A Rhanna Mystery

by Christine Marion Fraser

  The dog looked up at him, a puzzled expression in his eyes, then with a groan he flopped down on the rug again, though he didn’t go back to sleep. Something strange was happening and he needed a few moments to think things through.

  Fergus shoved his feet into his boots and seizing his jacket from its hook he let himself out of the house. The freezing blast of the January morning hit him like a blow. Glancing up he saw that the hills had disappeared under blankets of icy sleet, and the sky was heavy with yellow-black snow clouds, great masses of them gathering on the horizon for as far as the eye could see.

  He was about to close the door when he heard the phone ringing faintly from the hall and he hesitated, wondering if he should go back indoors to answer it. It would most likely be Shona, anxious to know how he was faring, asking questions which he knew he wouldn’t be able to answer rationally.

  Shona! His lassie! Could he do this to her? The daughter who had been so close to him since the day she had drawn breath. He felt as if he was being torn in two. Shona, Lorn, Grant, would they ever forgive him for what he was about to do? But they had each other! Partners with whom they could share everything, the love, the laughter, the caring. All he had to look forward to were days and nights filled with emptiness and he couldn’t face a future like that, he just couldn’t.

  He could hear Donald in the byre, clattering the milk churns about, and he strode quickly past the outbuildings, praying that he wouldn’t be seen as he cut over the fields and onto the rough track leading over the moors, from there to the foothills of Ben Machrie.

  Ice spicules stung his face as he climbed higher and the way became more difficult. But he knew where he was going; as a boy he had trodden these hills with his father, he had played here with his brother Alick when they were children, and as a man he had driven his flocks and his herds up here to their summer grazings, his dogs frisking along beside him.

  Onwards he plunged, the sleet and the hail lashing him, the pockets of snow thickening underfoot. He was aware that his hands and feet were growing numb and he welcomed these first signs that his lifeforces were slowing. It was what he wanted, the reason why he had come up here.

  Helen, Fern, Kirsteen – they all flashed through his mind, visions of their lovely faces coming to him, radiant with life, alight with the joy of living. Gone, all gone, but he knew they were beckoning to him, they wanted him to cross over, over to that other side where there was no more sorrow or pain. The biting cold was invading his lungs, his heart felt sore in his chest. It was becoming more difficult to breathe, yet still he went on upwards. To reach the pinnacle, that was his aim, to ascend the highest peak where another world awaited him in one of the wildest, most awesome, places of God’s creation.

  Heinz moved restlessly on his rug. In his haste to leave the house Fergus had left the door ajar and a wicked draught was invading every corner of the kitchen. The dog sat on his haunches for a moment or two, then heaving himself to his feet he went to ease the door open with his nose.

  For a few moments he stood there on the step, surveying the winter world, blinking a little as a swirl of snow-laden wind gusted against his face, causing tiny droplets of moisture to adhere to his eyelashes.

  He lifted his nose to quest the air, then, tail wagging, still limping a bit, he set off, following a scent that was familiar and dear to him, a faithful black shadow who had rarely left his master’s side and who had no intention of doing so now.

  It was Shona who set the search party in motion, having arrived at Laigmhor to find her father gone and Donald the only sign of life about the place.

  And it was Donald who supplied her with the information she needed, telling her he had seen Fergus going past the byre an hour earlier, to be followed by his dog a short while later.

  ‘I thought he was just taking a bit walk to himself,’ Donald said in some bemusement. ‘But when neither he nor Heinz came back I began to wonder. At the time I didn’t know about Kirsteen or I would have went after him. He was making for the moors – at least it looked like that to me.’

  ‘And God alone knows what he had in his mind,’ whispered Shona, gazing up at the black face of the hills where snow clouds were pouring themselves onto the summits.

  The men of the village had rallied round willingly to look for Fergus of the Glen, spreading themselves out over the moors and the lower slopes of the great bens above Glen Fallan.

  ‘It is just like that story Ranald was after telling us,’ gasped Todd, his ruddy face stung to even greater brilliance by the cold. ‘Only this time it’s a lad instead o’ a lass who is missing.’

  ‘Ay, and we’d better find that lad before he goes and dies on us,’ Tam responded grimly. ‘If we don’t get him before night comes down, the hills will have their way wi’ him. The de’il himself bides up yonder disguised as an angel, for when folks are dying wi’ cold and hunger that’s what they think they are seeing as they are drawing their last breath.’

  ‘Ach, you’ve been listening to Ranald a mite too much,’ Todd said scathingly. Nevertheless he raised his eyes fearfully to the snow-lashed corries and prayed silently for the safety of Fergus McKenzie, the big, dour islander whom everyone had always respected and admired, not only for his unending devotion to the people that he loved, but also for the steadfast loyalty that ran staunch and true in his veins for his beloved island.

  The afternoon was darkening, the men had almost given up hope of finding Fergus that day, when Mark James suddenly spotted a dark shape moving down from the snowline on Ben Machrie.

  ‘Up there!’ he pointed. ‘It looks like Heinz! Pray God all is well with his master.’

  It was Heinz, limping a good deal, exhausted, but all in one piece just the same, stopping in his tracks when he saw the rescuers, waiting only a short while to ascertain that they had seen him before giving a short sharp bark of command.

  ‘We’re coming, lad!’ shouted Grant.

  Patiently, Heinz stayed where he was till the men were near enough to follow him, then, with a slight wag of his tail, he turned to brave the elements of the hill once more. He led the men straight to Fergus, who was lying, half buried, half dead, in a treacherous snow-filled hollow, and when he was sure that everything was going to be alright he whimpered and buried his nose in his master’s armpit, too close to collapse himself to appreciate fully the plaudits that were raining down upon his soaked and drooping ears.

  When Shona saw the approach of the rescue party she burst into tears and running towards the stretcher she threw her arms around her father and hugged him as if she would never let him go.

  ‘Mo cridhe,’ he whispered, raising his hand to touch her face. ‘I’m sorry I caused you all this grief but – I wanted it to be over. I felt – I couldn’t go on.’

  His eyes closed, he said no more, and the men who had saved him from a cold and lonely death bore him quickly into the house where there was warmth, and life – and hope.

  When Fergus opened his eyes and saw Kirsteen sitting quietly watching him, he thought that he had indeed perished up yonder in the snow-covered wastes of Ben Machrie.

  But when he felt the gentle warm pressure of her lips on his he stared at her in wonder, a million questions in eyes that were misted with tears, his lips trembling as he tried to form words that would make sense to her.

  ‘Hush,’ she placed a finger on his mouth, ‘I’m here, Fergie, and I won’t ever go away again. I’m so sorry you suffered as you did. It wasn’t me who was involved in that accident, it was the woman who stole my handbag with all my personal things inside. I was out walking in the town at the time, very alone and lonely, thinking of you, wondering how you were. I reported the theft to the police, and this morning they phoned to let me know what had happened. I tried to get through to you but there was no answer and so I just caught the train to Oban – and came home.’

  A sob caught in his throat, something cool touched his cheek, and turning his head he saw that she had placed a bunch of snowdrops on his pillow.
‘Just to let you see that life still exists, even in January,’ she said softly.

  A big, black, wet nose suddenly slithered its way up between them, then Heinz’s face, tongue flopping, lips drawn back as if he was smiling.

  ‘He made it too,’ Kirsteen laughed, ‘and he’s letting us know he had a hand in all this.’

  Fergus glanced towards the window. A soft silvery dawn was spreading its light over the fields; even as he watched it burgeoned and grew brighter till very soon the sea was a sheet of flame and the snow-covered hills were brushed with pink.

  And in the sky a lone gull was gliding, its wings glinting golden in the sunlight. To him it was a symbol, encompassing all things free and wonderful as it drifted slowly and peacefully above the tiny jewel in the Hebrides known as the island of Rhanna.