The Skylark's Secret

by Valpy, Fiona

  ‘After our Midwest winters, this feels like kinda gentle weather you got here,’ laughed Ralph, undaunted. ‘We’re more used to snowdrifts as high as your head. And we’ve been cooped up on that ship for weeks. It’ll be good to stretch our legs on dry land for a coupla days.’

  In the corner, Mairi sat next to Roy, who seemed a good deal quieter than his exuberant younger brother. But they soon discovered a mutual interest in dairy cattle – Roy and Hal having lived on their parents’ farm in Wisconsin before volunteering for the Merchant Marine when America joined the war – and were deep in conversation by the time Hal and Stan fought their way back to the table with the second round of drinks. The farm boys had grown up surrounded by an ocean of land. Mairi and Flora were fascinated as Roy described the endless prairies with their seas of waving wheat. ‘We’d never seen so much water as the day we embarked from New York. We thought Lake Michigan was big until we saw the Atlantic! There were days when I thought we’d never see land again.’

  ‘You must miss the farm,’ Mairi said.

  ‘Sure do. But we have a job to get done, helping you Brits keep the Russkies supplied so they can stop Mr Hitler in his tracks. Besides, when Hal here volunteered, there was no way I could let my baby brother pull such a crazy stunt on his own. I promised Mom and Pop I’d keep an eye on him for them.’ His face grew serious as he described what it meant to them to be playing their part. ‘My grandparents emigrated to the States from Norway. So it’ll be good to sail past the old country, even if it is occupied by the Nazis now. All the more reason to do our bit to free them again. Those are our people, right there, and it hurts real bad to know they’re suffering.’

  Late in the evening, the revellers began to disperse back to their ships and their homes. Hal and Roy insisted on walking Bridie and Mairi home, even though Flora and Ruaridh were passing their doors on the way back to Keeper’s Cottage. Ruaridh had promised to walk up to the lochan to fish for grayling the next day with the brothers and whoever else was free.

  Flora glanced back after they’d taken their leave at Mairi’s gate. In the darkness, she could just make out the figures of Mairi and Roy, still deep in conversation.

  She smiled to herself as she walked on. Because she couldn’t have sworn to it, and maybe it was a trick of the shadows, but it looked as though Roy had reached out and taken both of Mairi’s hands in his, his fair hair gleaming pale in the moonlight as his head bent towards hers.

  Lexie, 1978

  We’ve all arranged to meet at the bar tonight and Davy and the band will be playing as usual.

  Bridie comes to babysit. ‘Have fun celebrating,’ she says as I pull on my jacket.

  ‘Celebrating what?’ I ask.

  ‘Och, Lexie, have you forgotten? It’s Elspeth’s birthday today.’

  Of course. I should have remembered. It was a date I’d always known when we were at school. I’d made her cards and spent my pocket money on bath salts or make-up or sweets for her (knowing she’d share them with me anyway), and she’d done the same when it was my turn.

  I’m kicking myself as I walk along the shore road to the village. I can buy her a birthday drink, at least, but that hardly seems enough of a present for someone who’s been a friend through thick and thin.

  The bar’s packed out and the skirl of the music seems more joyous than ever this evening. As I pick my way back to our table, carefully carrying a large round of drinks on a tray, I stop to have a quick word with Davy, handing him the pint I’ve got in for him.

  My heart is pounding with nerves as I sit through the next set, and then Davy steps up to the mic and calls for quiet. ‘Tonight we’re saying Happy Birthday to our very own Elspeth McKinnes.’ Raucous cheers and whoops fill the room and Davy raises his hands, waiting for them to subside. ‘And a good friend of Elspeth’s is going to join us now, to say Happy Birthday in her own way.’

  I get to my feet and walk across to the band, swallowing hard, wondering whether anything is going to come out of my mouth at all as it’s suddenly gone so dry. My throat seems to close in on itself, tightening with the fear that I’m about to make a complete fool of myself. I take my place beside the fiddle player and he nods, raising his bow. All of a sudden I feel myself sway as a wave of dizziness washes over me, panicking as I remember the voice coach shaking her head when she listened to me try to sing again after my operation. ‘I’m sorry, Alexandra,’ she’d said. ‘It’s just not working. I think the damage you’ve done is permanent. You won’t sing on the stage again.’

  But then I look over and see Elspeth’s smile, which stretches into an even wider grin as Davy hands me the mic. His hand squeezes mine for a second, steadying me. Elspeth nods encouragingly and I close my eyes for a moment, telling myself to pretend I’m singing to the toddlers at the playgroup or the seals in the hidden bay.

  The fiddle starts to play the lilting notes of the introduction and, taking a deep breath, I begin to sing.

  ‘Oh rowan tree, oh rowan tree

  Thou’ll ay be dear to me

  Entwined thou art wi’ many ties

  O’ home and infancy . . .’

  The other instruments join in, and my voice rises, growing in confidence as the familiar strands of the tune weave themselves in and out through the accompaniment. I can hear that my singing is a bit scratchy, the words a little rough around the edges, but that only seems to add depth to the simplicity of the song. And then, one by one, all the others in the bar begin to sing along softly until our individual voices blend to fill the room.

  When the final notes die away, there’s a moment of complete silence. And then the cheers and whoops erupt.

  ‘Will you sing another?’ Davy asks, leaning close to be heard above the din.

  I smile and shake my head. ‘Not tonight. That was for Elspeth. I’m leaving the rest of the evening to you boys.’

  When I get back to the table, Elspeth hugs me hard. ‘Best present you’ve ever given me,’ she says.

  ‘What, even better than the bright green eyeshadow and the quarter-pound of treacle toffees?’ I say, referring to the last present I’d bought for her.

  ‘They come close.’ She smiles. ‘But that song was beautiful.’

  As I sit back down and take a sip from my drink, I reflect that I seem to have been singing quite a lot recently, for someone who’s supposedly lost her voice.

  Catching my eye across the room, Davy raises his glass to me and then picks up his guitar, and the band swings into the next set.

  Bridie comes for tea as usual the following Wednesday, and I show her the brooch I found in the pocket of Mum’s coat.

  Her face lights up when she sees it. ‘Alec gave her that. It’s a sweetheart brooch – belonged to his mother originally, I believe. Soldiers and sailors used to give them to their girlfriends and wives so they could keep their loves close to their hearts even when they were apart.’ She takes her hanky out from the sleeve of her cardigan and gives the brooch a rub. ‘See, it’s silver. Just needs a bit of a polish and it’ll come up like new. Your mammy always wore it or carried it with her in her pocket.’

  I decide to tackle her elusiveness head-on. ‘Bridie, what happened with my mum and dad? You’ve told me bits and pieces, but I want to know everything.’

  She glances up at me, startled.

  ‘There’s something you’re not saying, isn’t there?’ I persist.

  ‘Well now, Lexie, there’s a story there, all right. But I’m not sure I’m the right person to tell it on my own.’

  I can’t help but let my exasperation show. ‘If not you, Bridie, then who else?’

  ‘Mairi would be the one.’

  ‘But she lives in America!’

  ‘She does.’ Bridie calmly reaches for another biscuit. ‘But she’ll be here soon enough. She always comes back once a year to visit her sisters and brothers. I’ve told her you’ve come home. She’s looking forward to seeing you.’

  Flora, 1942

  It was a crisp morning, the
air as pure as the water in the burns that ran off the hills, when Mairi and Bridie met Roy and Hal at the jetty to show them the way to Keeper’s Cottage.

  Flora was pleased they’d be able to spend time together that day, although she couldn’t help missing Alec all the more. As she tidied away the things she’d used to bake a batch of scones, she tried to shake off her own preoccupations, smiling at the sound of Bridie’s voice approaching on the road.

  In the cramped kitchen, Iain shook hands with the Americans and showed them the flies that were best for tempting graylings while Ruaridh prepared rods for them. They were just gathering everything together in preparation for the walk into the hills when there was a knock at the door.

  ‘Alec! You’re back!’ Flora flung her arms around his neck and he hugged her tightly to him. All her doubts and fears seemed to dissolve in his embrace.

  ‘We got in in the early hours. The convoy leaves tomorrow so I’ve not got long. I wanted to spend every minute I could with you.’ He was more than happy to join the fishing expedition, and stuck the tin of flies that Iain gave him into his jacket pocket.

  The grass crunched underfoot, each blade sugar-coated with frost, as the small group hiked up the path alongside the burn, their laughter disturbing a stag that had been nosing the wintry ground in search of forage and causing him to bound away, his hooves drumming on the frozen earth as he tossed his antlers in annoyance.

  The waters of the lochan were still and black when they reached the heights, but the weak sun had melted the frost and Flora was warm from the climb. She’d thrust one hand into her coat pocket and Alec held the other tight, the heat of his skin mingling with hers to keep her fingers from being nipped by the chill.

  They set down their gear in the shelter of the old bothy and Alec helped Mairi and Roy tie flies to their lines.

  ‘Back home we like nothing better than to spend our summer evenings fishing in the ponds in the slough on the farm,’ said Roy. ‘Not that you need fancy flies for perch – they’ll eat pretty much anything you care to put on your hook.’

  ‘What’s the trick with these here graylings then?’ asked Hal.

  Bridie, who’d refused a rod, settled herself next to him on the bank.

  ‘You need to cast out towards the deeper water. They’ll be down in the depths, where it’s a wee bit warmer.’ Ruaridh pointed out the best areas, away from the skeletal, winter-bleached reeds at the water’s edge.

  The group spread out and silence fell as they concentrated on casting, the only sounds the hissing of the lines through the air and the quiet hum of the reels, overlain by an occasional stamping of feet in heavy boots to keep the circulation going. Even Bridie sat quietly, contented to gaze at Hal as he watched the water. At first, nothing stirred. But then the mirror-like surface broke as a fish rose, tempted by the feathered flies that had begun to land there. In a flash of silver, it reached for Ruaridh’s hook, but missed and disappeared back into the depths, leaving ever-widening circles that spread across the lochan.

  ‘That’s good,’ Alec commented quietly. ‘At least we know they’re there.’

  Hal was the first to hook one, giving a whoop as the tip of his rod bent with the tautening of the line.

  ‘Well done,’ called Alec. ‘Play it in gently now, they’re soft-mouthed.’

  Bridie ran to get the landing net and carefully scooped in the catch.

  ‘That’s a good-sized grayling,’ Ruaridh said, with a nod of approval.

  A couple of hours later, once they had four fish in the wicker creel, the short-lived daylight began to dim, fine wisps of cirrus cloud veiling the weakening sun as it drifted towards the western horizon, heralding a change in the weather.

  ‘Brrr.’ Bridie shivered. ‘I’m frozen stiff.’

  Hal grinned, wrapping a long arm around her shoulders. ‘Here you go, let’s get you all warmed up!’

  As they reeled in their lines for the final time, Flora and Mairi exchanged a smile, noticing that Bridie was in no hurry to pull away from Hal’s embrace.

  Back at the cottage, Flora set the kettle on the stove while Mairi put out cups and Bridie buttered a plate of scones. The fishing party sat round the kitchen table, stretching sock-clad feet towards the warmth of the range to thaw out frozen toes.

  Roy smiled at Mairi, cupping his mug of tea. ‘That sure was a great day. It’s been good to feel life is normal again, just for a few hours.’ He carefully set down his cup and reached to take one of her hands in his beneath the cover of the table.

  The others all pretended not to notice, and reached out eagerly as Bridie handed round the plate of scones again.

  As she leaned against the range, waiting for the water to reboil so that she could top up the teapot, Flora watched the group gathered in her kitchen, filling the room with their easy words and ready laughter that warmed the soul. Today had indeed been a good day, one to treasure. Because tomorrow Ruaridh would climb the hill to his post at the signal station and Alec, Roy and Hal would be back on board their ships. And then, when the time came, the tugs would draw back the boom nets and the signal would be given. The ships would slowly get underway and the convoy would begin its perilous journey, slipping from the safe embrace of Loch Ewe and plunging into the ice-grey grip of the Arctic sea.

  Alec stayed on when the others had gone. It was already dark outside when Ruaridh went to help Iain check on the garron. Flora gathered up the teacups and carried them to the sink. As she began to wash them, Alec came and stood behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. He buried his face in her hair for a moment before picking up a dish towel and beginning to dry the cups. When they’d finished, she took the towel from him and wiped her wet hands on it before clasping them around his neck and kissing him.

  His dark eyes shone with love as he gazed at her, taking in every inch of her face. ‘This is the image I’ll carry with me when we leave tomorrow,’ he told her, gently brushing back a tendril of copper-gold hair from her cheek. ‘Your smile will get me through the roughest seas and home again.’

  He relinquished his hold on her for a moment and reached into the pocket of his tweed jacket. ‘I have something for you.’

  The silver sweetheart brooch with the anchor and crown lay in the palm of his hand. ‘Ma wanted you to have it. She said it’s only right that you should wear it now.’ Carefully he pinned it to her jumper, above her heart.

  Flora couldn’t speak for a minute or two as her emotions overwhelmed her. She knew how much the brooch meant to Lady Helen, and that this was a sign that she approved of Flora’s relationship with her son even if Sir Charles did not.

  ‘I’ll wear it every day,’ she said at last, ‘and treasure it as your mother has done. As we both treasure you.’

  ‘You’re my girl, Flora. The only one for me. Let’s not say goodbye. We’ll just say, “I’ll be seeing you.”’

  She stood in the doorway as he walked slowly away up the path towards Ardtuath House. As she watched, she ran her fingertips over the brooch, which sat like a shield over her heart, tracing the outline of the anchor and the crown above it.

  ‘Come back safe to me,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll be seeing you.’ And her words followed him into the darkness of the winter night.

  The three girls watched from the pier at Mellon Charles as the convoy sailed. Flora’s expression was outwardly composed, but she had wrapped her arms around herself, pulling the sides of her dark blue uniform jacket tightly across each other as though by doing so they might physically hold her together.

  Mairi’s face was tense and pale as the merchantmen began to move slowly into their allotted positions, as if they were playing a sinister, slow-motion game of follow-the-leader. ‘Wheesht, you’re crying, Bridie,’ she said gently. ‘It won’t be doing him any good now, will it?’

  ‘Oh, how on earth can you both stay so calm?’ Bridie wailed, fumbling in her pocket for her handkerchief and blowing her nose long and loud.

  As she replied, Flora’s eyes never left
the Isla, the destroyer leading the string of merchant ships from the loch, knowing that Alec was on the bridge and would surely know she was there. ‘We have to stay calm, Bridie, to help them be strong enough to leave. And, let’s hope, to help them be strong enough to face the journey ahead of them and come back safely, too.’

  Lexie, 1978

  Mairi is at the same time a stranger and so familiar that the tears spring to my eyes as we embrace. I remember her, of course, from my childhood. Even though she’d left the family farm for a new life in America at the end of the war, she returned to Aultbea now and then and always came to see us in Keeper’s Cottage, bringing with her toys and huge boxes of excitingly foreign candy. Apart from the fact that her hair is now a white that’s as pure as the first snow on the hills, she looks exactly the same: warm brown eyes and a complexion as radiant as it was in her twenties.

  She’s brought with her a pair of extremely cute pink-and-white-striped dungarees for Daisy and a large album of photos and newspaper cuttings. ‘Flora sent me these over the years. She always kept me in touch with all the local news. I thought you might be interested to see them.’ Despite all those years away, her accent still lilts with the soft inflections of the Scottish Highlands.

  She and Bridie take it in turns to cuddle Daisy, who laps up the attention from her two surrogate grannies, charming them with her very own style of conversation.

  ‘Look,’ Mairi tells Daisy, ‘here’s a picture of your mummy when she was wee, making sandcastles on the beach. And here she is on her first day at the big school. See how smart she looks in her new uniform? And this is her singing a solo in the school show.’

  ‘Mum,’ Daisy says, pointing a chubby forefinger at the album.

  ‘Clever girl,’ coos Bridie, offering her a Liquorice Allsort, which Daisy pops into her mouth with a cherubic smile.

  I’m fascinated by the photos, poring over them. My mother took these images, documenting my childhood. She put them into envelopes and sent them across the sea to the other side of the world, where Mairi kept them so carefully, lovingly preserving them in this album. It’s a little overwhelming, feeling this loved.