Twenty minutes later, the pain from his hangover subsiding by degrees, he approached the bluff. Even now a slight tingle in his knees and hollow feeling in his stomach gave evidence to the breathtaking suddenness with which the bluff gave way to what he and Wallace years ago dubbed the Great Cliff. The view from the edge of the precipice was truly awe-inspiring. On a clear day from the northernmost cliffs of the island you could see the entire outline of Yell and through Codgrove Sound to the southern outline of Unst.
The most terrifying sight of all was straight down two hundred feet of sheer drop to the rocky shoals of the sea. It was the most dangerous place on the island. Tales abounded of murders and suicides and lovers leaping into the abyss of death rather than marry someone other than their true love. Whether or not any of the stories were true, they fueled the terrified imagination of one generation after another of Whales Reef youngsters, every one of whom had been forbidden more times than they could count from venturing to the island’s northern reaches.
As Ernest Tulloch’s eldest son continued aimlessly on his way, ahead he spied a figure seated on the ground nearly at the edge of the Great Cliff. It appeared to be a girl or young woman with binoculars around her neck. Her back was turned, but she had a sketchbook in her lap and pen in hand. It wasn’t unusual to see tourists wandering around the island. The place was a blasted breeding ground for tourists. But he had never seen one here.
Good heavens, what was she thinking? The goose was seated with her legs dangling over the side of the cliff!
Aware of her danger, Brogan broke into an unsteady run.
His effort at haste was brief. His pulsing head swayed and his knees buckled. In his present condition, he would not dare get within yards of the drop-off!
He tried to focus his throbbing brain. He had to warn the girl of the danger . . . but without startling her.
He began walking again, whistling softly and kicking at an occasional stone, trying to make just enough noise to alert her of his presence.
Her head turned. His plan had obviously worked. She was a small wisp of a thing—couldn’t be more than a teenager. Through her dark-rimmed glasses, the girl looked at him with an expression of annoyance.
“Ho, I say there!” said Brogan, though the effort at speech was difficult. “I didn’t expect to see anyone out so early.”
A sudden flurry of orange, black, and white erupted a few feet to the girl’s right. Several brightly colored puffins flapped into the air and out from the cliff toward the sea.
“Now look what you’ve done!” cried the girl. “You scared them off!”
“It’s only a few puffins!” laughed Brogan, wincing from the echo between his temples. “There are thousands more where those came from,” he added. “This ruddy island is full of them.”
“Not so close as those! I have been sitting here an hour coaxing them closer.”
“Well, you obviously had a nice look at them. Now it’s time to come away from that cliff.”
“But I hadn’t finished my drawing.”
“You’ll have to finish it another time. You need to come back from the brink there. It’s not safe.”
The girl seemed unconcerned with his warnings. “Why did you come barging up and yelling like that?” she persisted. “It may take days to get another such opportunity.”
“I was hardly yelling,” said Brogan, moving slowly toward her. “I was worried that you were so close to the edge.”
“I was managing just fine until you came along.”
“You really need to get back. It’s very dangerous.”
Several feet away, Brogan stopped. The girl said no more but sat looking out over the expanse of watery blue below. He stood staring at the back of her head of brown shoulder-length hair.
“Is this the highest point on the island?” she asked after a moment, still without turning to face him.
“It’s the highest bluff along the shore,” answered Brogan. “There is a higher hill inland.”
Again it was quiet.
“You’re American,” said Brogan. “Staying at the hotel, I take it—with the tour that just arrived.”
“Very good. How could you tell?” she said, at last turning toward him.
“Your accent, obviously. It reminds me of the proverbial chalkboard. How you people can so thoroughly butcher the English language is beyond me.”
“What about you? I can hardly understand a word you say.”
“There—your perky air gives you away. Where are your parents, anyway? What are they doing letting you wander out alone at such an ungodly hour of the morning?”
“My parents!” laughed the girl. “My parents happen to be five thousand miles away.”
“Wherever they are, they didn’t teach you to do as you’re told.”
“I am old enough not to need people telling me what to do.”
“As old as that, are you?” quipped Brogan.
“I am. As for the time, I’ve been up for hours. I don’t happen to be one who sleeps away the best part of the day. Why can’t you let me enjoy the peace and quiet of the view?”
“Even without your precious ruddy birds to keep you company?” said Brogan sarcastically.
“I would certainly like to try.”
“At least let me see your drawing before I go,” said Brogan, trying one final tactic to get the stubborn girl away from the cliff.
“I will keep my drawing to myself, if you don’t mind. I cannot imagine that you are really interested in the pelagic species of the auk family of seabird, Fratercula arctica.”
Brogan laughed, though a little contemptuously. “A walking encyclopedia, are we? Well, have it your way, then. If you wind up down on the rocks, don’t come to me for sympathy. I try to give you a little friendly help and get rudeness in return. I suppose what should I expect from an American?”
At last the girl pulled her legs back up from the edge of the cliff and stood facing the man who had intruded so abruptly into her morning.
“The rudeness is all on your side, sir,” she said. “I take it from your accent that you are a native here. Is this your customary way of treating guests to your island?”
“Trying to help them not kill themselves by falling into the ocean, you mean?” retorted Brogan. “Yes, I would like to think we are helpful and considerate hosts,” he added with a wry smile.
“Well, then, thank you for your consideration,” rejoined the girl with equal sarcasm.
She walked away along the edge of the bluff.
Annoyed yet further by the impertinence of her turning her back on him, Brogan took several steps after her.
“Hey, lassie, I suggest you mind your manners. Do you have any idea who you are talking to?”
“No, and I don’t care.”
“You had better care or I may have you thrown off my land.”
“Your land!”
“Yes, my land.”
“I don’t believe a word of it. Whoever you are, you should be more polite to visitors.”
She stopped and turned and stared at him a moment. “Besides all that, I think you are drunk. Your eyes are bloodshot and puffy. You are unshaven and unkempt. If you were really the owner of this land, you would not go about in public looking like that. Good day, sir!” she said, then tromped off.
Brogan stared after her, by now so angry that, had his head not been splitting, he would have continued the heated exchange until he was on the winning side of it. As things stood, he decided to let it go. Besides, she was walking away so fast he doubted he could keep pace with her.
An uncharacteristic pang smote him. He didn’t like being put in his place by a pip-squeak of a girl, and an American at that. But maybe she was right. He probably did look a mess. Even without a mirror, he could feel the puffiness in his eyes. They were no doubt red as two beets.
What he really needed, thought Brogan, was a drink. But out here there was nothing to be had but fresh air . . . and ruddy puffins!
He turned
and wandered back the way he had come.
———
After her unceremonious morning encounter, the American newcomer to Whales Reef was anxious to get back out for another walk. The tour’s first full day on the island had taken up the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon. Finally she decided to skip the optional afternoon session, tracing Norwegian influence on Shetland customs, and again seek the barren moor north of the village.
The exchange near the cliffs that morning had unnerved her. She knew she had behaved badly. She needed to make peace with God about it. She hoped she might somehow run into the young man again to apologize to him as well.
From all she had been told to expect about the Shetland weather, it was a surprisingly warm day. It was after four when she left the hotel, though the sun was so high in the sky it might as well have been noon. She struck out with no destination in mind other than to be alone. Vaguely praying as she went, the light sea breeze on her face, the sight of sheep grazing in the distance, and the faint cry of gulls above the shoreline to her right all combined to soothe her troubled spirit.
She made her way over the uneven heathery terrain and gradually walked north and east from the center of the island in the direction of the sea. After going about two miles, ahead she saw a small lad who looked to be five or six, hair of bright orange, seated on a stone and staring down at the ground. Beside him sat a man. They were not speaking.
As she came near she saw that their thoughts were occupied by an injured bird on the ground between them. A black-and-white sheepdog lay motionless behind the boy. She sat down a few feet away. It remained quiet for several minutes. None of the three were compelled to disturb the tranquility of the afternoon.
“We are helping this little bird die in peace,” said the man at length. His voice was soft and serene.
The girl smiled and nodded. She sensed that this was no time for words.
After perhaps twenty minutes, the dog stirred and lifted its head. The boy’s attention was riveted on the tiny form on the grass. A slight flutter and the next moment it was over. He stared down for another few seconds, blinked hard, then stood.
The man reached into his pocket and dug out a small coin. He reached up and handed it to the boy.
“This is for ye tae remember the day, Sandy,” he said. “’Tis a wee token tae keep. I want ye tae tell me one day when ye ken what it means.”
The boy took the coin, looked at it a moment where it lay on his palm, then pocketed it. He turned and walked away across the moor, sheepdog bounding after him.
Man and girl were left alone, each remaining quiet.
Finally she rose and left the scene. With her journal in hand, she wandered back in the direction of the village from which she had come. After a short time she turned inland and spied a flat boulder ahead, walked to it, and seated herself comfortably on its surface, reflecting on the boy and man she just left.
She placed the leather journal in her lap and removed a pen from her bag. She thought for a moment, then methodically began to draw. Soon a remarkably lifelike sketch of the bird on the ground and the boy on stone beside it emerged on the blank page. After a quarter of an hour, when she was satisfied with the image, above the sketch in an artistic script she wrote, A Boy and a Bird.
She paused, trying to remember every word of the conversation she had heard. She wrote for twenty or thirty minutes. She had long since lost track of the time when a crisp gust brought her senses awake. She realized that the afternoon was waning and that Mrs. Barnes would expect her back for dinner. After their first full day on the island, tonight would be a festive evening and Mrs. Barnes was probably already wondering where she was.
She rose and began the walk back to the hotel.
31
Saturday in Lerwick
Loni Ford and David Tulloch walked through the door of Shetland Outfitters to an array of clothes, shoes, hats, boots, and hunting and fishing and all manner of outdoor apparel and supplies. Binoculars, compasses, knives, flashlights, tents, backpacks, nature books, even rubber rafts—all assaulting their senses, along with racks and displays throughout the store of every kind of outdoor clothing imaginable.
“Oh, look!” exclaimed Loni, lifting a small pewter ram displayed along with glassware and tartans, which no self-respecting store of its kind in Scotland would be without. “I will buy some small gifts here to take back with me.”
“This is one of my favorite places in Lerwick,” said David. “It’s not high fashion, but you will find a good pair of hiking boots and perhaps a warm vest. I might also recommend a work shirt and denim trousers.”
“I have all that at home,” said Loni. “Seems a shame to buy a new wardrobe for another day or two.”
“Is that your schedule—you’ll be leaving so soon?”
“I had planned to leave two days ago. Then I thought today. I was half packed. Actually, my suitcase is open beside my bed back in the Cottage. Then the truth finally dawned on me about Hardy. I’m embarrassed to say that I had intended to place my affairs in his hands.”
“I take it you changed your mind.”
Loni nodded.
“I would be less than honest if I did not confess to profound relief,” said David. “Though not from any supposed advantage to myself.”
“I think I understand that now too,” said Loni. “And that brings me to what I didn’t tell you yesterday. I suppose now is as good a time as any to come clean.” Loni hesitated and glanced away briefly. “The reason I knew about Mr. Muir’s financial trouble, as well as your offer to help, not to mention the few things you said about Hardy, was that . . . I was eavesdropping. I heard the whole conversation.”
Momentarily perplexed, a slow grin spread over David’s face. “That’s actually quite funny!” he said.
“Not intentionally,” added Loni. “I was in the back office sending a fax. Audney’s let me do that a couple times. Suddenly the two of you came through the door and I was trapped with no way to get away without being seen.”
“You were in a predicament for sure,” he chuckled. “But no harm done, other than my own embarrassment at your hearing me speak candidly about Hardy. I would be loath to criticize him to your face.”
“You have already demonstrated your honorability in that regard. And I respect you for it, though it made me mad at first. But I was wrong and I know it.”
“No more on that—remember.”
“You wouldn’t have needed to tell me anything anyway, because I got an earful from Hardy himself before you and Mr. Muir came in. Now that did make me angry!”
“What did he say?” asked David. “He wasn’t rude to you or hurt you in any way?”
“Nothing like that. I was already in the back of the hotel. He had no idea I was listening. But his voice carries, if you know what I mean. He was boasting that he would be running my affairs when I left the island, saying terrible things to Audney too. He may have grabbed her, but I think she took care of him with a slap across the face.”
“Audney can hold her own,” said David with a smile. “But it concerns me that Hardy thought he could worm his way into your affairs.”
“It’s my own fault. I implied that I would put him in charge during my absence. I assumed he was next in line for the inheritance. He was so confident about it, to be honest I never doubted him. And I had been angry at you, and . . . well, it was stupid of me, but that’s what happened.”
“You and he haven’t put anything in writing?”
“No. And after what I heard him saying, I will watch my step around him in the future. I misread him, I misread you, I misread the whole situation. But as you say, that is behind us. So to answer your question, I don’t know how much longer I will be here. I suppose some more rugged clothes would be a good idea.”
“Then here is a good place to start,” said David, indicating a rack of rain gear. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but it rains in Scotland.”
Loni laughed and lifted a yell
ow rain slicker. “I’ll look like one of the fishermen!”
“If it were winter, I would recommend one of these heavier jackets with insulation to keep out the cold. As it is, I think . . . let me see, this rack over here. I have a windbreaker from this company. It’s perfect for summer rainy weather.” He pulled a navy-blue windbreaker from the rack.
“I can see from looking that it’s ten sizes too big.”
Loni perused the rack, trying on several, finding her size and a style she liked. At length she pulled out a light misty-green jacket with hood and abundant pockets.
“Perfect,” said David. “Try it on.”
Loni handed David her bag and slipped the windbreaker over her head.
“That’s it,” said David with a nod. “It exactly matches your green eyes.”
“Now you are a fashion expert too?” laughed Loni.
“Let’s just say from what little I know about the feminine species that they consider it important to look good as well as coordinate the colors of the wardrobe even when being utilitarian.”
“Who told you that?”
“If a man intends to survive in this world, he had better be paying attention.”
“Well, you are right,” rejoined Loni, inspecting her selection in a nearby mirror. “Of course everything has to match. How most men can be clueless about such a fundamental principle I have never understood.”
“I hope you won’t lump me into that large mass of most men whom women consider clueless.”
Loni laughed good-naturedly. “I am coming to see that perhaps you are a little different. Actually, I do love this green. I’ll take it.”
“Good . . . okay next, gloves and boots.”
“I have gloves.”
“I mean Shetland gloves—warm, waterproof, rugged. I doubt you will want your dress gloves getting messy grabbing a handful of sheep’s wool or rubbing down the back of a Shetland pony after a rainstorm.”
“You think I will be rubbing down horses?”
“One never knows. Give me time. And you’ve already seen how rambunctious the sheep can be. You are the laird, after all. A laird gives attention to his flocks and herds as well as his people, as the Bible says.”
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