Children of Rhanna

by Christine Marion Fraser

  Ruth’s heart hammered into her throat. That wasn’t her father speaking, it couldn’t be. But it was – his voice came again from a window at the side – from Totie’s bedroom. ‘I love that bairnie. The day she was born was the happiest in my life. She’s the only joy in that godforsaken house. It’s been hell for her since she was a babe and I’d give anything to see laughter in that sad wee face. If hitting Morag was a means of getting happiness for Ruth it would give me the greatest pleasure to do it – but she’s stone that woman! A damned statue without a heart! How I rue the day I married her . . .’ He gave a short bitter laugh. ‘If only I’d known I didn’t have to – from what I hear, Ruth could be any man’s bairn – oh ay, the first and last time Morag let herself go she made a right proper job of it – and all those who have to live in her shadow have suffered for her sins ever since!’

  ‘Ach, you should confront the pious bitch!’ Totie said scornfully. ‘Tell her you’re not going to be punished for the things she did all these years ago.’

  ‘I can’t.’ Dugald’s voice was full of despair. ‘Hell would be a nicer refuge afterwards – forbye, I must think of my wee Ruthie – I don’t know why but I’m almost convinced she is mine. Yet, I’ll never know for sure – that’s the hell of it. Morag has damned us all.’

  Ruth felt faint, so sick and giddy she leaned back against the doorpost and pressed the palms of her hands against the rough wall of the porch. She fought to control herself. It wasn’t real – none of it was real – but she had to know more, had to find out if she was imagining it all – her father in Totie’s bedroom, discussing things that made a mockery of her life. With her heart in her throat she crept over the springy grass till she was standing to the side of the bedroom window. There was silence now and she hardly dared to breathe. The green of the machair stretched before her staring eyes; far below, the blue sea eddied into bays of shimmering golden sands. It was such a beautiful world, such a beautiful sun-kissed day, but it was all crashing about her ears like a flimsy matchbox tower. She sucked in her breath and held it, hot unshed tears pricked her eyelids, her legs trembled till she thought she would fall. She leaned hard against the wall for support and threw back her head, her violet eyes staring up at the blue vault of the sky. Was God up there? Who was this God that her mother feared rather than revered? Where was He? If He existed how could He allow so much unhappiness? Her mother had turned Him into an invisible force that haunted them all.

  Her grandparents spoke about God in a different way from her mother. Their simple faith had a beauty about it, and it was a joy listening to them reading from the Bible. Yet as soon as her mother intruded, God became different, a stranger without mercy for the smallest lapse from grace.

  Standing alone on that sunlit day, Ruth’s gentle soul became diffused with feelings of loathing – for her mother? For God? She didn’t know. She only knew that her being was so flooded with the powerful emotion she felt ill.

  Her father’s voice came again. ‘Thank God for you, Totie. What I would have done without you all these years, I’ll never know. It won’t be easy seeing you when we move to Portcull, but I’ll find a way – even if it means creeping out of the house in the middle of the night.’ He was thanking the God who ruled his life – and he spoke of years with Totie . . .

  With her heart in her mouth Ruth turned her head slightly and, raising herself on tip-toes, she glanced quickly in through the window. Her father lay in bed with Totie in his arms, his white head shining like a beacon in the shadows of the room. Ruth turned away and rammed her fist into her mouth to stop from crying out. She moved slightly and her calliper creaked quite loudly.

  ‘What was that?’ Dugald’s voice sounded strange – faraway yet anxious.

  Totie’s voice came softly. ‘Only the bedsprings – relax – we only have a wee while together.’

  Ruth’s heart fluttered and her face burned. Inch by inch she edged away from the window and at a safe distance from the cottage she began to run, a clumsy, halting gait that carried her back to the empty house and her own bleak thoughts. The one dear person she had thought was hers wasn’t after all. She planted her small hands on the table and her breath rasped in her throat as the harsh sobs shook her body.

  After a while the tears were followed by the dull ache of hurt, and then by anger, then rebellion. She wasn’t hungry but she limped to the larder and cut a hunk of bread and a slice of cheese. Her mother had said she wasn’t to eat a bite till teatime – who was her mother to tell her what to do? Tell her she mustn’t play with Rachel, talk to boys? She was only nine years old but in her mother’s mind she was already a Jezebel. Conflicting emotions raged through her. She stared at the bread and cheese lying on the plate and, picking it up, she crammed it into her mouth but the tightness in her throat wouldn’t allow her to swallow. Coughing and choking she rushed outside and was violently sick. Going back to the kitchen she sat with her elbows on the table, her smarting eyes staring ahead of her without seeing anything.

  She felt drained of all strength, all feeling. With her head in her arms she slept for a while and awakened with a start. Four o’clock and no sign of her father. He must have gone out in his van to deliver groceries from Totie’s shop. She rose and automatically began to prepare a meal, and when her father’s footsteps finally sounded on the path, the potatoes were boiling over the fire and the cold chicken left over from Sunday was neatly sliced on the plates.

  Dugald came into the kitchen, his silvery hair slightly windblown. Ruth didn’t look up but went on mashing turnips in a bowl with such vigour her arms ached.

  ‘Where’s your mother?’ Dugald asked, putting his arms round the little girl and kissing her hot cheeks.

  ‘Grannie took a bad turn so Mam had to stay – she won’t be back till tomorrow. Erchy brought me home in his van.’ Ruth was surprised at how normal she sounded.

  ‘So it’s just you and me tonight, my wee lamb?’ His voice was light, relieved.

  ‘Ay, Father. Wash your hands and sit down before the dinner gets cold.’

  ‘Anything you say, madam.’ He laughed, his steps light as he went into the scullery and poured water from a bucket into a bowl. ‘You’re a clever wee lassie getting the meal ready all by yourself,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘Have you been here all day, Ruthie?’

  She hesitated only fractionally. ‘Ay, Father. It was nice so I played outside for a while.’

  By common, unspoken agreement they omitted to say Grace, a usual practice when Morag was in the house. During the meal Ruth was silent, toying with her food.

  ‘Are you all right, Ruthie? Aren’t you hungry?’ Dugald asked.

  She looked straight into his steady grey eyes. ‘Not very. Father – I’m – I’m a wee bit worried about Grannie.’

  ‘Ach, she’ll be fine,’ he reassured. ‘She’s getting on and gets flusters a bit. Your Grannie was never one to flap, but maybe she’s getting a wee bit excited at the idea of us coming to live beside her.’

  Ruth remembered the look on old Isabel’s face when Morag had first told her the news. ‘Ay, that will likely be it,’ she said quietly and got up to clear the table and wash the dishes. Dugald grabbed a dishtowel and began to wipe the plates. Ruth moved away. ‘I’ll go to my room now,’ she said and went to the door leading into the hall.

  ‘But, it’s only six o’clock, Ruthie – you don’t have to go to bed yet. You and me could have a nice cosy evening together. I thought we might go for a walk by Aosdana Bay. We could watch the sunset from the top of the cliffs then come home and maybe write a poem about all the things we see. Over supper I had a mind to snuggle you on my knee and read you a wee story I wrote about the fairies that live over by Caonteach Cave.’

  Ruth hung her head. How lovely to walk beside that tall dear man in the gloaming; to watch the fishing boats sailing in; to hear the sea lapping the shore, making the pebbles and shells sound as if they were chuckling; to perhaps gather some and bring them home to wash them in readiness to be
laid into the little jewel box he was carving for her – but best of all – to sit on his lap by the fire and hear his voice weaving tales of the wee folk who, it was reputed, lived in the rock pools near the caves.

  ‘I can’t, Father,’ she said, her voice low, ‘I was bad today – I stopped at Portcull harbour to watch Todd’s new car coming and Mam was so mad she said I was to go to my room after tea and learn the Commandments.’

  His heart twisted. She was so vulnerable-looking, so sad and lost, so pathetic with her small body encased in the drab frock and her fair head bowed as if in shame of some momentous crime.

  ‘Ruthie, my wee lassie.’ He went to her and stooped down to cuddle her to him. ‘You have never done a bad thing in the whole of your little life. Bugger the Commandments! I’m sure you know enough of them to last you a lifetime. You get your jacket on and come out with me.’

  She raised her head in wonderment. ‘But – what if Mam asks? . . .’

  ‘Let her,’ he said firmly. ‘I’ll take the consequences. Now – put on your jacket and let’s go.’

  With her hand firmly in his they wandered silently over the white sands of Aosdana Bay, listening to the haunting song of the curlew, the whispering of the sea, the mating croon of the groups of scaup, drakes, with the purple-green gloss of their plumage making bright patterns in the translucent blue pools among the rocks. Then they climbed to the cliff top and sat side by side watching the sky turn from gold to pink and finally to a blaze of crimson that turned the Sound into a sea of blood stretching to the infinity of the horizon.

  When they finally came home they shut the henhouses for the night, then went indoors where he made steaming mugs of milky cocoa, which they drank together by the fire’s light. She went to rinse the mugs and came back to see him sitting on the old rocking chair by the range. In firelight and lamplight the bare room looked homely and welcoming, the feeling of oppression was gone and in its place was love – pure and real. He held out his arms. ‘Come here, Ruthie,’ he said softly and she climbed onto the lap she loved. He stroked her hair, curled a silken strand round his fingers. ‘You have the bonniest hair of all the wee lassies on the island – it’s like the hair on the heads of the fairy folk. I once saw a fairy who looked just like you – beautiful as a princess with hair as fine as gossamer, the shine to it brighter than fairy gold. But she wasn’t a princess – oh no – she was a queen, the queen of all the fairies who live in the shiny rock pools by Caonteach Cave . . .’

  Ruth lay back and listened, her heart touched with a joy that was almost pain. The arms of her beloved father were round her, holding her close to his heart and she knew that he was her father. Whatever her mother had done, whichever way she tried to atone for it, she could never, in all the days and years that stretched ahead, take away the beauty of this night, this now, this sweet ecstasy of a little girl’s knowing that the arms that held her close were the arms of the father who loved her when perhaps no one else in the world did.

  Lorn lay in bed thinking over the events of the day. So many people had been in it, but best of all were Shona and Niall. They were downstairs now with Phebie and Lachlan. Laughter drifted from the parlour. He wished Shona was staying at Laigmhor, but with Uncle Alick and Aunt Mary arriving soon, all the rooms were needed. The only room that was left was a tiny box room at the end of the passage and nobody ever used it except to store things. The scene at the harbour came to him and he smiled, then quite unbidden Ruth’s face floated into his mind. She was a strange girl, gentle and shy, yet he sensed something great in her, something squashed so deep inside she probably wasn’t aware that she had it. Someday it might get a chance to come out – someday . . . His child’s mind grappled with the notion but couldn’t quite make sense of it.

  ‘Lewis – do you like Ruth Donaldson?’ he asked suddenly.

  Lewis’s tousled head emerged from the blankets. ‘Ach, she’s all right – a bit soft, but, of course, she’s a girl.’

  ‘So’s Rachel.’

  ‘She’s different, she’s tough for a girl. She doesn’t bother about being dumb the way Ruth cares about her funny leg.’

  Lorn was silent for a few moments, then he observed slowly, ‘Ay, but that Morag Ruadh is an awful mother to have – praying and scraping all the time – and I’ve heard her telling Ruth no’ to drag her leg – as if she could help it. Rachel’s mother is no’ ashamed that Rachel’s dumb – but she’s queer in other ways. She lets Rachel run wild – as if she canny be bothered with her.’

  ‘Och well, they’re just girls,’ Lewis said rather impatiently. Unlike his brother he rarely delved into the deeper issues of life.

  ‘Still, I feel it’s a shame for Ruth,’ Lorn persisted, frowning in the darkness. ‘Nobody bothers with her much.’ He was silent again then said in a rush, ‘I wonder if Father’s ashamed of me. Sometimes I think he is.’

  ‘Ach, you’re daft then.’ Lewis’s tones were scornful. ‘He’s only feart you’ll hurt yourself because of your heart.’

  ‘I suppose in a way I’m like Ruth and Rachel.’

  Lewis punched his pillows in disgust. ‘Stop blethering and talk sense! I’m lying here thinking about Todd’s new car. I don’t like cars as a rule, but someday I’d like a car like Todd’s – I’d like a fiddle like old Mo’s as well – it’s no’ just any old tink’s fiddle. I heard tell he got it from a man on Barra for a few shillings. The missionary made the man feel so ashamed for playin’ on the Sabbath he sold it and has wanted it back ever since, but old Mo wouldny give it back for all the tea in China.’

  ‘Maybe he would for all the whisky that’s left over from the Politician. Todd’s brother-in-law from Uist found a case a whily back when he was mending the thatch on his hut roof and everyone left what they were doing to have a big ceilidh.’

  ‘Well, we’ll be having a big ceilidh at Portcull next week for Merry Mary’s retiral. We’ll get to play our fiddles with old Andrew and Rachel and maybe that Jerry hiker we met today.’

  ‘I wonder if Merry Mary’s wart might drop off in the hall with all the dancing and hooching,’ Lorn pondered.

  ‘I hope not,’ Lewis returned fervently. ‘Everyone would see it happening and none of us would get paid for it – and I’m going to be the one that will. When she retires she’s going to try and grow a lot of vegetables to sell to the towrists and I’ve promised to help her to fetch seaweed and dung. That way I’ll be able to keep an eye on her wart and if she knocks it off while she’s digging I’ll get to collect all the pennies from children all over the island who placed bets on it.’

  ‘You would,’ Lorn sniffed peevishly. ‘You always get what you want.’

  ‘I’ll share the money with you,’ promised Lewis sleepily.

  ‘Would you?’ enthused Lorn. ‘In that case I’ll come over to Merry Mary’s with you and supervise – make sure you help her properly and don’t knock her wart off with the shovel.’

  Both boys collapsed in giggles at the absurdity and soon fell to discussing the fishing expedition their father had promised them during the Easter holidays.

  CHAPTER 7

  While Lorn chatted happily with his brother, his parents were at that moment discussing his future with Lachlan, who had asked them to forsake the gathering in the parlour for a quiet talk in the kitchen. Kirsteen and Fergus had put a good face on things for the benefit of the company, but now, sitting together on the couch, they were both acutely aware of the barriers between them. Lachlan twisted his thumbs together for a few thoughtful seconds, then he looked from Fergus to Kirsteen and smiled wryly. ‘I thought I was word-perfect in what I have to say to you, but now the time has come all the bonny rehearsals have gone out of my head. I’ll have to be blunt – it’s about Lorn – I’ve been keeping a close eye on him and have noticed how much he has improved this last year or two. When he was an infant he was too weak for me to even consider that something could be done for his heart – but now . . .’

  Fergus had been sitting at the edge of the couch
staring at his shoes but at those words his dark head jerked up and he stared at Lachlan enquiringly. A pink flush had spread over Kirsteen’s face and she said tentatively, ‘Now?’

  Lachlan shifted, playing for time by filling his pipe and taking some time to light it.

  ‘Och, c’mon, man, out with it!’ Fergus said tensely.

  ‘Well, I’ve been discussing your son’s case with a colleague of mine, a chap I became acquainted with when I was away on one of my refresher courses. He’s a heart specialist, a gifted man who’s been doing some pretty wonderful things in his field. New techniques are being tried all the time in open heart surgery – and from what I’ve told Jack, he feels he would like to have a look at Lorn, see if surgery could possibly improve his condition.’

  Hope and fear churned Kirsteen’s stomach into a tight coil. ‘What kind of surgery?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s very difficult for me to assess without the proper tests, but I would imagine there might be some misplaced connections between the heart and the blood vessels – Jack would have to see Lorn to really know for sure what is wrong. On the one hand it might only mean one spell of surgery; on the other hand it could be a long, involved affair – perhaps several operations over a period of time, but in my opinion your son deserves this opportunity to improve the quality of his life. If all went well he could end up as sound as any other lad.’