by Su Bristow
Donald kept his eyes on the carpet. It was only three days since Bridie had been to speak with the priest – if anything had happened to her since then, he would certainly have heard about it. ‘She’s fine.’
‘Good, good. And you, Miss McArthur, you’re fully recovered from your fever?’
Donald squeezed her hand, and she nodded. They had worked out the signal beforehand. She had to have enough understanding to seem to consent to the marriage – although, if she did understand what the priest was saying, it surely could make no sense to her at all. Donald cleared his throat. ‘She doesn’t speak, father.’
‘Of course, of course, your mother explained it all to me. Poor child, it’s a hard road you’ve had to travel.’
Unbidden, Mairhi nodded again, and smiled. Without thinking, Donald tightened his grip on her hand, and she nodded a third time, more vigorously.
‘And she’s a bit … well, as you see, sir. But she knows what we’re saying, if the words are simple, and she picks up how people are feeling, if you take my meaning.’ Which is more than I do, he thought. He laid his free hand on top of hers. ‘Reassure her,’ his mother had said. ‘Don’t let her get frightened. As long as she stays calm, it’ll be fine. And be sure to show him that you care for her.’
‘Indeed, yes. And has she no family left at all?’
‘None except us, sir.’
‘Well, well, we must each of us bear our own burdens. So, we must keep it simple, hmm? Tell me, my dear, do you want to be married?’
The direct question took Donald by surprise, and it was a moment or two before he remembered the signal this time.
‘Very good. But you must be clear, the both of you. Marriage is not all plain sailing and sunshine. No, indeed. Marriage is a solemn sacrament in the eyes of the Lord. Now, do you understand what your, er, your marital duties will be?’
Donald flamed red. Mairhi, unperturbed, swung her feet and looked about her. There were no ornaments at home, nothing that was not made for use, and used many times. But here there was a glass vase full of dried grasses, a heavy paperweight on the desk, framed texts on the walls, and a whole shelf of books. He could not blame her for staring.
In pride of place on the mantelpiece stood a wooden carving of a herring gull in flight. Mairhi’s gaze travelled there and stopped. She made a noise in her throat, a small exclamation of surprise and wonder, and without warning she jumped up, went over and lifted it from its place. Both men watched as she ran one finger along the length of an outstretched wing, and then touched it to the tip of the sharp, curved beak. With a sudden swoop of her arm, she made the bird soar and then dive towards an invisible sea, and from her open mouth came the high, mournful cry of the gull. She stopped, looking astonished, and then laughed aloud. Kirsty, coming in just then with a tray of tea, would have dropped the lot if the priest had not come to her rescue.
‘Well, well, that’s truly remarkable,’ he said, putting down the tea tray and turning again to Mairhi. ‘So you like my little carving, do you? Now, wait a moment,’ and he hurried out of the room. Left alone, Donald tried to avoid Kirsty’s gaze, but there was no holding her back.
‘Merciful heavens, Donald, whatever next? She’s got no more sense than a child of six! Oh, there, hush now.’ For Mairhi had begun to tremble and look wildly about. The older woman went over and took her in her arms. This was a step too far; she was used only to Bridie’s touch, and she pulled away. Kirsty folded her arms, looking affronted.
‘For goodness’ sake, what a fuss to be making!’
‘She’s not used to strangers,’ Donald began, but with a little cry Mairhi ran to him and curled herself against his chest, still clutching the carved gull. He held his breath for a moment, and then put one arm around her shoulders, holding her awkwardly. In all of his life, no-one had ever come to him for protection. It was a new and strange feeling.
Father Finian came back in, and Kirsty, not looking at Donald, began fussing with the tea things. The priest’s arms were full of small sculptures. ‘Let’s see what you make of these, my dear,’ he said. ‘Just a few of my own humble efforts,’ he added to Donald, although he had not asked. ‘A little pastime of mine, hmm?’ He laid out the birds and beasts on the table.
Most of them were crude and poorly shaped, but Donald recognised a deer, a badger, and some other birds that were less distinctive than the gull. The priest had done better with the curved forms; the fish, the dolphin. The seal. Donald’s eyes widened. His first thought was to snatch it up and fling it on the fire, but after a moment, curiosity won out over dread. He picked it up and held it out to Mairhi. ‘You know this one, I think,’ he said.
Her mouth was a round ‘O’ of amazement. Certainly, she knew this one. She looked at him as though asking permission, and then, putting the gull carefully down on the table, she reached for the seal. It lay in the palm of her hand, and she looked down at it, quite still.
‘And what noise does the seal make, my dear?’ asked the priest, as if to a small child.
Slowly, she lifted her head. The silent tears were falling. She held the seal away from her, as though it hurt her hand, but when Father Finian went to take it from her, she snatched it back, crowding against Donald.
‘Oh dear me, now, I didn’t meant to upset you,’ said the priest helplessly. He offered her his handkerchief, which she ignored. ‘There now,’ he said, ‘there’s no need for tears. No, no, you can keep it, if you like. Would you like that, my dear?’
‘That’s very kind,’ said Donald, as his mother had taught him. ‘She’ll be fine, she’s just a bit upset. It’s all new to her, you see.’ He stopped. Should he have said that? But neither Kirsty nor the priest seemed to notice; they were watching Mairhi, now holding the seal against her breast.
‘Well, she seems to like that well enough,’ said Kirsty, acidly.
‘It’s just new people,’ Donald tried to explain. ‘She meant nothing by it.’ But he could see that the older woman was hurt by the earlier rejection. What could he do? To Mairhi he said, ‘She was only trying to be kind.’
‘I think, perhaps,’ said Father Finian, ‘we should continue the instruction another time, hmm?’
‘No, no, it’s all right, really,’ said Donald, not knowing what to do for the best. He put his own hand over Mairhi’s, where the seal was cradled. ‘It’s yours now, my lass. It’s for you.’ He slipped his arm around her again. His chin almost rested on the top of her head, and the smell of her hair came about him; salt and sweat, and some other warm, animal scent. He wanted to nuzzle into it.
‘Well now, where were we?’ asked the priest. But no-one seemed inclined to answer him. ‘Keep it simple, that’s the way, eh? It’s clear enough that you care for each other, hmm?’ He glanced at Donald, who was still holding Mairhi against him. ‘You know the vows, young Donald? For richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, and so on? You know what it means, to speak those words in the sight of the Lord?’
‘I think I do, Father. It means we must stay together whatever comes, and look after each other, and … and care for our children.’ Donald spoke slowly, and it seemed to him that in saying the words out loud, he was making the vows, here and now; that there really was no going back. Unconsciously, he drew Mairhi a little closer, and, as though responding to his signal, she looked up and nodded. Maybe, thought Donald in wonder, maybe she really does understand.
‘Very good, very good,’ said the priest. ‘Well, it all seems quite … er … quite satisfactory, hmm? I think you’ll do very well. And from what your mother told me, there’s no reason to delay. No family to come from inland, no grand preparations to be made, hmm? And forgive me for speaking plainly, young Donald, but although your mother is with you, it’s not quite the thing to be living under the same roof, now, is it? No indeed; the sooner you are man and wife, the better for all.’ Behind him, arms still folded, Kirsty was nodding her head emphatically.
‘No, sir, I mean yes, sir. I mean thank you, thank you very muc
h.’
Father Finian waved the thanks away. ‘All settled, then. Good! Shall we say three weeks’ time, after the banns are called? Excellent! Well, I’ll see you in due course. And give my regards to your mother.’
11
They came out into a scatter of raindrops, sparkling in sudden sunshine. Donald was still holding Mairhi’s hand, and he swung it a little as they walked. The thing was done, settled; for better or for worse. His mind veered away from all the other steps along the way. Right now, the path was clear; he had no choice, and there was a kind of contentment in that thought. He glanced down at Mairhi, meaning to say something reassuring, but she was gazing out beyond the harbour at the white sails, bright against the stormy skies out to sea.
The boats were coming in, three of them. He knew them without thinking about it: the Bains; the Macdonalds; and the family boat, captained by his Uncle Hugh, which could have come to him some day. Still could, if he wanted that. Skeins of gulls swirled about them, their cries coming faintly on the breeze. He grinned at Mairhi and said, ‘You did well, lass.’ For a brief moment, their eyes met.
They were almost at the harbour now. When they came through before, on their way to the priest’s house, it had been deserted, except for a few cats scavenging here and there. Now, though, there was a little group of women and children gathered to watch the boats home. Donald had not reckoned with that. All eyes were on them as they came closer. To Mairhi he said, ‘Don’t worry, they just want a look at you.’ Not so long ago, he would have waited for them to make the approach, but now he had to be her protector, and interpreter, too. He flung up his free hand and called out, ‘It’s all arranged! He’s to read the banns next week.’ And then the children were about them, staring at Mairhi, pushing and tumbling among the coiled ropes and baskets.
‘Well, and it’s good to see you settled, young Donald.’ This was his father’s aunt Annie, who lived down at the harbour these days. ‘Welcome to you, lass. I don’t know what you’ll make of us and our ways, but you’ll learn, I’m sure. Bring her in to take tea with me soon, Donald. When’s the wedding to be?’
‘In three or four weeks, Auntie. You’ll be first to know.’
A few of the other women offered their congratulations. None of them spoke directly to Mairhi; obviously, word had gone around. Jessie Bain, hanging back with her shawl pulled low over her eyes, was trying to watch without being seen. Donald saw that she was expecting again. What he could see of her face looked pinched and sallow, and she was leaning against the sea wall as though standing was an effort for her. Her babies came hard; his mother would have her work cut out, if the Bains would lay aside their pride enough to call for her.
‘Is she out of her wits?’ That was one of the Bain children, keeping expertly just out of reach of adult hands.
‘Hold your tongue!’ The boy’s mother hardly bothered to raise her voice. He was speaking for everybody, after all.
Donald raised Mairhi’s hand high, for all to see. ‘This is Mairhi McArthur, my … my intended bride. She’s a little shy, and she doesn’t always understand things, but she’s no more halfwitted than you are, Sam Bain.’
That drew a ripple of laughter. ‘And that’s you told!’ said his aunt firmly. To Mairhi she said, ‘You’re welcome here, and don’t you mind their nonsense.’
Mairhi gazed at Auntie Annie. After a moment, she brought up her free hand, and laid it gently against the older woman’s cheek. The strange, tender gesture made a pool of silence around them. Donald had no idea what to do next, but he was saved by a shout from the nearest boat, now within hailing distance. He waved, and his Uncle Hugh waved back. He would have to stay now, to help the boat come in.
Turning to his aunt, he said, ‘Look after her for me, would you?’ And then was off down to the jetty. He glanced up at the harbour wall once or twice – a man, working among other men – and there was Mairhi, arm in arm with Auntie Annie, safe and sound.
It was quite a while, then, before they could get away, having refused offers of food and drink, but accepting a large basketful of fresh sardines for the pot. His aunt held Mairhi’s hand at parting and said, ‘Bring her again soon. She eases me.’ Donald, in his eagerness to go, did not ask her what she meant. His mother would be anxious now to hear how the meeting had gone, and he had spent more time this afternoon in company than he had in a long while. He would have to bear a good deal more of it in times to come, but for today, it was enough.
12
The next three weeks seemed to pass in a bright blur. There were almost always other people at the house these days, or else they must go visiting, to see and be seen. They went to church, sitting side by side in the family pew; a silent place, but full of the thoughts and speculations of the villagers around them. The Macfarlanes had taken the wedding preparations in hand, and now they took Mairhi in as well, enveloping her in their warm, noisy way. The younger children claimed her in their games, and Catriona tried clothes on her, began to teach her how to sew and weave and cook, and filled up her silences with chatter and laughter.
Despite Bridie’s fears, she did not seem to mind the crowds at all, and she had a knack for calming a crying baby or a fractious child that soon won her a place at the hearth. Donald watched the easy way of it with a mixture of wonder, relief and something that was almost jealousy. It had always been beyond him, and so he had turned his back on them all. He’d had no need of anyone; his best times were by himself, out in the hills or combing the shoreline for salvage, and he had believed that was enough. But now, walking home with Mairhi after an evening with his family, he carried the warmth of it in his heart. It seemed that through her, who was more of a stranger than they could possibly know, he was beginning to feel that he belonged.
This new security was a small and fragile thing, however, and it did not last long. Ten days or so before the wedding was due, Catriona came to meet him again as he made his way up from the sea. She took some of the creels from him, and then stopped on the path, barring his way. ‘So, Donald,’ she said, ‘where’s she really from?’
‘Wh-what d’you mean?’
‘You know right well what I mean, Donald Macfarlane. Wherever it was she grew up, it wasn’t on a croft, that’s for sure.’
‘How do you make that out?’ He had expected this from the start, but now, just when he had begun to think maybe it would all be fine, it caught him like a sudden squall on a calm sea.
‘Well, for a start,’ said Catriona, ‘she’s never seen a sheep before! Or a goose, or … well, all kinds of things. She hadn’t the first idea how to hold a needle, or build a fire, or pluck a chicken. But she does now. One day she watches you, and the next day she can do it herself. She’s learning all the time, you can see it. She’s no more simple than you or I.’ She glared up at him, daring him to contradict her, just as she had done when they were children. ‘You’re a rotten liar, Donald, so don’t even try. Where did you find her?’
He set his creels down carefully, playing for time. Stay as close to the truth as you can, his mother had said. How could she have hoped to fool everybody? The anger that had slept in him since he had discovered the loss of the sealskin suddenly woke again, hard and hungry. He took a deep breath.
‘Listen now,’ he said. ‘You’re not to speak of this to anybody. Can you promise me that?’
‘Of course, Donald. You can trust me. Haven’t I always looked out for you since you were a wean?’ Her eyes were shining. Catriona had always loved secrets. She’d smell them out and give you no peace until she’d teased them out of you, and then run around the schoolyard bursting with the joy of it. She could hold the tension for maybe half an hour at most, if you were lucky, and then suddenly all the girls would be pointing and giggling. It was his mother who had shown him the way out of this one. ‘That’s easy enough,’ she’d said, when he’d stumbled home fighting back tears. ‘Just tell her something you really want them to believe.’
‘All right, then. You know when we went inland l
ast summer, when my grandfather McArthur died? Well, that was when I first met Mairhi.’ He had been weaving this story for himself, giving colour and substance to the bare threads his mother had started. ‘Her folks lived away up in the hills, and they hardly saw anyone from one week to the next. But they came down for the funeral. She’s kind of like me, in some ways. You know, out on the edge of things. And she’s easy to talk to. You’ve seen that?’
Catriona nodded. ‘So you fell for her?’ she asked, already distracted from the question she’d started with.
‘I suppose I did,’ said Donald, amazed at how smoothly the story was coming out. ‘And you’re right, she’s not really simple at all. But her mother had never let her do anything for herself, you see. They lost other children to the fever, and it made them too quick to protect her. That was why they kept themselves to themselves, and why she’s got so much to learn. And now you’re all teaching her things. She’s changing really fast. It was a good day for her when I brought her here.’ And if that wasn’t true to begin with, he thought suddenly, it’s up to me to make it true now.
‘Well, but why should that all be such a secret?’ Catriona was already, in her imagination, telling it to all her friends. There had to be something more to it than that.
‘It’s just that they were so odd. They never went to church, or anything. She didn’t even know how to use a knife and fork. Mother was worried people might think ill of her, or try to belittle her, if it was known. They were hardly like regular folk at all.’ Stay close to the truth, indeed. He thought about seals with knives and forks, and a bubble of laughter rose inside him. ‘So you can’t tell anyone,’ he went on quickly. ‘You’re really helping her, all of you, and I don’t want to set her back now.’
Catriona was staring at him. ‘I’ll keep your secret, Donald,’ she said. ‘But I’ll tell you something else.’ She turned around and carried on up the path, swinging a creel in either hand.