by Su Bristow
Ailsa considered this. She opened her mouth, no doubt ready with another of Catriona’s pronouncements, but then gave him a sideways glance, and shut it again. He smiled at her, and after a moment she smiled back.
‘I know where there are some more nests,’ he said. ‘This time of year, the hens can’t seem to stop laying, and we’ve more eggs than we know what to do with. What say you and Jeannie pick a few out to send home with Nancy when she goes?’
‘She can’t have the brown ones!’ Jeannie piped up from her place by the door.
‘Well, fair enough. You run and get another basket, and we’ll see how many we can find.’
She was off before he’d finished speaking, and Donald turned back to Ailsa. ‘Those children are half starved,’ he said. ‘We’re lucky to have all this. Folks would do no less for us, if your father or I couldn’t work. Jeannie’s too little to understand, but you know better, don’t you?’
Ailsa nodded solemnly. ‘I’ll explain it to her,’ she said. ‘But Sam Bain was taking the eggs without asking; I saw him. He was stealing!’
‘Aye, well. Some people don’t know right from wrong. But I think Nancy does, if you give her a chance. Can you try to be kind to her, for Mairhi’s sake?’
Ailsa considered this. ‘She can’t be my best friend,’ she said. ‘But she can have my old shoes if she likes. They’re too big for Jeannie still.’ And that was enough for now, Donald felt.
He knew no more than Sam Bain, or his wretched father, about right and wrong, but he knew that hungry children must be fed. He picked up the basket. ‘There’s a nest under the raspberry bushes outside, I think.’
42
These days, Donald understood how a family man might go to sea for a bit of peace and quiet. There, in the undemanding company of other men, things became simple. Sometimes they hardly spoke, moving around each other and doing the things that had to be done, and there was a kind of solace in that. He even went to the bar from time to time, when the catch had been good, and learned what it was to celebrate with the crew. They trusted each other with their lives, these men, every time they put out to sea. Now that he was no longer holding himself apart, he began to understand the bonds between them, woven of shared danger and hard-won gains, and the fierce joy that found outlet in drinking. But always, before the night was too old and the money spent, he would take his leave and make his way homeward. Other men might take their wives and children for granted; for Donald, that would never be possible.
He was out on his own less often now, and weeks might go by between his visits to the skerry, but at the full moon in late September, he made time to take the rowboat to see to the crab pots. The seals were coming ashore, to give birth and to mate. Like any prudent fisherman, Donald knew and usually avoided the places where they went at this time, but he could not stop himself from rowing over to the skerry. It was a wild night, with a stinging rain blowing every which way, so he had to work hard to get there safely; and after all, of course, it was deserted. What had he expected?
He pulled the boat up high out of the water and plodded home, bent against the weather. It had always been a joy to him, to see the warm light in the window and know that the day’s work was almost done, but now it was doubly so. A year, almost to the day, since he’d stumbled up this path with Mairhi at his side, and now? – his life was changed almost beyond recognising. The sweetness of it welled up in him, and he came to a standstill, undone by tenderness. The light blurred and swam; he blinked away tears, and then the door was open and she was there, waiting for him, and his feet were moving again of their own accord.
Inside, the fire was bright and the table laid ready, and little John put up his arms and crowed at the sight of him. Bridie asked after the catch and gave him news of how John had rolled over on his blanket, and how the storm had spoiled the last of the blackberries. Mairhi told him her day too, not in words but with glances and gestures. A different kind of weaving than what went on between the men, but just as precious. It seemed to Donald that in the past year he had been showered with gifts, and all of it began with her.
He watched her, moving to and fro in the firelight, and tried to bring to mind the way she had been a year ago. Not his first sight of her – that he would never forget – but those early days, bundled into clothes and shoes, utterly adrift in a strange world. Now, he saw how her skirt swirled out as she turned, how she tucked back a stray lock of hair, how she rocked the baby against her shoulder, and how she did all these things without thinking, at ease in her humanity. More than that. Feeling his gaze upon her, she gave him a quick sidelong glance, and the rocking became dancing; not a wild reel like the ones she’d learned for their wedding, nor the playful catch-as-catch-can he’d seen her at with her sisters, but a gentle sway of hip and thigh, like the wash of waves on a summer’s day. Her skirt brushed against him as she went by, and his skin tingled. She’s soothing the baby, but she’s dancing for me.
He looked away. Sometimes it took every scrap of determination he had – to hold to his resolution. Some nights it was a torment to lie beside her, and more than once he’d pulled on shirt and trousers and stolen away out of the house, to walk the hills or comb the shoreline in the long summer twilight. Now, though, it was full dark outside, and building to a gale besides. There, that was the answer for now. ‘I’d better see to the barn doors in this wind,’ he said.
43
He stayed in the barn, mending nets by lantern-light, until he was sure they would all be in bed. The wind gusted in with him when he came in at last, blowing up ash from the hearth and making the peats glow, but his mother’s breathing, as she lay in bed behind the curtain, never faltered. If she did hear him come in, she let him be. In the bedroom, too, the baby lay in his crib with his mouth open and arms akimbo, sleeping hard. Well, then. As quietly as he could, Donald eased himself out of his clothes and lay down next to Mairhi, taking care not to touch her. He turned away onto his side, closed his eyes and waited for sleep to come.
In the darkness behind him she sighed and shifted, and in the next instant his eyes opened wide again as her arm came around him, and he felt her breath on his neck. She did this sometimes on cold nights, but tonight was not cold. Donald stopped breathing altogether, as she curled against him, nuzzling into his neck, the way she did with the baby. Her hand found its way between the buttons of his nightshirt, and began to stray lower.
‘Mairhi—?’ He caught at her hand, held it against his heart. He tried to say something more, but words seemed to have deserted him. She answered only with that almost-silent laughter, and took his ear between her teeth, and nibbled it.
‘Mairhi?’ He tried again, turned over to face her and took both her hands. ‘What is it, my dear? What … are you sure? Is this what you want?’ In the dark, he could see only the gleam of her eyes, and her shape in the dark as she sat up, and then her hair was all about his face and he could see nothing, feel nothing except the scent of her, her smooth, perfect skin against his own, her sweet breath waking fire where it touched. He lay still, though it took all of his willpower; never again, he had sworn it, right here in this room, on their wedding day. Never again; unless it was her own wish.
‘Is this what you want?’ he asked again, though his mouth was so dry he could hardly form the words. And she laid a finger on his lips, shushing him. No words, now. He lay back, surrendering.
‘Show me, then. You show me what to do.’
And she showed him. How could she know? In all the times when he had imagined, despite himself, how it might be, he had never thought of this. When men talked about women, in the bar or out at sea, it was all about taking, about overcoming. They spoke like brave hunters after their prey; but this was as far from that as could be. He did what she wanted, and when his own pleasure overcame him, she showed him other ways.
Perhaps, he thought – when he could think at all – perhaps the men who did not talk were the ones who really knew. For this, at least, words were not the way. And
in giving freely where he had taken by force, there was such sweetness! She licked the salt tears from his face, and he caught at her hands and kissed them, each clever, perfect finger. When she finally slept – much, much later – she curled against him, wanting even in sleep that deep comfort of skin against skin, and he lay, holding her close and breathing in the scent of her, open-eyed in the dark.
44
‘I’ll come out with you tomorrow.’ Donald was with Hugh down at the harbour, stowing nets and boxes aboard. ‘Where are the others just now?’
Hugh straightened up, easing the ache in his back. ‘Rennie’s away down the coast, chasing a lassie who’s taken his eye. Callum’s fallen ill again; I don’t know if he’ll be out with us this winter.’
‘Mother said. Here, let me take that.’ Donald gathered up an armful of ropes, heavy with tar and salt water, and swung them into the hold. ‘What about James?’
‘Aye, well. Right now, he’d be helping Catriona with the garden, or maybe repairing the barn. I wouldn’t know.’
‘Is he not coming out, then?’
Hugh laughed. ‘It’s not come to that, yet. But even you must have noticed which way the wind’s blowing.’
‘Oh, I’ve noticed, right enough.’ Reminded of his promise to James, Donald stood up, balancing on the moving deck, looking down at his uncle. ‘He asked me to speak for him.’
‘Did he, now? And what do you have to say?’ Hugh shaded his eyes, squinting into the sun. ‘As if I couldn’t guess!’
‘Well. Catriona must have said it all, many times over, by now.’
Hugh folded his arms. ‘Catriona says everything that comes into her head, and twice over for good measure. But on the subject of James, she has said nothing at all.’ He waited.
‘I can’t speak for her. But James would come to live at the shieling; he wouldn’t take her from you and the bairns. He’d help with the farm and the fishing, but he says…’ Donald hesitated, cleared his throat and tried again. ‘He says the boat should come to me, by rights.’ He could not meet his uncle’s gaze.
‘Leave those nets, now. They’ll keep. Here.’ And Hugh reached out a hand. When Donald stepped down onto the jetty, he did not let go.
‘I never wanted to captain the boat,’ he said. ‘Did you know that? Your father, now, he couldn’t abide the slow work on the farm; he’d always rather be out at sea. But with him gone, what choice did I have? I did what I had to do. That’s what it comes down to, in the end.’ He stopped, looking past Donald to the houses at the harbour’s edge, and to the hills beyond.
‘When they’re wed,’ he said, ‘I’ll step down, and you’ll take the boat. You’re a better fisherman than your father, Donald. He took risks; he always wanted to go out further, stay out longer. We should have been safe in harbour, that day.’
With all of his strength, Donald held still. He seemed to be striving for balance on board in a high wind, not standing safe on dry land with his uncle’s hand firm on his arm.
‘It’s a young man’s work, fishing. You and James will make a good job of it between you; I’ve seen how you work together. You’ll need another man or two. Oh, now, don’t look like that! I’ll help out now and then. And you’ll get your turn on land, in time. I know what’s in your heart, lad, and it will come to you, believe me.’ At last, he took his hand away. And somehow Donald remained standing.
He cleared his throat. ‘You’ll give your blessing, then?’
Hugh smiled. ‘I’d say it was me that’s blessed.’
45
That year, the autumn storms brought huge shoals of cod up from the warmer southern waters, driving them close in to the shore so that the boats barely had to leave harbour. Such abundance was both a blessing and a burden. All the fish had to be salted, or smoked, or dried before it spoiled, and all who were able lent their hands to the task, working long into the night. Even Father Finian worked alongside the other men, and Donald could see the gladness in him – to be part of things for once. He stood straighter, laughed louder; but then, maybe Donald was only seeing his own happiness. Everything seemed brighter and better these days. Standing on deck, handing over yet more laden baskets to the willing hands ashore, buffeted by the gusting wind and the squall of seabirds, his whole body tingled with aliveness.
Along the harbour ranged other boats, big and small, and others coming in all the time with new bounty. Almost his whole world was here: the women ashore, gutting and sorting the fish, singing some of their waulking songs to speed the task; children, helping if they could, and rushing about senseless with excitement if they could not; men, working together to a common end. Peggy Mackay had come out, and was giving orders to the other women, sitting like a queen in her high-backed chair. Even Aly Bain, though he had not gone out to sea, was helping unload the catch.
And always Donald was aware of Mairhi, who would never sit to one task for long, but moved here and there, like a bright needle stitching it all together. Now she went to retrieve a runaway child, and now she stopped to bind a cut hand, and now she raised her arms to the gulls and skuas clamouring overhead, as though she might take flight and join them. Mairhi, his wife, who it seemed had forgiven him.
He was not the only one watching. Nancy Bain followed her like a second shadow, and Jessie, though she sat with the women and her hands were always at work, followed with her eyes. Donald saw Peggy Mackay marking all of it, and no doubt making her own judgments. She had not spoken out against Mairhi since John was born, but Donald knew that she missed nothing. He glanced along the seawall to where the Bains’ boat was unloading, and saw that Aly Bain, too, had paused to watch. Euan shouted, ‘Hoi! No time for woolgathering!’ Aly turned again to the task in hand, but Donald had seen the brooding look in his eye. It could not be helped.
‘Donald!’ He turned to see Catriona, hands on hips, looking up at him from among the baskets piled ashore. ‘The smokehouses are full and we’re almost out of boxes for salting. You’d better make this the last load for today.’
He stood straight again, gazing out beyond the harbour where the fish thronged. One boat was still out there, dancing among the feasting dolphins and porpoises. He saw the brief gleam of a fish as someone tossed it high, catching the westering sun for an instant before it was snatched out of the air and dragged apart by the birds.
‘Aye. We’ve done enough for now. James!’
James, at the stern, raising a bucket of seawater to sluice the deck, waved a hand in reply.
‘We won’t go out again tonight. They’ll still be there in the morning.’ He looked around for Hugh, but his uncle had already gone ashore with the last basket of fish, and it seemed the decision was his to make. Little more than a year ago, he’d have been out on the hills, as far away as he could get, and now here he was at the centre of it all. His eyes returned to Mairhi, now nursing the baby, and for a moment she lifted her head and gazed at him. Or was she looking past him, to the open sea and the new bank of rainclouds sweeping in? It was too far to make out.
There was a grand feast that night, all of them bringing food down to the sheds where fish were sorted and stored for sale, and boats were brought in for winter repairs. There were no boats now, and in the empty space there was a bonfire. James brought out his fiddle, and Euan his pipes, and there was dancing. Later – after the women and children and the older men had gone their ways home – there might be fighting too, but for now old scores were laid aside. Mairhi sat with Jessie and the younger women, and the children tumbled around them or slept, curled like puppies. Donald’s own son was there somewhere, and even Jessie’s baby, returned to its mother at last, though it was usually Nancy who tended to it. The women were swaying in time to the music, raising their voices in song. From where he sat with his crew, Donald could see that Mairhi sang too, though not the words.
‘Ceud soiridh soiridh bhuam na e ho hao oho…’
‘A hundred greetings to the shores of home
And to the hillside with the lovely birches.
Peas will grow there, beans will grow there,
Corn will grow there, oats and barley,
Sweet is the cuckoo’s call, sweet is the thrush’s song,
Sweet is the voice of the herdsman, herding the cattle,
Sweet is the voice of the milkmaid, tending the young calves.
I can see the boat making good speed,
Going around the headland.
It is he, my sweetheart, at the helm.’
Their faces glowed red in the firelight, and their eyes shone: exhausted, dirty and beautiful after the hard labour of the day. When the song ended, there was a moment of spellbound silence, and then, from the men, a deep roar of applause. Some of the women began to leave, gathering up children and belongings, while others started on a new song. Donald looked away as Shona Bain leaned over to refill his mug with ale, and so he missed the start of it, hearing only the raised voices and the sudden cry of a child. Then Shona said, ‘Oh, dear God,’ under her breath and straightened up, leaving his view clear.
46
Mairhi and Jessie still sat together among the children, but in front of them stood Aly Bain. He had hold of his wife’s arm and was trying to drag her upright, but he swayed as he stood, and from the rising shrieks of the children, he had stepped on more than one on his drunken journey across the room.
‘Let her be, Aly!’ That was Andrew, standing up now and beginning to push his way between the men.
Aly ignored him. ‘Get up, woman. We’re going home. Now!’ Jessie leaned back against Mairhi, and Donald saw Mairhi’s arm go around her.
‘I won’t come.’ The words were almost inaudible but the meaning was clear. Jessie was shaking her head, pulling away.