Children of Rhanna

by Christine Marion Fraser

  Kirsteen was at first dismayed at the challenge that had been thrust upon her, but after hearing Shona’s account of the scene with Morag she set her lips and went grimly to the task. Removing the long flowing skirt from one of her own evening gowns, she attached it to the bodice of Ruth’s dress. To the neck and sleeves she added ruffles of pure white lace, and as a final touch she sewed a row of tiny pearl buttons down the front of the bodice. When Ruth arrived for a fitting she gasped in awe at sight of herself in Kirsteen’s wardrobe mirror and whispered, ‘How can I ever thank you, Kirsteen?’

  ‘The look on Lorn’s face will be thanks enough,’ Kirsteen replied, her heart melting as the girl swirled round, sending the long skirt billowing, rejoicing in the fact that the ugly calliper would be hidden from view.

  Kirsteen’s wish for snow was granted. Three days before Christmas the wind abated and the stars glittered coldly in the night sky. Hoar frost rimed the heather on the hills, the icy grip of winter slowed the burns as icicles gathered. Gradually the fat grey snowclouds rolled over the sea, to be torn apart on the ragged hill peaks, sending snow cascading over the countryside. On Christmas Eve morning Fergus stamped the snow from his boots and, coming into the kitchen, said with a rather sarcastic smile, ‘You got your wish, Kirsteen, now would you care to grab a shovel and come and help to dig the ewes out of the drifts? We need every pair of hands.’

  At first it seemed fun, working beside Shona and the men, the former sparkling as she pushed snowballs down Niall’s neck and ran shrieking as he chased her, but by mid-afternoon she was exhausted, and after tea she dozed by the fire in the parlour to wake with a start wondering what time it was. As she dragged herself up to the bedroom she sighed and wondered if all the romance had gone out of her life. Fergus had been sharp with her that morning, and at teatime he had hardly spoken a word. He had murmured some things to Shona that she hadn’t been able to catch, and she had felt left out and rather angry at the pair of them.

  As she reached the door of her room she wondered if she could possibly make some excuse not to go to the dance. Every bone in her body ached and she felt she could hardly walk, let alone dance. She opened the door to see a warm fire leaping in the grate. On the hearthrug sat the zinc tub piled high with steamy soap bubbles; her fur jacket was laid out on the bed – and beside it lay a gaily wrapped parcel.

  Shona put her bright head round the door, her blue eyes full of mischief. ‘Father’s orders. We all helped to fill it, including Niall, and – I hope you don’t mind, but Ellie poured nearly a full bottle of bubble bath in. She says she’s going to wait outside the door and watch the bubbles oozing out under the crack!’ Shona said, and withdrew before Kirsteen could utter a word.

  Without further ado Kirsteen stripped and sank blissfully into the perfumed water, chuckling as bubbles popped under her rose, little drifts of them rising and floating in the draught from the fire. She soaked for fully fifteen minutes till all the tension left her and she emerged to wrap herself in a pink dressing gown, feeling relaxed yet tingling.

  ‘Am I too late to dry your back?’ Fergus’s deep voice made her jump. The door shut with a little click and he came forward to press himself against her and kiss her. ‘Mmm, you smell lovely, I had hoped to catch you in the tub. Too bad we have to go out.’

  He smelled of soap and toothpaste. His fingers touched the tips of her breasts and she could easily have forgotten the Burnbreddie dance if he had stood beside her for one more minute. But he moved away, his face lather flushed. He went to the bed, picked up the parcel and handed it to her. ‘Merry Christmas, darling, I hope you like it.’

  ‘But we don’t open presents till tomorrow.’

  ‘You open this one tonight. I got Burnbreddie’s wife to buy it in Oban. You and she are about the same size – anyway – see what you think.’

  It was an evening gown of soft blue silk. He zipped her into it and stood behind her, his dark eyes full of love. ‘You look beautiful.’

  ‘Oh, Fergus, I feel it, it’s just what I needed to boost my morale. If I had known I wouldn’t have spent hours altering my old things.’ She threw her arms round his neck and kissed him. ‘Thank you – for this – and for being my husband.’

  Some minutes later she knotted his tie for him. It wasn’t often he had occasion to wear one, which was as well because with his one arm he found it a frustrating business to tie a neat knot. He was very handsome in his dark suit and a white shirt that emphasized the mahogany of his skin. Standing before the mirror he said rather jauntily, ‘Amazing the difference clothes make. I look rather a distinguished gentleman, don’t you think?’

  Kirsteen turned from brushing her hair. ‘How like Alick you sounded just now. He used to say that, in that light-hearted fashion, just as you did now. He was never like you to look at, but there were little things that marked you out as brothers.’

  ‘Ay,’ Fergus said, his tone thoughtful. ‘Blood is thicker than water right enough. It’s strange how much I miss him, yet look how we used to fight . . .’

  From the room at the top of the corridor there came the sound of arguing and laughter. Kirsteen smiled. Lewis would be showing Lorn some last-minute dance steps. In all the excitement of the season Lorn had forgotten that he could barely dance a single step. A few nights ago he had suddenly leapt up from his chair and in a terrified voice had cried, ‘I can’t dance! I’ve asked Ruth to this big night out and I can’t dance a single one! Bugger it! What the hell will I do?’ Lewis had immediately got to his feet. With a deep bow he had intoned in a high voice, ‘Please, my lady, will you do me the honour of dancing with me?’ To which Lorn had acceded with a gust of laughter. Fergus had said to Kirsteen, ‘Come to think of it, I ought to brush up too.’ And he had swept her all round the kitchen. Then Niall and Shona arrived, and they too had joined in the impromptu fun, and it hadn’t mattered that the men wore working clothes and the women aprons.

  Tonight, however, everything mattered very much to Lorn. He had been nervous all day and several times had been on the point of backing out. His courage embraced everything but social gatherings and on top of it all he had his feelings for Ruth to contend with.

  ‘Those two will never fight like Alick and me,’ Fergus said quietly. ‘They are so alike in many ways, they share so much.’

  ‘Let’s just hope they never fall in love with the same girl – then the trouble will begin,’ Kirsteen said. ‘Oh, I know Lewis flits about from one to the other, but one day he will really fall in love – like Lorn at this very minute.’ She sighed. ‘He’s so shy – so is Ruth. It won’t be easy for them.’

  ‘If they truly love one another it will turn out all right – it did for us.’

  ‘That took years,’ she pointed out.

  He helped her into the fur jacket and she snuggled against him as he whispered into her ear, ‘Ay, but it was worth it. The best things are worth waiting for.’

  CHAPTER 16

  Ruth came slowly into the kitchen and stood sparkling-eyed in front of her parents. Dugald drew in his breath; pride brought a lump to his throat: tonight Ruth had grown from an uncertain child into a dazzling young woman. Dugald had given her a tiny pair of pearl earrings for her birthday. These, and a single pink rosebud pinned above her breast, were the only ornamentations she wore, the delicate colour of the rose matching that in her cheeks. She glowed with a radiance that seemed to spread out and touch the bare clinical room with light. He got up and took her hands.

  ‘Ruthie, Shona was right – you will be the belle of the ball – no – more than that, a princess.’ He took the mohair stole from her arms and wrapped it round her shoulders. She reached up to kiss his pale cheek then turned a radiant face to her mother and said rather hesitantly, ‘Well, Mam?’

  Morag cleared her throat and said gruffly, ‘Ay, you’ll do. You’ve grown into a bonny young woman – just you mind all the things I’ve told you and you’ll be all right. You had better be going, see no’ and keep the McKenzies waiting.’

>   Over his wife’s head Dugald winked at his daughter and she lowered her face quickly to hide a smile. At the door Morag rather furtively pushed a tiny Bible into her hands. ‘Carry this – it will protect you.’

  ‘Where will I keep it, Mam? I don’t have a bag.’

  Morag flushed and whispered, ‘Tuck it into your drawers.’ She glanced quickly round as if afraid that someone had overheard the ridiculous suggestion.

  Ruth’s lips twitched. ‘I prefer the words of the Lord to be in my heart, Mam – not in my knickers next to my backside.’

  Leaving her mother with her mouth agape, Ruth hurried out into the cold glittering night. A short distance away, parked outside the shop, she saw her father’s van. Vehicles of every description were being used to transport people to Burnbreddie, all of them filled to capacity. The Laird had sent out his own cars to bring those whose only hope of getting to the dance would have been by shanks’s pony. Everyone had worried that the weather might have prevented them getting over to Nigg, but while the snow had draped itself over hills and fields, the tangy air of the sea had kept the shore roads clear.

  Dugald had been determined that for once his daughter would have some freedom, and he had left his van at the shop and given Lorn the keys. Before Ruth reached the vehicle Lorn was out, holding open the passenger door. His heart was beating a tattoo. Lewis had given him a short but uplifting pep talk in the bedroom as they were getting ready. ‘Act very cool, even though you feel hot under the collar. Open doors for her, lead the way, take her wrap, get drinks for her – in fact, behave like a perfect little gentleman. Girls love to feel special, and with a girl like Ruth you’ll have to go all out in your efforts. She hasn’t got any confidence in herself, you’ll have to give her some even though you feel like fainting in the process.’ His blue eyes had gleamed. ‘It pays in the long run, my lad, believe me.’

  Lorn stood by the door, erect and poised while beneath him his legs felt like jelly. On the journey he tried to act very coolly, and succeeded so well that Ruth felt a pang of dismay. This self-assured stranger with the clipped tones wasn’t the Lorn she knew. She felt uncomfortable and uncertain, feelings that grew in magnitude as he became silent in his concentration of driving the van over the treacherous cliff road to Nigg. She stole a glance at him. All she could see in the darkness was an anonymous black silhouette sitting straight and rigid behind the wheel. The faint aroma of soap came to her, and her heart quickened further. For the first time in her life she was alone with a boy – and that boy was Lorn McKenzie, whom she loved so much her heart ached with the depth of her emotions. She gazed at the sea swirling and booming restlessly far below. That was how she had felt lately, unable to settle, forever seething inside, unable to find solace in anything, not even her writing. Car lights were behind and in front of them on the normally deserted road, and from the crofts and cottages at Nigg little black dots were scurrying, while a gay little melody drifted from Annack Gow’s blackhouse. After a lapse of many years Tam had dared to get his still working again with the help of Graeme Gow and a few others.

  The van swerved suddenly as it left the road and made a bumpy path over a lonely moor track. The engine stopped, silence and darkness shrouded them. Lorn’s voice came breathlessly, all his composure crumbling away. ‘Ruthie – I – before we go up I wanted to give you something – for your birthday and your Christmas combined. I wish I could give you a whole pile of things, but – och – here, take it and open it – it’s – it’s not much . . .’

  The nervous monologue trailed off. He pushed the parcel at her. Briefly their hands touched, flesh burned into flesh, their pulses raced apace, then in confusion she moved away and immersed herself in opening the gift. The cold caress of marble lay heavy in her hands and he said, ‘It’s a paperweight with a pen sort of attached to it – like an old-fashioned quill, only it isn’t. It’s a fountain pen. The base is Skye marble, full of lovely colours – greys, greens, and a wee hint of purple, the same colour as your eyes when you’re looking very serious.’

  ‘Lorn.’ Her voice was low, melodious. ‘I can’t see it – but it’s beautiful.’

  They laughed at the silly remark, then without conscious thought their hands entwined. He drew her towards him. The scent of roses filled his nostrils, her nearness made his senses whirl. Briefly he touched her soft hair with his lips. They both trembled, each feeling the tremors of the other. For an eternal moment they remained apart, lips close but not touching then with a soft little moan his mouth moulded to hers and all the longing and misery of endless days and nights melted into obscurity.

  The kiss was fleeting, inexperienced, tender, but it was only the beginning of dreams, a warm sweet promise of greater things to come.

  ‘I suppose we’d better go.’ His lilting voice was shaky.

  ‘Ay,’ she said softly, unwilling to relinquish the intimate lovely experience of being alone with him. She had looked forward to the dance, now she knew she had only savoured the anticipation of being in his company. It would have been enough for her to spend the whole evening with him in her father’s draughty van and her heart sank a little as they drove up to Burnbreddie House. Light flooded the silvered lawns, people laughed as they held each other upright on the slippery road.

  The interior of the house had lost its gloomy look. The walls were bright with new paint, modern furniture had replaced the monstrous overstuffed sofas, in the hall a great log fire crackled up the chimney.

  ‘Stay beside me, please,’ Ruth whispered as they went inside to be swallowed up in an atmosphere of laughter and chinking glasses. In the background a band played soft music. Lorn’s own composure was fast failing him but somehow he managed to carry out Lewis’s advice. The Laird and his charming wife Rena were the perfect hosts, welcoming and smiling, making the guests feel relaxed and at home. The Rhanna folk were used to homely ceilidhs but this was a much grander occasion, and an unnatural politeness prevailed. But nothing could dampen their spirits for long. Tam’s eyes gleamed at sight of the bar set up in a corner of the room. Behind it presided his son, Angus. Tam rubbed his hands together and spoke to the Laird in his most polite tones, ‘Is this no’ terrible weather just? I will just go and have a wee dram to warm up my blood.’ He winked confidingly. ‘I am no’ as young as I was and Kate would have me comin’ out tonight without my combinations. Ay, ay, – women,’ he ended sadly.

  Kate yanked him away. ‘You liar, Tam McKinnon! It would take a hacksaw to cut you out these damt drawers o’ yours. You sew yourself into them in September and never a chink o’ air gets in till summer comes!’

  Lorn squeezed Ruth’s hand and they giggled. Rena spotted them and led them further inside, her warm smile lighting her face. ‘How charming you look tonight, Ruth. Your dress is lovely. You’re a very lucky young man, Lorn.’

  Everyone else was also thinking how radiant Ruth looked that evening. ‘A bonny, bonny lass,’ Mollie murmured to Todd. ‘I doubt it’s the first time I’ve seen her alone at a gathering.’

  Todd chuckled. ‘Ay, thanks to our Shona. I hear tell she left Morag wi’ no’ a leg to stand on, and Morag’s mouth dropped so wide you could have used it as a goal at a shinty match.’

  The young men gaped openly at Ruth and some of the happiness left her when she heard the whispers. ‘Would you look at the white virgin,’ and, ‘In that dress she’s more like the virgin bride. By God, I wouldny mind a first night wi’ her.’

  Lorn’s fists bunched at his sides, and Ruth’s face flamed. But she was with Lorn. As long as he stayed by her side she would be all right. He was so handsome that evening with his earth-brown curls shining under the lights. His face was filling out a little and he looked very tall in his dark suit. His hand was warm in hers. He was making her feel like a desirable young girl instead of plain little Ruth Donaldson whom young men avoided like the plague. There was a strength in him that made her feel safe – yet, he was like her – shy, afraid of crowds . . .

  The first polite exchanges ove
r with, the islanders became less constrained. Some of them were taking to the floor, awkwardly to begin with, but as the uisge-beatha warmed the blood, and the band struck up well-known Strathspeys and reels, the room became filled with swirling dresses and swinging kilts.

  Lorn felt himself growing hot with unease. He couldn’t possibly lead Ruth onto the floor; the few steps he had learned from Lewis sank to the pit of his mind and refused to re-surface.

  He gave Ruth’s arm a little squeeze. ‘Go and sit down over yonder, Ruthie, I’ll – I’ll be with you in a wee minute.’

  She glanced at him hesitantly but limped away to sit unobtrusively on a large antique settle with a high back. Lewis came over to Lorn, a frown darkening his brow. ‘What the hell’s wrong with you now? You’ve got the lass, now make the most of it. Get over there and dance with her.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  Lewis deftly lifted a glass of whisky from a passing tray. ‘Here, drink this, it will do you good. While you’re at it, do I have your permission to ask Ruth to dance?’

  ‘Ay, away you go, tell her I’ll be with her in a whily.’

  He fingered the glass of whisky. He seldom drank, only at weddings, funerals, and Hogmanay, and then only in moderation. He watched his brother going up to Ruth, saw relief replacing the apprehension she had felt. With a decisive movement he raised the glass to his lips and downed the contents in one gulp. It gripped at his throat before it burned into his belly, but he felt himself steadying. Shona waved to him, his mother raised a sparkling face and smiled at him. She looked like a girl in the swirling blue dress. His father was straight and ruggedly handsome in his good suit. It didn’t matter that it was slightly outdated. When folk looked at Fergus McKenzie they saw the man, not the wrappings. Lorn recalled his mother telling him that at one time Fergus had been so shy of crowds he had seldom gone to ceilidhs – but now his silvered dark head was proudly tilted as he swept Kirsteen round the room. Lorn straightened his shoulders. Maybe when he was older he would grow more confident but maturity was far away yet for him – he had to find his courage now . . . Ruth was dancing beautifully in Lewis’s arms, forgetting her limp, forgetting her nerves. Her hair was like spun gold under the lights, she was no longer a vision but a lovely desirable young girl . . . Lorn heard snatches of a conversation some boys were having: ‘I wonder who will be the first to get the white virgin.’