Children of Rhanna

by Christine Marion Fraser

Kirsteen cried when she heard that her smallest son was fighting for his life, but with the determination that Fergus knew and admired so much, she spent little time indulging in useless tears and instead set about positive action. She breast fed the babies, cuddled them, whiled away the long hours in bed doing everything she possibly could to help in the battle, and everyone was overjoyed when Lachlan finally announced the crisis was over.

  ‘The bairnie will live,’ he said simply. ‘God and McKenzie between them put a spirit into the wee lad that wouldn’t be beaten. He’ll need a lot of care, mind you. His heart isn’t strong; he might never be as big or as strong as his brother; but the chances are the older he gets, the stronger he’ll be.’

  After an extended stay at Slochmhor, Grant came home, utterly disgusted at the first sight of his baby brothers. ‘They’re ugly,’ he stated with a toss of his black curls. ‘I hope I didn’t look like that when I was a baby.’

  ‘Ach, you’ll have looked worse!’ Fiona scolded, her bright eyes flashing under her dark fringe of hair. ‘And you’re no better now – at least they’ll likely get better looking by the time they get to your age.’

  The little boy’s dimpled chin jutted out in indignation. With his snappish black eyes and rosy cheeks he was the ultimate in childish beauty, though when he scowled he looked very much like his father in a rage. ‘At least I don’t look like a Robin with beady eyes and a funny wee beak.’ He glared into Fiona’s laughing face. ‘I’m going down to the harbour,’ he went on peevishly. ‘Ranald is building a big new boatshed and I’m helping him,’ he finished proudly.

  After that a steady stream of visitors came to Laigmhor, all bearing small gifts for the twins, whose arrival had caused a great stir of interest. For the sake of convenience the cradles were brought down to the kitchen where the womenfolk gathered to stare and admire. Knitting needles had been busy for months and very soon heaps of tiny garments lay everywhere.

  ‘My, my, is it no’ just like the stable from Bethlehem itself?’ Mairi McKinnon observed, her round-eyed, rather vacant gaze absorbing the scene with quiet bliss.

  Fergus had cut and brought in a small spruce tree. Shiny with baubles and tinsel, it sat in a corner of the room; a few stray hens clucked in the pantry; the women stood, shawled heads bowed over the cradles, their faces bronzed in the warm flicker of firelight. Mairi, in her unsophisticated way, had described the scene perfectly.

  But it was Dodie, the island eccentric who lived a solitary existence in his tiny cottage on the slopes of Sgurr nan Ruadh, whose gift touched Kirsteen the most. She was in the kitchen drinking a well-earned cup of tea when she saw him standing by the gate looking with soulful eyes at the languid activities of the sheep that dotted Ben Machrie. Unlike the rest of the islanders to whom the business of visiting was a normal habit at any time of the day, he never entered a house unless specifically invited to do so. Kirsteen felt only in the mood for solitude but no one ever hurt the old man’s feelings by ignoring his presence.

  ‘Come on in, Dodie,’ she called from the doorway. ‘I have just made a strupak.’ He loped up the path with agility, his large wellingtons making slapping sounds with every long step.

  ‘I was just passing on my way over to Croynachan,’ he stuttered in mournful apology. Shy of women in general, he was only just growing used to Fergus’s comparatively new wife, and he stopped short at the doorstep, his stooped gangling figure blotting out the light. He was dressed in a threadbare raincoat and hairy tweed trousers that were tucked carelessly into the wellingtons. A greasy cloth cap was jammed on his head so tightly his ears stuck out on either side, giving him the appearance of an oversized gnome. From the end of his carbuncled nose a large drip dangled precariously; his strange, inward-dreaming eyes were full of water from the bite of the December air; his calloused, ungloved hands were mottled with purple. If he had taken the charity the islanders were only too willing to give, he would have been well-off indeed, but simple though he was, he maintained a fierce pride and accepted without complaint the harshness of his existence.

  Kirsteen’s heart swelled with pity even though she was somewhat repulsed by the smell that emanated from him in waves. ‘Sit down, Dodie,’ she invited kindly. ‘Elspeth sent some fresh scones over from Slochmhor. They’re still hot and delicious with butter melting over them.’

  ‘That cailleach,’ he sniffed, momentarily causing the drip to ascend in his disapproval of Elspeth Morrison, the sharp-tongued housekeeper of Slochmhor. He had never forgiven her for chasing him up the village street brandishing a broom just because he had accidentally stumbled into her clean white washing and pulled it all to the ground. Despite his grievances however, he tucked heartily into the scones, a finger placed stragetically under his chin to catch the rivulets of melted butter, which he expertly scooped back up to his mouth.

  ‘Are you no’ sittin’ down yourself to have your strupak?’ he asked Kirsteen politely.

  ‘Er – no, I prefer to stand at the moment,’ she told him with a faint smile.

  ‘Ay.’ He nodded wisely and his carbuncle wobbled slightly. ‘Your backside will be sore for a whily after havin’ two bairnies.’

  Taken aback, she stared at him, and he himself, utterly dismayed at the audacity of his statement, blushed crimson and choked so violently on a crumb she had to rush forward and thump his bent back. Though prim to the point of being prudish, the old eccentric was astonishingly frank about the facts of life, even though normally he reserved his observations for the animal kingdom. Animal matings and animal births filled him with joy and in this case he had simply forgotten which category Kirsteen came into.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mistress McKenzie!’ he wailed, getting to his feet so hurriedly the table tilted and the cups slid gently to the edge. ‘I’ll be goin’ now, thankin’ you for the strupak.’ He babbled on unintelligibly. ‘I have a potach in my pocket for Ealasaid so I have, and if I could find the bugger I might get some milk too. I left my pail down by your gate.’

  He lurched to the door but Kirsteen stayed him by saying kindly, ‘Don’t you want to see the babies? They’re asleep just now and you’ll see them at their best – not like poor Mrs Gray. They roared their heads off when she came and she couldn’t get a word in.’

  Ay, indeed just,’ he gabbled. ‘I have a wee somethin’ for them – somethin’ really special seein’ they are doubles.’

  The ‘wee somethin” proved to be two beautiful silver teaspoons, which he withdrew from some hidden pocket inside his coat. With reverence he placed a spoon at the foot of each cradle then stood with his hands folded over his chest, the big thumbs pointing upwards.

  ‘Dodie,’ Kirsteen gasped, picking up one of the spoons. ‘These are beautiful but . . .’ She left the question hanging in mid-air for she knew he would be offended if asked outright how he had come by such items.

  ‘I paid for these myself,’ he volunteered with pride. ‘I took them as wages for some wee jobs I did to Burnbreddie. Her leddyship said your bairnies would not be born wi’ silver spoons so I decided it would be a fine thing for the auld bitch to be proved wrong and . . .’ he paused, stretching his lips to show tobacco-stained teeth, the nearest he ever got to a smile, ‘herself providing the very things she said they would never have.’

  ‘They’re lovely, Dodie,’ Kirsteen said, deeply touched not only by the gifts but by the thoughtfulness that lay behind them. Once before Dodie had bestowed a simple treasure on Fergus when he had lain at death’s door after his accident. It had been a discarded horseshoe, polished over and over till it gleamed. ‘It will make him get better,’ the old eccentric had whispered tearfully but with deep conviction. Fergus had always maintained that the charm had helped to speed his recovery and to this day it hung above the fireplace in the bedroom.

  ‘I am after hearin’ that one of the bairnies is no’ very strong, so these will maybe bring him luck and, of course,’ he said, his lips stretched again, ‘they will come in handy when they are breakin’ their milk teeths and a
re learnin’ to sup food.’

  A tiny fist boxed the air and Dodie stared in awe as Kirsteen pulled the blankets back. ‘My, would you look at that!’ Dodie was completely enchanted. ‘By God, they are beautiful just – I had two just like them myself a good few years back – like two wee peas in a pod they were. Even the black socks on their feets were all alike.’ Kirsteen was rather taken aback but she had no time to utter a word because Dodie was racing on. ‘Ay, lovely they were just. I had a hand in bringin’ them out o’ the yowe for they were her first and she was that grateful neither she or the lambs ever let me out of their sight after it. Ach, they were buggers betimes, but my – I was that proud inside myself I could have burst wi’ happiness.’ His odd dreamy eyes filled with tears and into them he scrubbed a horny knuckle. ‘I’m sorry, Mistress McKenzie – it’s just –’ He swallowed hard. ‘I never got over havin’ to sell my lambs – they were causin’ a nuisance, you see, them bein’ like pet dogs and runnin’ into folks’ houses lookin’ for biscuits. Old Behag says she came home one day and there was one o’ my sheeps at her fire and sham all over the floor. The old hag near killed my bonny bairn wi’ that witchs broom she keeps at her fireplace – ach – they were the nicest lambs you ever saw and these is the same, two bonny wee lambs.’

  Kirsteen thought it was a beautiful comparison and she was minded afresh that there was more to Dodie than met the eye. He had a compassionate love for all of God’s creatures and would literally never harm even a fly. He was a figure that invoked pity, yet his artless beliefs and philosophies lifted him high above the more sophisticated and materially well off.

  ‘I’ll be goin’, then.’ He shuffled to the door, nervously playing with a loose button on his coat.

  ‘Wait a minute and I’ll sew that on,’ Kirsteen offered and he submitted to her swift repair work with surprisingly little objection.

  ‘I like it fine here,’ he enthused, gazing fondly round the homely kitchen. ‘I never feel like bein’ myself in other folks’ houses but here it’s different. I mind Mirabelle aye made me welcome though I never right understood what way she needed to cut an onion and place it beside my chair for I was never one for the smell of them – they make my eyes cry.’

  Kirsteen hid a smile. Fergus had told her of Mirabelle’s method of drowning out Dodie’ s offensive smell, her belief being that to cut an onion was to kill unpleasant odours as well as all ‘living germs’.

  ‘There.’ Kirsteen gave the button a pat. ‘That should keep for a while.’ She went to the larder where she stuffed scones and cake into a bag. ‘Here, take these for your tea,’ she said, pushing the bag at him. She reached up to the mantelshelf. ‘This, too. Merry Mary didn’t have Fergus’s favourite brand and he put it up there and forgot about it.’

  But – it’s – baccy,’ Dodie protested even while his eyes shone, for he liked nothing better than a good chew at ‘thick black off the roll’.

  It is that,’ Kirsteen agreed. ‘Put it in your pocket.’

  Ach, it’s kind you are just.’

  No more than yourself. These bonny spoons will be treasured always. By the way, it’s Christmas soon. If you stop by you will get some turkey and plum pudding and there might just be a wee gift on the tree with your name on it.’ On impulse she reached up and kissed his nut-brown cheek, vowing to herself that warm woolly gloves and socks would be waiting for him on Christmas day. His face immediately blazed a brilliant red and he turned away so quickly he tripped over the doorstep. Picking himself up, he galloped away up the glen in a daze of breathless joy.

  CHAPTER 3

  A week later Fergus left for his trip to Oban. During that time he had collected all the clothing coupons he could find. His own supply was barely depleted because he seldom had reason to buy new clothes. Many of the older men were delighted to sell him their coupons including Dodie who was overjoyed and somewhat bemused that the scraps of paper he had always regarded as useless could actually fetch him money.

  ‘Ach, McKenzie will have cheated that poor simple cratur’,’ Behag Beag, the fault-finding postmistress of Portcull, stated sourly. ‘Fancy having the cheek to offer money for things as scarce as clothing coupons. It’s like this black market I am hearing goes on over yonder on the mainland. It’s only villains do things like these.’

  ‘McKenzie of the Glen is not a man to cheat anybody!’ Kate McKinnon stoutly rose to Fergus’s defence. ‘Especially would he never cheat Dodie out o’ a farthin’! He’s kind to old Dodie – no’ like some I could mention.’ Kate leaned across the counter and gave Behag a conspiratorial wink. ‘Am I no’ after hearin’ that you sold your own coupons to my Nancy and the poor soul payin’ more than they were worth – and her wi’ all these bairns to clothe – ay.’ Kate shook her head sorrowfully while Behag’s wizened jowls fell in dismayed layers over her neck for she had sworn Nancy to secrecy.

  ‘There’s some would do anythin’ for sillar,’ Kate went on, thoroughly revelling in Behag’s discomfiture, ‘but my, you had better no’ be throwin’ your coupons about too much, Behag, or you’ll end up with no’ even a decent pair o’ breeks to cover the cheeks o’ your bum – now o’ course that might have been all right in your younger days when you were maybe tryin’ to tempt a man up your skirts but the only thing you’ll get up there now is a chill in the bladder that will keep you runnin’ to your wee hoosie for weeks!’

  Kate went off, skirling with laughter, leaving Behag to fume and vow that one day she would report the McKinnons to the Customs mannie and rid the island once and for all of a sinful and illegal product. But Behag knew that her vow was just a shallow one and she prayed to the Lord to forgive her for being too weak to face up to the certain wrath of the islanders if she dared to expose the McKinnons, for they were a family beloved by many. Forbye that, she was not averse to a drop of McKinnon’s brew herself, entirely for medicinal purposes, of course. The preservation of a person’s bodily functions could in no way be construed as a sin and after Kate’s triumphant exit Behag flounced to the back shop where she took a good swallock of the malt to help her get rid of the lump of rage that had risen in her throat.

  ‘I’ll only be away for a night or two,’ Fergus told Kirsteen. She was going through a spell of depression and was inclined to be unusually irritable. He nuzzled her ear, feeling the softness of her breasts against his hard chest. He had been gentle with her since the babies’ birth, contenting himself with just kissing and holding her though his desire for her was so strong he wanted to crush her to him and take her without constraint.

  ‘Why do you have to be away at all?’ she whispered sulkily, drawing away from him and lowering her face so that it was veiled by the shadows of early morning.

  ‘Because I want to buy you something special for Christmas – I’ve never given you a proper present, so just for once let me do this.’

  ‘But you won’t be able to get anything! It’s wartime – remember?’ she told him rather resentfully, thinking of months of watered-down tea, of scrimping to save a little out of each week’s rations so that they could all enjoy a real feast at Christmas.

  ‘I’ll get something,’ he said with a conviction he was far from feeling. ‘Don’t you worry about a thing. Shona and Niall will be here within the next day or two and Matthew will see to things around the farm.’

  ‘Oh – to hell with the farm,’ she cried, throwing her head back in a fit of pique, an action that curved her neck into a slender arch. Her blue eyes were rather dull and weary-looking, for her days were filled from morning to night with the constant demands of two infants and a lively son. Phebie was a wonderful source of help but there were the nights of broken sleep to contend with and Fergus felt a pang of guilt.

  ‘We’re going to get someone in to help you here,’ he said firmly. ‘When I get back I’ll see to it, and I don’t want any of your refusals. Nancy’s eldest daughter, Janet, is a good sensible girl and she’s grand with bairns.’

  ‘Yes,’ Kirsteen said dully.

&n
bsp; Fergus’s black eyes snapped. ‘Och to hell! I won’t go and leave you like this! Dammit! You know how I’ve always hated leaving home even for a few days. It was for you! Just for you! I only want to make you happy.’

  ‘Oh, Fergus, I’m sorry,’ she said with a rush of remorse. ‘I’m being childish and bad-tempered. Lachlan says it can happen like this but I don’t like myself very much at the moment. When you come back I’ll be a ray of sunshine, I promise.’

  She straightened his jacket and pushed him towards the door, which she opened decisively. The morning was dark with pearly mist hanging over the fields and clinging to the hills. The chill breath of winter rushed into the warm kitchen. Putting her arms up she drew his head down and kissed him so deeply his heart quickened.

  ‘Little seductress,’ he murmured. ‘If you want to stop me going that’s the surest way. Why couldn’t you have done that last night?’

  ‘Too soon, my darling, but you wait, I’ll give you a Christmas present that won’t cost anything but that you will never forget.’

  ‘Promises, promises,’ he chuckled, his breath condensing in the frosty air. ‘I’ll keep you to them but right now I must go if I’m to catch that boat.’

  ‘Fergus.’ He was halfway down the path when her voice stayed him. ‘We haven’t given our sons names yet. I want them to be special and I want them to come from you.’

  Many hours later Fergus arrived at Oban. The mist hung in a purple pall over the fishing port, huddling the town into a clammy blanket. Ghost shapes of trees probed the dour sky and spread winter tracery over the wet slates of rooftops. In the bay the needles of masts pierced into the haar; pinpricks of guide lights shivered over the grey water, ending the subdued dance on the glistening cobblestones by the harbour. The remoteness of the night made him hurry through the near-deserted streets towards the small homely hotel run by Maggie and Murdy Travers. They had befriended him when he had come to Oban seven years before in a fruitless search for Kirsteen.