Return To Rhanna

by Christine Marion Fraser

  Babbie turned away and opened the door. A concoction of scents wafted in, tossed by the warm wind and rain into a deliciously heady blend. The mist was still drifting over the hills but there was a heat in the air and a hint of blue sky over the sea to the west.

  ‘There’s the new minister,’ she said suddenly. ‘I recognize him from Elspeth’s description.’

  Shona looked over Babbie’s shoulder and saw through the drizzle a tall lone figure walking along the grey ribbon of road, shoulders hunched, head bent against the weather. How lonely he looks. The notion came unbidden to her mind.

  ‘I wonder if he’s coming here,’ she said aloud. ‘The kettle is just off the boil.’

  But just then the figure turned, heading back towards the tiny white houses of the village lying against a slate-blue sea. Shona experienced a sharp pang of disappointment. It would have been nice to have entertained the new minister in the bright, cosy living-room of Mo Dhachaidh. She was in the mood for company and she might have succeeded in making him feel welcome to the island.

  ‘If you hurry you can perhaps offer the fellow a lift,’ Anton suggested to Babbie. ‘I came over on Corrie and I want to get him back to his stable.’ He smiled. ‘I have never known a horse to dislike the rain as much as he does.’

  They dashed along the path, hand in hand, Babbie giggling as a gust of wind blew up her coat, revealing her shapely legs. At the gate they parted company, Anton to mount his disgruntled horse, Babbie to jump into her car and thankfully pull the door shut. She waved cheerily as the engine coughed into life. Shona watched her progress along the road, held her breath as the little car stopped beside the mysterious stranger, released it again as Babbie moved away. The road stretched, grey and deserted, Anton having galloped away ahead of his wife.

  The silence enclosed the slender, auburn-haired woman at the door. She gazed at the wind-wracked trees which hugged the windings of the Fallan, then her eyes travelled slowly upwards to the grey-green slopes of the bens, aloof behind their transparent veil of mist. A golden eagle planed majestically over the crags then swooped down to be lost in the corries.

  The ewes with their well-grown lambs were cropping the juicy unfenced turf at the side of the house, amongst them strutted the hens, pouncing on the insects stirred up by the animals’ hooves. The contented sound of clucking, mingling with the purling of the nearby burn, was music to Shona’s ears. She had acquired the chickens soon after her arrival and now the brown, black, and white mosaic they made against the green of the grass was a part of Mo Dhachaidh.

  As she watched, a slinking black form appeared round the side of the henhouse and she gave a soft little chuckle of anticipation, her former feelings of loneliness dispersing in the joy she felt in her surroundings. Woody was up to her tricks again. From kittenhood she had taken a delight in stalking the hens, the satisfaction on her pussy face as she scattered them, a joy to behold, and though they were fly for her now, their beady eyes trained on her creeping progress, they seemed to enjoy the game and tormented her by waiting till the last minute before fluttering out of the way.

  Another movement caught Shona’s eye and she raised her head to see a black-clad figure coming towards her through the rain. For a moment she thought it was the minister again till it came closer and proved to be Dodie scampering swiftly along. He was the last person she wanted to strupak with just then. Having gone from a longing for company to an appreciation of the utter peace of her environment she was in a mood to be alone and half thought of closing the door and pretending she hadn’t seen him. Shame, hot and remorseful, flooded her being. How could she? Who was she to deny such a harmless creature a few minutes of her time? He was an old man who spent far too much time on his own. True, he would have died without his freedom but everyone needed company at some time. He was an undemanding soul whose needs were few, but she knew he enjoyed an occasional strupak though only if he was specifically invited to partake of one. Of all the folk on the island he was one of the few who didn’t make a habit of ceilidhing or popping in for a crack and a cuppy.

  She hated herself for ever thinking of shutting him out and almost before the familiar ‘He breeah!’ burst upon her ears she was at the gate to throw it wide and usher him through.

  His enormous wellingtons squelched muddy footprints all along the hall to the kitchen where he stood, his layers of oilskins making a horseshoe pattern of drips on the red tiles of the floor. His manner was half-shy and nervously he scratched the gnome-like ear that escaped his sodden cap, his lips stretched wide in an apologetic attempt at a smile.

  ‘I didny know if you would be in, I wasny lookin’ for you,’ he lied, having made the journey specially to see her. ‘I was just comin’ along this way to see would I maybe find some nice flat stones in the river.’

  He gazed at her soulfully for several seconds during which a fat bubble of water gathered under the peak of his cap, matching the one which was suspended precariously on the end of his nose. With a sudden decisive movement he delved into his roomy pocket to withdraw a tissue-wrapped bundle which he placed on the table, drawing his hand away quickly, as if afraid the object might bite.

  ‘I was hoping I’d maybe catch you in to give you this wee thing I made,’ he explained rapidly. ‘I was after speakin’ to your wee Ellie when she was home at Easter and she was tellin’ me about her corner o’ memories so I thought it would be nice if I could give something for it too. Biddy aye liked flowers and if her photy is maybe turned to look at this it will be mindin’ her o’ the moors,’ he finished in some confusion.

  Shona unwrapped the mysteriously heavy package. It was a large oval stone, flecked with the browns and the greens of the river from whence it had come, one side of it displaying a handpainted spray of bog myrtle intertwined with the delicate purple flowers of the shy little butterwort. It had been carefully varnished to protect it, including the shaky letter D unobtrusively and painstakingly scratched in one corner. Shona turned it over in her long fingers, unable to believe that such a detailed piece of artistic creation could have sprung from the old eccentric’s thick, calloused fingers.

  ‘Did you do this?’ she asked in some wonder.

  ‘Ay, it was my first and took me a long time.’ Dodie fingered the buttons of his oilskins nervously. ‘I was aye tellin’ Barra that her paintings were beautiful just, and she brought all her things over to my house, once a week last winter, and showed me what to do.’

  ‘Barra did that?’ said Shona softly.

  ‘Ay, she is the only woman I have ever been alone wi’ in my very own house.’ Dodie gulped at the memory. ‘But she never once gave a glance to the wee bitties o’ dust on my shelves. She was too busy wi’ the paints and tryin’ to show me how to use them,’ he finished anxiously, eyeing Shona to see if her face registered approval of his gift. She continued to gaze at the stone and he reddened, taking her silence as a polite way of letting him know she didn’t like it.

  ‘I meant to bring it over sooner, as a wee present for your house,’ he wailed dismally, ‘but that Ranald has kept me so busy huntin’ for shells I hadny the time for any of the things I like doin’ wi’ myself. Now he is on at me to paint stones for him too and I’m feart I’ll no’ have any more time to enjoy findin’ things.’

  Shona went over and propped the stone on the window ledge, opposite Biddy’s photo. ‘This is a small masterpiece, Dodie,’ she told him gently. ‘I feel very honoured that you thought to give me such a beautiful treasure and I know Biddy will appreciate it as much as I do – and just wait till Ellie sees it – she’ll be wanting you to show her how it’s done.’

  Dodie blushed to the roots of his hair while his grey-green eyes regarded her in a slow dawning of dazed joy. ‘I like it fine myself,’ he enthused. ‘But I wasny sure if it was grand enough to stand in your window. It is kind you are just for likin’ it so much.’

  Something that might have been a tear gleamed in his eyes and he gave his head a violent shake. Both drips descended simulta
neously, one to roll in a tiny rivulet over his brow, the other to plummet over his chin to be lost in the dirty nut-brown crevices of his neck.

  Shona made him remove his oilskins and motioned him to sit by the glowing embers of the peat fire then she went to prepare a special strupak, in the process surreptitiously cutting an onion which she placed innocently on the draining board by the sink.

  Dodie beamed with rare contentment into the fire and allowed his big-boned frame to relax. ‘My, this is a nice house,’ he commented approvingly, his gaze roving over the homely arrangement of furniture. ‘It minds me o’ Laigmhor and I aye felt like bein’ myself there, especially when Mirabelle was alive.’ He stretched his lips, showing his broken, tobacco-stained teeth. ‘I am thinkin’ you have taken up a lot o’ her wee habits for she was aye rushin’ to cut an onion whenever I called for a strupak. Quite a few folks hereabouts have copied her for they all seem to be slashin’ onions when I am in their houses and I’m aye wishin’ they wouldny for I canny bide the way they make my eyes cry when I myself am no’ feelin’ at all sad.’

  Shona had to hide a smile. Dodie was as oblivious to his own peculiar smell as he was to the various repellents that people dreamed up to combat it. It had been Mirabelle’s belief that the pungent juices of a cut onion killed smells as well as all living germs and quite a few people had followed her example, with the result that her method had come to be known as ‘Mirabelle’s cure’.

  Woody had returned from her adventures and was now perched on Dodie’s shoulder, purring with pleasure as his big gentle hands caressed her ears. Shona went to the sink and scooping the onion into a pan closed the lid firmly on it. ‘I was just going to make some onion soup but you enjoy your strupak first,’ she told him, handing him a plate piled high with a variety of home baking.

  Dodie smacked his lips as his fingers closed over a huge bun filled with fresh cream. ‘If it’s no’ one thing it’s another,’ he told her. ‘Now my eyes are dry but my mouth is waterin’.’

  He settled back in his chair, unconcerned by the fact that Woody was licking the cream oozing onto his chin. ‘I was just thinkin’ – maybe the new minister would like a painted stone to welcome him to the Manse. I was hearing he came yesterday and no doubt he will be feelin’ new for a whily. Folks that don’t know the ways o’ the island must feel gey lonely till they get the hang o’ things.’

  Shona squeezed his bent shoulders affectionately, struck as always by his regard for other people’s feelings. ‘Ay, that’s a lovely idea, Dodie, and don’t you be worrying your head about that greedy Ranald. Just you do your stones as you feel like it and to hell with the rest of it. When you’ve had your strupak I’ll put on my jacket and we’ll go down and have a word with Mr McTavish. Tell him straight that you’ll gather shells for him but that’s all. By the way, does he pay you enough for all your efforts?’

  Dodie sniffed, thinking of the last time he had hinted to Ranald for payment only to be put off by a rather feeble excuse. ‘Right enough, as long as Barra is there to make sure I get it. Old Hector was just sayin’ he’s no’ goin’ to gather anything else till he gets some money and I’m thinkin’ o’ tellin’ him the same.’

  ‘Right, you can tell him today,’ Shona’s tones were resolute. ‘And don’t you worry, I’ll be there to keep you right – you know you can rely on me.’

  He threw her a look of trusting adoration. Ever since she was a small girl he had trusted and loved this bonny female McKenzie and furthermore she had always had a knack of making him feel at ease. Happily he tucked into his cream bun, ably aided by Woody who had bunched one agile paw into a scoop and was using it to scrape the cream from Dodie’s chin and onto the pink curled flap of her mobile tongue.

  Chapter Six

  Shona walked along the scented ridge of the fields towards the woods where in days gone by she had waited for Niall to come off the boat. And now she was back to waiting again. He wouldn’t be home till Sunday night and would miss Lorna’s christening, though he had promised to try and come home on Saturday if it was at all possible.

  She glanced up at the vast reaches of the sky. The squalls of rain and wind had gradually blown themselves out and that morning had dawned clean and clear with a great golden sun bursting up over the seas to pour its warming rays over the island. It was a truly golden Hebridean summer’s day and Shona paused to gaze over the warm green fields to the Sound of Rhanna sparkling like a sapphire-studded ribbon in the distance. The hills were blue and appeared very far away with the haze of heat blurring the corries and softening the ragged peaks. The hayfields were knee high with a soft blonde tinge to the heads of the ripe grasses swaying lazily in the breezes. Scents of rowan and hawthorn blossoms mingled with the warm fragrances of purple clover and bird’s-foot trefoil whose plump yellow petals were alive with bumblebees prodding in a search for nectar.

  Shona stood for a long time, the tips of her fingers clasped to her lips, a slender figure dressed in blue, her neatly tied auburn hair burnished to flame in the sunshine. On impulse she stooped to gather a posy of harebells and clover which she placed carefully into her shopping bag, her fingers lingering on the delicate petals of the harebells.

  By the time she got to the harbour the boat was already tied up and the passengers were streaming off. She caught a glimpse of several well-known faces and giggled as the good-natured arguments of Tam and his cronies reached her ears. They were at the pier with their carts and were supervising the unloading of the coal from the ancient barge which called several times a year with its precious cargo.

  ‘Mother!’ Ellie’s joyful greeting rang above the general noise and she came flying towards Shona, a bundle of arms and legs and unruly hair. Shona gasped as she was enveloped in a bear hug and she had to struggle a bit before she could break the hold of her daughter’s thin, strong young arms.

  ‘Oh, Ellie, it’s grand to see you again. You’ve grown taller but you haven’t filled out yet. Did you have company on the journey?’

  ‘Ay, Rachel and Jon and Tina and Eve. They were the best because Eve was showing her mother how to put on make-up and we went into their cabin and had a great time. Tina got her eye shadow all smudged and Eve and me were so busy laughing we couldn’t do a thing to help her.’

  Shona spied Ruth’s bright head among the crowd. Beside her, talking quietly, was the tall bespectacled figure of Jon Jodl and hanging onto his arm was the unmistakable form of Rachel McKinnon, her arresting good looks making her stand out from the rest. Almost a year had passed since her last visit to the island and during that time she had married Jon, the young German who had worshipped her from her childhood. He had exchanged his post as music teacher in Oban for one in Glasgow so that he could be near her while she pursued her studies at the Atheneum.

  Ruth had Lorna Morag in her arms but Rachel wasn’t showing a great deal of interest in the baby. Ruth had chosen her to be the child’s godmother and Shona had thought it wasn’t a very suitable choice. Rachel wasn’t very keen on children, partly because she had had her own brothers and sisters thrust upon her since she was old enough to change a nappy and handle a feeding bottle, and partly because the mothering instinct wasn’t strong within her.

  Shona had hoped Ruth might ask her to be godmother, and had experienced a pang of resentment on learning that it was to be Rachel – yet her common sense told her it was only natural. The two of them had been friends from an early age and who was she to think she had any right to Ruth’s baby? After all, she hadn’t done all that much to help Ruth – except – except in the beginning when Ruth had needed help so desperately – she had helped – she had . . . Yet, she also had to admit that she had given Laigmhor a bit of a wide berth since her return to Rhanna but she had never stopped to ask herself the reasons behind her avoidance. Now, as Ruth spied her and came towards her, Shona faced some of the truth. She envied Ruth her beautiful infant and it had taken her time to adjust to the idea of a baby who wasn’t hers wakening all the rooms at Laigmhor with its
cries.

  Her cheeks reddened as Ruth’s sweet face broke into a rather hesitant smile. ‘Shona, your father was saying he wondered why you hadn’t been over for a whily. I didn’t see you on the road.’

  ‘I came over the fields,’ Shona said, more curtly than she had intended. ‘It’s a day for walking amongst the grass and the flowers.’

  She turned her attention to Rachel. She was dazzling, a windswept beauty with a vibrant, expressive face and smouldering dark eyes which were filled with a turbulent restlessness that marriage to Jon had barely tamed. Yet she obviously adored her husband and kept her long fingers tightly clasped over his while her eyes moved rapidly along the length of the harbour, as if she was seeking someone desperately, yet an uncertainty in her glance showed that she knew her search was in vain. Shona felt shut out from Rachel’s private world and the greeting she had been about to voice died in her throat. Ellie was crooning over the baby, thrilled when the grasping little hand closed over her finger. The dimpled wrists were enclosed in fringes of pure white lace, the tiny face, already showing traces of healthy golden suntan, was shaded by a white cotton sunhat from which escaped silken threads of fair hair.

  ‘Oh, Ruth, she’s beautiful.’ The words came unbidden to Shona’s lips.

  Ruth nodded slowly. ‘I know,’ she said simply and somewhat distantly and Shona realized that she wasn’t the only one who could be moody when she felt like it.

  She sighed and turned away to see Lorn striding past the Post Office, his hands in his pockets, a determination in the way he moved. Shona’s heart lurched. For a split second in time she thought that Lewis had come back and wondered if it would always be like that. They had been so alike, the twins, except that Lorn had been the smaller of the two, now he was as strong, perhaps even taller than Lewis had been, but for that there was little that set them apart.