‘And death,’ she said bitterly. ‘Too much of one and not enough of the other if you ask me.’
Shona walked into the kitchen. It was still very warm though the window was wide open . . . the window. She went over to it, feeling as if she was floating on a cloud, moving without effort. She paused, staring outside. The evening air was laden with fragrances of the country – she breathed deeply – summer, how lovely . . . her gaze strayed to the pictures in Memory Corner. Biddy smiled at her—
‘Ellie said this would be a lucky house, Biddy.’ She spoke flatly, without emotion. ‘But it’s not, it’s brought us bad luck—’ She paused and wrinkled her brow – What bad luck? What was she talking about? Then she remembered. One of the hens had died that morning. She had found it in the henhouse, its funny big chicken legs up in the air, all pale and stiff. ‘Ay, bad luck, Biddy,’ she continued and her voice was pebble hard. With a sudden swift movement she slammed Biddy’s picture face down on the windowsill. How could Biddy smile like that when a poor little chicken lay dead in the grave she had dug for it behind the henhouse? And the old nurse had been so found of animals too – she paused again, the frown lines deepening, trying to remember if Biddy had liked hens – or had it just been cats? She sighed. Sometimes it was difficult to remember the things that people had liked when they had been alive.
A week later Shona walked down the road towards Laigmhor, her smile dreamy as she approached the sprawling white farm buildings in their lush green setting. Puffs of peat smoke were drifting lazily from the chimneys and she knew that the kitchen would be filled with the afternoon fragrance of baking and cooking. This was her home, her only home really, the place in which she had grown up, been so happy, she belonged here and knew that she would never really feel at home anywhere else. But had she always been happy at Laigmhor? She stopped in her tracks and began stripping the heads from the long grasses by the roadside, her face set into lines of concentration.
No, it hadn’t always been happy, she decided, for a start it had taken her a long time to get to know her father and there had been other things – sad things – things she didn’t want to think about. It was better to remember the happy things, people smiling, never looking lost and lonely – she glanced back the way she had come and her face darkened. Niall was back there and he was lost and lonely looking and seldom smiled – especially in the last week – there had been a funeral, the funeral of a little girl, a child with sun-bright hair and a look about her sweet young face that had struck her deeply – a strange look, as of one suspended for all time on the brink of womanhood but forever remaining a child – like Peter Pan – that’s who she was – Peter Pan, and somehow her death had all been Niall’s fault only no one had accused him aloud. But he knew all right, no wonder he looked so ill and pale with tragedy mirrored in his nice brown eyes. The only thing she could do was to behave as normally as possible – as if nothing had happened – better to forget – it hurt too much to remember . . . She shuttered her mind and abruptly started walking again, better to keep active, busy – it was the only way to keep sane.
Kate was coming along the road. She liked Kate, liked her strong face and buxom body. There was a sturdiness about her and she laughed a lot, said funny things. No, Kate was seldom upset about anything. When she had been a little girl Kate had come to Laigmhor to see to the things her father hadn’t the time to do on his own. She smiled as she thought of how Kate had swished the washing around in the tub, soap bubbles to her elbows, talking away cheerily, saying things that had made her laugh. Kate drew closer, a hesitancy about her manner that wasn’t in keeping with the bold, forthright woman she knew. She stopped beside her and seemed to be studying her face and she wondered why because she was smiling and greeting her in the normal way.
‘How are you, lass?’ Kate’s voice was full of concern, the lines round her mouth turned down in an odd kind of sympathy.
‘I’m fine, Kate,’ she assured. ‘Isn’t it a bonny day? I wonder how long the good weather will last.’
Kate shook her head in an abstracted way, that uncertainty of manner more pronounced. She eyed Shona doubtfully, noticing that her blue eyes were distant, as if she wasn’t aware of anything going on around her. She had been the same at the funeral, remote and calm, not a single tear in her eyes. Kate stifled a sigh. It had been a dreadful week for the McLachlans and the McKenzies – and for the Donaldsons too, laying poor Morag Ruadh to her rest. Poor cratur’, she was better away, and from all accounts she had slipped off peacefully, all her demons laid to rest, thanks to the minister and Rachel. Ay, a fine lass, Rachel, and of course with her having that strange power she had been able to do some wonderful things to ease Morag’s last hours. Ay, a granddaughter to be proud of right enough. With her talents she would go far . . . Unconsciously Kate puffed out her chest proudly, her thoughts straying back to Morag.
The minister had had two funeral services to conduct that week and he had carried out his duties in a manner which had further endeared him to the island. He had been kindness itself to Dugald and Ruth, Isabel and Jim Jim, and they had been flabbergasted when he had donated a bottle of whisky to the funeral repast. But he had excelled himself for wee Ellie, had conducted the service simply, beautifully, movingly and his words of sympathy had been spoken from the heart, really meant, not just kind words to be spoken because it was his job to say them – in fact he had cried when the small coffin was being lowered. She had only glimpsed his face but she was sure she had seen tears on it and one or two other people had verified it – Barra had looked at him oddly, as if she was afraid for him and after the service she had hurried after him and they had gone up to the Manse together. Kate had sensed a mystery about those two since the day the minister had acknowledged her so warmly in kirk. Barra knew something she didn’t, yet she hadn’t been able to find out what it was which had incensed her and made her all the more determined to keep her ear to the ground. She looked at Shona again, remembering her talk with Merry Mary yesterday when Shona had departed from the shop.
‘She is taking it remarkably well,’ had said Merry Mary, nodding at Shona’s disappearing back. ‘Fancy comin’ out to do her shopping and going about as if nothing had happened.’
‘Too well,’ Kate had frowned. ‘It’s as if only part o’ her is here and the other part somewhere else altogether – no’ just quite all there – if you see what I mean.’
‘Ay, right enough,’ agreed Elspeth, her gaunt face showing her own sorrow, her eyes red from continual weeping. It had been a nightmare week at Slochmhor with Phebie going about silently, stopping in rooms where she thought she would be private enough to give vent to her grief; the doctor, moving through his day mechanically, looking nearer to exhaustion than she had ever seen. ‘Ach, poor Shona,’ she went on. ‘The Lord knows she was punished well enough all these years ago but surely she has suffered enough without paying this terrible price as well.’
‘Are you feeling all right, Kate?’ Shona’s voice cut through Kate’s thoughts and she shook her head sadly.
‘I am right enough myself but I am just goin’ up the road to see my Nancy. She’s no’ keeping too well again and the doctor was sayin’ she will maybe have to go back into the hospital.’
‘Ach, that’s a shame,’ Shona said absently. ‘Tell her I was asking for her.’
She began to move away, not feeling very cheered by her encounter with Kate. She hadn’t been smiling much today and she hadn’t laughed once. Also, there was trouble in her family too, everyone, it seemed, had little reason to feel happy – everybody except her. It took hold of her again as the gap between her and Kate widened and by the time she reached Laigmhor she almost felt like singing.
Ruth was in the garden, rocking baby Lorna to sleep, her look as she saw Shona full of the same hesitancy she had witnessed in Kate. What on earth was wrong with everybody? Were they perhaps jealous because she was happy and they weren’t?
Ruth regarded Shona doubtfully, feeling an amazement tha
t she could behave so normally – almost as if Ellie had never been taken from her. Fergus and Kirsteen thought so too, she had heard them talking, Fergus worried, Kirsteen trying to comfort him. ‘She’s either taking it well,’ Fergus had said, ‘or she’s not taking it at all.’
Lorn had tried to speak to his sister, tried to give her the same sort of support that she had given him when Lewis died but she had pushed his condolences impatiently aside and had gone on to discuss the forthcoming sheepdog trials.
Shona was talking to the baby, tickling her, making her chuckle.
‘Are you coming in, Shona?’ Ruth searched for the right things to say. ‘I’m on my own at the moment and rather busy but I could make a strupak and you could talk to me while I’m washing some of Lorna’s things.’
‘No, you go, I’ll stay and talk to the baby – I’ll be along in a minute or two. It’s so nice out here and I could be doing with some fresh air after being cooped up for most of the week.’
‘All right.’ Ruth realized that Shona was probably doing the right thing, getting out, meeting people, enjoying the air. Nevertheless there was something dreadfully wrong – why else were Fergus and Kirsteen talking, Lachlan keeping an obvious close watch on her – as if he expected something to happen. A shiver went through her. She was still trying to get used to the idea that her mother was no longer alive. Her father was feeling the same and had to check himself from setting Morag’s tray, tiptoeing into the parlour to see if she needed anything – a bereavement was such a traumatic thing – yet . . . She gave Shona one last assessive look before turning away, satisfied that she was perfectly happy for the moment. She walked away across the grass and over the cobbled yard to the kitchen.
Shona waited several minutes after Ruth’s departure, making sure no one was about, either at the farm or on the road, then quite calmly she picked up the baby and walked away with her in the direction of the Muir of Rhanna. A bubble of happiness burst inside her, tumbling out to make her chuckle. How lovely it all was; the moor with its wildflowers; the dear little skylarks hovering and singing; the heat of the sun bringing out all the warm, wild, delicious smells she loved so much – the baby gazing at her with big blue eyes the same colour as the sky.
She began to croon a lullabye, one Biddy used to sing a lot, a bairn on her knee, cosy by the winter hearth; or on a chair outside, cool in the shade of summer trees. She was feeling good and very fit and her long legs carried her swiftly over the tracts of moor and along the sheep track she had so often walked with Niall – he had been happy then, now he was sad, sad because he had been the cause of that little girl dying – he deserved to feel as he was feeling, human beings punished themselves when they had guilt lying on their conscience.
The hollow at Dunuaigh drowsed peacefully in the heat. No one was here, no one would come here – not for a good while anyway. The baby was growing fretful and, little as she was, becoming quite heavy. ‘Don’t cry, my wee one,’ she said softly. ‘You’ll soon be nice and cool and able to have a nap – I’ll look to you, never fear. I was never guilty of neglecting my own wee Ellie – was I now?’
She found the entrance to the cave quite easily but knew she would have to make it bigger to allow her to get through with the baby. Laying the infant on the soft moss she began to pull back the undergrowth. By the time she was finished she was scratched and bleeding but it didn’t matter, nothing mattered as long as Ellie was all right.
It was deliciously cool inside the cave but the baby continued to cry, her lower lip piteously curled. Shona opened her bag and began taking out baby clothes, napkins, tinned milk, sugar. It was a good thing she’d kept these things by her at Mo Dhachaidh. Everything that a baby needed was here, along with some food for herself and a few packets of tea. Spreading an oblong piece of sheeting over the dirty grey sheepskin on the stone ledge that had once served as a bed, she laid the baby on it, changed her and washed the nappy in the burn. Then she heated water on the little camp stove she’d brought, and mixing it with the dried milk poured it into the feeding bottle. The baby sucked greedily for a few minutes then her eyes grew heavy. In minutes she was asleep, one small hand across her face.
Shona made herself tea and sat back to drink it in complete contentment. She was glad that she had given the place a good clean that last time she’d been here – that lonely but happy day of exploring, finding things that had once meant so much to her. She had vowed never to come back here again but now knew that she had been meant to return. How right it seemed to bring her baby to this place – the place where it had all begun. After all, right from the start Ruth hadn’t wanted her baby so it wasn’t wrong to take it and make it her own – but – it was her own – what had made her think of Ruth? Ruth had no baby. She had taken away its life almost before it had started to grow in her womb. Shona shut her mind to Ruth and lay back. The world and all it meant was a million miles away – and she had Ellie back, that was all that mattered – though of course she couldn’t stay here too long. They knew of this place, they had found her once before in this cave with a baby – one that hadn’t cried or crooned like Ellie – a tiny wax doll with no life in it. Sadness washed over her but she pushed it angrily away. No time to be sad – Ellie was here, living, real. They would stay here an hour maybe and then go over to the bay at Croy where she knew of a deserted boathouse – but later they would come back – after they had gone. She gave a little sigh, closed her eyes and fell asleep.
Chapter Thirteen
Niall was growing anxious, wondering why Shona was taking so long to come back when she had said she would only be gone a short time. She had been so unpredictable and strange since Ellie’s death, a remoteness in her that made it impossible for him to draw close to her, to communicate in the open frank way that they had shared all through their years of marriage. There was also a vagueness about her; it was there in those lovely eyes of hers, as if she wasn’t taking in anything going on around her but was looking inward, retreating back over a long weary road so that when he spoke to her she had to make a great effort to travel back over the distance that separated them.
His father had asked him to keep a close watch on her, to tell him if she began to behave oddly, but there had been nothing, only that eerily calm acceptance of Ellie’s death and a behaviour so normal it wasn’t normal under the circumstances.
There had been one incident that had given him cause for concern, an incident involving old Dodie who had arrived at the door a few days after the funeral. Shona had opened the door to him and red with embarrassment he had handed her a red rose to put in Memory Corner. She had taken the flower, crushed it in her hand and had then shut the door in Dodie’s face. Niall had witnessed it all from the green at the side of the house and had thought how much courage it must have taken for the old eccentric to actually go up and knock on a door. He was stumbling away, blinded by tears and Niall had gone to intercept him and to lay his hand on the stooped shoulders.
‘You mustny mind Shona,’ he had told Dodie kindly. ‘She’s no’ herself just now.’
Dodie had gulped and had tried to stem the flow of tears. ‘I shouldny have chapped the door,’ he said brokenly, drawing his sleeve again and again across his eyes. ‘I dinna do it as a rule but I missed the funeral and wasny able to put any flowers on the grave. I knew that wee Ellie loved flowers and I saw that special one growing in the Manse garden and the minister gave it to me when I told him who it was for.’
‘Why didn’t you come to the funeral?’ Niall asked gently, knowing it was Dodie’s habit to pay his respects at the graveside of his departed friends.
Dodie had turned away and gulped, ‘I couldny bear to watch the cold earth swallowin’ up such a young lassie. She was aye singin’ and somehow I thought if I didny see her goin’ to her rest I would still hear her singin’ over the hills the way she used to when she was walkin’ past my house on her way to visit Jack the Light.’
‘Ellie will never stop singing – for any of us,’ Niall had sa
id, his own tears threatening to choke him. He had sent Dodie on his way feeling slightly happier though he himself was utterly saddened at the idea of Shona’s cruel disregard for an old man who had always placed his trust at her door.
Niall stirred in his chair, the lethargy in him making him feel that lead had settled into his veins. The house was filled with emptiness, a hollow emptiness that would never be filled – with her – the daughter who had filled his life with light from the moment she was born – wee Ellie, the girl child who had touched their lives with a rare happiness. She was all that he had ever needed, he had never hankered after more children the way he knew that Shona did. Now Ellie was gone and he felt utterly alone. Shona had drawn away from him and he couldn’t reach her. She seemed incapable of talking to him and he felt crushed with grief. Yet, if his daytime hours were hellish enough, his night-time ones were worse still. The nightmares came then; the boat; the fire; Ellie lying still and so dreadfully burned; he could feel her torture searing through him in red hot bands, yet his father had said she hadn’t felt the terrible burns – they went too deep for that.
The pain would have come if she had lived to undergo one operation after another, taking skin from the healthy tissue that was left to try and repair that which had been lost.
‘Oh Christ! She’s better out of it!’ he wept into his hands then immediately asked himself why he was uttering such banalities. Why had it happened at all? Why? Why? He should never have left her, never listened to her – but it had been an accident. Mac explained how it had happened but somehow he couldn’t take that part in – he should never have left her . . . The same arguments, the same doubts, the same self-recriminations whirled round in his head till he felt exhausted. He would have to get up, go and find out what was keeping Shona, but he had to force himself out of the chair, pushing himself up on hands that still hurt, though his burns had only been superficial and were already starting to heal.
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