by Su Bristow
Turning to Donald, she said, ‘And if Aly Bain is so convinced that it gets him back out on the water, and taking orders from you – of all people! – then I’d say yes, you’ve done the right thing. You’ve done a good day’s work, and not just for yourself and the boat. Now it’s up to other people to do the same.’ She paused, and Donald saw, to his astonishment, that she was holding back tears. After a long moment, she spoke again, more gently. ‘I’m sorry to speak so plainly, Jessie. I know it’s not an easy road. You’re welcome here for as long as you need.’
Jessie had not moved at all, except to put an arm around Nancy. Then, into the silence, she said, ‘We’ll go home tomorrow.’ And Nancy, for once, did not protest.
Bridie nodded. ‘That’s good, then. And now, I’m for bed. We’ve another early start in the morning.’
50
Those were long days, up before dawn and stumbling home after dark, as the hours of daylight shrank and the storms of winter gathered strength. Hugh recovered in a day or two, but when he saw how things were, he stayed ashore and left Donald in charge. There was no word of Rennie. Donald had grown used to the easy sharing of tasks between himself and James, especially since Rennie had taken himself off; but now he found himself giving orders, and watching to see that they were carried out. Aly Bain seemed to expect it; he worked well enough, but did nothing beyond what he was told to do. ‘And he never looks you in the eye, but he notes everything you do; have you marked that?’ James paused on the path up to the shieling, to set down his burdens and work the ache out of his arms.
‘I have.’ Donald stopped too and flexed his sore hands, grimacing as the cuts opened anew.
James, watching, said, ‘Why do you never wear those gloves of yours ashore? They’d be a help, surely?’
Donald looked at his hands. The skin on the back of them was thickened and scaled, but the palms were always vulnerable, and they never quite healed. Even when he stayed ashore for a week or two at a time, there were tasks that had to be done.
He said, ‘I’d be losing them all the time, leaving them in the wrong place. The boat’s where I need them most, working the ropes.’ He’d caught a sidelong look from Aly when he’d put them on that morning, and braced himself for some sneering comment; but times had changed, or so it seemed. Donald wondered what he might say to his brothers, back on dry land and out of earshot, but there was nothing to be done about that.
‘You could keep another pair on shore, maybe.’ There was no mockery in James’s voice, and Donald wondered now if there ever truly had been.
A good many people who used to despise him – or so he had thought – now seemed only too ready to give him the time of day. Just this morning, he’d passed by Hector’s cottage while the old man was fetching water. He’d called out, ‘Good morning!’ as usual, expecting no response, but Hector had put down his bucket and come over to the garden wall to ask him, ‘Do you think it’ll rain later?’ Which was no question at all, but just something to say. And he had learned that people use words like nets, to draw other people to them; except, of course, for Mairhi, who had her own ways.
‘I could,’ he said, seeing again the wild dance, the faces of Mairhi and Jessie in the firelight. ‘But you know how Mairhi is about the seals. I wouldn’t want to upset her.’
James laughed. ‘She’s a lucky woman!’ He lowered his voice as Jeannie and Ailsa came running down the path to meet them. ‘I hope I’ll do half so well as you.’
Donald shot him a quick sideways glance. He could see nothing but warmth in James’ eyes; warmth and admiration. If he only knew! The yearning to confide rose strong in him; to be understood, even to be forgiven – and not just by Mairhi herself. But the girls were almost upon them now, and the moment passed. And that was probably just as well.
51
As the year wore on and the winter storms grew ever stronger, Donald found himself closer to home, mending nets and weatherproofing house and barn for the winter. He had time to spend with little John, and sweet time alone with Mairhi, whenever they could. Jessie went back to her cottage, and it seemed that Aly, though he had never agreed in so many words, was letting her be. Donald neither knew nor cared what his motives were. He had his home to himself again, and a crewman who worked well enough, if sullenly.
Sometimes, when he and James were about their business, working with the easy familiarity he’d grown used to, he would be aware of Aly watching them. It was an odd look, almost puzzled. But that was fine, as long as he did what he was told. He made no move to rejoin his brothers on the Bain family boat, but that was fine too, with Rennie away and Hugh content to stay ashore.
What did concern Donald, now that he was often shorebound for days at a time, was the change in his mother. More and more now, when the summons came to attend a birth or help ease a death, it would be Mairhi who left her warm bed and went off, sometimes with Nancy Bain to help her. And at home, it would be Mairhi who hurried to lift water from the well or bedding for the cow. It seemed to him that this must have been going on for some time, but he had not seen it before.
One morning, coming back unexpectedly, he found Bridie alone. It was a blustery day, blowing sleet through the heather – too wet to settle. She was sitting on the bench by the front door, with the overturned bucket at her feet and the door swinging to and fro, her hand pressed to her side. Her face was the colour of ash.
By the time he had helped her indoors, made up the fire and put the kettle on, she was looking a little better. Her boots and the hem of her dress were soaked, and her feet like ice. He eased off her boots and took one foot in his hands to warm it, and then the other.
‘You’re not well.’ Had they been hiding it from him, or had he simply not noticed? ‘How long has this been going on?’
‘A while.’ Bridie’s smile was rueful. ‘For a time I hoped it would pass, but it’s not to be, it seems.’
His hands were still. ‘Mother? What are you saying?’ He could not look at her; as though, if he could not see the signs, they might not be there.
‘Donald.’ Her voice was very gentle. ‘I don’t know how long it’ll be. Maybe long enough to see my second grandchild into the world. I hope for that, at least.’
Now he looked up at her, seeing the lines of pain in her face, hearing the strain in her voice. It was so like her, to find something heartening to soften the blow. ‘You’re before me on that one. Again.’
‘I know the signs. Who better?’ she said, as she had said once before.
He looked away then, trying to hide his own pain. She laid a hand on his bent head. ‘I’ve been more blessed than I ever could have hoped. Look at us now! A year ago, it was just you and me alone. And now we’ll be needing to build on another bedroom for the children – and you’ll have most of the village happy to help you do it.’
‘It’s not fair!’ he said, childlike in his hurt and anger. ‘You do so much for other people. You’re always the strong one, and they take from you and never realise the cost.’
‘Not nowadays,’ she said, and there was nothing but love and pride in her voice. ‘They turn to Mairhi more and more, and after Mairhi comes Nancy. She’s learning fast, that lass, and she knows how to watch and wait, young as she is. She’s seen too much pain already, but now she’s finding a way to turn it to good account.’
‘I don’t care about Nancy! There’s more to you than usefulness. You should have time to grow old with your grandchildren. Surely there’s something we can do?’ He stopped. ‘Maybe Mairhi…’
She was shaking her head. ‘She helps me every day. She seems to know when the pain comes, and she eases it. But she can’t take away the cause of it. There are some things that can’t be mended, Donald, and we have to make the best of it.’ She leaned back, closing her eyes. ‘It’s better now. I’ll be fine in a while.’
He knelt there a little longer, holding her feet until they grew warm under his hands, and her breathing came slow and regular. Then he got up, as quietly as he could,
fetched a blanket to tuck around her, and went out to the barn.
52
It was almost dark by the time Mairhi came home, with John wrapped in her shawl and Nancy trailing at her side, all of them wet through. Exhausted by pain, Bridie had slept on while Donald made up the fire and set the stew to heat through for supper, and she only stirred when the door scraped open and the wind set the flames dancing. The look that passed between the two women had no need of words. Nancy set down her burdens, looked from one to the other and then, with a little cry like a wounded animal, flew to Bridie and burrowed into her arms.
‘There now, hush now,’ said Bridie, gently stroking the child’s hair. ‘I’m fine, see? What have you brought back today? That’s a heavy basket for a wee one like you. You’d better have some hot stew before you go home.’ Her eyes met Donald’s, and he nodded, turning away to get an extra plate from the cupboard. He had never seen Nancy make any gesture of affection before, except to Mairhi; certainly never to her own family. Setting down the plates, he went to take the baby, unwinding him from the sodden shawl while Mairhi unpacked the baskets, holding things up for Bridie to see.
Bridie kept up a gentle flow of words, and Nancy’s face stayed hidden against her breast. ‘Well now, more carrots! As if we didn’t have a garden full already. But you can never have too many, don’t you think? And is that some honey there? That’ll be the heather honey by now, from the MacDonalds, am I right? And a shirt for you, John!’
Hearing his name, the baby let out a sudden squeal, making them all laugh. Nancy’s face emerged at last, red and tear-streaked, and Bridie gave her a little push.
‘Off you go now and help put those things away. But keep some carrots to take home with you.’
When they sat down to eat, Bridie said, ‘Now tell me what you’ve been up to behind my back. Who did you see, and what did you do for them?’
At a nod from Mairhi, Nancy began to pour out all the details. From time to time, she looked to Mairhi for approval, but it was clear that already she was forming her own ideas.
Bridie put in a word now and then, but at the end she said, ‘Well done! It’s plain to see that you two are getting on fine on your own. We’ll need to make up some salve tomorrow, and take some medicine to John Rennie for his sore knees. To my mind, it’s missing that boy of his that’s the real problem, but we haven’t a remedy for loneliness, more’s the pity. Now if your mother can spare you, maybe you could come up tomorrow and help with that.’
Nancy’s eyes were shining as she looked up from her stew. She was hardly the same child, Donald thought, as the pinched little creature who had hidden behind their garden wall. He remembered how he’d resented her intrusion, and realised that, in truth, he admired her. At her age, he’d turned his back on them all, but she had seen what she wanted and hung on with all her strength. He said, ‘James brought down a pair of Ailsa’s shoes today. She noticed yours were letting in the wet, and thought they might do for you. Will you try them on before you go?’
Nancy still would not look at him directly, but she came to him readily enough. Her shoelaces were damp and swollen, so he pushed back his chair, knelt down and helped her to undo them. Inside her boots, her stockings were wet too, but it could not be helped. Ailsa’s boots were a little too big, but still sound. Nancy stood up to show them off, awkward, but glowing in the warmth of their approval.
Bridie said, ‘Be sure to stuff them with rags when you get home, and set them by the fire. Take the smaller lantern, and mind yourself going down.’
‘I’ll see you safe home,’ said Donald suddenly. But that was a step too far; the old hunted look came back.
Nancy said, ‘I’ll manage fine,’ and was out of the door and away, without a thank you, leaving the lantern behind.
Donald got up to follow, but behind him Bridie said, ‘Leave her be. She’s not used to so much attention.’ She leaned back in her chair, and he saw that all this time she had been keeping the weariness at bay, being cheerful for Nancy’s sake. Now, she looked utterly spent. He, too, had been holding back, avoiding the place where the dreadful knowledge lay in wait. He put his hand over his eyes, as though he could somehow make it not be, and turned to the door to go out, away. But Mairhi stood in front of the door, with the baby in her arms.
He was used, now, to gleaning what she wanted to tell him from her eyes, her gestures, the way she held herself, but this look he could not interpret. The silence grew between them, until John set up a wailing. Still she did not move. The baby began to twist and struggle, but she did not try to soothe him. Donald felt himself flushing, trapped between the two women. Abruptly, he stepped forward and took the child. Mairhi held his gaze for a few moments longer, and then, with a fierce little nod, she moved away from the door and went to see to Bridie.
Donald bowed his head, resting his cheek against John’s hair. He thought, now, that he understood, that here was one more thing from which there could be no turning away. John put up his hand to touch the tears on his face, and then tugged at him; look at me! And there it was.
‘Are you hungry now?’ he said, and John bounced up and down in his arms. ‘Will I find you a crust to chew, maybe?’ Nobody answered him, and that was an answer in itself.
53
Bridie seemed better for a while after that, as though, now that the word was out, she had no need to try so hard. For the first time that Donald could remember, she let herself be looked after. He began to hope that she might be wrong about what ailed her, though he dared not speak his hope aloud. But she had been right about one thing, at least. Some weeks later, as he and Mairhi lay curled together in the big bed, he felt her move suddenly as though something had startled her.
‘What is it, love?’ he murmured into her hair.
In the cradle beside them, John slept on. Under her breath, she laughed, and then took his hand and placed it on her belly. And after a moment, he felt it; a gentle touch, like a fish sliding away under his hand. And again, a ripple beneath the surface. Softly, he kissed the back of her neck. And in the darkness, she turned to face him.
Those were the months of growing. Every day, a few more minutes of light. Almost every day, it seemed, a new landmark: John’s first steps, the first violets of spring, and a year since the wedding. John was beginning to try out words, too. While his mother used everything except human speech, it soon seemed that he would never stop talking. And news of the next baby was everywhere, all at once, spreading in that mysterious way that Donald had never understood and always dreaded. Now, he recognised and welcomed it like an old friend.
As soon as the weather permitted, work began on building a new room onto the croft, and people came whenever they could, bringing tools, building materials, food and drink, songs and gossip and laughter, the strength of their arms and the pleasure of their company. Donald watched with amazement as, over the next days and weeks, almost everyone who could walk made their way up the path to his door. That was the way of things, to be sure, and he had played his own part in these gatherings when it could not be avoided, but he had never thought that one day, in due course, his own turn would come. He said as much to Catriona, when she arrived with a group of women to stuff bedding and sew the new curtains.
She laughed at him. ‘Did you think we’d just leave you to it on your own?’
‘No, not that. But I never expected to find myself a married man with a growing family.’
‘Well, I have to say, you’ve surprised more than yourself there! But don’t deceive yourself, Donald. They’re not doing it for you. There’s hardly a man or woman within twenty miles who hasn’t been grateful for Auntie Bridie’s help, one way or another. And Mairhi’s too, now, of course; but it’s Bridie they’re really coming for.’ She paused, suddenly serious. ‘Tell me the truth now, Donald. How do you think she is? It’s no good my asking her outright. She just says she’s fine. But she’s not, is she?’ Catriona stopped, watching him, trying to guess the answer before he could speak.
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nbsp; Donald looked away. To say it straight out gave it more weight than he could bear. ‘No, she’s not.’
‘I knew it! Oh, you should be moving to the shieling with us, not staying on your own out here. It’s not too late to change your minds. I’ll have a word with father; she listens to him – at least sometimes.’ She started away, but he caught her arm.
‘Catriona.’ That stopped her; Donald was usually trying to avoid her attention, not catch it. ‘We’ll manage. Mairhi helps her.’
‘But the baby’s on the way! She’ll have her hands full, soon enough.’
‘And so will you, by the look of you.’ He could not help laughing at the look on her face. ‘Mother told me – but I’d already guessed. James is not a man for keeping secrets.’
Catriona flushed scarlet. ‘He promised not to say.’
‘He’s said nothing. He didn’t have to.’
Catriona was defiant. ‘It’s only weeks now till we’re wed. And who are you to be judging us?’
‘I’m not judging you. It’s a grand thing. They’ll be of an age, won’t they? Yours and ours?’
‘Near enough.’ She watched him. ‘They’ll be crewing the boat together some day. If they’re both boys, of course.’