by Su Bristow
‘Ah, well. And you, young lady, do you dance?’
Mairhi nodded eagerly. She got up to show them, holding up her skirts as the girls had taught her, jigging from one foot to the other and then laughing, open-mouthed, as they had done only a few nights ago. Most likely, she thought that was all part of the dance, and she was not far wrong.
‘Splendid! We shall all look forward to it. And let us hope that, once you are man and wife and there is no question of anything else, things will settle down. It may even turn out that some people’s behaviour might be improved in the future, hmm? You never know. And now, Bridie, what do you think we can do for old Hamish McDiarmid? I’m inclined to think that at this stage, the whisky he’s so fond of is the best medicine for his pain. What would you say?’
25
Over the next few days, time seemed to Donald to slow right down, almost to stop, the way it did sometimes out on the water, when the wind held its breath and the sea turned to glass. It wasn’t just that he couldn’t take the boat out, or go looking for salvage or even work in the garden. A one-handed man who could barely drag himself across the kitchen couldn’t find much at all to do, beyond getting in the way of the women as they went about their daily work.
But it wasn’t simply idleness that made the time drag. It was the waiting. He knew now that from the first day Mairhi had spent in the house, he had been waiting for something to happen that would put an end to all their planning. Down on the beach in the dark, when the first blow had landed, he had thought, This is it, then, and there had been a kind of relief in that. But, after all, it seemed that it was not. The preparations for the wedding went on; the priest was on their side, at least for now; and every day brought more visitors, to lend a hand or offer food, or merely to gossip.
It was hard to tell what folks really made of it all. The Bains and their friends did not come calling, of course; but for the rest, as Bridie said, ‘What people say to your face and what they’ll tell each other can be a long way apart. And as for what they feel in their hearts – that can be another thing entirely.’ Donald could not even begin to fathom it all out, except to suppose that, like him, most of them would simply wait and see. Meanwhile, day by day, his wounds were healing and he could walk a little further. As he had promised Father Finian, he would walk to his wedding on his own two feet, though still limping. Beyond that, he could not imagine.
So he looked on as his mother and his wife-to-be cared for the animals and tended the garden, cleaned and cooked and mended. He saw how Bridie dealt with people who came wanting help with their ailments or just to tell their stories, knowing that, from this one hearth, at least, they would spread no further. And he saw how Mairhi watched too, and listened and learned. It came to him that the way she watched was different from his own. He dealt with people warily, looking out for blows or pitfalls, always glad when the ordeal was over. Nor was she like the priest, watching in order to manage his flock rather than to be like them. She seemed to have no sense of separation, no self-consciousness, and yet she was set further apart than any of them. Perhaps, he thought, that was part of the strangeness folks felt about her. It was no good guessing. How could he tell what other folks might be thinking or feeling, when he did not know his own heart?
He was in the barn, laying down fresh bedding for the cow, when he heard Hugh’s voice hailing him from the yard. It was two days before the wedding, and he had promised that he would spend his last nights as a bachelor up at the shieling, as was right and proper; but he did not want to go. It was true, he’d be no use to the women if anyone tried to harm them, but common sense had no part to play here. He just wanted to keep them close, where he could see and hear and touch them, as if that alone, that constant reassurance that all was well, could somehow keep them safe. And aside from that, there was the slow, halting journey through the village to be faced, where every eye would be on him and he would have nowhere to hide. He knew why Aly Bain had gone to ground after his encounter with Mairhi. To be seen like that, unmanned by your own fear and weakness, that was a hard thing to get past. Maybe it was different for women. That was another thing he could never know.
‘Donald, are you there?’ Hugh’s voice again.
Bridie and Mairhi were down on the strand; Donald would have to come out. But as he came to the door of the byre, narrowing his eyes against the sunlight, he saw that Hugh was not alone. There were James Findlay and James Rennie – two of his crewmen – hanging back by the gate. James Findlay saw him and looked away at once. The other James – always called Rennie to avoid confusion – seemed to have found something intensely interesting about the hill behind the house. Leaning on his staff, Donald went out into the yard.
26
‘What’s this, an honour guard?’ he said. To his surprise, James looked up at that. Behind Hugh’s back, he grimaced at Donald. Rennie still appeared to be gazing at the horizon, but he was grinning.
‘It’ll do no harm,’ said Hugh. ‘If anyone wants trouble, they can go looking for it elsewhere. And besides, it’s an honourable thing you’re doing.’ All of them were grinning now, and Donald saw that this was a pathway they’d trodden before. This was what men did when one of their number tied the knot. He’d looked on, but he’d never been part of it until now, let alone been the man at the centre of it all. And I don’t know, he thought, if the thing I’m doing is honourable or terrible, but it seems it’s all right by them. He came forward to stand with them. ‘I’ll just need to get my things,’ he said.
While Donald was fumbling through his clothes, the women arrived back, and tea had to be taken. Another strange thing: an hour beforehand, he would have said he only wanted to stay where he was, yet now a part of him was already away with the men. James and Rennie were just crewmates; no more. But it seemed there was more to be had if he wanted it. They had been in the bar the other night, he thought suddenly; they had seen what happened. And yet they were here, and he knew they would never speak of it unless that was his choice. The warmth of it was like firelight on his skin. He felt his mother’s gaze upon him and knew that she saw it too, and that it made her both glad and sad. It seemed he was getting used to the idea that a person could feel more than one thing at a time.
Hugh set down his cup and stood up, and the younger men followed with a great clatter of chairs. They had sat silent, except when Bridie asked after their families, but as they were taking their leave, Rennie spoke up suddenly, glancing at Bridie and quickly away. ‘My father says he’ll be happy to give her away, seeing as she’s no family of her own,’ he said.
‘That’s very kind,’ said Bridie before Donald could react. ‘I hoped he’d agree; it’s right and proper that an elder of the church should do it. Be sure to give him my thanks.’ It had not even occurred to Donald that someone would have to do this job, but, as usual, his mother had it all in hand.
Rennie looked at Mairhi. ‘We’ll make sure your man doesn’t run off, don’t you worry,’ he said, and smiled at her. Once again, Donald was taken by surprise. He barely spoke to the other crewmen except about matters at hand, and supposed that they despised him for not pulling his weight. Bullying he understood, but teasing was another thing entirely.
Mairhi was looking blank. ‘It’s all right, lass,’ he said. ‘I’m going with Hugh now, but I’ll see you the day after tomorrow. You stay here with mother.’ To Rennie he said, ‘I’ll not be running anywhere for a bit!’ and gestured with his stick towards the door. It wasn’t much of a reply, but he felt as pleased as though he’d just helped land a good catch of herring. It seemed, though, that there was more to be done; the men were still standing around, grinning and looking from Donald to Mairhi and back. Belatedly, he understood, made his awkward way around the table and gave his wife-to-be a one-armed hug. ‘Stay safe, lass,’ he whispered into her hair.
Honour was satisfied. The men moved off, keeping to Donald’s pace, and the children tagged along at a respectful distance, no doubt reckoning them to be less dangerous t
han the women. Maybe they were hoping for a fight; if so they were disappointed. Progress through the village was slow, almost as though they were inviting some reaction, but those who did come out either wished them well or simply watched as they went by.
The last of the village children dropped away as they took the path up to the shieling, but now here came Catriona with the two little ones, chattering and getting underfoot. Donald was tiring now and glad to let James come alongside and take some of the weight off his injured leg. He saw the look that passed between James and Catriona, and another piece of the pattern fell into place; but still, he thought, even if the men had not come forward just for his sake, it was something. It sustained him for the last half-mile, through increasing pain and weariness, until they reached the house. He had no appetite then for talk, or food, or anything other than a clean, warm bed, almost sleeping even as they eased him out of his boots and clothes. The last thing he was aware of was the cool touch of Mairhi’s hand on his forehead. He thought, ‘That can’t be right,’ but he could not remember why, and then all thoughts floated away into the dark.
27
‘So, d’you think I’ve got a chance?’
‘What?’ Donald was half dozing, drunk with the heat of the great hearth. They had put him on the settle in the inglenook, to be out of harm’s way as the children tumbled about, racing each other round the long table while Catriona tried to get supper ready. She’d picked up little Jeannie twice: once to comfort her when she knocked her head on the table leg, and once to slap her for pulling her sister’s hair. She’d re-tied Ailsa’s braids, got them to practise their dance for the wedding for maybe the twentieth time, and now she was running out of patience.
‘For the Lord’s sake, would you get out from under my feet? You’ll have the kettle over in a minute, and then you’ll have something to cry about!’
James reached out as Jeannie whirled past, scooped her up and slung her over his shoulder. ‘Now, what shall I do with this sack of potatoes?’ he asked of no-one in particular. ‘I think it needs to go out in the barn with the beasts. What d’you reckon, Donald?’
Jeannie shrieked and beat him on the back with her fists as he made for the door, but before he reached it, Hugh came in with a gust of wind and a flurry of snow. James set her down, and both girls ran to their father.
‘Leave off, now, I’m wet through.’ Hugh was struggling out of his coat, his hands numb and clumsy with cold. ‘All shut up tight,’ he said to Catriona. ‘It’s a wild night, to be sure.’
‘You should have let me help,’ said James. ‘It’s not right, me indoors in the warm while you’re out there.’
Catriona threw him a bright glance. ‘You’ve been a help to me,’ she said. Her cheeks were red from the fire, and her hair had come down a little. She tried to brush it out of her way with her arm and left a smear of flour on one cheek. ‘The weather’s not the only thing that’s wild tonight. These two will never get to sleep at this rate, but James has been doing his best, telling them stories and playing games. I never knew you were such a family man, James Findlay.’
James’ cheeks were red now, too. ‘Well, I’ve younger brothers myself,’ he mumbled. ‘Anyway, Donald needs his supper if he’s to keep his strength up for tomorrow.’ He looked down. ‘Will I give you a hand now?’ As he helped Donald to his feet, he said again, ‘D’you think I’ve a chance, at all?’
Donald tried to clear his head. He had a vague memory of James, just as they reached the shieling last night and Rennie went to unlatch the gate, saying, ‘Could we have a word; tomorrow, maybe?’ But he had no idea what the word might be about. Yet, as James supported him to the table and drew out a chair, he felt Catriona’s gaze upon them, watching with such tenderness that he thought perhaps he might have some understanding, after all. While they ate, he saw how James’ eyes followed her as she moved between the table and the fire, and grew more certain. But what would Hugh make of it? Catriona had mothered her two little sisters ever since their own mother’s death four years before. How could he manage without her?
‘Uncle Donald!’ That was four-year-old Jeannie, banging her spoon on the table to get his attention. ‘You’re not listening!’
‘Jeannie, for shame!’ Catriona snatched the spoon away. ‘Donald, you were woolgathering again. You’ll have to do better than that when you’re married – not that Mairhi has a lot to say. You could take some lessons from her, Jeannie Macfarlane.’
So could you, thought Donald, but was wise enough to keep it to himself. He gave Jeannie his attention. ‘Sorry, Jeannie. What were you wanting?’
‘I said,’ declared Jeannie with great emphasis, ‘after you’re married, will you still be my Uncle Donald?’
‘Of course he will,’ said Catriona. ‘And Mairhi will be your Auntie Mairhi; she’ll be Mairhi Macfarlane, same as us, d’you see?’
‘And when the baby comes, it will be our cousin,’ said Ailsa suddenly. ‘And it will be a Macfarlane, too.’
There was a little silence around the table, broken by several voices at once. Hugh said, a little too heartily, ‘Right enough!’ at the same moment as Catriona said, ‘Finish up now, you two, I’ve plenty more to do before tomorrow!’
Donald had begun to speak too, but with no idea what he might say, and he gave it up with relief. With James’ help, he retreated to the settle again. The man still needed an answer, but his concerns seemed simple compared with Donald’s own. They had only ever talked about fishing. Why should his opinion matter – about Catriona, or indeed about anything? But he was not left in the dark for long.
Tea was brewed, and James brought him a cup. As he sat down, Donald surprised himself by speaking first. ‘I think she likes you well enough,’ he said. He watched as a series of expressions passed across James’ face: surprise, rue, relief and then a great smile of joy. He huffed out a long breath, and sat down.
‘Well, then,’ he said a little shakily. ‘Well. I did think so, but – how can you be sure?’
‘I wouldn’t be the best man to ask,’ said Donald, and James laughed aloud.
‘True enough!’ he said. ‘But she is your cousin, after all. I was thinking … if you could see your way to having a word with her, I’d be easier in my mind. Just to make sure, you know?’
‘I know.’ Donald spoke with feeling; he would go a long way to avoid risking Catriona’s scorn. ‘Not that she pays me any mind. But I will if you want.’
‘Good man!’ James clapped him on the shoulder, almost as though they were two friends sharing yarns, and then had to apologise as Donald gasped at the pain. When he was able to talk again, James went on. ‘I haven’t spoken to Hugh yet. How do you think he’ll take it?’
‘That’s a hard one. I know he thinks well of you as a crewman, but you’d be taking Catriona away from him. What about the little ones?’
James looked shocked. ‘I wouldn’t dream of taking her away! I’d come and live here – with Hugh’s blessing, of course. Wouldn’t that be a help to him, rather than a hindrance? I’ve talked it through with my own folks, and they’re agreed that would be the best way. What do you think?’
Donald considered this. He was used to taking new ideas away with him, to be turned over and tasted in peaceful solitude, but here was James watching him expectantly. ‘I suppose…’ he began, but James pushed on.
‘Oh, I’m not after taking your place on the boat, if that’s what you’re thinking. You’ll be captain after Hugh, we all know that – if you want it, that is. And I hope you do. You’ve a right to it. My first time out, I went with your dad, you know. It’s right you should take it on.’ He looked away as he spoke, remembering, and Donald was grateful for the respite. Tears pricked at his eyes.
‘I never thought of it,’ he said, and cleared his throat. ‘You’re used to the farming, too.’
‘Right enough. But me and Catriona; do you think we’re suited?’
Fresh from that strange and intimate moment, Donald tried a small joke. ‘You
wouldn’t have to do much of the talking,’ he said.
James laughed again. ‘But that’s just it!’ he said. ‘I like a woman who knows her own mind and isn’t afraid to speak it. Oh – not that your Mairhi isn’t a grand lass, I don’t mean that at all. But you never know where you are with some women, and I can’t be doing with it. Now, with Catriona, you know exactly what you’re getting.’
‘So you do.’ Donald could not think of anything worse than living with Catriona, but he saw that it would do no good to say so. James did not want his opinion, only his blessing. ‘Well, I’ll speak to Hugh; see what he says.’
‘I’ll do that! But not until after you’re wed, eh? This is your time, now. How d’you think you’ll take to married life?’ When Donald did not answer at once, he went on. ‘There’s men that can’t wait to be out of their wives’ company, you know, but I can’t see it myself. This house, now, it’s always full of talk and laughter; there’s tea in the pot and a welcome at the hearth, and that’s all her doing. When you think how Rennie lives, for one – he and his dad alone in that cottage since his mother passed away; it’s no life for a man. You’d think he’d be after courting some likely lass, but he’s a bit too fond of the bar, that one.’
‘He’s just shy, maybe. Catriona says young Annie MacDonald thinks a lot of him.’
‘Does she, now? I’ll have to have words with our Rennie. There’ll be dancing tomorrow, that’s for sure.’ His eyes had drifted back to Catriona, as she washed the dishes and handed them to Ailsa to dry. ‘Not for you, though; you’ve managed a good excuse, even though it’s your own wedding, eh?’
28
On his own two feet, Donald walked to his wedding. There had not been a moment to be peaceful, no time to think at all. He had submitted to the teasing and tweaking of Catriona and her little sisters, as they dressed him and themselves too. Then, after breakfast, James and Rennie had arrived, and while the four men made their slow way down to the village, Catriona and the girls hurried off to be with Bridie and Mairhi.