by Su Bristow
But now Euan was speaking. ‘He’s not dead, you fool,’ he said. He nudged at Donald with the toe of his boot. ‘But maybe that’s enough for now. He’ll not forget in a hurry.’ He leaned down, and his voice came again, close to Donald’s ear. ‘Mind how you go, Macfarlane. We’ll be watching.’
‘We’d best move along before someone comes,’ said James, already some way off, eager to be gone.
Somewhere near by, Andrew’s laugh rang out, and then his voice, slow and deep. ‘Lost your pluck, James? He knows who we are, all right. It’s a bit late to be hiding yourself now.’ They were moving off as they spoke, along the strand towards the village.
Donald began to uncurl, just a little. His moving fingers found blood in his hair, and then he cried out as his hand was ground into the shingle by a heavy boot. Fergus let out a shrill yelp of laughter as he danced back out of range and hurried to join the men.
Donald did not move again until the sound of their boots had been completely swallowed up by the wind and the surf. Even then, he only took stock of what he could see. The dark hulk of his boat, drawn well up and secured for the night; he would have heard if they had damaged it, but he breathed easier knowing that it was safe. Twisting his head a little, he could see the basket, still upright. They must have moved it aside to get at him, but they had not harmed or stolen his catch, either. Good fishermen, first and last. He grinned, despite himself, then gasped aloud as the pain came surging back. It swept him into the dark, and when he came to himself again he could not tell how much time had passed.
Inch by inch, he made his body move. His left hand a mangled mess, part numb and part burning. His back bruised and bloody, his shirt torn and something badly amiss with his left leg. It did not want to straighten, would take no weight. But his head seemed whole apart from two or three lumps, growing bigger even as he explored them with the fingers of his right hand. Ribs bruised, probably cracked, but that was nothing out of the ordinary; every man took injuries of that sort from time to time. They would heal, though not quite as they had been.
He sat up. It took a long time, each movement finding new sources of pain. Awkwardly, one-handed, he eased himself over to the boat, reached over the side and freed one of the oars. It would make a poor crutch, but it would have to do. He had to get up the path somehow, before his body stiffened too much; a night in the open would likely finish him off.
Even with a good catch to carry, he’d have been home within twenty minutes on any other night. Now, the journey loomed over him like the clifftop, unreachable among the distant stars. No good to think that way. The world shrank down to little patches of sand and stones, giving way to rocks and heather, as he moved, step by agonising step, not looking up.
They found him near the top of the path; he had abandoned the useless oar and half crawled, half dragged himself the rest of the way. He must have shouted, seeing the light of the cottage window, though the wind would have thrown his voice away. Bridie told him later that Mairhi, in the act of banking the fire for the night, had looked up suddenly, and had run out into the dark, without shawl or lantern, leaving the door wide.
He knew only that she was there at his side, crooning over him the way he’d heard her with the calf when it was scouring, and laying her hands flat on his body, here, and here, and here. Where she touched, cool water flowed to ease the burning. The wind died to a whisper, and the sea rocked him softly, sweetly, all its many colours sparkling in the sun. He was hardly aware of them both, supporting him for the last few steps, laying him face down on the bed, and easing off his clothes to clean and salve his injuries. Donald floated, far from land and completely without fear, and the waves caressed him and bore him up. He thought, I never knew it could be like this, and then that thought too drifted away on the gentle tide.
21
‘So, how is he doing?’ Someone was speaking not far away. A slow, deep voice – not one he feared, but one you’d pause before crossing. Donald kept his eyes closed and lay still. Moving was not a pleasant experience just now.
‘Oh, he’ll live.’ That was his mother. ‘Some broken ribs and a twisted knee, and a lot of bumps and bruises, but he’ll mend, given time.’ Her voice sounded muffled.
Donald opened his eyes a crack and saw that he was lying in the big bed; they must have brought him in here when they got him back to the cottage. The door was not quite shut. Bridie and Hugh – of course, the voice that had woken him was his Uncle Hugh’s – were standing just beyond it, by the hearth in the main room.
‘Does he know who did it?’
‘He hasn’t said much yet. But it’s not hard to guess, is it?’
‘Well, now,’ said Hugh, ‘the Bain boys are cock-a-hoop this morning, and James Wallace has a look to him like a whipped mongrel. But Callum Campbell’s boy is sticking to them like a burr, and that’s a thing I don’t understand. He’s even crewed with them in Aly’s place, though he’ll be no great catch if I know anything about it. I’ve no idea what his quarrel with Donald might be. Maybe you can tell me?’
Bridie laughed. ‘I see where Donald gets it from! Think about it for a minute, Hugh. How long has Callum been in your crew?’
‘Thirteen years, on and off, though more off than on lately.’ Donald could hear the frown in Hugh’s voice. ‘And the boy, Fergus; he’s been with us a few times, though he’s neither use nor ornament. Donald seemed to get on with him all right, as much as he ever does. But, you know, Donald’s really put his mind to it lately, no doubt about it. There’ve been times when I’ve despaired of him, but he’s getting to be a good crewman, after all.’
‘And there you have it! You’ve made no secret of your hopes for him, I’m guessing. Callum thought the boat might come to him, did he not? And if it went to Callum, then in time it would come to Fergus.’
Hugh snorted. ‘He’ll never make much of a fisherman, let alone a captain.’
‘What difference does that make? He’ll have had the thought of it, the standing it would give him. No matter if he doesn’t take to the fishing. He’s just a lad, he wouldn’t think of that. And now it looks as though you’re minded to pass it on to Donald, after all. Do you not think that might stick in Callum’s throat, just a bit? Maybe the whisky helps to wash it down a little. But there’s young Fergus, watching. He’s got to go to sea whether he likes it or not, unless he leaves here altogether. Do you see, now?’
‘Dear God, Bridie, how can I possibly do right by everybody? It’s simple on the boat; you just do what you have to do. And Callum’s not the man he was. He knows it, too.’
‘And so does his son, most likely. But who is he going to take it out on? Not his father, and not you. It’s the weaker ones who feel the sharp end of it. I wouldn’t be in his mother’s shoes right now. And that’s why he hates Donald, you can count on it. This chance came along, and he jumped at it.’
There was the sound of a chair scraping as he drew it closer to the fire, and then a deep sigh from Hugh. ‘So what am I to do? I wouldn’t hand the boat on to Callum now, in any case. And I’ve always hoped Donald would come to it in the end, even when he seemed dead set against it.’
‘You’re a patient man, Hugh. I wouldn’t have blamed you if you’d given up on him, the way he was. There were plenty of others who did.’
‘Now, Bridie. The poor lad was so lost after John died. What else would I do? He’s as good as a son to me. And you know, whatever folks may say about Mairhi, I think this marriage will be the making of him.’
Donald, who had been quietly flexing his fingers, working through his body and testing for the pain that waited in ambush, stopped moving and tried to stop breathing altogether as he listened.
Bridie said softly, ‘You’re right. But what if they stop the wedding? I don’t know what he’ll do then. She’s good for him, you can see that, but she frightens people, even when she means no harm.’
‘Not the younger children. Nor the beasts. It’s only those whose heads are full of how things ought to be.’
‘You’ve noticed that?’
Hugh laughed. ‘I do notice things, Bridie, whatever you may think. And so does Donald, these days. I should have got him a dog when he was younger, something of his own to look after. Remember how he nursed that crow he found, with the broken wing? He should have had something that would look up to him, and not be off and away as soon as it could. And now there’s Mairhi, and soon enough there’ll be the bairn. It’s good for him.’
‘I know. John would have been proud to see him now.’
‘We’re all proud, Bridie. But will you not think again? If you come up to us at the shieling, there’ll be protection for you when Donald’s away. And Mairhi’s strange ways won’t stand out so much. I’d be easier in my mind, knowing you were there. She’d have help with the child when it comes, too, in case she doesn’t care for it too well.’
‘Whyever shouldn’t she? You’ve seen how she is with the little ones. I think she’ll be a fine mother, even if she never does learn to darn properly! And I’m grateful to you, Hugh, but no. We’ll stay here and weather this storm like all the others. Hiding away would just make them think we have something to be scared about.’
Hugh laughed again, quietly, as though to himself. ‘And if he gets his lack of wits from his father’s side, then I know where his stubborn streak comes from!’
Donald heard his mother laugh too, then. ‘You know I didn’t mean it like that!’
‘Well. But I wish you’d lay aside your pride for once, and let us look after you. It worries me; you’re alone so much.’
‘It’s not us you should be worrying about. Why do you think they went after Donald? They respect me, most of them, and they’re frightened of Mairhi now. It’s Donald you should be keeping close to you. Take him up to the shieling when he’s fit to walk, and let him stay there until the wedding. You can keep him busy, and they won’t touch him under your roof.’
Donald had heard enough. He made to sit up, forgetting for a moment and gasping aloud at the pain. Hugh had begun to speak, but there was the sudden rasp of chairs on the stone hearth, and then they were both beside him, Hugh’s strong arm at his back while Bridie held a cup of water for him.
‘Where’s Mairhi?’ he said as soon as he could speak. ‘Is she all right?’
‘She’s with Catriona, learning to wash clothes, or so Catriona would like to think,’ said Hugh. ‘How are you feeling, lad?’
‘I’ll mend,’ said Donald. He tried to sit up again, coughed, and fire flared in his chest. For a few moments, he could not speak at all. He was aware of Hugh’s steadying hand on his shoulder, but he wanted to shake it off, to twist away from all of it: their concern; their guessing or knowledge of his feelings, when he did not even know them himself. He remembered the crow, remembered splinting its wing; the greasy feel of its feathers as he held it close; the black sidelong eye that avoided his gaze. He had tended it, fed it, even slept beside it in the barn when his mother refused to have it in the house. He remembered opening the barn door one morning and starting back as it clattered out and away without a backward look.
Hugh was speaking again. With an effort, Donald made himself hear the words.
‘You took quite a beating there. Do you remember what happened?’
‘Some. They just meant to warn me, that’s all. Did you bring up the catch?’
‘Never mind about that now,’ said Bridie. ‘They could have killed you!’ His mother was not really angry with him, he knew that, but her words battered at him. He could not look at her face, at her tears.
‘I’ve taken worse,’ he lied. It hurt to breathe, to move at all. He did not remember his thoughts after Mairhi had found him, only the blessed ease of her presence. He wanted her now, wanted them to let him be, to find again that amazing place of safety she had shown him.
‘I heard you talking,’ he said abruptly. ‘And I’ll not leave them here alone, Uncle Hugh. I’ll come up before the wedding, the way we said, but that’s all. Thanks for the offer, but we’ll be fine.’
‘A lot of good you’ll be right now, if there’s any trouble. Well, I’ll leave one of the dogs with you, at any rate.’
‘That would be a comfort, Hugh,’ said Bridie, and Donald knew, the way he had begun to know things these days, that the comfort would be more for Hugh than for herself. But he had not known about Fergus Campbell. He laid that aside, to think about later.
‘What are they saying, down in the village?’ he asked his uncle. ‘Do they really mean to stop the wedding?’
Hugh did not reply directly. He was silent a moment, and then he said, ‘If I were you, I’d speak to Father Finian before too many others get to him. You need to set his mind at rest. Once the wedding’s over, folks will settle down to it, but if he decides it can’t go ahead, things could get very difficult.’
‘I’ll go this afternoon,’ said Bridie. ‘Donald won’t be going anywhere for a while.’
Hugh hesitated, then said, ‘Well, I suppose he’ll be safe enough now. They’ve done what they wanted to do.’
‘But we can’t know that.’ Bridie got up from the bed, took a step or two, and stopped. She was wringing her hands; Donald could hardly remember seeing her so agitated. ‘Maybe they’ll be back to finish the job!’
He tried to sit up further, and pain shot through him again. More irritably than he meant, he said, ‘Listen. If they’d wanted to kill me they’d have done it there and then. They left the boat and the catch alone. It was a warning; they said so. And that’s about the size of it.’
‘Well,’ said Hugh again, ‘I hope you’re right, at that. But a word with the priest wouldn’t go amiss in any case. I’ll be on my way.’ He got up and went through to the main room, then reappeared in the doorway. ‘And here I’m forgetting what I set out to bring you in the first place, with all this business. See what I’ve got for you, Donald.’ He laid a bundle on the bed – a parcel wrapped in oiled cloth. ‘Take a look,’ he said, smiling now, pleased with his gift. ‘I traded for them. They’re not new, but if you keep them lubricated they’ll see you through a winter or two and save your hands on the ropes.’ Donald was unwrapping the parcel as Hugh spoke. He lifted away the last layer of cloth. They lay on the counterpane like the paws of some huge, dead beast: gloves, or gauntlets, rather, made from cured sealskin.
22
Donald jerked back, then cried out at the wrenching pain. He stared at the gloves and his gorge rose so that he retched suddenly, though there was nothing in his stomach to bring up. Behind Hugh, Bridie had gone white as milk. Hugh’s smile vanished; he looked from one to the other, utterly bewildered. Into the long silence came the clamour of the dogs outside, and Catriona’s voice over the top. ‘Get down, Tam! Jack! We’re wet enough as it is. Go on with you!’
‘Oh God, the girls are coming in!’ Bridie snatched up the gloves, bundling them back into their wrapping. She looked around wildly for somewhere to hide them, but there was nowhere, just the chest where they all kept their spare clothes, and Hugh stood solidly in the way.
‘Uncle Hugh,’ said Donald urgently, ‘could you keep them at the boat for me? That’s where I’ll be needing them, and … well, it’s better Mairhi doesn’t see them. She has a … a fondness for the seals, and it might upset her. Would you mind? It’s a good gift, really, I’ll be glad of them.’ He was talking too much; but no-one else seemed to be able to say anything.
After a long moment, Hugh nodded. ‘I’ve seen her with that toy of hers. She sings to it sometimes.’ He sounded as though he were talking to himself, telling a story that grew as it went on. ‘She’s had enough upsets for a while; so have we all. I’ll put them by for you.’ He went to take the bundle from Bridie, but she still clutched it to her chest. ‘Give it here, now, I’ll take them away.’
‘Where did you get them?’ Bridie stared at him, wild-eyed. She looked half mad.
‘I told you, I traded for them. A fellow I met at market, from down the coast. They had a seal drowned in a net. He cu
red the hide himself; he’s done a good job. Bridie, you’ll have to let go if you want me to take them.’
Bridie thrust the bundle at him as though it had stung her. Empty-handed, she sank onto the bed. ‘Oh, Hugh. I’m sorry. What you must think? They gave me a start, that’s all. You’re right, we’ve all had enough upsets for one day.’
Hugh might have replied, but just then Catriona came in with Mairhi in tow. ‘Look at the state of us, we’re wet through! We might as well have got in the water and be done with it; but there’s most of the blood out of those sheets, Auntie Bridie, though I think Donald’s shirt is past saving. Heavens, Donald, you’d think you were back in the schoolyard, only you didn’t have me to come to your rescue this time. You wait till I see Andrew Bain, I’ll give him a tongue-lashing he won’t forget in a hurry! Boys never grow up, Mairhi, that’s one thing you’ll learn soon enough. Now, you’ll have to change your dress before you catch your death of cold, but first we’d better spread out the washing on the bushes, or it won’t dry before the rain comes.’ She was half out of the door again, still talking, and Mairhi followed like a lamb after its mother. ‘I’d better go with them,’ muttered Bridie, and was gone before the silence could flow back.
‘She’s had a scare,’ said Donald. ‘She’s not herself.’ That was what you were supposed to say, wasn’t it? He was not himself either, or not the self he was used to. There was his strong, resourceful mother lost for words, and he, Donald, the tongue-tied, slow-witted, graceless boy, coming up with a quick excuse to save the situation. At least, he hoped he had.