassies need you at home. That’s where you belong, woman.”

  Cathy was afraid she’d say the wrong thing and upset him, which was easy to do, so she said nothing.