Rhanna at War

by Christine Marion Fraser

  Sitting among the cool trees she was ashamed of her outburst. The atmosphere at Laigmhor was usually one of happy contentment and it was wonderful to live in a house where laughter prevailed above all else. The weeks since Niall’s going had been calm and uneventful except for an outbreak of measles which had affected a good part of the island’s population. At Laigmhor, Grant had gone down with the rash first, followed by Kirsteen, who had laughed and felt ridiculous contracting measles at her age. Shona and Fergus had administered to the invalids but it was a mild form of measles and both Grant and Kirsteen were soon up and going about as normal. There was going to be another child in December. Kirsteen had confided the news to Shona and Grant a fortnight ago and they had celebrated by holding a gay ceilidh.

  Grant’s feelings were mixed on the matter. He dreaded the idea of a ‘silly wee sister’ and half-heartedly decided a brother might come in useful ‘once it grows from a smelly baby into a real human’.

  ‘Are you pleased, Father?’ Shona had asked.

  Fergus’s black eyes had regarded her for a long moment. ‘Ay, delighted,’ he had said eventually. ‘But no matter how many bairns may come along there will never be one to match you.’

  ‘That could mean a lot of things,’ she had answered with a smile.

  ‘You know what I mean, mo ghaoil,’ he had said with an intensity that made her put her arms round his neck and nuzzle his thick dark curls.

  ‘I know, my dearest father,’ she had said gently. ‘It’s easier for me, I have only one father to adore . . . you have more than one child – and you must love them all equally.’

  Shona clasped her knees and thought about her father. The years they had spent together at Laigmhor had been stormy but beautiful years in her life and she knew she would always treasure the memory of them. But always there had been Niall. All through her tempestuous childhood he had been the other prop in her life and undeniably an even stronger one than her father whose pride had been the cause of unhappiness for a lot of people.

  She watched a baby mole ambling blindly among the moss. A squirrel washed its whiskers on a branch above her head and she held her breath, loving the peace of the pine-scented wood, treasuring it even more because it was a part of Rhanna, the island she loved with every fibre of her being. Yet soon she must leave it if she wanted to remain with the man she loved. Niall had given her an ultimatum. ‘When I come back to Rhanna in the summer I want your answer, Shona. You must decide when we are going to be wed.’ Those had been his parting words when he left to go back to his studies at the vet. college.

  A jaunty whistle came faintly on the breeze. Niall! At last, Niall! The thought of him so near quickened her heart. That whistle! It suddenly came to her that she hadn’t heard it for many months. It had always been part of Niall yet on his last visit to Rhanna she hadn’t heard it once. The gay sound of it came closer and she got to her feet. Niall was back! The Niall of the carefree years before the war! The dear, sweet Niall of her early memories. She saw him through the trees, tall, sturdy, his hair gleaming like a field of summer corn. His hands were deep in his pockets, his stride firm and sure as he walked on past the woods and into Glen Fallan.

  ‘Niall!’ She burst from the trees in a breathless flurry and he turned, holding out his arms to embrace her. He held her away and looked at the graceful beauty of her golden limbs and slender body. The upswept hair enhanced the curves of her delicate neckline and showed to perfection the symmetry of her pointed little face.

  ‘Hey!’ he laughed joyously. ‘You’re all grown up! My God, you’re beautiful. I won’t tell you that too often though in case you get big-headed. And that tan – you make me feel like a ghost!’ Tenderly he tucked away a small tendril of fine hair. ‘You’ve got your hair up again, I see.’

  ‘Yes, do you like it? I did it especially for you.’

  ‘It makes you look – sophisticated – the way some of the town girls look. I always thought of my Shona as a tom-boy, hair flying all over the place.’

  ‘You don’t like it!’

  ‘I never said that – Caillich Ruadh!’

  ‘Don’t call me a red witch again, Niall McLachlan! You know I hate it!’

  ‘Temper! Temper!’ he scolded, his eyes dancing. ‘Now, if you were Fiona I’d take down your knickers and skelp your wee arse!’

  ‘You’re a barbarian, that’s what you are – and a glaikit one at that! I don’t know why I bother with you!’ she cried, her cheeks red with rage.

  ‘Because I’m irresistible, that’s why.’ He grinned delightedly. An ancient van trundled towards them on the dusty Glen road. Behind the windscreen two heads bobbed in unison, one a flaming red, the other a startling white. Morag Ruadh beamed at them, her ruddy face radiant, and Dugald Ban peered out, nodding in acknowledgement.

  ‘That was Morag Ruadh!’ Niall gasped. ‘What is Dugald Ban doing riding around with that Caillich Ruadh?’

  ‘It was Morag Ruadh,’ Shona said politely. ‘Now Mrs Dugald Donaldson, mistress of Dunbeag, Portvoynachan.’

  ‘Never – never Morag Ruadh! How did she do it?’

  Shona couldn’t help laughing. ‘In the same way as her cousin Mairi, only Morag Ruadh, the one-time saint of Portcull, was far more blatant than poor Mairi. Old Behag says she’s never seen such sinful flaunting in anybody – but of course she says that about everyone who strays from the narrow path . . . I got it all, too . . . and from Morag as well, the besom.’

  ‘But how did poor old Doug get caught? I thought he and Totie were pretty thick!’

  ‘They were – up until that time the Commandos came and there was a ceilidh at the Manse. It seems Morag and Doug were very friendly that night. When Morag knew she was pregnant she blamed him, and Isabel and old Jim Jim gave him no peace till he took Morag to the altar. The baby’s due in December. The cailleachs are saying that the Manse ceilidh was no more than an excuse for drunken lechery.’

  ‘One up for Morag,’ Niall grinned. ‘Though I’ll never know how poor old Dugald Ban got himself into that one.’

  ‘Neither can anybody else. The gossips’ tongues are red-hot, for some say that Doug wasn’t the only one with a hand in the affair. When Jim Jim first asked Morag who was the father of the bairn she said calmly, “Will you take your pick, Father? I have been a loose woman.” When Jim Jim heard that he nearly went up in a puff of peat smoke and said he hoped the father wasn’t a Jerry. After that Morag pinpointed Doug. Morag was such a confirmed saint Doug just took her word for it so he must have been one of them.’ She giggled. ‘All these years, Morag without a man and suddenly we are to believe they are queuing up!’

  ‘Totie must be furious! She kept Dugald dangling long enough.’

  ‘She doesn’t mind at all. Morag is kept so busy typing all Doug’s notes and looking after the house she doesn’t have time for the kirk organ so she signed it over to Totie. Doug got himself that old van and takes Totie’s goods all over the island. She’s delighted but Behag and Merry Mary are furious because it has taken business away from them.’ They arrived at the gate of Laigmhor in a merry state.

  ‘Let’s go off on a picnic,’ Shona suggested. ‘I’ll go in and get some stuff together while you go up and change into your Rhanna clothes.’

  ‘Good idea, I’ll see you in twenty minutes.’

  They met at the dyke outside Laigmhor. He put his arm round her and led her towards the long heathazed stretches of the Muir of Rhanna. The sun beat down warmly. Needle-whin and broom nestled among tawny tussocks of sedge, and banks of butterwort popped shy violet faces through the leaves of the more boisterous marsh trefoil whose dazzling white-flower spikes carpeted the moor bogs. A Hebridean rock-pipit winged overhead, muttering deep in its throat; bees, already laden with little sacs of pollen, prodded frenziedly into the bell heather; and delicate moths fluttered uncertainly over the wild flowers, restlessly roaming from one clump to the next.

  Niall sniffed deeply. ‘You know, I really love coming home to Rhanna. I used to think
it was quite exciting going away to new places but I’ve got that out of my system now. This is where I really belong. I feel it more and more strongly each time I come back. We’ll settle to live here one day.’ He said the words with conviction but she looked at him with both doubt and hope in her eyes.

  ‘But – how can we? You’re going to be a vet. You would never find enough to keep you going here.’

  ‘I’ve already thought about all that,’ he said happily. ‘I could divide my time up between Rhanna and some of the other nearby islands. A kind of travelling vet. I’d be here maybe four days out of seven – the rest of the time I’d be away . . . but it would be worth it – don’t you think so, mo ghaoil?’

  ‘Too wonderful to believe,’ she breathed. ‘It would be a dream that might never come true.’

  ‘Dreams do come true if you work to make them real. It’s a thought for the future anyway.’

  ‘Oh, yes, yes, Niall,’ she cried and threw herself into his arms to kiss him till they drew apart to look at each other longingly.

  ‘Enough,’ he said shakily. ‘Two minutes of you and I’m shaking like a leaf.’

  A sprite of mischief danced in her eyes. ‘It’s a good job you’ve got your kilt on, Niall McLachlan! Being the bull you are you wouldn’t have room in your trousers.’

  His brown eyes glinted. ‘Remember old Burnbreddie? In the hayshed rutting at some old yowe? He wore nothing under his kilt then. How do you know I’m decently covered? Would you like a quick peep?’

  She got to her feet in an outrage. ‘Niall McLachlan! You dirty bugger!’ She ran and he chased her, in and out of the crumbling pillars of the Abbey.

  He caught her and held her head between his hands. ‘I love you! And I wish we were married right now because this waiting takes a bit of doing.’ He studied her intently for a few moments. ‘Something’s missing! That beautiful hair, sliding through my fingers like silk! Let me unpin it so that it flies loose and wild like it used to. We’ll be children again for a while! We’ll dance and sing like idiots and we won’t grow up till we’re ready! We have the whole lovely summer ahead of us!’

  For a brief moment their hands entwined, and a playful breeze lifted the loose strands of her hair, blowing it over her face, throwing it into a ruffled bronze mane behind her back.

  ‘Race you!’ he shouted. Their feet took wings and they were running, children again, their breath catching with laughter in the mad flight over the perfumed shaggy moors.

  They were married when the soft, golden days of the Hebridean summer were growing shorter. The island waited with a subdued excitement for the event while Laigmhor and Slochmhor bustled with unhurried preparations.

  The Rev. John Gray spent many hours rehearsing the wedding ceremony in Gaelic while his long-suffering wife sat with her knitting and made automatic sounds of approval. In her opinion his loud, booming voice was entirely unsuited for the soft pronunciation of the Gaelic language. Once she said mildly, ‘You must speak softer, John, and you need some lilt. If you listen to the islanders you will hear the lilt.’

  ‘I am lilting, Hannah!’ he roared indignantly. ‘Your trouble is you don’t listen properly. Put those knitting needles away and you will hear my lilt!’

  It seemed as if the whole of Rhanna was crowded into the Kirk on the Hillock to watch the ceremony. Mary, Alick’s wife, was there with her twin sons. A letter had arrived from Alick. ‘I can’t be at the wedding of my favourite niece but my spirit is with you, mo ghaoil. I will picture you looking beautiful in front of the altar. For God’s sake try to keep your temper for once and when the toasts are being made at the reception say one for me. God be with you both and may you be blessed with the thunder of many tiny feet.’

  Babbie had arrived the day before, a new kind of radiance in her dancing green eyes. Anton had kept his word and letters had come for her every other day, tender love letters full of an impatience to be with her again but a certain contentment between the lines indicating to her his deep happiness that one day they would be together.

  With Biddy’s full approval Babbie had applied for the post of assistant nurse on Rhanna. The ‘galloping hairpin’ had long ago departed the island, glad to escape Biddy’s criticism and the eccentricities of the older inhabitants.

  ‘You’re up on your feets I see, you auld cailleach,’ had been Babbie’s laughing greeting to Biddy. ‘If things go right I should soon be having the pleasure of hearing you telling me how to give enemas properly.’

  ‘I will never utter the words,’ Biddy had growled while her old heart glowed. Babbie had become like a daughter to her and they were able to argue without animosity and hug each other with laughter over all the funny little happenings that could not be avoided in work such as theirs.

  Shona was radiant in a simple blue dress with white marguerites braided into hair that tumbled down her back in rich thick waves. At the altar Niall stood tall and straight in a lovat tweed jacket and McLachlan kilt, his fair skin flushed with a mixture of pride and nerves. Strong, rugged Fergus wore the McKenzie kilt with pride but he felt a moment of panic at the idea of walking into kirk and all eyes staring as he gave his daughter away. Then Shona was beside him and he braced himself.

  ‘Well, Father,’ she whispered, ‘another man will have to put up with my tempers now.’

  He nodded slowly. ‘Ay, you’re right there, lass. Not only your tempers but those awful dumplings you make and your cheek at the breakfast table . . .’ His black eyes were very bright. ‘And your singing when you’re doing your chores and your wee voice bidding me good night . . . these are all the things I’m giving away to another man, together with a million other things I love about my lass.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘You didn’t know your old man could make speeches like that, eh?’

  ‘Not my old man,’ she said with a little sobbing intake of breath. ‘My handsome big boy, remember? I haven’t called you that in years but I still think it.’

  Behind them, Fiona and Grant fidgeted impatiently. ‘I’ll never marry,’ hissed the former, pulling disgustedly at the frills on her dress.

  ‘Nobody would want to marry you,’ Grant returned. ‘You’re more like a boy than a girl.’

  ‘I’m glad of that; even though boys are horrible they’re better than silly girls. I’m going to be an explorer when I grow up and live in a tent in the jungle.’

  ‘I’m going to be a fisherman like old Joe and sail all over the world. I’ll never get married either ’cos it’s stupid. Mother and Father fight one minute then make goggle eyes at each other the next – and they have babies all the time,’ he finished in aggrieved tones.

  Inside the kirk, Totie pedalled energetically in an effort to get the bellows of the ancient harmonium fully inflated before she began to play and in the red-faced fight with the instrument she wondered, not for the first time, why Morag Ruadh had put up such a struggle to remain the kirk organist all these years. Totie pedalled and puffed, the harmonium wheezed into life, spluttered for a few nerve-shattering moments, and then graciously the notes soared forth, sweetly and beautifully, and Totie knew once more the reasons for Morag’s reluctance to let someone else play. The Wedding March soared majestically to the roof, the door opened and the ceremony began.

  The Rev. John Gray had listened to his wife after all. His subdued tones lacked the ‘lilt’ but his Gaelic was perfect, and the old Gaels looked at each other with a mixture of surprise and delight.

  ‘Ach, he’s speaking the Gaelic in English,’ Jim Jim muttered.

  Isabel poked him in the ribs. ‘The man is doing his best. He means well right enough. Just you leave him be, Jim McDonald.’

  Despite the lack of the lilt, the ceremony was beautiful. The Gaelic words echoed round the old kirk and the ancient walls seemed to soak them in for a moment as if joyfully savouring a familiar tongue, then they were released again to go bouncing from wall to wall, one upon the other.

  ‘Oh God,’ Phebie gasped, dashing away a tear. ‘I promised myself I wo
uldn’t cry.’

  Lachlan moved closer to her. ‘Lend me your hanky,’ he said with a watery sniff. ‘Men aren’t supposed to cry at weddings.’ He gripped her hand. ‘If they have a marriage like ours – then they couldn’t ask God for more . . . my bonny plump rose.’

  ‘Ay, you’re right, Lachy – my darling,’ she said huskily and blew her nose as quietly as she could.

  Kirsteen felt a strong movement inside her womb and glanced towards Fergus, tall and dark, handsome in his kilt and tweed jacket. It seemed just yesterday that they had stood at the altar taking their vows, and now here she was, his flesh growing inside her, growing from the love and the happiness they had shared since their marriage. He caught her eye and smiled, an intimate secret smile, and she felt her heart glowing.

  When it was over and they were all moving outside, Erchy and Todd stood one on either side of the door, and the bagpipes wheezed into life, the gay tunes filling the air. Laughing, the islanders linked arms and began to dance. The ceilidhing was already starting.

  Shona and Niall were accosted from all sides, but Biddy, her ancient box camera at the ready, was the most persistent. ‘Look you now, will you be standin’ away from these gravestones,’ she commanded. ‘Todd, get out of the way! I’m no’ wantin’ your hairy legs in my picture.’ Dodie galloped up, knocking her elbow just as the shutter clicked. Turning, she clouted him on the ear as if he was a small boy. ‘You are just like a herd o’ elephants!’ she scolded. ‘Now I have nothing but a fine picture o’ the clouds!’

  ‘Ach, I’m sorry, Biddy!’ he wailed. Mairi had restored him to such a degree of good health that his cheeks popped out from his face like wizened brown apples and his bony frame had filled out considerably. But he was a creature who needed the freedom of wide places. After weeks of cosseting he was glad to escape to his lonely cottage in the hills though he showered Mairi with such a continual flow of simple little gifts it had been suggested to her by the opportunist Ranald that she should open up a craft shop for the summer tourists.