‘Ah – but these were Shona’s babies, there lies the difference,’ nodded Kirsteen wisely. ‘Fergus loves all his children but Shona is his only daughter and she has always been very special to him. When Helen, his first wife, died, he had no interest in anything for a long time, not even his own daughter. When he finally came to realize how much she meant to him he became terrified of harm coming to her.’
‘I see,’ Megan nuzzled the pup’s downy ears. ‘Thank God everything went well, then. I dread to think how he would have reacted otherwise.’
‘When Helen died he blamed Lachlan for it,’ Kirsteen explained quietly. ‘For years they didn’t speak. It was only after Fergus lost his arm that things became right between them. I’m only telling you all this because what happened here last night will spark off a lot of old memories amongst the older ones who will take a delight in recounting them to you.’
Megan took a deep breath and lifted her face to the hills. It was a beautiful morning. The island sparkled in an excess of sunshine that threw long shadows over the fields and turned the winter bracken a deep bronze shade. Since dawn the villagers had been out with shovels clearing snow from Downie’s Pass to allow traffic through. It had been the sound of voices that had awakened Laigmhor from a few hours of hastily snatched sleep. Phebie, Lachlan, and Elspeth had all departed after breakfast, soon after that Anton had come for Babbie in his tractor.
Megan longed to tumble into her own bed and give herself up to the luxury of complete relaxation but morning surgery started in an hour and she had been wondering how she would ever get through it. But now, with the cold hill air filling her lungs and the island shimmering under the sun, she felt wide awake and wonderfully alive. Perhaps it was because Fergus McKenzie had thanked her so sincerely and called her Megan, and that somehow his very acceptance of her made her feel suddenly welcome on the island. She didn’t know, but she felt good and whole within herself for the first time in months and the smile she turned on Kirsteen held a great deal of vitality. ‘Thank you for telling me the things you did. I’ll get along now.’
‘Are you sure you won’t let Fergus run you home in the tractor?’
Megan laughed. ‘No, Anton already offered but I want to walk. It’s such a bonny morning.’
‘And your Welsh is becoming more Scottish with every passing day. Och well, you had better go – at least you’ll get along quicker wearing the proper footwear.’
Megan looked down at her feet which were enclosed in a pair of Kirsteen’s own stout Wellingtons. ‘I’ll have to get a pair. I keep forgetting I’m no longer in the city and must stop wearing those flimsy high heels of mine.’
‘Oh no,’ Kirsteen pretended horror, ‘the cailleachs would have nothing to talk about then. Behag positively bristles with self-righteous condemnation whenever she hears your heels tapping along. You wouldn’t want to spoil her little pleasures – would you now?’
‘Perish the thought, she would die altogether if the entire population of Rhanna became so perfect she would have nothing left to exercise her tongue on.’ With a cheery wave she walked away down the track and onto the road. The dark head of Mark James appeared out of what looked like a gigantic snowball but which was in fact his motor car smothered in a drift. ‘I don’t think I’ll be able to dig her out yet.’ His grin was less than rueful as he unwound his long legs from the driver’s seat and got out, Mutt close on his heels.
‘Legs were invented before wheels,’ Megan imparted airily, surprised at how gladly her heart welcomed the sight of him.
‘Ay, and bare feet before shoes,’ he replied smartly, a glance down at her feet bringing a cheeky grin to his face. ‘I see you’ve found sense at last – though mind, they do nothing for your legs.’
‘You impudent bugger,’ she smiled back at him, noting the little laughter crinkles at his eyes, the way those eyes shone in his rugged face yet were so fathomless she could easily have lost herself in their smoky depths.
‘Will you let me walk with you?’ His request was irrelevant, he was already falling into step beside her.
‘Only if you say you’re sorry about last night. You made a fool of me in front of everyone. Elspeth nearly had apoplexy.’
‘I know,’ he choked mirthfully. ‘It was a joy to see her face and I’m not going to apologize for any of it. I loved every minute of holding you in my arms and wish I could do it more often.’
‘Mark,’ she said warningly.
‘Alright. If it makes you happy I’ll say “sorry” even though it’s a bittie self-centred of you not to even dream of returning the compliment. I still get the feeling I was attacked last night by a wildcat. Kirsteen was so sorry for me she bathed my wounds and even put antiseptic on them in case they started to fester.’
Her eyes were drawn guiltily to the trails of ragged scratches down one side of his forehead. ‘It was rather drastic of me,’ she conceded unwillingly, ‘but at the time I didn’t care what I was doing and would again if I had to – though I am sorry I marked you so badly.’
‘A real heartfelt apology,’ he chuckled, ‘my cat could have done better but has never had the need since her claws aren’t nearly as dangerous as yours.’ He glanced at the pup. ‘I see you’ve acquired your new companion. Have you given her a name yet?’
‘I thought perhaps Muff, she’s so soft and warm.’
‘Muff – it sounds a bit daft.’
‘So does Mutt, but it suits him – he is daft.’
He looked at her. She was laughing. For the first time since coming to Rhanna she was really laughing, her hazel eyes shining with amber lights, her cheeks aglow, her hair a warm coppery brown against the backdrop of white.
‘What happened, Meggie?’ he said quietly. ‘Last night you were tired and angry, today you’re alive and happy.’
‘I don’t know, Mark. Everything just seems better, more wonderful – the new babies, the puppy, Fergus calling me Megan and thanking me, the beauty of the morning. You and me, not fighting each other anymore but just being natural. I feel as I used to feel before . . . Och well, I think I’m finding myself again and it’s a very nice feeling, Mark.’
‘Morning, Minister – Doctor.’ Behag was at the door of the Post Office, brushing snow from the doorway with a moth-eaten besom, her palsied head seeming to nod its full approval of the young couple on the road though her knowing beady eyes instantly nullified the illusion.
‘And to you, Miss Beag,’ came the polite chorus.
‘I see you’ve been in the wars, Minister,’ Behag peered into Mark’s face. ‘I only ever saw these once afore on a man’s face.’ She folded her lips meaningfully. ‘Thon time Ruth McKenzie nearly scratched Lorn’s eyes out his head. A terrible thing just, a Christian lass behaving like a heathen, but then she had good reason to do as she did wi’ him carrying on behind her back. Sinful it was, ay sinful, though he got his comeuppance for that piece o’ nonsense and serve him right too.’
‘Yes indeed, Miss Beag,’ agreed the minister before he and Megan made good their escape, hiding their giggles behind their hands as they knew full well that the post mistress’s eagle eyes watched their progress along the village street.
‘I told you we’d never live it down,’ Megan hissed at him.
‘Ach, forget Behag, her and her like can talk their heads off and never know the truth of what happened. It’s between you and me and I really think we ought to call a truce and be friends again. Can we?’
‘Yes, I think we can, as long as it’s out in the open like this where we can be seen.’
It was enough for Mark James. He was very happy as he walked with Megan into Portcull where the chimneys smoked peacefully in the bright winter sunshine.
‘What will we call them?’ Shona wondered, glancing from one new baby to the other, her eyes very blue in the sweet pallor of her face, the sense of awe which had flooded her being since the moment of wakening from a deep, refreshing sleep, growing more intense as the full enormity of last night’s happenings c
ame home to her.
Niall shrugged, equally bemused by the turn of events. ‘I don’t know. I canny take in the fact that we’ve got two new babies let alone dream up names for them.’
Her eyes glinted with mischief. ‘How about something really fancy? Like the names these Hollywood film stars bestow on themselves. Gail and Storm – they arrived in a blizzard so what could be more appropriate?’
‘You dare!’ he exploded in a burst of laughter. ‘Can you imagine it! Storm McLachlan! Father would never forgive us and Mother would have a fit!’
Ellie came toddling through to climb in beside her mother and coorie down comfortably, her little hands gently stroking the heads of her new brother and sister.
‘Santa brought them,’ she decided, abandoning her mother’s teaching in favour of a more romantic delivery.
‘That’s it!’ Niall cried, lifting up his little girl and whirling her round the room. ‘They’re Christmas babies so we’ll give them Christmas names – simple names, like Joy—’
‘And Joseph,’ Shona finished triumphantly. ‘They have a ring to them, Joy and Joseph.’
‘Joseph Niall McLachlan,’ he decided.
‘And Joy Shona McLachlan.’ She held out her arms. ‘Come on, into bed the lot of you, the whole McLachlan family.’
‘Five of us now,’ he said in fresh wonderment.
‘Ay, we’re a complete family again.’ She looked at him. The years rolled back, engulfed them both with memories, evoked a tear, a silent sharing of grief for a little boy lost, a darling daughter taken in the morning of life. Their hands touched, love pulled them back to sweet reality, the void was closed, wounds healed. They smiled at one another in fulfilment and peace.
‘We’ll have a ceilidh,’ he vowed, ‘the finest Christmas celebration ever.’
‘With Santa,’ nodded Ellie.
‘Ay, with Santa.’
‘And a sack.’
‘A sack too.’
Ellie clapped her hands. ‘Filled with babies!’ she screeched and fell about laughing at the very idea of such a ridiculous thing.
Chapter Seven
‘Fancy, two o’ them – at her age. I’ll say that for her, she never did things by halves.’ Behag, having closed the Post Office for half an hour to ‘go her messages’, stamped the snow from her boots, plunked her shopping bag on the counter of Merry Mary’s shop, and settled back for a good chinwag. Since her retiral, Behag had a lot more time on her hands and often harked back to her days as the Portcull post mistress as she liked to refer to herself. Occasionally though, Totie and her husband Dugald took time off from both the Post Office and the little corner grocery shop still known to everyone as Merry Mary’s. It was then that the two retired ladies came into their own once more and though Behag wouldn’t admit as much, she liked nothing better than to get back behind the counter of the Post Office, there to observe and comment on all aspects of village and island life. She was in full fettle that morning, having rearranged Totie’s cubby holes and drawers to her own liking and taking the opportunity to show everyone that the Post Office premises had never been the same since she had signed them over to Totie’s more relaxed regime.
‘I have cleaned, polished and dusted,’ she informed Merry Mary with a self-satisfied toss of her scrawny head. ‘If you ask me the place has never been touched since the last time I took a broom to it. I have never seen so many spider’s webs in the corners and, of course, the floor has never tasted a lick o’ polish for months.’
‘Well, I canny say the same for this place,’ Merry Mary was determined to be fair. ‘It is that clean you could eat your dinner off the counter though mind, I have no time for the way Doug allows boxes to pile up in the back shoppie. I was aye proud o’ how neat I kept it myself and could just lay my hands on whatever I was looking for – now, what were you blethering about when you came in my door just now?’
Despite the condition of the roads, the news of Shona’s babies hadn’t taken long to filter over the island and, since the shore roads were comparatively clear, the usual small knots of humanity had gathered in favourite meeting places where gossip could be dispensed with comfortably if not always companionably.
‘Ach, about Shona McKenzie’s confinement of course,’ Behag imparted with asperity. ‘You’re surely no’ telling me you haveny heard about it.’
‘Of course, the bull had a lot to do wi’ it.’ Kate buried her cherry red nose into her hanky, emerging to add, ‘And the bugger gave me the cold forbye. All thon draughts from the hall door opening and me having to crawl home late wi’ snow up to my een.’
‘The bull never gave her twins!’ exploded a round-eyed Mairi. ‘I think ’tis only fair Niall should get the credit for that.’
‘Ach, Mairi,’ reproved Kate irritably. ‘Have you nothing at all between your lugs but stale air? That bull o’ Croynachan’s was the cause of all the trouble. It wouldny surprise me in the least if Tom decided to send the bugger back to the Department.’
‘Och no, he’ll no’ be doing that.’ Nancy came breezing in, brushing snow from the manly trousers she had worn for the journey down to the village in her husband’s tractor. ‘One o’ the roadmen brought a message to Croynachan from Laigmhor this very mornin’. I saw it when I looked in to see was Mamie needin’ any messages from the village.’
‘Oh ay, and what was it after saying?’ asked a curious chorus.
‘Wouldn’t you like to be knowing?’ beamed Nancy, her dimples deepening as she recalled to mind Shona’s note which read: Give Venus a second chance. By some miracle I’ve had two babies instead of one and it was all Niall could do to persuade me not to call one of them Aphrodite. ‘You wouldny understand it anyways,’ Nancy went on rather loftily, ‘Tom had to explain it to me, him being a keen reader o’ thon highbrow books. It was something to do wi’ Greek mythology and names wi’ fertile meanings.’
‘Ay, it would be,’ Behag sniffed darkly. ‘Shona McKenzie was aye a one for things like that. There will be no living wi’ her now she’s the mother o’ twins.’
‘Ach well, they run in the family,’ Nancy said comfortably, her round, attractive face softening as she went on, ‘and is it no’ beautiful just? Her having a wee lad and a lass? I mind fine the time she lost her first wee boy and then when our own Ellie died I near died myself wi’ the pain. She was such a bonny, bright girl – aye singing and happy to be alive.’
‘Ay, right enough.’ Behag’s jowls relaxed as she recalled the times Shona’s daughter had brightened the Post Office. ‘She was a dear good wee thing and surely the nicest cratur’ ever to come out the McKenzie family.’
‘She was a McLachlan,’ Barra reminded her sister-in-law. ‘As much Niall’s daughter as Shona’s.’
‘She came out a McKenzie woman.’ Behag glowered into Barra’s pleasant plump face, her mood not improved when Robbie sprang to his wife’s defence by nodding and smiling in complete agreement. ‘Oh ay, a McLachlan right enough.’ Merry Mary emerged from behind a pile of shopping bags on the counter. ‘Just as the two new babes are McLachlans and will be proud o’ it someday. And here –’ she threw some battered-looking oranges into the nearest bag ‘– is it no’ lovely just? A son to carry on the McLachlan name. My, my, our own Lachlan will be a proud and happy man this day and I for one think we should all have a wee dram to celebrate wi’ him.’
‘Amen to that.’ Tam rubbed his hands briskly when Merry Mary produced a bottle of whisky from under the counter and went through to the back shop to look for glasses.
‘You canny take strong drink in these premises.’ Behag spoke in a shocked hiss as Merry Mary came back bearing glasses and a bottle of sherry for less hardened palates.
‘Oh can we no’ just?’ Robbie gleefully told his sister. ‘But seein’ you don’t approve, Behag, you can aye go home and hae a quiet sup from that wee bottle you used to keep hidden in the salt girnel.’
Behag’s scraggy jowls tautened as a titter ran through the assembly. Never never would Robbie
have dared to speak to her like that in the old days when he and she shared the family house! It was the influence of that Barra. She had been too long in the city for her own or anyone else’s good, bringing her wild, uncivilized ways to a God-fearing island like Rhanna, and casting her influence over a weak man like Robbie . . . Behag licked her dry lips as whisky and sherry flowed into glasses – a wee tate would do no harm on a cold day like this . . . She was about to accept a glass graciously for the sake of welcoming the McLachlan twins into the world when Holy Smoke sidled in beside her and beamed his dry, insincere approval all over her.
‘You are a fine upright woman, Miss Beag, and are quite right no’ to allow one drop o’ the de’il’s brew to touch your lips.’
Behag was furious. Holy Smoke, real name Sandy McKnight, was a small, bedraggled bachelor with mournful features much like Behag’s own, including drooping ‘bloodhound’ eyes and layers of sagging flesh about his neck. From his shiny bald head there sprouted a few pathetic sandy hairs, the same colour as the sparse straggling moustache which strived vainly to disguise a perpetually downcast mouth. His expression was as dour as his nature though it underwent a metamorphosis whenever money was discussed, mentioned, or produced, especially over the counter of the tiny butcher’s shop he had recently opened in Portcull. A crofthouse and a sizeable croft had gone with the cramped, wooden premises that had once been a saddler’s, and when Holy Smoke wasn’t in his shop he was out there in his fields seeing to his beasts and his poultry, too tight-fisted to hire a man to do it for him.
His attendance at kirk was faithful and pious as were his denouncements of the evils of tobacco and spirits, though from the day Todd the Shod spied him smoking a pipe behind a rock on the seashore his opinions were as much worth as the nickname Todd had immediately bestowed on him.
Ever since his arrival, and for some obscure reason known only to him, he had attached himself firmly to Behag, and the dour old post mistress, perhaps seeing her own personality reflected in his, shuddered every time he opened his mouth. Her dislike of him was fiercely intense, an emotion that deepened with each passing day, for no matter how spiteful her tongue, how cutting her manner, it was like water off a duck’s back for all the good it did her. Her feelings were further strengthened by all the teasings and jibes his advances brought raining down upon her palsied, disapproving head, so that Behag positively shrunk into her already shrunken frame every time Holy Smoke was near enough to breathe the same air as herself.
Storm Over Rhanna Page 9
