Return To Rhanna

by Christine Marion Fraser

  The sacrilegious accusations continued to pour from her twisted mouth and Ruth swayed against Lorn who put a steadying arm around her shoulders, whispering comforting words in her ear. Isabel and Jim Jim looked away, unable to bear the shame of knowing that this was their very own flesh and blood blaspheming in the house of God, bringing the devil into a holy establishment.

  The baby began to cry, a petted sobbing that made Morag look wilder still and stretch out her arms, as if to snatch the little creature away from an ungodly guardian. But Rachel, despite a swiftly beating heart, had never once flinched from Morag’s terrifying figure, and now she snuggled the child closer to her breast, evading the clutching fingers which wavered towards her. Her dark, contemptuous stare fell upon her tormentor, hypnotizing, mesmeric.

  Morag backed away, her hand going up to shield her eyes, her lips quivering in dread. ‘The de’il is in her,’ she whimpered. ‘She’s no’ right, never was, even as a bairn.’

  Mark James took Morag by the arm and she allowed herself to be led up the chancel steps and over to the altar. There the minister spoke to her quietly, his arms round her shaking shoulders, the low murmur of his voice filtering to the ears of the congregation.

  ‘We will no’ forget this day,’ Kate murmured to Elspeth, who back straight, eyes fixed on the stained glass window, was moving her lips as if in prayer.

  Elspeth nodded grimly. ‘Indeed we will no’ – and if the doctor is wise he will no’ allow that cratur’ to stay on the island a minute longer after this.’

  The minister was coming forward, leading Morag by the hand, and she followed him like a trusting child who has at last found a friend. Bending he spoke a few words in Totie’s ear. After a few tight-lipped seconds she arose and stepped down to take a place in one of the pews, leaving the organ clear for Morag, who, having sat down, was lovingly fingering the keys, her smile radiant, the glow of ruby light on her face making it soft, childlike, innocent.

  Isabel fingered her peacock feather nervously. ‘Ach, our poor, poor lassie,’ she whispered to Jim Jim. ‘She’ll no’ be able to play. She’s too far gone to know an organ from a peat spade.’

  But Morag had not forgotten how to play the ancient harmonium that had once given her so much satisfaction. Mark James finished blessing the baby and the kirk rose to sing the baptismal hymn, all eyes on Morag who seemed to be playing a tune of her own as her agile fingers fluttered over the keyboard. Then, quite suddenly, above the squeaking of the pedals, the organ burst into life and the opening strains of the hymn reverberated round the kirk. The minister’s gaze was on Morag, encouraging her, and she responded, summoning every vestige of strength to please this bonny man who had spoken to her with such understanding. The wonder of the event was strengthened as the words of the hymn rose to the rafters, The Lord bless thee and keep thee, sung in a mixture of Gaelic and English with a few words of German thrown in by the old Gaels for Anton’s benefit. Swelling, pulsating, the voices burst triumphantly forth while Lorna Morag blew bubbles and chuckled at the feather in her great-grandmother’s hat, the tip of it pointing proudly to the cobwebby roof.

  Tears were pouring down Morag’s face. Towards the end of the hymn she faltered but the finale spurted from under her fingers, dying away gently to leave a throbbing silence. A breeze danced through the open door, fanning the pages of Bibles and hymn books, cleansing the air, bringing freshness and life upon its breath.

  Morag was spent, her shoulders sagged, her long white fingers lay still upon the organ keys, her ruddy cheeks were mottled with purple, her head had fallen forward onto her bosom.

  ‘Ach, she is just a poor, poor lost soul,’ nodded Elspeth in a rush of compassion and those who sat beside her nodded their heads in sad agreement.

  Lachlan was up beside Morag now, a look in his face that was oddly disquieting as he held her thin wrist between his fingers. Mark James went to speak to him and it was a grave face he turned to his parishioners. He apologized for the fact that his first service had been such an unusual one but, as far as the islanders were concerned, he had no need to be sorry for anything he did. Already they had responded to his charm, forgetting the earlier doubts they had harboured about ‘the mannie who walked alone’. Those who had come to kirk prepared to criticize and find fault, instead found themselves looking askance at others who had dared to doubt the minister’s integrity.

  As the service was brought to a premature end there was quite a scuffle to get to the door to see who would be first to shake the new minister’s hand. His eye fell on Barra and a strange flush spread over his high cheekbones. Taking her hand he shook it warmly. ‘We meet again, Barra, it’s nice to see a well-kent face.’ He threw her a meaning glance and putting her fingers to her lips she shook her head, understanding the message in his eyes. Flushed but determined she ignored the curious looks thrown at her and even quite enjoyed the feeling of power within her breast. Kate and the others could question her till they were blue in the face but they would get nothing out of her. For once she had the upper hand and she walked away down the hill, her back straight.

  A stream of people filed past the minister, shaking his hand, congratulating him on the success of his first service but he seemed restless, his gaze straying frequently to the interior of the kirk. Shona came out just as Babbie and Anton were making to go away.

  ‘We won’t be having the christening celebrations after all,’ she told her friend. ‘Morag isn’t well. I – I think she’s played the organ for the last time. Lachlan asked if you would go back in.’

  Babbie immediately disappeared inside, going straight to Lachlan’s side. Morag was very still, her face strangely immobile.

  ‘I think she’s had a stroke,’ Lachlan spoke quietly to Babbie. ‘We’ll have to get her home so that I can examine her properly.’

  Fergus ran his fingers inside his collar but his discomfort was more than physical. The strange, fixed stare on Morag’s face made him feel uneasy. Part of him was aggrieved at her for disrupting the ceremony in such an unholy manner yet he knew a deep pity for the woman who had brought her life to such an unhappy climax.

  ‘Help her,’ whispered Kirsteen and he went immediately to assist the other men to carry Morag down the steps. Mark James walked beside her, his strong big hand over her frail one. ‘Bless you, Morag Ruadh,’ he said softly. ‘And don’t be afraid, God is with you.’ But she seemed not to hear and he laid her hand gently back to her side and went forward to open the door wider. Ruth stood beside him as her mother was carried out of the kirk. ‘Thank you, Mr James,’ Ruth said softly. ‘Despite everything you made the ceremony so – so meaningful. Our daughter has been truly blessed.’

  Lorn nodded his agreement and Mark James’s smile washed over them, making them feel it was all right to smile back, even at a time like this.

  Shona’s heart missed a beat and she turned away with the feeling of having drowned in a hazy blue-grey pool.

  ‘Thank you and bless you, I feel welcome to this place now.’

  The words, cool and deep, meant for Lorn and Ruth, dropped like pebbles into the depths of Shona’s heightened awareness and she wished it was her right to follow Mark James into his private world and listen, just listen to his voice.

  ‘Mother, come on, everyone is going away.’

  Shona started out of her reverie to stare at her daughter’s face without comprehension. She gave a little laugh. ‘Sorry, I was daydreaming.’

  ‘About Father?’

  ‘Well, no, I was – just thinking,’ faltered Shona, reddening under her daughter’s frank gaze.

  ‘Well, I was thinking about him, during the service – till Morag Ruadh came screeching in. I can’t wait to see him tonight. I’ve finished his socks and his hat but he’s not getting them till we’re away on this trip. I wish he’d been here this morning, don’t you? It was a bonny christening except for Morag Ruadh.’

  ‘Ay, it would have been fine if your father had been here.’ Shona spoke the words automaticall
y, hating herself because she had barely given Niall a thought from the moment she stepped over the kirk door.

  Niall was weary that evening, quite content to sit back in his chair in the parlour and listen to Ellie prattling. Each member of the family had a chair which they had claimed as their own years back. Shona’s was a monstrous, well-stuffed green armchair with a sagging but deliciously comfortable seat. Niall’s was identical but for a patch on one arm, Ellie’s was made of pink cane with a tapestry seat and a little footstool to match. Very soon it would be too small for her and Niall studied her lazily, smiling at the sight of her scuffed brown knees jutting out from the seat.

  She caught his look and her golden eyes glinted. ‘I know what you’re thinking but I’m not parting with it. It isn’t really too wee, it’s just—’ She shifted her position, making her limbs fit the contours. ‘I’m not sitting right. Anyway—’ She jumped up. ‘It’s a beautiful evening and I’m going out to play with Woody for a whily.’

  At the door she turned, twisting her long hair between her fingers. ‘Father – you haven’t forgotten, have you?’

  His brown eyes twinkled. ‘Forgotten what?’

  ‘That you’re taking me with you on your next trip.’

  ‘Am I?’ He sounded surprised. ‘To tell the truth it slipped my mind.’

  She glanced at him sideways, a smile starting to dawn across her cheeks. ‘Just for that I’m not going to bother playing with Woody. Instead I’ll clean your car – and if one or two of the tyres go down while I’m there . . .’

  He thew a cushion at her. ‘You dare, madam, and I might forget about some wee surprises Mac and me cooked up between us – such as dropping anchor at Breac Beag and spending a couple of nights there. There’s an old shepherd’s cottage there with the roof and everything still intact, just the right base to have adventures from. The caves are near as high as Fingal’s Cave on Staffa and the rock pools so warm it’s like swimming in a hot bath – oh, ay, and of course there’s the fishing. Mac says he spent a night there and caught so many saithe and mackerel he was throwing them to the seabirds – but of course, maybe none of that interests you which is just as well since I’m supposed to have forgotten it all . . .’

  She hurled herself at him, tickling and pummelling till he begged for mercy. ‘You win,’ he panted, his face red with laughter. ‘I’ll take you, I promise – now, get out of here and leave your old man in peace. I’m no’ able for your capers now – as your Grannie Lachlan would say.’

  In moments the house was quiet, the hens crooned peacefully outside the window, Ellie’s voice drifted from the river where she had taken Woody to teach her how to fish with her paws.

  For a while he enjoyed the peace, wiggling his toes into the pink woolwork rug Shona had made while they were living in Kintyre. It was good to be home. He missed it when he was away; only the thought of returning to his wife and daughter kept him going. He cocked his good ear, listening for signs of life, pinpointing it to the kitchen. Getting up he padded through. Shona was at the window, gazing pensively towards the hills, her chin propped in her hands, the threads of her hair caught to fire in the bright evening light. Soundlessly he went up behind her and slid his arms around her slender waist.

  ‘You’re very quiet.’ His lips brushed her lobe. She tasted of warmth, the smell of new baked bread, which she had made that afternoon in defiance of the Sabbath, lingered on her clothes.

  ‘Am I?’ She didn’t turn but kept on gazing outside.

  ‘Ay, you are that.’ He nuzzled his mouth into the warm hollow of her nape. ‘Have you missed me at all?’

  ‘Maybe just a wee bit.’ Her voice was lazy, the smile that hovered at the corners of her mouth was secretive, inviting.

  He pressed himself harder against her, his former contentment laced now with desire.

  ‘I’ll crush the life out of you, Shona, mo ghaoil – though, on second thoughts that might not be wise – your body feels very good to me the way it is.’

  She twisted round to look deep into his eyes. ‘I think, Niall McLachlan, I would like if you crushed me.’ Her lips parted provocatively and his hold on her tightened, his thumbs caressing her nipples till they became taut.

  ‘Ay, you would like that, Mrs McLachlan,’ he whispered against her cheek. ‘I think we’ll have an early night.’ He grinned, his boyish features illuminated. ‘After all I have a very good excuse. I’m bone weary and need you to massage me to sleep.’

  She laid her head on his shoulder and he let the silken strands of her hair run through his fingers. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t make it for the christening this morning – yet in a way I’m glad I wasny there.’

  She didn’t move, finding the comfort of his shoulder so relaxing she could have closed her eyes and slept in his arms. ‘Why?’

  He looked contemplatively from the window to the hills. ‘Freedom,’ he spoke as if to himself. ‘The hills have their freedom – Morag Ruadh used to walk them long ago when she was a young woman, always she was a lonely strange creature but she had her freedom. Now she has none, not even her spirit is free to wander. I wouldny have liked to witness her humiliation in kirk this morning – nor that of Doug and Ruth, Isabel and Jim Jim.’

  She held him tightly, a shaft of pain piercing her breast. It wasn’t often that Niall was serious – yet lately he had been bemused and saddened by the changes brought by the passing years.

  ‘Thank God the new minister was able to handle the situation, he continued fervently. ‘He sounds a good lad. Do you like him?’

  Idly she traced the scar on his neck, an imperceptible shiver running through her. ‘I like him – and so it seems does everyone else, even those who were all set to criticize everything he did just because he has no family.’

  ‘How do they know that? He might have grown-up sons and daughters living away from home.’

  ‘He might – though he doesn’t seem old enough – perhaps in his middle thirties – besides, he doesn’t have a wife.’

  ‘A bit of a mystery man, eh?’

  ‘A bit – oh, Niall.’ She pressed herself closer against him, a sense of foreboding rising up inside her. ‘Hold me very very tightly. I love you, my Niall, I really do love you so much, and I’ve missed you more than you’ll ever know.’

  ‘Hey—’ He laughed and wound his arms fiercely round her. ‘You’ve convinced me – you don’t have to sound as if you’re convincing yourself.’

  Her eyes blurred and she was glad that her face was hidden from him. ‘I know,’ she spoke shakily. ‘It’s just – sometimes when you’re away and I’m feeling lonely I have time to think a lot and there have been times when I can’t seem to get your face into focus. When you’re near me like this everything about you is so real and familiar and that’s how I should see you when we’re apart – yet, there are times when I can’t – and it worries me.’

  Tenderly he kissed the tip of her nose. ‘That happens to me too, sometimes when I try to picture you I see a red witch instead.’ She giggled then and, smiling, he went on, ‘I suppose it happens to people who are very close. We eat, read, sleep together and yet we don’t take the time to look at one another properly – not in the way we did when we were first going together and spent our time goggling into each other’s eyes. I knew every part of you then, that the whirly bits on your right ear were slightly different from your left. Even in the dark I could find the little mole on your thigh—’ His eyes widened. ‘Hey! Now I can’t remember which thigh it’s on – maybe you’d better let me look.’ He took her arm and led her out to the hall. ‘Call on Ellie and tell her it’s time for bed. We will then repair to our own bedchamber to catch up on our studies. There’s only one way for us to refresh our memories and I have the very remedy.’

  ‘Oh, and what may that be?’ she asked coyly.

  He gave her a sidelong glance. ‘If you really want me to spell it out then the plan is simple. We will remove all our clothes and spend the night studying anatomy – imprint each pimple, eac
h hair into our minds so that we shall never forget them again.’

  ‘You dirty bugger,’ she giggled. This was the Niall she loved, able to lift her out of a mood with his nonsense, able to make her laugh with his absurdities. She grabbed him and swung him round. ‘Don’t ever change,’ she entreated him lightly.

  ‘I won’t,’ he answered seriously.

  She looked at him quickly but he broke away from her and went outside to look for Ellie.

  Chapter Eight

  A week later Shona took a chair to the green at the side of the house with the intention of catching up on some of the paperwork that had been piling up. Since Niall had branched out on his own the task of book-keeping had fallen to her, but she didn’t mind and actually quite enjoyed it. June had slipped into July with the weather showing no sign of breaking. Each day dawned clear and cloudless, and the farmers were up before daybreak to get on with haymaking. Ellie had risen early each morning, going off as her parents were just stirring. When the weather was right like this the farmers took turns in helping each other to get the hay cut and Ellie had had a wonderful time traversing the length and breadth of the island, coming home in the gloaming atop a cart piled high with newly gathered hay, the warm fragrance of it filling the balmy air of evening.

  It had been a busy week for Niall too and the phone, which normally sat quietly on its cradle, had never seemed to stop ringing.

  ‘What did they do before you came?’ Shona wondered. ‘After all, there’s always been animals on the island, but never a vet.’

  Niall chuckled. ‘Ach, the farm lads have their own remedies for ailing beasts and as a last resort they could always call out a doctor. Father has had some gey queer patients in his day and they haven’t all been the two-legged variety. If I’m minding right your father was aye looked upon as a sort of unofficial vet. With that in mind I’m looked upon rather suspiciously and I never get off lightly. Old Padruig was nearly standing on top of me when I gave his cow an injection for lung worm and after I had treated one of his horses for a severe swelling he showed me a jar of crushed stonecrop mixed with groundsel which he claimed had always done the trick before vets were ever invented. When I asked him why he had called me out, he screwed up his face and told me he thought he would give me a try but threatened to sue me if anything went wrong with his horse. There’s a bit of the animal doctor in them all and some of the old remedies were effective.’