Children of Rhanna

by Christine Marion Fraser

  Maggie welcomed him with delight and led him into the cosy parlour where Murdy was snoring in the depths of an armchair with his feet atop the range. At their entry he opened an enquiring eye then rose with agility to pump Fergus’s hand heartily. After that, it was like old times, with Maggie plying him with platefuls of food while she reminisced about the time of his exhaustive search for Kirsteen and his eventual travels to England to find both her and his little son.

  ‘Ay, and now you have two more,’ Murdy said, gazing thoughtfully into his whisky glass and gave a dignified hiccup. ‘I tell you this now, lad, never show you have a favourite. My mother favoured my elder brother more than me and never took pains to hide the fact. To this day I have never got over the hurt of that. Maggie and me only had our lassie, so we had no problems there. It’s easy to spoil a lassie and you can get away with doin’ it to that bonny wee girl of yours – but treat the lads the same, son, and remember – the heart that hurts most least often shows it.’ It was an unusually serious speech for the jovial Murdy. He hiccuped again and grinned. ‘By God, I’m on my soap box tonight, I must be soberin’ up – where’s that whisky? . . .’ He struggled out of his chair and Maggie rushed to hold him upright. ‘You auld bodach,’ she giggled. ‘Drunk as a lord and sayin’ things you’ll regret come mornin’ – but mercy on us! It is mornin’, nearly one o’clock. Up to bed wi’ you this very minute and if you think I’m goin’ to help you off wi’ your clothes you’ve another think comin’ for I doubt it will take me all my time to get myself under the covers.’

  Though he was fatigued Fergus slept only fitfully and wakened as dawn was creeping coldly over the sky. It was the habit of years that made him get up and dress quickly. The room was chilly but he was used to that at Laigmhor. There was no sound of life in the house and he guessed the Travers must still be asleep. Noiselessly he crept downstairs and let himself outside. The wind had freshened during the night and swept the mist away, leaving the morning bright and bitterly cold. He turned his steps in the direction of McCaig’s Folly, which reared up against a turquoise sky washed over with gold. As he climbed the steep deserted hill, the Folly became more than just a giant landmark: the great circle of weathered stone loomed above him, powerful in all its Colosseum-like splendour. The deepening gold of the dawn filtered through its double row of tall windows and he couldn’t help thinking that the building was like some great Roman temple lit from within by thousands of candles. With the slow measured tread of the Hebridean he walked across the unroofed inner gallery. Scrambling up to one of the window apertures he perched himself on the grey stonework and gazed out over the shimmering landscape. Today the horizon was cloudless, the rich hues of sunrise diffusing into a brilliant blue that deepened to purple in the dome of the heavens where stars still sparkled faintly. His gaze travelled downwards to the dream-like splendour of the Mull hills whose corries were erased by distance, though a faint glimmer of snow was discernible on the high sullen peak of Ben More. For a long time he looked at the hazed island of Mull, thinking how much it resembled Rhanna, though on a much grander scale.

  He felt contented and very peaceful and had to force his mind back to the reason he had come to this high place of solitude. Kirsteen had told him to think of names for their sons – and he had never been over-imaginative about things like that. It was easy enough to make up names for horses and cows – but boys! He smiled at his thoughts and watched as the sun rose higher to inject the water with shades of blue and silver. The nearer islands lay in shadows of damson and jade, though the long tawny shape of Kerrera was touched by fingers of golden light, which were reflected in the deep dark water of the Firth of Lorn. Lorn. Lorn! Fergus sat up straighter. Blue and languorous. That was how the Firth of Lorn looked this morning. The twins had the bluest eyes he had ever seen. Kirsteen said their eyes would change, grow dark like his, but he was convinced they would stay like hers.

  ‘Lorn.’ He murmured the name softly. One of his sons would be Lorn – and the other – he suddenly thought of Lewis. Shona and Niall had spent their honeymoon in Stornoway on the island of Lewis. Lachlan had relatives there . . . ‘Lorn and Lewis.’ He spoke the names aloud and they echoed round the cloisters of the Folly like a melody. ‘Lorn and Lewis!’ he cried again and gave a deep chuckle of satisfied laughter. Wait till he told Kirsteen. He wanted to go home right away but there were other matters to settle first.

  Maggie came with him to help him with his shopping. ‘You have no need to be buying toys now,’ she told him as she pulled on her gloves. ‘I doubt you would get them anyway but I have been busy this whily. I’ve made things for you all and look – come over here,’ she said, and opened a drawer in the sideboard and proudly withdrew an exquisitely carved model of a fishing boat. ‘For that wee rascal Grant,’ she said, beaming. ‘My Murdy made it. He’s no’ as green as he’s cabbage lookin’. Took him months to do, mind, but och, he knows fine the wee laddie is mad on boats and will take care of it.’

  Maggie had been right about the shortage of goods in the shops and here he was looking for fur jackets for Kirsteen and Shona. ‘Fur jackets!’ Maggie shook her head doubtfully. ‘You will be lucky if you manage to find a fur purse! But wait you, I know the very place! Not much to look at mind but the wee mannie there has stuff in that shop you would never credit.’

  The shop was situated in a back street and its appearance was so dilapidated it was hard to imagine that it was occupied at all. But the ‘wee mannie’ was there all right, shuffling from the back shop in answer to the rusty tinkle of the bell above the door. The interior of the shop was dismal and matched well the proprietor’s gloomy expression and his greeting of, ‘A bitter day is it not? I canny get my blood goin’ in the right direction in weather like this.’

  Fergus swallowed and wondered why on earth Maggie had dragged him here but his heart lifted somewhat when, having voiced his request, the little man’s eyes lit with interest, though he hummed and hawed so much Maggie burst out, ‘Ach, stop fooling around, Mr McDuff, you know fine what the laddie means. Have you got what he is wanting or haven’t you?’

  ‘Fur jackets,’ Mr McDuff said thoughtfully. ‘These are no’ easy to come by, no’ easy at all. Times are hard, hard indeed . . .’ He looked over his specs at Fergus. ‘You will need plenty money and plenty coupons.’

  ‘I’ve got enough of both.’ Fergus placed the coupons on the counter and taking out his wallet he fingered the contents provocatively.

  Mr McDuff tapped the side of his long nose and whispered, ‘I might have the very thing, though I wouldny say that to just anybody. Seein’ I know Maggie here . . .’ He shuffled away into his back shop and several minutes later re-emerged with two beautiful jackets over his arm, one the colour of dark honey, the other a rich grey that glowed silver in the feeble light from the window. ‘These are all I have,’ Mr McDuff said, laying them on the counter. ‘They are not what you would call new, mind, but near as good as. I forgot I had them. There’s no’ many folks rushin’ to buy fur jackets the now.’

  Fergus could hardly believe his luck. ‘I’ll take them,’ he said rather breathlessly, seeing in his mind’s eye the look on Kirsteen’s face when she beheld his gift to her.

  ‘Plenty money, mind,’ the old man said, rubbing his hands together gently, a nervous twitch lifting one corner of his mouth as Fergus counted his notes one by one and placed them on the counter.

  Mr McDuff’s fingers scrunched over the money quickly before he scooped it up and placed it with a show of nonchalance into a drawer. ‘I will wrap the jackets up –’ He paused. ‘I have a nice bitty paper I was savin’ for my special customers and by God! You’re the most special I’ve had this year and I’m thinkin’ you’ve maybe made my Christmas too.’ Methodically he wrapped and tied the boxes. ‘It’s no’ everybody gets string to put round things these days but I’m thinkin’ these jackets must be for two special ladies so I’m makin’ an exception in your case.’

  ‘Very special ladies,’ Fergus agr
eed soberly, though the minute he was outside the shop he grabbed Maggie’s waist and pulled her to him. ‘You’re a witch, Maggie Travers! The most magical witch I’ve ever known I tell you, you beat all of Canty Tam’s water witches for tricks and spells. Come on, I’ve got a few coupons left, your wee mannie was so excited he didn’t take them all, and I’m going to get you something really grand for Christmas.’

  Maggie giggled and protested but Fergus swept her along. ‘Really, laddie,’ she told him with a twinkle, ‘that old bodach is known as McDuff the Bluff in these parts. He was a furrier before the war and I know fine he still has plenty of furs in that back shop of his even though he told you you got the last two.’

  ‘No matter. I never thought I’d get anything so grand, so you and Murdy are getting presents whether you like it or no.’

  The next morning Fergus left for Rhanna on the mid-morning boat. Murdy and Maggie saw him off, the latter in tears as she pushed parcels into his grasp. ‘You come over and visit us whenever you can now,’ Fergus told them firmly. ‘Let us repay you for all you’ve done for us. The doors of Laigmhor are always open to you.’

  ‘Ay, we will that,’ Maggie sniffed. ‘Away you go now and don’t forget to give all our friends on Rhanna our love.’

  It was very late when the craggy drift of the Rhanna hills at last reared up on the horizon. The sea was like a crumpled piece of ebony paper, a shade darker than the vast reaches of the star-studded sky. The boat pushed its way through the Sound of Rhanna, lifting the waves to foam, cutting steadily along. The water in the harbour was velvet-smooth, the village so silent that the noise of the boat’s engines was like a profanity, tearing the peace apart. Ropes were tied, the throbbing of the engines lessened, then ceased. The crew languidly saw the few passengers off. Niall was at the harbour with the pony and trap.

  ‘You shouldn’t have bothered,’ Fergus protested, though he had been wondering how he was going to carry everything up to Laigmhor.

  Orders,’ Niall said grinning, throwing parcels into the back of the trap. ‘Shona is at Laigmhor waiting.’ He laughed. ‘Ay, and a fine time I’ve had with her all day – like a wee lass she is waiting for Father Christmas to come down the lum. Come on, in you get.’

  In the darkness Fergus smiled and listened with pleasure to the slap of the sea beating against the shore. The little white houses of Portcull sat solid and serene against the black slopes of the night hills; scents of salt and peat smoke filled the air. The pony plodded up Glen Fallan and now there were other smells. The men had been spreading dung on the fields. The rich reek of it mingled with the sharp tang of frost. The air was cold against his face. From the hills a stag roared once then was silent. The burns frothed down into the river, shimmering in a glint of moonlight. In the distance he saw Laigmhor, a dim white blob against the slopes of Ben Machrie. Chinks of light shone from the windows and his heart leapt. No matter how short was his separation from his beloved home, he never failed to feel excitement and joy on his return.

  They clattered into the cobbled yard and he turned to Niall. ‘I’ll take my cases in but leave these other things by the back door till I get settled.’

  ‘Right, I’ll just get Dusk into the stable and I’ll be right with you.’

  Fergus stepped over the threshold to see a sparkling-clean kitchen. A peat fire sang in the grate, throwing showers of sparks up the chimney. On the hearthrug, three cats were piled on top of the obliging and good-natured Squint, who appeared to be sound asleep, but at Fergus’s entry he got up hastily and a shower of indignant felines landed on the floor. The little dog hurled himself at the dark man standing smiling in the doorway and Fergus threw up his arm to catch the ecstatic, quivering bundle of golden fur. A delicious savoury aroma filled the room. Shona was by the range, lifting a crusty brown steak pie from the oven. Her glorious curtain of auburn hair hid her face but at the opening of the door she pushed it back impatiently from her flushed face. ‘Damned hair! I’ll get it cut, I swear I will no matter what Niall says –’ She stopped short in her tirade and a smile lit her elfin face. ‘Father,’ she said softly, rather shyly, ‘it’s so good to see you.’ She rushed at him and Squint groaned in protest as the air was squeezed from his tubby little body. One of his floppy ears fell into Fergus’s mouth together with a lock of Shona’s hair.

  ‘Hey, give me air!’ he shouted laughingly. ‘I’m smothering.’

  ‘Och, be quiet, it’s not every day I get to coorie into you,’ she scolded, nuzzling her face into his neck.

  She was radiant in her youth and beauty. Her hair was silk under his fingers, the vibrant love she had for him pulsed into him and a lump came into his throat. Gently he pushed her away and studied her sparkling face. ‘Married life suits you, mo ghaoil, you’re bonnier than I’ve ever seen you.’ Over Shona’s head his eyes met Kirsteen’s. She looked different. The weariness had gone from her eyes; there was an aura of quiet elation about her. And when she caught the message in his glance she blushed and was once again the young girl he had chanced upon in the woods by Loch Tenee where she had been swimming. She had been drying herself when he had come upon her. Shock had turned her into an immobile golden statue with droplets of water gleaming on her smooth skin and wet little tendrils of blonde hair clinging round her pink ears. Vividly he recalled the scene and his legs felt unsteady beneath him.

  ‘Hello, Fergus.’ Her voice was soft, her smile secretive, filled with gladness to have him back. ‘This child has been spoiling me. I’ve done nothing since she came. She’s fussed over me and coddled me and looked after the twins.’

  ‘Ach, I’ve enjoyed it,’ Shona broke in. ‘Though if I have some of my own I think I’ll start off with just one. Now, we’re all starving to death waiting for you, Father. I want everyone seated at the table in five minutes and that’s an order! Wash yourself first, Father, there’s hot water in the pan . . .’ She giggled and looked from one to the other. ‘It’s so lovely to be home,’ she said, her blue eyes shining with the brilliance of a summer sea. ‘I love being married to Niall and I’m very happy – but this . . .’ she said, glancing round the room, ‘this is where I belong – at Laigmhor – on Rhanna. I miss it so much, but one day we’ll come back – though of course we’ll have to find another house. It’s crowded here, I can hardly believe I’ve got more brothers, when will it ever stop?’ Her eyes travelled to the little golden spaniel draped once more by the fire. ‘Dear wee dog,’ her voice had grown husky. ‘When I first saw him the years just rolled away – I thought Tot had come back, then this wee devil opened his eyes and instead of crying I laughed instead. I love him, he’s so silly and playful, the way Tot was when Hamish first gave her to me.’

  ‘You can take him back with you, I took him knowing how much you missed Tot . . .’

  She shook her head. ‘No, Father, let the babies grow up with a dog of their own. My childhood would have been a less precious memory without dear old Tot – besides, Grant loves Squint already, he says he’s going to take him to sea and he’ll become an old sea dog.’ She choked with laughter. ‘Grant puts me in mind of myself when I was his age. Yesterday he dressed that poor wee pup in a scarf and bonnet exactly like old Joe’s. When I came in and saw Squint lying at the fire I thought he was a hobgoblin. Then to make matters worse, Grant leapt out at me from the larder and near scared the wits out of me. We had a job getting him off to bed tonight. He was all for staying up till you came home.’

  Niall came in, his tanned face glowing from the sting of the night air. He rubbed his hands together and sniffed the savoury fragrances mingling together. ‘Mmm, my mouth is watering. I’m starving. Do you know, Fergus, this daft daughter of yours hasn’t let me eat a thing since this afternoon. Favouritism that’s what it is, pure neglect of her new husband in favour of her father.’

  There would have been a time when he would never have uttered such things to dour, unapproachable Fergus, but things were different now. Fergus was different, though he was still, and probably always wou
ld be, a man of few words. He had a pride of bearing that many took for arrogance, but he was not nearly as formidable as of yore. He laughed more, and took things less seriously – though he protected those he loved with such fierce passion few dared to rile him openly. It was perhaps because of that, that ‘McKenzie of the Glen’ as he was now becoming known, was more talked about behind his back than anyone else on the island.

  Shona giggled and clouted her husband playfully with the dish towel as he was drawing his chair into the table. After that everyone seemed to talk at once. Shona was immediately busy and so efficient that Fergus watched her in delight. She had always been a mercurial creature, a tomboy who rarely sat still, but now she glowed with an inner radiance, her movements swift and graceful. Marriage to Niall had certainly been her salvation, though Fergus knew that this daughter of his would never know complete contentment until circumstances allowed her to come back to live on the place she had loved since her first stirrings of awareness to the beauty and enchantment of her island home.

  Proudly she set food on the table and smiled at Fergus. ‘You see, Father, I’ve learned to cook now that I’m a sedate married woman.’ She dimpled mischievously. ‘No more awful dumplings or burnt porridge – well just sometimes. For did not Mirabelle say herself more than once that “no’ a body in the whole wide world is perfect, even those that put themselves on a pedestal so that they can spit and do other nasty things on the lowly and imperfect”.’

  Fergus’s deep laugh boomed out. ‘A sedate married woman uttering profanities that would make Mirabelle turn in her grave . . . If I mind right she was quite prim and proper in her way!’

  ‘Ach, she was right enough, but if things riled her enough she could come out with some surprising observations. She used to mutter a lot under her breath when she was harassed, and once, when she thought I was too young to understand, I heard her saying, “Ach, that Behag, she has a face on her like a threepenny bit in a cow’s backside waiting for change.”’