Dodie turned hastily from Biddy, knocking her hat off in the process and amid a stream of abuse he shouted to the newly-weds, ‘Will you be waiting a minute. I have a wee wedding gift for you, that I have.’ It was a dewy spray of harebells, bog myrtle and white heather, lovingly wrapped in a square of toilet tissue such as was used at Burnbreddie.
‘It’s a lovely present, Dodie,’ Niall said gratefully.
‘Ach well, it will be mindin’ you of the moors when you are being gassed by the smelly smoke in the city. The heather will bring you a lot o’ luck. I had a job findin’ it but I wanted to give you something after the fine job you made o’ my wee hoosie.’
‘Is it all right then, Dodie?’
‘Ay, lovely just.’ His grizzled face shone with pride then he looked ashamed. ‘I am after putting back my own roof wi’ the nice pattern.’
‘But, Dodie,’ laughed Niall. ‘That’s the sign of the swastika – the Nazi sign!’
Dodie’s face showed no comprehension. ‘Ay, ay, a lovely sign it is! I like it fine,’ he enthused.
‘Daft, daft, he is,’ Canty Tam smirked. ‘The British planes will be shootin’ his wee hoosie down in flames else the Peat Hags will haunt him for takin’ the pattern away from them.’
Shona had stolen away from the crowd to the part of the graveyard that held the remains of so many who had been her dear friends in life. Pausing at each grave she laid a single white rose on the grassy earth, each one plucked from her wedding bouquet. The only person she had never known was the one who had given her life and for a long moment she stood looking at her mother’s headstone, then she stooped to lay her garland of marguerites on the mossy brown earth. ‘Thank you for my life, Mother,’ she said simply and turned to walk down to where her father was waiting quietly a few yards away.
‘She would be proud if she was here today,’ he said softly.
Shona looked straight into his dark eyes. ‘I think she is here today, they’re all here, Mother, Mirabelle, Hamish, old Shelagh . . . everyone – and –’ she smiled, ‘just think, what a grandstand view they must get of everything.’
Babbie was standing on the fringe of the crowd. Off her guard for a moment she looked alone and vulnerable. Shona raised her arm and threw her bouquet – straight at Babbie.
‘Oh – I caught it,’ Babbie said with such surprise that Shona chuckled.
‘I didn’t mean it to fly to the moon, daftie.’
‘If all goes according to plan I should be where he left me when the war is over.’
‘What! Up to your knees in the middle of the sea?’
‘Ach, you’re even madder than usual,’ Babbie giggled. ‘All this excitement has gone to your head.’
The Rev. John Gray was standing at the kirk door and Shona went over to take him warmly by the hand. ‘Thank you for such a lovely service. The older Gaels were able to understand every word. You will of course be coming to the ceilidh?’
‘Well, I . . .’ he began then stopped. ‘I’ll look forward to it my dear.’
Shona stood on her tiptoes and planted a kiss firmly on his cheek then did the same to a beaming Mrs Gray. ‘The flowers were beautifully done, Mrs Gray. You have both given me a day to remember.’
A hard lump that had come suddenly to the Rev. Gray’s throat made him cough and he stared after Shona’s retreating back with eyes that were very bright.
‘You know, John,’ Mrs Gray said thoughtfully, ‘I’d say that you have seen more than one kind of light in the last few months.’
He took her by the arm. ‘Hannah, my dear, I do believe you’re right. I have wasted a lot of years with my head in the clouds with the result that I couldn’t see what was under my nose. These islanders are a fine people and for the first time I feel that I have taken a wee step closer to them . . . however, I warn you, Hannah, no more of that peaty tea tonight, I have to set a good example, you know.’
They chuckled and went off arm in arm to the Manse to get ready for the ceilidh.
That evening Tam’s Uisge-beatha rocked the foundations of Laigmhor with its happy effects. At ten o’clock Niall and Shona stole away and sped hand in hand over the dark fields to the harbour where Ranald was waiting to take them out to a fishing boat. It was sailing with the tide to Stornoway where they were to spend their honeymoon.
Ranald’s face beamed at them in the darkness. ‘I kept a special boat for you,’ he confided. ‘I’ve been waitin’ for a chance to use it and it bein’ your weddin’ night you must have everything done proper.’ He led them to the dark blob of a rubber dinghy floating in the shallows. ‘In you go now, mo ghaoil,’ he said, courteously helping Shona aboard. ‘If you feel like you’ve been walkin’ all day on air then now you’re goin’ to be floatin’ on it.’
‘But, Ranald, this dinghy belongs to . . .’ She stopped short and chuckled. ‘Ranald McTavish,’ she finished and the wily Ranald said a polite and utterly innocent, ‘Right enough, now,’ and began to row away from the shore.
Shona looked at Rhanna slipping away. The rugged peaks of Ben Machrie and Sgurr nan Ruadh were outlined in the remnants of a deep golden sunset that still hovered in the north-western sky. Sounds of merriment came faintly on the breeze; on the sands skirting Port Rum Point a family of gulls squabbled quietly; the dark shape of a lone heron glided on silent wings, uttering a sharp ‘Cra-ack’ as it passed over the dinghy. Shona’s heart rose into her throat but Niall’s arm came round her and his warm lips touched hers.
‘Slainte – Mrs Niall McLachlan,’ he murmured softly. ‘You belong to me now.’
‘We belong to each other,’ she said firmly, dashing away the tears that had sprung to her eyes. ‘Always you seemed to leave me behind on Rhanna . . . you can’t do that any more – and I’m happy to be coming with you – my darling husband . . .’ She pointed upwards to where the sliver of a young moon peeped out shyly from a fluffy cloudbank. ‘Look, Niall, the new moon! Mirabelle always made a wish whenever it appeared. We must each spit on a piece of silver, hold it in our hand and wish.’
Solemnly they carried out the ancient ritual. ‘I’ve made mine,’ said Niall seriously. ‘I hope it comes true.’
She nodded with assurance. ‘It will – so long as you never tell anyone what it was. Some of my best wishes came true on the new moon.’
High in the fields above Laigmhor a tall figure looked out to the Sound of Rhanna, watching the dark little blob of the dinghy moving over a velvet sea faintly flecked with gold. It was a lovely autumn evening, filled with the sharp tang of peat smoke and fresh salt wind, the kind of weather Shona had always loved. Fergus breathed the scent of it deeply into his lungs, looking at the picture before him till it became a blur.
‘Goodbye – Ni Cridhe,’ he said, so quietly it might have been the sigh of the wind.
Kirsteen came up behind him and slid her arms round his waist. ‘I knew you’d be up here,’ she murmured, ‘saying goodbye to her. Don’t be sad, Fergus. She’ll be back.’
‘Only to visit us,’ he said huskily.
‘Perhaps – she has her own life to lead now but I think one day they’ll both come back – to stay. I have some news for you that will most certainly take your mind off things. I didn’t say anything till now because I didn’t want to steal Shona’s thunder. Lachlan examined me yesterday and heard two heartbeats. We’re going to have twins, my darling.’
Fergus let out a roar of joy. ‘Heaven help us! If they’re girls Grant will have a fit! We’d better break the news to him gently or he’ll be borrowing one of Ranald’s boats to leave home in!’
She linked her arm through his. ‘Talking of Grant, I’m sure that wee devil Fiona gave him a glass of sherry. He’s doing a Highland fling with Biddy and her teeth and specs are rattling like mad! Come down now, darling, and help me to get him under control or the minister will never come to another island ceilidh again.’
Turning his back on the sea Fergus put his arm round her waist and they walked over the dew-wet fields to Laigmhor. As
they walked the happy sound of laughter drifted to them on the playful breezes which eternally caressed the lonely high places of Rhanna.
Rhanna at War Page 26