Ruth got up, almost knocking over her cup, limping over the floor to stand by the parlour door. Morag’s pupils were dilated in abject fear. She had curled into a rigid ball, her good hand clenched into a fist and pressed to her chin while she cowered back against the pillows, as if trying to escape the contempt she always sensed in Rachel’s attitude. An eerie whining sang at the back of her throat, her green eyes were wide and staring.
Rachel stood for a long moment looking at the pitiful creature whose weaknesses she had always loathed, especially as they had been the cause of Ruth’s childhood humiliations, depths to which no human being deserved to sink – especially a sensitive girl like Ruth whose personality would have been squashed into obscurity if it hadn’t been for her father. But there was no contempt in Rachel’s eyes now, only pity for a fellow human who had needlessly led a life of misery and self-loathing. She took a few paces towards the bed. Morag’s whimper rose to a high-pitched wail, her eyes rolled in terror, saliva oozed from her mouth to foam in bubbles over her chin.
‘Leave her, Rachel,’ implored Ruth but Rachel seemed not to hear. She had taken Morag’s hands, holding them and stroking them in an oddly gentle gesture. Morag lay rigid, unmoving, but gradually her tremors died away, her eyes lost their wild look as they focused on Rachel’s face, finding there a calm serenity that seemed to reach out and touch her. The girl’s great dark eyes pierced her, driving demons of unrest beyond recall, flooding her soul with an unearthly peace.
Rachel’s hands were now on her brow, stroking the temples with a soothing touch.
Gradually Morag’s limbs uncurled and relaxed. She lay quite still while Rachel’s hands, soft as the wings of butterflies, caressed her temples and the eyes of tranquillity gently bathed her spirit.
The Bible fell unnoticed from the bed and her eyes closed. Ruth looked on in wonder. All along everyone had said that Rachel ‘had the power’, was possessed of something which was beyond the comprehension of most people. On one or two occasions Ruth had witnessed the calming effect her friend had on people who were sick or afraid, but never before had she seen the extent of that gift and it awed but in no way frightened her. It was almost as if Rachel had hypnotized her mother, willed her into a near normal state of peace. Morag Ruadh was asleep, her thin face like a young girl’s in its repose, all the lines of fear and anxiety erased from her brow, her mouth.
‘Rachel, I love you,’ Ruth said simply. ‘Thank you for helping my Mam to find peace.’
Rachel smiled, a dimpled mischievous smile, and she was once again the girl Ruth knew, yet always in the future, she knew that when she thought of Rachel she would see her as two people, the lovely, self-assured, arrogant creature people either loved or hated, and the Rachel with a God-given gift which changed her into a tender, caring soul with healing at her fingertips.
Rachel indicated that she would come back later but just as she was leaving Lorn appeared. Quickly Ruth told him what had happened, afraid that he might turn his back on the girl who had so wronged his brother. But Lorn instead went over to Rachel and taking her hands looked deep into her eyes for a long long moment. Rachel felt her heart beating fast as she prepared herself for what was coming. He had hated her that day on the pier, had disliked the idea of her becoming his daughter’s godmother, she had sensed his anger, his rejection of her as once she had rejected his brother – but these emotions had left him now, forgiveness was there, in the blue orbs that held her own with such intensity – and there was something else, something she didn’t want to see and she turned away quickly before he could speak, pulling her hands out of his grasp, not looking again at the boy who reminded her too much of Lewis, awakened in her things she had to forget if she was to follow the course she had chosen for her life.
She was glad that Dugald appeared just then and she was able to make her escape from the house, not looking back, wondering if she had done the right thing following an impulse that had taken her to visit a woman who had always rejected her as being of evil blood. But there was no turning back now, she had promised to go back and see Morag – and after that she and Jon would go away, back to the world of music which they both loved – and she might never come back to Rhanna again. It held too many memories of things she had to forget as well as those other dangerous emotions that lurked under the surface.
Ruth was telling her father about everything that had happened while he had been absent and he sat beside her and took her hands. ‘God knows we can be doing wi’ all the help we can get just now, Ruthie – and so too does your mother. If she can find peace before she dies then Rachel deserves all the blessings we can give her.’
When Babbie arrived to change Morag and make the bed she was immediately struck by the change in her. Instead of objecting and complaining she lay passively and peacefully, allowing Babbie to carry out her ministrations in half the time it normally took. She noticed however that Morag was rapidly becoming emaciated and went through to ask Dugald if she still wasn’t eating.
‘Nary as much as a sup,’ he sighed wearily. ‘She has lost the will to live, lassie, that’s a pure fact.’
‘Let me try,’ offered Babbie, but when she went through to try and persuade Morag to take a spoonful of broth she turned her head away and gazed towards the Manse. Babbie saw that the pulse in her neck was quivering weakly and she realized that Morag was nearing the end of her strength.
‘I want the man o’ God,’ she spoke suddenly, her voice strong and determined. ‘And I want Rachel.’
Mark James came immediately to the summons, taking his place by Morag’s bed, but half an hour passed before Rachel came and when she did she came swiftly, running along the road, her long legs carrying her effortlessly. Morag watched as she came nearer and a wry smile twisted her mouth.
‘See how the lass moves? I was once like that, able to run – free – free as a deer before I became – imprisoned.’
The normality of her words made everyone look at each other in amazement and wonder if some miracle had happened to throw Morag’s decline into reverse but it soon became apparent that it had only been a temporary respite. With Mark James on one side and Rachel on the other she seemed contented and lay peacefully, her blue-lidded eyes closed.
‘I’m very tired,’ she murmured as if to herself, ‘and ready now to go to the Lord.’
Ruth stared at her mother. Death was close, she knew, but surely – not that close. Morag’s eyes opened and they were clear and strangely bright. ‘Ruth, my lassie, take my hand.’
Ruth did as she was bid and Morag gazed up into the sweet young face that had so much of Dugald in it. ‘Forgive me, Ruth, forgive me, my babby, for all the pain I’ve caused you – forgive me my sins, Ruth, I want to hear the words from your own bonny mouth.’
Ruth bit her lip. ‘Of course I forgive you, Mam, it’s human to sin and we are all human whether we like it or no’. Mam – oh, Mam!’ she cried. ‘Why have you tortured yourself so much? You areny a bad woman – you shouldn’t have punished yourself so harshly . . .’ She faltered and couldn’t go on. Tearing her hand away she got up and stumbled away from the bed.
The clarity was going out of Morag’s eyes, leaving them dull and heavy but when Dugald came to her side her long fingers curled over his with feverish strength.
‘Doug, you’ve been a good man to me, the Lord knows you have. I’m sorry for all the heartache I’ve caused you. I went the wrong way, Doug, I see that now – now that it’s too late. But you must go on without me and make your life. You have your lassie, you and she were aye close and will be closer still without me – weesht – I know where I’m going, I’m ready to go – you have your granddaughter too . . .’ She turned her gaze upon Ruth. ‘You called her after a mother who was neither here nor there to you, Ruth, it was a kindly thing to do.’
‘Lorn gave her the name, Mam,’ whispered Ruth.
Morag’s eyes were glazing, turning inwards. ‘Lorn did that?’ she breathed, her sunken chest rising as she struggled to ta
ke in air. ‘And I thought he hated me.’
‘None of us hates you, Mam!’ The protest was torn from Ruth. ‘You hated yourself and that’s the worst hate of all!’
Morag nodded weakly. ‘Ay, lass, you’re right—’ She made a feeble little gesture with her hand. ‘I saw nothing that I liked very much in myself. It wasny hard to feel as I did . . .’ Her voice tailed off and she lay exhausted, the gauntness of her face very pronounced.
Mark James placed his arms about her and cradled her as if she was a baby while he spoke to her in a calm, soothing voice, reassuring her with his words of comfort.
Dugald took Ruth aside and told her, ‘I think the time has come to call Lachlan. I’ll go for him, Ruthie, and you will maybe go next door and fetch your grandparents.’
Lachlan sat down with a weary sigh, glad that afternoon visiting was over and he could relax for a while. Sometimes he felt the years weighing heavily upon him, times like now when his shoulders ached with tension and all he wanted to do was lie back and close his eyes with no sound of human voice in his ear, reciting tales of woe. A faint smile hovered at the corners of his sensitive mouth. How good it would be occasionally to stay in bed when he felt like it, to never have to look at a septic throat or make up another prescription again. Still he only had a few years to go before he retired – retired! God, how time flew. He could still remember plainly his student days, his clumsy inept attempts with needles – a scalpel – his sleepless nights of wondering if he would ever make it – ever become a qualified doctor. Now he could see it all in retrospect, his failures, his successes, recognize his limitations. The trouble was his patients didn’t, they looked up to him, expected him to perform miracles, when often the answer to their problems lay within themselves, depended on their own frame of mind . . .
‘Lazybones.’ Phebie’s soft voice broke across his thoughts – that was one voice he didn’t mind, it seldom grated on his nerves. He was lucky he had a good marriage – a fine family to keep him going. Phebie was beside him, he could sense her presence, smell the freshness of her clothes.
‘I’ll massage your neck.’ Her smooth hands were a treat on his skin and he stretched in contentment.
‘Mmm, that’s grand, all I need now is Ellie to fetch my slippers and put them on for me. I wonder how the wee wittrock is getting on.’
‘Och, Ellie will be enjoying herself, never fear.’ Phebie frowned suddenly. ‘It’s her mother who puzzles me a bitty just now. She was so keen to get back here yet all she seems to do is moon around – more so this whily back – since Lorna was born.’
Lachlan nodded. ‘She’s got baby fever, it can happen to women of her age – it happened to you and you were a lot younger than Shona. She’s approaching a time when the chances of having more children might be less and she’s beginning to panic a bit.’
‘Ay, you’ll be right,’ Phebie said thoughtfully, thinking about a time when she had been desperate for another baby, her joy when Fiona eventually arrived on the scene. ‘Another bairnie would have been the making of Shona, yet Niall is quite happy with Ellie.’
‘Men are more contented with what they’ve got. It’s in a woman’s nature to hanker after more.’ He opened one eye to look at her mischievously. ‘Unlike the likes of me, they have never learned the secret of true contentment.’
Phebie smacked him playfully. ‘Havers! You’re too skinny to be an advert for contentment – it’s plump folk like me who know the secret o’ that.’ From the window she saw a vehicle coming swiftly along the glen. Glancing at the clock she saw that it was five-thirty, time for the tea and scones she and Lachlan had every evening before surgery. But when Dugald’s van pulled up at the gate she knew there would be no pleasant little tea break for her husband. She sighed, longing for the day when they could call time their own. But when she went to the door to meet Dugald, her face was full of the caring sympathy which Lachlan’s patients had come to know and love. A swift glance at Dugald’s anxious face told Lachlan that his mission was urgent and without a word he went at once to fetch his bag and followed Dugald out to his van. Morag had been one of his difficult cases, her illness being more of the mind than the body. He had been unable to do a lot for her, except try and make her as comfortable as possible. There was no fight in her, none of the fierce instinctive battle to hold onto life; rather the reverse, and his heart was heavy as he followed Dugald into the house.
But it was too late for him to do anything more for Morag. She had died soon after her husband left the house, peacefully and without a murmur in the arms of the man of God, holding the hands of her daughter, Rachel’s hands upon her brow, soothing her, sending her serenely into that other world in which she hoped to meet her salvation. She was peaceful and relaxed looking, free of the demons of darkness that had haunted her for so long.
Old Jim Jim took out his hanky and gave his nose a good hard blow, his eyes awash with the tears of a father’s sorrow. Morag Ruadh had often harassed him to the point of breaking, she had bullied and complained till he ‘was near driven daft wi’ her endless rantings’. Often he and Isabel had wished her far away but never as far as she was now. He looked at her lying so still and somehow small and innocent – like the wee lassie he had nursed on his knee many many moons ago. She was his daughter after all and there was always something about death that wiped out the bad in a body’s life. He put his hand on Isabel’s shoulder. ‘She is better away, I see peace on her such as she never had in life. The Lord has blessed her wi’ His light.’
Isabel gave a watery sniff. ‘Ay, you’re right there, but ach – it’s sad – sad just the same – though mind,’ her red eyes lit on Rachel and the minister, ‘if it hadny been for these good folk she might never have found the kind o’ peace that lies on her face now. It was the one thing I was aye feart o’ most – that my lassie would go to her grave an unhappy, restless soul that would never settle – a body neither o’ the living nor the dead – wandering forever.’
The hairs on Jim Jim’s neck rose. ‘Weesht you, woman!’ he rebuked sharply, the idea of a perpetually roaming Morag too much for him to bear. ‘We could all be doin’ wi’ a dram to ease our nerves, I’m thinkin’. I know Morag didny approve but she’s no’ here now to be sayin’ what she thinks.’
Isabel stared at him shocked and whispered, as if she was afraid of being overheard, ‘Look to what you’re sayin’, you silly man. She is here unless my auld eyes are up to their tricks again. You canny say these things in front o’ her.’
‘Ach – balls!’ Jim Jim’s tones were defiant and though his steps were firm as he went from the room to fetch the whisky, it was noticeable that he took frequent looks over his shoulder as if to check that he was quite alone.
Half an hour later Lachlan took his leave, at the door taking Ruth’s hand in a firm grip. ‘You’ll be able to have your wee girlie back home again, Ruth.’
‘Ay, Doctor, I will that – it’s just a pity – Mam never had the joy of her own wee granddaughter.’ She took a deep breath.
It was over, finished, yet somehow she knew that it would never be over, that sometime in the future she would stop and remember a woman with fiery hair and strange green eyes, and she would feel a sadness in her for the mother she had never really known or understood.
The thunder was growling over the lowering hill peaks as Lachlan went down the path, leaving the temple behind. It was hot and clammy, making him more tired than normal, certainly too exhausted to face the prospect of evening surgery with a spring in his step – and certainly in no mood to be bothered with Behag Beag who was making her determined way towards him, her scuttling gait bringing her uncomfortably nearer, reminding him of an ancient hen in a quest for scraps.
‘Doctor, Doctor, wait you there!’ she ordered querulously as she crested a knoll, her head bobbing in agitation. ‘I saw you from the Post Office and said to myself “there’s the very mannie”. I have an urgent message from the coastguard at Oban.’ She sniffed. ‘It’s a good thing I am a dil
igent woman for it was past closing time when the call came through but I was never a body to turn my back on my duties. The clock might tell me it is time for me to go home and have a well-earned meal but wi’ all the paperwork I have to do . . .’
‘What is it, Behag?’ He stemmed the flow of self-praise sharply, knowing that she had her eye on him as the vehicle through which she might be recommended for a long service award. He had no intention of giving in easily to her wiles nor was he going to tell her that her brother Robbie, for reasons of his own, had been to persuade him to set the wheels in motion. For Robbie’s sake he had already spoken to the laird about it and he had promised to see what could be done when the time for Behag’s retirement came nearer. Meanwhile Lachlan was quite enjoying the spectacle the postmistress was making of herself over the affair. She was altogether too nosy a creature for his liking. He wasn’t the only one who resented the fact that she listened in to the conversations that came via her switchboard and could tell folks their business almost before they knew it themselves.
At his tone she sucked in her thin lips as if in preparation for one of the tight-lipped silences for which she was renowned, but this time she thought better of it and managed a sour smile instead as she imparted dourly, ‘The line was cracklin’ wi’ all this damt thunder about but I managed to make out something about a fire on a boat. I never caught the name o’ it but it is making for Rhanna wi’ a badly injured body on board. The coastguard mannie asked for a doctor to be standin’ by.’
‘When will it be here?’
‘Ach, the mannie’s voice was cracklin’ that bad I couldny make him out but I think he estimated two hours.’
Lachlan ran his fingers through his unruly hair. ‘Well, I’d better get along to evening surgery then, and come down to the harbour later. Good evening to you, Behag.’
‘Ay, to you as well.’ Behag’s jowls were sagging. Something in the doctor’s attitude suggested an indifference towards her and she couldn’t have that – not now. ‘I’ll get along back to the Post Office after I’ve had my dinner.’ She managed not to sound ingratiating. ‘Just in case the coastguard tries to get through again – if so I’ll be lettin’ you know.’
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