‘That’s enough, Morag!’ Dugald could hold his tongue no longer. ‘What kind of a mother are you to be thinking o’ your damned pride at a time like this? Your lassie needs you more than she’s needed you in her life and all you worry about is what folk will say. Are you human at all? Have you ever loved anyone in your life besides yourself? For that’s all it is wi’ you, Morag! All this bowin’ and scrapin’ to the Lord is just an excuse for self-indulgence—’ His voice became harsher. ‘Ay, you’ve revelled in it, Morag, being a martyr to first your parents and then to yourself. God Almighty, woman,’ he exploded, ‘there’s a world outside that barrier o’ guilt you’ve built round yourself! Ruth is in that other world and so am I – the husband you used to cover your so-called sins. I could have forgiven that, but I canny forgive the hell you made Ruthie and me go through! Ay, it’s been a hellish existence livin’ wi’ you, woman, but thanks to my lassie I’ve been able to thole all the filth you ever threw at me!’
‘Oh weesht, weesht, Father,’ Ruth implored but it was too late. It was all coming out at last, all the things he had bottled up for years. He pushed Ruth’s protests aside and with jutted jaw and flaring nostrils ground out, ‘And just you leave my Ruthie be. She is going to marry Lorn and that’s final. She is no’ the only lass who ever had to get married – no – nor will she be the last. You of all people should see the truth of that, Morag, oh ay, you’re an expert on the subject. It was the start of all our troubles when years ago you let your hair down for the first time in your life and actually started to behave like a flesh and blood woman. At least our lassie has one over you – she knows who fathered her bairn.’
He subsided back into his chair, trembling, his ragged breath coming from high up in his lungs. Morag too was shaking, her entire body seized by spasm after spasm. Her pupils were like needle points, something in them that was difficult to define, a strange silent yearning mingling with a look of naked relief. She spread her long supple hands, curling the fingertips into a gesture of beckoning. It was an oddly frightening, childlike appeal made doubly so by the fact that her lips were moving but no words would come out.
‘Father,’ whispered Ruth. ‘She wants you – she wants you to go to her.’
Dugald arose and going over took Morag’s hands and led her to the fire where he put her gently into a chair. Obediently she remained where she was. Her lips moved again but only a whimper came out, and for a long time Dugald stayed by her side, her steel-like grip on his hands making it impossible for him to break away. Slowly her head came up in a series of jerks, like a puppet controlled by somebody else.
‘Dugald,’ she spoke his name with a great effort, ‘I’m – sorry.’
The words were barely audible but to Ruth and Dugald they were the sweetest that had been spoken in the house for many a long day. After their utterance Morag remained staring at her husband for endless moments, then her chin sank to her bosom and putting her red head in her hands she gave vent to a quiet, helpless release of tears.
Ruth had never seen her mother cry and the sight both frightened and awed her. She knew that something momentous had happened that night in the temple, something that seemed to reach out and enshroud them all in a mantle of peace. Ruth shivered and for the first time felt that the Hand of God had touched every one there with its wonderful healing powers. It was as if a miracle had happened.
‘Is – Mam all right?’ she asked in a hushed voice, unwilling to shatter the spell that had fallen over them.
Gently Dugald freed one of his hands and reaching out he pulled Ruth into his embrace.
‘Ay,’ he said softly. ‘She is right enough. I only wish I had spoken out sooner – ay – I should have done it a long time ago.’
He looked at Morag’s bowed head, a great sadness in him knowing that, for her, the supplication had come too late. The delicate balance of her mind had long been in jeopardy and he knew, deep in himself, that the final thread was ready to snap.
Part Two
Spring 1961
Chapter Three
The passengers crowded to the rails of the steamer as she sailed round the headland which sheltered Mara Òran Bay from the Atlantic swell. The curving sweep of the bay with its petticoats of pure white sands brought forth murmurs of appreciation from the visitors and they stood in contented silence, eagerly pointing out the various aspects of topography which appealed to them.
Down in the saloon Shona grabbed Niall’s arm and pulled him to his feet. ‘C’mon, lazy, let’s go up. I always love to watch the island coming nearer.’
They were the only passengers in the saloon and Niall grabbed his wife round the waist to pull her to him and kiss her intimately on the mouth.
‘What was that for?’ she asked, leaning against him and nuzzling his ear with the tip of her tongue.
‘Just because I felt like it. After all we are starting afresh so there’s no earthly reason why we can’t pretend we’re just newly married. Tonight when we’re in bed I’ll treat you like a new young bride and be very tender and patient with you.’
‘Daftie,’ she giggled. She gazed seriously into his eyes. ‘Are – you glad we made the move?’
‘It’s a bit late to have doubts now and of course I’m glad. I’ll miss Frank for a whily, he was a damned good partner to have and I feel just a wee bitty scary starting out on my own but we’ll survive. I’ve paved the way well so there’s no reason why it won’t be a success.’
Long before he had even considered branching out on his own he had sounded out one or two of the smaller islands to see if his proposition would be a viable one and had discovered that the crofters and farmers were only too anxious to have the services of a good vet. Long before they had made the move from the Mull of Kintyre he had had several enquiries from farmers wanting to know when he was coming over to see to their beasts.
Ellie came skipping down the stairs towards them and sighed as she saw them standing close together. ‘Really, this is no time to be canoodling,’ she grinned impishly. ‘We’re almost there and everyone is really excited by something written on Ranald’s big boat shed. I got a glimpse of great big letters and I think they said something about a fart studio.’
‘Ellie!’ Shona tried to sound shocked but was unable to suppress a burst of laughter. Grabbing her daughter’s hand they went up on deck to be assailed by loud and varied comments reeling through the salt-laden air. They joined the throng, pushing their way to the rails to see for themselves what was causing the fuss. Shona watched the hills coming closer and happiness tugged at her heart. It was a bright fresh day with the April sun spilling over the rain clouds to make vivid patterns over the moors. The Sound of Rhanna was a flurry of sparkling blue waves racing to break themselves violently against the black hidden reefs of Port Rum Point. The huddle of white cottages round the harbour gleamed whiter than ever, the occupants having taken advantage of a recent spell of good weather to paint out the ravages of winter in time for the ‘towrist season’. But for once the charms of the harbour failed to hold the attention of the crowd at the ship’s rails. All eyes were turned on Ranald’s boat shed, now converted into an art and craft shop with one of the smaller sheds made ready to dispense tea and home baking. The roof of the big shed faced out of the harbour and was one of the first things that people saw as they neared the island. With this in mind the ingenious Ranald had made his sign as big as possible and everyone was gaping in amazement at the bold white lettering which read ‘Craft Shop and Fart Studio, Genuine Scottish Crafts, Everyone Welcome’.
Shona almost choked. Beside her Niall snorted and they doubled up in a paroxysm of mirth. ‘That’s what I call an unusual welcome home,’ gasped Niall at last. ‘Somebody’s done the dirty on poor old Ranald.’
The comments of the visitors were ranging from disapproval to downright enjoyment. A child’s rich Glaswegian voice shrilled through the air. ‘Look, Mammy, there’s another yin!’
Everyone stampeded to gape at a smaller sign propped against
the side of the building. Laboriously painted in a decorative scroll it grandly proclaimed ‘Fart classes by arrangement. Beginners welcome. Outdoors weather permitting.’
With few exceptions the crowd erupted into gales of laughter and the people who were waiting at the harbour for the arrival of the boat craned their necks to see what could be causing such a furore aboard the vessel.
Captain Mac, his bulbous nose a brilliant shade of red after a session at the bar with his cronies, came pushing towards Niall. A ship’s master for many years he was now retired and resented travelling on any boat in the capacity of a passenger. The ocean was in his blood and when Niall had offered him the chance to skipper for him he had jumped at it and had already made it his business to familiarize himself with The Sea Urchin, the twenty-five-foot motor launch Niall had acquired for his trips to the islands. As Captain Mac was now a widower with relatives on just about every one of the Hebridean islands, the arrangement was a perfect one, allowing him to keep in touch with his family and yet able to remain in contact with his beloved sea.
‘Bugger me, son, have you ever seen the likes o’ that?’ he greeted Niall, his craggy whiskered face a picture of delight. ‘It’ll be that crazy Tam McKinnon that’s behind it – mark my words. When I was over here a couple o’ weeks back he was just sayin’ he would love to do something to bring Ranald down a peg or two and from the look o’ it he’s done it. By God he’s done it! I doubt he’ll have the towrists queuing at the door askin’ to be shown the right way to blaw off wind.’
‘It’s a bit drastic,’ said Niall. ‘Ranald has worked hard to get his business going.’
Captain Mac pushed his fingers into his thatch of white hair. ‘Ay, he has that, but this will no’ do him any harm. At least his shop is going to be famous quicker than he thought and wi’ Ranald’s luck he’ll be doin’ a boomin’ trade before you can say fart!’
He went off to superintend the tying up of the boat, and because to the crew he was still a figure of great authority not one of them raised a voice in objection.
Lorn was waiting at the harbour and ran forward to greet Shona and Niall as they came down the gangplank. Shona dropped the cases she was carrying and without hesitation threw her arms round her young brother’s neck. ‘Congratulations, you young devil,’ she laughed while Lorn squirmed with embarrassment and glanced round furtively to make sure none of the village lads were watching. ‘Oh, stop wriggling,’ scolded Shona, ‘I want to look at you to see if fatherhood has changed you at all.’
‘Have a heart, Shona,’ he protested though he couldn’t refrain from smiling at her enthusiasm. ‘It only happened four days ago. I’m hardly likely to have grown white whiskers in that time.’
Fergus had phoned through the news to Shona and Niall a few minutes after Ruth had given birth. ‘It’s a girl,’ he had boomed joyfully. ‘At last, a girl. I was beginning to think the McKenzies were fated only to have sons.’
‘I should have thought that after me you wouldn’t want another girl in your house again,’ Shona had told him with a laugh. ‘No doubt the cailleachs’ tongues will be busier than ever now. Just you tell Ruth from me to ignore the old hags and they’ll soon get sick of the subject.’
The rushed marriage of Lorn and Ruth had caused the usual stir of interest among the womenfolk of the island and when it became evident that Ruth was in an advanced state of pregnancy the interest turned to gossip and speculation had arisen as to when the baby would be born.
‘She’s had that bun in the oven longer than she’s been wed, that’s a surety,’ had stated Merry Mary with conviction.
‘Ay, folks were right when they said her mother’s ways would turn the lass to sin,’ nodded Elspeth Morrison, the sharp-tongued housekeeper of Slochmhor, though her tones weren’t lacking a certain amount of sympathy.
‘No one can call her the White Virgin anymore, and that’s a fact.’ Merry Mary followed Elspeth’s sympathetic line. ‘My, the times I felt sorry for the cratur’ decked out in all thon white frocks. At least she has the look o’ a normal body now – and she has a good man there in Lorn McKenzie – he was aye a laddie after my own heart and that’s a fact. He wouldny be the first to take advantage o’ a lass – no, nor will he be the last.’
‘My God, would you just listen to the lot o’ you?’ Kate had snorted with chagrin. ‘You have marked that fine young couple down as sinners before they have even had a chance to get a leg over. Where do you get your ideas from I’d like to know? Maybe they are the things goin’ on in your heads that you would like to have done yourselves. It’s well known that Mistress Morrison here would have taken her breeks down to a pygmy if she had thought she might get a bairn out o’ it! As for you, Merry Mary, it’s well seeing you are a spinster woman wi’ all these wild fancies you have in your head about men. Of course, it’s common knowledge you get a lot o’ your ideas from they wimmen’s magazines you keep piled up in your house. You have had too much time on your hands since you gave up the shop. You used to have a kinder tongue in your head but now you’re just as bad as all the rest o’ the cailleachs.’
But despite staunch people like Kate the gossip reached a peak when Ruth had her baby after barely five months of marriage, but Lorn and his young wife had never been happier and his face was glowing when he was surrounded at the pier by the village menfolk and his hand shaken heartily. ‘You have done right well, Lorn lad,’ beamed Todd the Shod. ‘My cailleach had our Mairi six months after the ring went on, but you have beaten us.’
Mollie, who was standing nearby, grew red in the face and hooted indignantly, ‘And was not our Mairi a mite too soon in comin’ into the world? A tiny wee thing she was and you only have to look at her now to see that she is still a delicate lass.’
‘All ten stone of her,’ smirked Todd in a quiet aside.
Niall was surrounded by a group of children clamouring to know when he would be able to come and look at their pet dogs and cats and patiently he told them that, if they brought their animals over to his house, he would take an hour or two out of his few days’ holidays that he had planned, to attend to their ailments.
‘Here.’ Todd, not to be outdone, bustled over. ‘You are just the very mannie I am needin’ myself. Old Foxglove is skitterin’ herself to death and I’m buggered if I can cure her. She is as dry as a bone forbye and we are havin’ to buy our milk off that Tam McKinnon – and the mean bodach takin’ the money too,’ he ended in aggrieved tones.
Dodie loped over in time to hear what Todd had been saying and he eyed Niall with mournful appeal. ‘My Ealasaid hasny been too well this whily and seein’ you are back home to do your doctor I was wonderin’ if you could come over and take a wee look at her.’
‘Ay, Dodie, I will that,’ Niall agreed with admirable calm, though his brown eyes sparkled at sight of Shona hiding her smiles in her hanky.
Tam McKinnon hove into view. There was an air of suppressed excitement about him as he came over to greet the McKenzies and Niall gave him a conspiratorial wink. ‘You’ve done it, Tam, the boat was in an uproar coming into port. Ranald will have your lugs for purses when he finds out about it.’
Tam’s homely face was the picture of innocence. ‘I haveny the least idea what you’re on about, lad,’ he intoned pleasantly.
But Captain Mac left him in no doubt. He gave Tam a hefty wallop on the shoulder blades and bellowed, ‘By God, Tam McKinnon, you’re a de’il and no mistake! What way did you manage to climb up to Ranald’s roof and you as good as crippled for life!’
Tam spluttered and regaining his breath hissed in alarm, ‘Weesht, man! The whole o’ Portcull will hear you and I’m no’ wantin’ Ranald McTavish to find out what I did to his roof – no’ yet anyway. I want to teach the bugger a lesson he’ll no’ forget in a hurry.’
‘You did to his roof!’ exploded Todd indignantly. ‘Of all the damty cheek! It was your idea, I’ll grant you that, but it was me and the other lads who near broke our necks gettin’ over those rocks wi’ the
ladders while you just stood wi’ your hands in your pouches and gave the orders.’
‘Ay, and I was the mug who went up the ladders to paint on that big F,’ supplied Angus McKinnon loudly. ‘I got that much paint on my hair Ethel didny know me when I went home last night. She thought at first I was a spook.’
‘Ach well, I’m no’ as fit as I was, son,’ Tam murmured placatingly, ‘I would have been first up the ladder if I was able.’
Lorn was looking from one face to the other in some bemusement and Shona hastened to enlighten him. By the time she had finished her colourful description of Ranald’s roof everyone was helpless with laughter.
‘Why have you got it in for Ranald?’ Lorn asked when he could catch his breath.
‘Ach well, the bugger has been goin’ around like a constipated peacock since Barra came home and we thought it was high time he learned a lesson.’
‘Ay, and he has been up to other queer high jinks forbye,’ nodded Jim Jim darkly, shock on his face as he recalled walking past Barra’s house in the early hours and seeing her half naked in front of the mirror with Ranald an interested spectator in the background. In a stage whisper Jim Jim recounted the story for the umpteenth time, amply embroidered for the benefit of his audience.
‘Ach, there will likely be a good explanation,’ laughed Shona. ‘Barra was an art teacher, remember, and it’s quite on the cards she was either doing a self-portrait or teaching Ranald the intricacies of the human form.’
Todd spluttered and almost choked. ‘Teaching him, ay, but I’m thinkin’ it had nothing to do wi’ art. Barra has had a lot o’ experience wi’ her bein’ at art college, she is bound to have picked up a lot o’ queer ways and wi’ her living in the city for so long she’ll be a wanton sort o’ woman.’
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