Some days later the McKenzies walked with the McLachlans down to the harbour to await the boat. The whole of Portcull had somehow contrived to be there too, and as the steamer pushed into the pier, everyday tasks were abandoned and all eyes were focused on the gangplank.
‘She’ll maybe be wearin’ one o’ they grass skirt things,’ Tam said, ‘though she’ll no’ be wearin’ it long in this wind.’
His cronies chuckled with delight, but Ranald scratched his head with his paint brush and said in disgust, ‘Ach, you’re thinkin’ o’ the lassies from they South Sea Islands. The Jamaicans wear clothes the same as you and me.’
‘Hairy jerseys and trousers?’ Todd said. ‘Ach no, young Grant was aye a one for legs. This lassie will no’ be wearin’ the trowser – mark my words.’
Shona and Niall came running down the gangplank with Ellie, now a tall leggy twelve-year-old, leading the way. She rushed at Fergus and he cuddled her to him and put out his arm to take Shona to him as well. ‘It’s nice to see familiar faces,’ he said rather nervously. ‘Go and buck Kirsteen up, will you? She’s badly needing some female support.’
Shona’s eyes twinkled. ‘Och, Father, there’s absolutely nothing to worry about, I can assure you . . .’
Kirsteen darted over, her fair skin stained with crimson. ‘They’re coming,’ she gulped, ‘I can see Grant . . . oh, God. I hope she’ll like her in-laws . . .’ Her eyes widened. ‘I’m a mother-in-law – I never thought of that . . .’
A black curly head bobbed among the crowd, next to it was a sleek brown one, and Fergus mouthed to Kirsteen, ‘Hold on tight, darling, we’re about to meet our new daughter-in-law.’
A gasp went up as Grant came into full view. Hanging on his arm was Fiona, tall and elegant in a smart, well-cut blue jacket, red polo neck jumper, and immaculate navy-blue trousers. Her glowing face was a deep golden brown and for a moment everyone wondered if she was a native lass dressed in the trowser, or that wittrock Fiona McLachlan flaunting the laws o’ decency.
‘Fiona.’ Phebie was so surprised she could hardly say the name.
A smile curved Lachlan’s mouth. ‘It would just be like the thing if –’ Fiona threw herself at him, smothering the rest of the sentence, Kirsteen was caught up in the embrace of her eldest son.
‘Your wife,’ she gasped. ‘Where is she?’
Grant extricated Fiona from her father’s arms and drew her forward.
‘Right here. Meet Mrs McKenzie.’
‘But – you two loathe the sight of each other!’ Phebie cried, her round face both delighted and bewildered.
‘Ach, we were just bairns then,’ Fiona said, laughing. ‘We had to travel halfway round the world before we discovered it was love. I was in the Caribbean studying its marine life when who should pop up but Dimples McKenzie.’
Grant hugged her to him and kissed her fringe of shining hair. ‘The moment I saw my wee Robin again I realized why I’d never married any of the beautiful girls who had queued up for years . . .’ He looked around at the rugged slopes of Sgurr nan Ruadh etched against the sky. ‘One day we might build a love nest here and hatch out a whole clutch of wee robins with dimples. Now let’s go, before Behag chokes on all those flies she’s catching!’
Later that evening, when all the gossip was exhausted, Grant found himself alone with the twins and he ruffled Lorn’s curls affectionately. ‘To think I used to carry you on my shoulders,’ he teased. ‘If yours grow any wider you’ll be carrying me.’
‘Me too,’ Lewis said, flopping rather wearily onto a chair. Grant looked at him, surprised anew at the change in this once dashing brother of his. ‘You’ve grown thinner, Lewis my lad,’ he observed with a frown. ‘I’ve been hearing about this affair between you and Rachel. Don’t let it get you down so badly. It might just be infatuation . . .’
Lewis jumped up, a dark flush spreading over his face. ‘I might have known the gossips would be at it! I thought you at least would have had more sense not to believe all you hear.’ He banged out of the room and Lorn spread his hands ruefully. ‘You’ve touched on a sore spot. He’s not long back from Glasgow but won’t say what happened between him and Rachel. He’s like a bear with a sore head.’
‘Och well, he’ll get over it, he’s just growing up. Come on – upstairs, I’ve got presents for the pair of you. They might cheer you up.’
The next morning Dodie almost fell on his back when Erchy arrived at his door bearing an invitation to the reception that was to be held at Laigmhor that evening. ‘My, my,’ Dodie said, his voice husky as his big fingers caressed the silver-gilt edging on the card. ‘I have never had the likes in my life.’
‘Well see you have a bath and wear your best bib and tucker,’ Erchy instructed severely.
‘I will do no such thing,’ Dodie intoned primly. ‘I’ll be wearin’ a suit, my very best, bibs is only for babies.’
Dodie was thrilled. He loved and respected all the McKenzies, but none more so than Grant, who had been the means of bringing a few riches to his life. Many of his ambitions had been fulfilled. Ealasaid had had a roomy byre built for her; the interior of the cottage was gay with bright wallpaper and paint; at the head of Biddy’s grave sat a very unusual stone straight from the Rhanna shores, and inscribed on it in Gaelic were the words, ‘Fàilte don Nèamh, Dodie’, which, when translated, meant ‘Welcome to Heaven’.
‘What way are you puttin’ that!’ Tam had scoffed when first he saw it. ‘It’s the Lord will welcome her to heaven. You canny very well welcome her to yonder place from down here. You’re daft, man!’
‘Ach, it’s you who’s daft,’ Dodie returned with asperity. ‘Biddy knows fine what I mean, an’ that’s more than can be said for the likes o’ you. I’m no’ up there to welcome her so I can best do it from down here. Anyways, Biddy aye said heaven was all around us, so if she’s as much down here as she is up there she will be havin’ two heavens to keep her going.’
The reception relaxed the atmosphere at Laigmhor. The young couple radiated so much happiness everyone was touched by it, even the twins forgetting themselves in the festivities that went on for several nights. Because Grant had reached the status of Second Mate at this stage in his career, it meant that he could take his wife with him on his voyages, though Fiona had some very decided plans of her own for the future. But it was enough that at the moment they could be together, and they were both glowing with happiness as they stood at the rails of the boat waving farewell to the crowd on the pier. Lewis had taken his big brother aside at the last moment to apologize for his sullen behaviour.
‘Ach, think nothing of it,’ Grant had said. ‘Girls do that to people; Fiona did it to me plenty.’
‘When will you be back?’
‘Hard to say, a few months anyway. Maybe longer.’
Lewis had taken his hand then and had squeezed it very hard. ‘Goodbye then, I hope you’ll both be very very happy.’
His voice had been very husky and Grant had looked at him keenly. ‘Hey, c’mon now – things will come all right in the end, they always do.’
Lewis had nodded. ‘Ay,’ was all he had said before turning on his heel and walking quickly away.
Rachel came home briefly at Easter. Lewis arranged to meet her at the harbour, and together they walked along the rocky finger of Port Rum Point. She was different; he sensed it immediately. And she didn’t look at him. She was barefooted, and as they walked she stopped every so often to curl her toes into the wet sands. He was reminded of the gypsy-like Rachel of childhood, running barefoot over moor and shore, her long brown legs carrying her swiftly to favourite haunts. Lewis found himself pining for those days again, all the carefree days of early youth when the whole world was his, when he had moulded life to suit his whims. Now he could command nothing – nothing. It was over between them, he knew even before she turned at the head of the Point to look at him. She gazed for a long time at this tall handsome young McKenzie, and her heart died a little inside her. She knew him so well �
�� his strengths, his weaknesses. She would always love him, but there was no place in her life for passionate young men; she had to have stability and she would never find that in him.
He took her hands and murmured, ‘Rachel, I’ve waited so long.’
His blue eyes were so miserable, she drew in her breath. This wasn’t Lewis McKenzie, laughing, carefree Lewis who had chased girls since he was in short trousers . . .
‘I’ve missed you so,’ he went on huskily. ‘You mean the world to me – no, don’t move away from me, look at me . . .’ She put a finger to his lips and stepped back, and he knew then what it was he had seen in Rachel a long long time ago: a strength of will that bordered on ruthlessness. She had always known where she was going, and would allow nobody to stand in the way of her ambitions – she could – and she would – turn her back on love, the kind of love that might hinder her chances of a brilliant career.
She turned her head to look back along the rocky shoreline. He followed her gaze and saw a figure sitting some distance away gazing thoughtfully into the water. ‘Jon,’ he said softly. ‘It’s him, isn’t it? You’re going to marry Jon?’ She kept her face averted as she nodded her head. ‘But he’s old enough to be your father!’ he cried so vehemently that Jon raised his head. Lewis paused and stared at her. ‘That’s what you want, isn’t it? What you’ve always wanted since Dokie Joe died on the Magpie.’ Rachel turned her restless gaze towards the great glistening needles of the Sgor Creags. Her throat constricted and she nodded. He bunched his fists. ‘What about me, Rachel? I need you, just now I need you very much.’
She looked at him steadily; his body was tight with hurt . . . Yet she saw no anger in him. Somewhere at the back of her mind she thought that rather odd. He was so easily moved to laughter, passion, anger – now there was none and she felt uneasy.
His shoulders sagged suddenly. ‘Let me kiss you – one more time.’
His voice was soft, gentle, and she knew if she succumbed to his request she might never have the will to walk away from him. Briefly she touched his arm, and he made to take her hand, but she evaded him and began to run, back along the length of the Point – to Jon, who stood up at her approach and held out his arms.
Jon had seen that her eyes were too bright. She stopped a short distance from him and, leaning against a rock, closed her eyes so that he couldn’t see what was in them. His thin arms enclosed her, protective and safe – so safe, she knew she would always find comfort in the gentle haven of his arms. She didn’t want to look back at that strong young figure standing alone at the tip of Port Rum Point, but something made her want to look and look – forever. To remember the wild, fiery passion of youthful love, the bittersweet ecstasy of living through a time she had always known could not last. She would never know again such untamed joy, such burning, consuming desire – such laughter. Her memories of Lewis would be wonderful, yet always they would be tinged with poignancy. Somewhere, sometime, she would look back on her exquisite experiences with him – and she would cry. Love with Jon would be gentle and good; she would never betray him for other men – she had had her times of carefree love. Jon had understood that, and he had waited – so patiently and devotedly he had waited.
Rachel turned her back on Lewis and looked up at Jon, at his dear honest face; at the steady brown eyes; at the little beard flecked with grey. She had grown to love him dearly, he had taught her so much, and they shared so much. A sob caught in her throat. She took Jon’s hand and made him run till they got to the harbour. She didn’t look back again . . .
Anton and Babbie were thrilled at the news. With the exception of her mother, Rachel hadn’t let Jon tell anybody else till she had first broken it to Lewis. Anton came in from the fields, his blue eyes glowing in his face at sight of Jon with his arm round Rachel’s slender waist. ‘I knew things would work out for you,’ he laughed. ‘My Babbie sometimes laughs at my philosophies, but I am quite often correct. We must celebrate . . .’ He went to a cupboard and withdrew a bottle of whisky, which he held up to the light. ‘You see, I now have the customs of the islands – we will drink a dram together.’ He drew Babbie to him and kissed her red curls. ‘If you find happiness like ours you will be rich indeed. Is that not so, liebling?’
‘Ay, indeed, it is so,’ Babbie agreed softly, her fingers curling over his hand. Whenever she saw him stripped to the waist like this, the mark of his scar standing out from the surrounding tanned skin, she was minded afresh of the day she had first seen him lying deathly pale on the scrubbed white table at Slochmhor, and, as always, her love for him flooded her heart and she wanted to take his fair head in her hands and kiss it where the sun had bleached it almost white.
She looked at the tall stunning girl by Jon’s side, wondering if such a beauty would be faithful to a man so many years her senior. Rachel lacked speech, but with her kind of looks, that would never be such a great obstacle. Men would ogle her wherever she went: she exuded a magnetism that was definitely sexual; she was a very physical sort of girl – yet there was also about her an aura that was spiritual, a rare sensitive depth in her great burning eyes . . . Babbie went to fetch the glasses and she saw Rachel’s hand go up to reverently touch Jon’s little beard, her long fingers staying there for a moment before they moved up to trace the outline of his mouth. Babbie smiled to herself. It was going to be all right for Jon. Rachel would love him, and love him well – she would, in time, forget Lewis McKenzie.
As the toasts were being made, Jon drew Rachel’s head towards his lips and kissed the raven curls. ‘I feel I must be the luckiest man in the whole world. I have here the perfect girl. With her there will be peace; I will hear only music – no nagging – no scolding. My poor little Papa was deafened by Mamma’s voice booming in his ears telling him all the things he should and shouldn’t do.’
Babbie smiled impishly. ‘Rachel might not be able to nag you, but she could turn instead to hitting you – what will you do then, Jon Jodl?’
‘I will have no option but to turn the tables and start nagging till she doesn’t hit me any more.’
Everyone laughed, the glasses chinked. Rachel held onto Jon’s hand and looked forward to the excitement of going to Germany to meet his mother. They were leaving on the morning boat. If she won the travelling scholarship she was working for, there would be a lot of excitement ahead. But all that was in the future, and at the moment she and Jon would take one step at a time . . . For a minute her mind strayed to Lewis, the rapture, the laughter – an indefinable sadness made her shiver . . . She gave herself a little shake and forced herself away from the past. She must look forward to a future filled with music, with the tender, undemanding love of Jon, the man who would never hinder her, but who would help her in all the years of their lives together.
CHAPTER 18
Lewis walked slowly up to the headland of Burg. It was June, the mist of rain that swept over the cliffs was soft and warm. The clouds were breaking apart to reveal patches of cornflower-blue sky; a ray of sun spilled over a fat fluffy cloud and beat warmly on the green springy turf of the headland. He had recently returned from a two-week stay at the Travers’. Since Rachel’s going he hadn’t been able to settle to anything. Fergus had been patient but now it was beginning to wear thin. ‘You’ll earn your keep around here, my lad,’ he had warned that morning. ‘You can’t go gallivanting off when it comes up your hump!’
Lewis dug his hands into his pockets and stared moodily down to the wide curve of Burg Bay, which lay north of the rock-strewn shores of Port Rum Point. He made his way down a rutted sheep track, kicking stones as he went, feeling a sensation of giddiness washing over him as he paused to gaze down at the rock pools far below. ‘Lewis, you’ll have to eat more.’ His mother’s familiar plea rang in his ears. ‘If you keep on pining like this you’ll make yourself ill. Do you think Rachel is pining for you? You must forget, Lewis, you must.’
He couldn’t eat, he couldn’t do any of the things that had once made his life so sweet. Even Lo
rn couldn’t reach him these days – yet, they were so close, they always would be. On the evening of his return from the Travers’ they had raced to the big barn to measure themselves on the growing posts. Lorn had only an inch to go now before he caught up . . . They had laughed; it had been like old times; yet he knew Lorn’s jollity was forced, that his mind was on Ruth. He had changed: he had started going out more, to ceilidhs, with girls; his shell of shyness appeared at last to have cracked. It was as if they had reversed roles, and he was as Lorn had once been – intense, introverted, thoughtful. Lorn was doing all the things Lewis had once loved – yet Lewis felt it wasn’t real somehow, that Lorn was forcing himself, rebelling against the image of his true self – trying to forget . . . Now Lorn, too, had gone away. He seldom left the island but just three days ago he had gone away on the steamer to spend a holiday with Shona and Niall on the Mull of Kintyre.
Lewis reached the beach and saw a movement on the rocks near the water, the glint of a golden head . . . Ruth sat hugging her knees, lost in thought. She heard nothing till Lewis was just a few yards away, then she started and lifted her head. At first she thought the tall boy with the thin haunted face was Lorn, and her heart began to race. She had seen this same boy last night. She had looked from her window and had spotted him walking along the harbour with Eve Patterson. They had been talking with their heads close together and she had drawn her head back behind the curtains, pain and hurt catching at her throat. He had forgotten her so easily – so very very easily. She had been gone for just over five months, yet for all he cared she might never have returned. She couldn’t forget that evening on the moors, the sweet nearness of him, the innocent tenderness of that first beautiful kiss . . .
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