by Su Bristow
‘Jessie’s started,’ Shona said without preamble. ‘She’s in a bad way. The baby’s stuck, somehow. It’s been nearly a whole day now, and she hasn’t the strength for it.’ She dropped into a chair suddenly, as though telling her tale had taken all her strength, too. ‘We don’t know what to do.’
Bridie was already on her feet, rubbing the soil off her hands and looking about for her basket. ‘Mairhi, could you fetch some clean cloths, while I sort out the medicines we’ll need. And bring your shawl; it could be a long time.’
‘She can’t come,’ said Shona bluntly. ‘They don’t know I’ve come for you, even. But she’s not welcome in that house.’
Bridie gave her a long look. ‘You’ve more sense than the rest of them, Shona Bain. I’ll do whatever I can. But where I go, Mairhi goes too. It’s time this foolish business was laid by.’
Shona shrugged. ‘I thought you’d say that. On your own head, then. You know we can’t manage without you.’
Bridie nodded. ‘You’d best get back. We’ll be along in a bit. I’ll say I came of my own accord, if you like.’
‘I can look after myself. I’m not like poor Jessie.’
‘Well, then. Away you go.’ Bridie stood still for a moment, looking after her, not seeming to see Donald at all.
‘Are you sure this is wise?’ he asked, and realised as he did so that he had never questioned his mother’s judgment before.
‘We can’t go on hiding and avoiding for ever. Best to face it down now.’
‘But what if … well, what if it doesn’t go well? Won’t they blame you, and her too?’
‘Maybe. But I can’t help that. That girl will die if I don’t go; I’ve seen that look before, on women near their time. I have to do what I can, Donald.’
He went out then, back to his work, and never paused as they came by him with their burdens, hurrying down the path. This must be how the wives feel, watching when we go out to sea, he thought. We don’t say goodbye, we don’t wave – in case it breaks the thread. Only come back safe, and I’ll never let you out of my sight again. Except I have to, over and over. Only come back. He worked on until it was too dark to see any longer.
32
After all, he was not at home when they came back, late the next morning. Coming up the path laden with creels, he saw the door standing open to the fresh air and dropped them all, breaking into a stumbling run for the last few yards. Bridie looked up from the fire, shading her eyes against the light. She looked exhausted. Fear clutched at him.
‘Where is she? For God’s sake, what have they done to her?’
Bridie put a finger to her lips. ‘She’s sleeping, Donald. Don’t wake her. We’re not long back.’ She poured him some tea, and they took it outside in the gentle sunshine.
‘So what happened? What about Jessie and the babe? Are they all right?’
‘I don’t know, yet. But they’re both alive, God be praised. It’s been a hard night.’
He took her arm as she swayed, helped her to a seat. ‘Tell me, then.’
‘Well. I didn’t even know if they’d let us across the threshold, but they couldn’t manage, and women will lay aside their pride when it’s about life and death. But I tell you, Donald, I thought it was beyond me, too.’ She shuddered, looking inward. ‘That poor lass hasn’t much hold on life at the best of times, and she’d about given up. It was all turned around wrong, and she’d lost a lot of blood.
‘You’ve seen me working with the calves, Donald. If it gets stuck you have to push it back so it can come the right way, but she wouldn’t let anyone near her, and they were frightened to try. She was screaming and throwing herself about like a beast in a trap. Well, Mairhi just went straight to her, never mind all the mess, and she knelt there and got Jessie to look her in the eye, and then…’
Donald could hardly speak. ‘So then, what?’
‘So then,’ Bridie went on, ‘Jessie went quiet. Everyone was watching, to see if she’d go the way Aly did, but no-one quite dared to get between them. But she didn’t. Mairhi held her arms and never looked away, and let Jessie down onto the bed, and she just kept looking. And after a while I went over, and she let me do what needed to be done.
‘It took a long time, and I thought it had gone too far, but she stayed quiet, and in the end, I got the child out.’ She took a deep, ragged breath. ‘It was the hardest birthing I’ve ever done. The child wouldn’t breathe for a while, and I don’t know if it’ll live or not. But all that time, Jessie never let go of Mairhi’s arms. Mairhi held her and rocked her like a baby; and then they showed her the child. And then she just went to sleep. And we came home.’ Bridie ran out of words and fell silent, hunched over, cradling the hot tea.
Donald looked down at her for a moment, and then he put his arm around her. ‘Let’s get you to bed,’ he said.
The next few days were warm and windless, and the humming of summer bees only seemed to deepen the silence. With no wind to fill the sails, the boats stayed ashore, and the men with them. There was plenty else for Donald to be getting on with in the garden, and he was glad of the excuse to stay close to home. Bridie was all for going to see Jessie the next day, and Mairhi with her, but as they set off down the path, there was Shona coming up to meet them, and Jessie’s elder daughter tagging along; a sullen child with an indoor look to her, like the sprouts on carrots kept too long in the cupboard. She hung back when she saw them, but Shona marched straight up.
‘Best not go down,’ she said bluntly. ‘Aly’s home, and he’s always out of temper when other folks get to see the state of their housekeeping. He’ll only take it out on Jessie when she’s up and about again.’
‘How is she? And the bairn?’ Bridie was rummaging in her basket for the eggs she’d brought to give them, but Shona shook her head.
‘They’re alive; and that’s your doing. Whether they’ll thrive or not is another matter. You keep your eggs; it’s we who should be thanking you, Lord knows.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Aly knows what happened. I don’t know who told him, but we couldn’t have kept it from him for long, anyway. He’s taken it as a personal insult, of course. You’d think he’d rather his wife died, and the child with her, than take help when it’s needed.’ She sniffed. ‘And someone needs to tell him that’s the end of making babies, too. Another time like that would be the death of her for sure.’
‘I told him.’ The child spoke up, startling them all. Donald could not remember ever hearing her speak before. ‘I fetched him home from the bar, and he asked me straight out, because you said we’d have to have the midwife in, and he said no way was that woman crossing our threshold, not if he had anything to do with it.’ She stopped abruptly, looking astonished, as though she’d never heard her own voice either. Shona reached out to rest a hand on her head, but she flinched away.
‘Don’t you worry. I’ll deal with your father. You come home with me tonight, and the little ones too.’ Shona’s face softened as she looked down at the girl. ‘We’ll make a big fish pie and some biscuits too, how’s that?’
The child shook her head. ‘Ma needs me.’
Bridie had been watching them both, and now she said, ‘Nancy, isn’t it? Well now, just you listen to me. We’re all looking after your ma now, and we’ll do our very best for her. But she can’t be doing with the little ones underfoot for a while; she needs to rest and get her strength back. And I’m guessing it’ll be you who’s cared for them while your ma’s not been well; am I right? So you need to go with your Auntie Shona and the others, and then Jessie can rest easy and not worry about them.’
Nancy stood her ground. ‘Ma needs me,’ she said again. A look passed between Shona and Bridie that Donald could not interpret, but he shivered, as though a cloud had crossed the sun.
‘Nancy,’ said Shona, ‘you can’t…’ but she did not seem able to bring out the words.
The child spoke suddenly to Mairhi. ‘He’d pay heed to you,’ she said. ‘And you helped her. You could come. He won’t raise a
hand to you.’
For a long moment, no-one said anything. And then Mairhi began to walk, past Shona and down the path to the village. Nancy stared for a moment, and then ran to catch up with her. Donald left his cabbage seedlings and followed.
Behind him he heard Shona say, ‘Well! She’s got a mind of her own, that one.’
33
And so they went, in a little straggling procession, down the narrow path. As soon as the track widened near the village, Nancy ran alongside Mairhi and took her hand. Mairhi was watching her step, heavy-footed in the last weeks of pregnancy, but she smiled at the little girl and, when Nancy began to skip, she joined in, laughing at her own clumsiness. Bridie caught up with Donald. ‘She’s missed the children,’ she said.
‘I suppose.’
‘You’d best stay back now. She’ll come to no harm with the rest of us there, but if he sees you he’ll have to take a stand.’
‘I’m not leaving you!’
‘Donald, will you listen to me?’ They were at the harbour now, and there were plenty of people about today: men working on nets and baskets, children getting underfoot, women putting out washing to dry in the hot sun, and all of them pausing to watch as they went by. ‘You can’t go in there in any case, so just take yourself off out of sight, and we’ll find you later. Here, take these eggs to Auntie Annie.’ And she thrust the basket at him.
There was the row of cottages, their doors open to let in the fresh air. But she was right, of course; he was no kin to Jessie Bain, and childbirth was none of men’s business. He stood and watched as they all went in, wanting some sign from Mairhi that she knew he wanted to protect her, but she never looked back. Right now, she had no need of him at all.
Donald took the eggs down to his aunt, but he did not stay there. Why would you seek out company when you could be on your own? He thought of his half-planted seedlings, but they would keep. Instead, he went inland, leaving village and path behind, scrambling among rocks as the way got steeper. He had not been this way since before Mairhi’s coming, and the going was hard, hampered as he still was by his injuries. The bones were almost healed, but his ankle was stiff, and he was out of breath by the time he reached the place. Not the top of the hill, but a little corrie just below it; out of the wind – though there was not a breath today – and crowded with trees, like sheep huddling together against the weather.
Up here, if you lay down in the fine grass under the birches, you could neither see nor hear the sea. The world shrank down to the spinning business of insects, the secret rustlings of mice among the dry leaves, and the fine thread of birdsong. He had used to come here when he was avoiding school or other children. In the summer after his father’s death, he had stayed for a full week, making a bed of heather against the rock and a small fire between the stones, and keeping vigil through the endless summer nights, when the sun hardly slept. People had shouted at him when he went home at last, told him he was selfish and wicked to worry his mother so; but she had simply put hot food in front of him and asked no questions. At the time he had just accepted it, but thinking of it now, he saw that most likely she had known where he was all along, the way she seemed to know most things. The thought made him smile.
A robin had found him, perching above his head and watching with one bright eye.
‘I’ve nothing for you,’ he said softly. If Mairhi had been with him, she would have sung to the bird, and he would have been pointing out to her where the mice had tunnelled through the long grass, where a badger had rubbed itself against a tree, and where the spiders had woven their silken traps. She could not manage the climb up here, not now; and not later when she would have a babe in arms. He missed her at his side; and all at once he was anxious, wanting to be home, waiting for them.
Here and there in the grass were the clear-yellow flowers of tormentil. His mother could use the roots in her medicines, but there was no time for that now, and nothing to dig them with. Carefully, he picked a few of the flowers, and stowed them in his top pocket to show to Mairhi later. Then he got to his feet and began the long descent.
34
He had almost run the last half-mile, risking new injuries; and after all, there was no sign of them when he reached home. Only his seedlings, drooping in the sun, and the ever-hopeful hens clamouring for food.
First of all, he found a cup for his wilting flowers and placed them in the centre of the table, and then he set to work. He had planted out the last of the cabbages, made up the fire and was thinking of starting the milking when he spied them coming up the path. Mairhi paused when she saw him, put her fists to the small of her back and stretched. She looked weary, but no worse than that.
‘Here, let’s get you indoors, take the weight off your feet. The kettle’s on already,’ said Donald. He went to help her the last few steps to the door. ‘Was there any … trouble?’
She glanced up at him, a questioning look, and shook her head. Why would there be? Behind him, Bridie laughed.
‘Seems Aly Bain is learning respect, these days! There was no trouble at all. He never showed his face; he’d taken himself off with Andrew, to make some repairs to the boat, or so they said. There was only Jessie, still too weak to get up, and the other children pestering her for food and the Lord knows what else. Shona cleared them all out and left us to it; she’s got her head screwed on at any rate. And when Jessie saw Mairhi—’
‘What? She didn’t push her away, did she?’
Bridie gave him a long look. ‘If you’d only been there, Donald. She held out her arms and smiled like I’ve never seen her smile before. And that wee Nancy – she wouldn’t go with Shona for all our persuading – she was beside herself, tearing around and shouting like a mad thing. So while Mairhi sat with Jessie, I went about and set the house to rights. They’d no food in the cupboard nor fire in the grate, and she’s not been able to clean the place while she’s been ill.’ Bridie paused to take a sip of tea and looked tactfully away, into the fire. Clearly, Jessie’s housekeeping had never been up to much at the best of times.
‘So then, what?’
‘So then, nothing. We made Jessie comfortable and saw to the baby, and she wouldn’t let go of Mairhi’s hand the whole time. Mairhi fed her some of the broth I took with me, and she took it like a baby herself. I think she’ll be all right in time, or as right as she ever is.’ Bridie sighed. ‘About the child, we’ll just have to wait and see. It’s a scrawny little thing, never mind the trouble it had getting started, and I don’t suppose she’ll be up to feeding it. But we’ve done the best we can.’
‘So you never saw Aly?’
‘Not at all! He stayed clear until we were well away, if he ever came home. I had to prise Jessie’s hands off Mairhi so we could leave.’
Donald frowned. ‘It’s too much for her now. She needs to rest.’
But Mairhi was already busying herself with the onions and carrots for the night’s meal. She brought out the chopping board, and moved aside the cup with the flowers of tormentil floating in it. She looked up, met Donald’s eye and smiled. In truth, she looked somehow stronger, more sure of herself. It was Bridie who looked tired.
‘She’s young and healthy, Donald. And it doesn’t seem to take it out of her, helping people the way she does – though I don’t know what it is she does, exactly.’
Mairhi looked up at that, and leaned over to lay her hand on Bridie’s. Then she went back to her chopping. Again, Donald saw that she needed no looking after; not for now, at least. He got up. ‘I’ll see to the beasts,’ he said.
35
There were still maybe two or three weeks to go before the child would be born, Bridie reckoned; a hot time of year to be carrying a baby. But Mairhi made light work of it, though she sometimes took a rest now in the afternoons. She and Bridie visited Jessie Bain daily over the next two weeks, and Aly managed to be elsewhere whenever they arrived, though possibly it was not entirely on their account.
Bridie found another woman, whose own baby was a fe
w months old, to wet-nurse the child, and Shona looked after the others; all but Nancy, who would not be parted from her mother. ‘She’s turning into a good little nurse,’ Bridie reported. ‘Though the poor creature could do with some mothering herself, goodness knows. You never see her playing or asking for anything, the way most children do. It’s as though she’s always looked after the rest. Still, she let Mairhi wash her hair and braid it, and we took her an old frock of Ailsa’s that she’s outgrown. Ailsa’s younger than she is, but you’d never guess it to look at her, poor thing. And she follows Mairhi around like a little dog.’
Donald had not tried to escort them since that first time, and had almost stopped worrying about it. What could he do, in any case? After the first fortnight, they began to go every other day. It was about a week later when Donald, spreading muck in a newly dug patch of the garden, began to feel that he was being watched; and not just by the ever-present robin, this time. There was no-one to be seen, however, so he carried on pitching. Then, as he reached for the rake, he caught a flicker of movement beyond the wall at the front of the yard. Someone was there; someone who had bobbed down out of sight as he turned.
Moving as stealthily as he could, he went to the gate. At first glance he could see nothing, but there was a quick intake of breath as he unlatched the gate to come outside. It must be a very small person, huddled under the lee of the wall. He looked in the other direction and said, as though to the wind, ‘Can I give a message to my mother for you?’
It was not unusual for children to be sent to fetch Bridie, but in the normal way of things they could not wait to spill out their errand. Whatever it might be, it was always urgent, always important, and the only trouble would be to get them to stop talking. Now, though, there was no response.