Song of Rhanna (The Rhanna series)

by Christine Marion Fraser

  Surreptitiously Kate wiped her eyes with her hanky at sight of Old Joe’s rheumaticky fingers fumbling with the ring. For the umpteenth time she wondered how Grace had managed to steer her various suitors’ intentions into such amicable channels. She was peeved to think she hadn’t yet managed to find out how it had all been achieved, for Grace could be as reserved as Bob when it came to personal affairs and not even the happy-go-lucky Mac had given away anything but the barest of details on the subject. Old Bob appeared sublimely happy as he kissed Grace on the cheek and planted his horny hand in Old Joe’s in a congratulatory gesture. Yet the old shepherd had bought a fine cottage outside the village, and rumour had it that the investment had been a carrot to dangle in front of Grace’s nose. Just recently however, Grant and Fiona McKenzie had been installed happily into the house and everyone was asking everyone else just what Bob was playing at. Captain Mac hadn’t gone as far as buying a house though it was said that he had been making speculative inquiries about a houseboat that had come up for sale.

  Kate poked her elbow into Tam’s ribs. ‘Why are the bodachs no’ angry wi’ Grace? Look at them all skirlin’ and laughing together as if they were bosom pals.’

  ‘Ach, go and ask them,’ Tam told her in aggrieved tones, rubbing his rib cage and going to join the crowd filing out of kirk.

  Kate took herself off to wait for Grace but sighed as she saw the crowd that surrounded the old couple. The newspapers had somehow got to know about the wedding and in loud voices they were asking Old Joe what it felt like to be married for the first time at the ripe old age of one hundred and four.

  Joe’s sea-green eyes twinkled. ‘Ach well, it is too early yet to tell but I’m thinkin’ it will be just sublime. I should have taken the plunge years ago but I was never findin’ the right woman to suit me.’ To everyone’s delight he placed his hand suggestively on Grace’s well-rounded bottom. ‘She is just right for me, I will never have cold feets wi’ Grace in bed to warm me up and she is no’ likely to give me the kind o’ chilblains I got from using a hot water bottle.’

  Kissing Grace’s blushing cheek he winked at the crowd and intoned sorrowfully, ‘It is just a pity we are no’ likely to have children – she would have made a bonny wee mother and that’s a fact.’

  The crowd skirled, the reporters jotted furiously. Some time later Grace tottered away from the ranks to sit herself on a bench outside the railings and fan herself with the corner of her dress. Seizing her chance, Kate marched over to sit beside her and say respectfully, ‘If you’ll be sparin’ me a minute, Grace, I would like to have a wee talk wi’ you.’

  Aunt Grace was wearing her best hat that day, a wide-brimmed straw lavishly adorned with felt rosebuds and slightly faded pansies. Pushing it back on her silvery hair which had been elegantly coiffured by Mairi, she smiled sweetly at Kate and bade her to ask what she liked so long as it wasn’t too personal.

  ‘Well, in the first place, I’d like fine to know what made you pick Joe in favour of Mac or Bob.’

  ‘Ach well,’ began Grace placidly, ‘Mac is young enough to get any lassie he fancies. He already has one in mind. Nellie is after tellin’ me he is courtin’ a Hanaay widow, a young woman of sixty or so. He is hopin’ to persuade her to come over here to live in a houseboat wi’ him. He saw a whily ago that I wasny payin’ any heed to his attentions so he just went and found a younger woman.’ Her eyes twinkled at Kate’s astonished expression. ‘As for Bob, well I must admit to havin’ a hankering after him. He is such a gentleman and like Joe he’s a mite too auld to want more from me than a full belly and a warm bed.’ Coyly she straightened the hem of her violet-sprigged skirt. ‘Joe only has one or two years left to him if he’s lucky and I want to make them happy ones – besides,’ she blushed girlishly, ‘I aye liked the old sea dog and that’s a fact. I only wish I had asked him to wed me sooner.’

  ‘You asked him!’ expostulated Kate.

  ‘I did that,’ Grace’s eyes had grown dreamy. ‘I knew fine what he was after, more my house than myself but I didny care. He was dithering about that much I was feart he would die on me before he got the blessed words out so I said them for him and he accepted wi’ more than a mite gratitude I can tell you.’ She drew Kate a sidelong glance. ‘Bob is willing to wait for me – he has bought me a bonny house and I’m no’ missing the chance o’ that if I can help it. The young ones will keep it fired till they get a place o’ their own, but after that it will be mine and Bob’s. The harbour is a fine enough place to stay if you like bustle and noise but I was used to my croft in Coll where there was that much silence you could hear the mice farting in the grass. The harbour will do me the now, my bonny new mannie just loves it there and I’ll no’ do anything wi’ him that might put Bob off the notion of me.’

  Kate threw her head back and gave vent to peals of laughter. ‘By God, you old Jezebel, that you are!’ she spluttered when she had regained her breath. ‘Marrying one and keepin’ another on a string.’ She thrust her big, capable hand into Grace’s dainty little one. “Tis glad I am to welcome you into the family, Grace, and grateful to you for taking the bodach off my hands. He can be a thrawn bugger betimes and you will have an awful job gettin’ the dirty drawers off his backside when you want to wash them. Mind you, he might do things for you he would never do for me and I wish you luck wi’ him. I’ll come over every month to shear his hair and bring him some o’ my nice wee cakes but other than that I will no’ interfere wi’ your lives – you can take that on the word o’ a McKinnon.’

  She went off chuckling and Old Joe, who had come up in time to hear the tail end of the conversation, winked at Grace and they both burst into gales of merriment.

  ‘Nice wee cakes indeed.’ Old Joe wiped his eyes. ‘They are one o’ the reasons I wanted out the house. Every time I chewed one it stuck in my gullet and a fine way that would be to go to the Lord – choking on rock cake and no’ able to tell Him I was no’ yet ready to die.’

  Rachel and Jon had stayed behind to talk to the minister and were only now coming out of kirk. In the excitement nobody paid them much attention, but Ruth, at the fringe of the crowd beside the door, was unable to avoid looking directly into the face of the girl who had once been her friend. Lorn had told Ruth how Rachel’s patient ministrations had helped him on the road to recovery and she wasn’t prepared for the upsurge of bitterness she felt in those fraught moments. Rachel’s eyes were big and dark with emotion as she gazed at Ruth, her hand came out as if to touch the other’s shoulder but seeing the stark expression of rejection lying like a shadow across Ruth’s face she allowed her hand to fall to her side and turned quickly to Jon. He nodded and she went off in the direction of the cliffs. Ruth stood, nonplussed, feeling no triumph at having rebuffed Rachel with such ease. Jon came over and took her by the arm. ‘Ruth, can we talk, I have a few things I would like to say to you.’

  Ruth hesitated, looked round for Lorn. But he was engrossed along with everyone else in examining Dodie’s wedding present to Joe and Grace, a great old iron telescope that weighed a ton, but which delighted Joe so much he was doing a little jig of joy round the object lying on the grass. Dodie had brought it along on a wheelbarrow and despite much prodding from everyone he simply would not give away the fact that he had found the telescope half buried in the sands of Burg Bay. Ruth looked at Jon and nodded. ‘All right, Jon, though I mustny be too long. I promised to help with some last-minute decorations to the hall.’

  ‘We will go down by the shore,’ Jon said quietly. ‘It is peaceful there.’

  Reluctantly Ruth followed him to the quiet stretches of shore that skirted the harbour. Jon was looking sad, she thought, and her heart went out to him. He, like she, had suffered pain and heartache in the past year and she laid her hand on his arm. ‘It’s all right, Jon, I’m no’ going to eat you. You can talk to me.’

  He turned to face her squarely. ‘It took a great deal of courage for Rachel to come to church today. She only did it for two reasons, one, to see
her dear Old Joe married, two, to perhaps get a chance to talk things over with you.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘The look she saw on your face just now very effectively put an end to that, so I thought I would try to tell you some of the things that are in her heart.’

  ‘Och, please, I don’t think I am ready yet to understand the sort of things Rachel has hidden in her heart!’ Ruth made to walk away but Jon’s hand on her arm stayed her.

  ‘Ruth, you and I have certain things in common. I of all people understand how you feel but I love Rachel and I think it is time you tried to understand her a bit more. You see, she has always been a very lonely girl. She lost her adored father when she was very young, ambition made her give up the only man she really ever loved – yes – I admit to that, Ruth. The only way I have been able to face the truth of it is by knowing that for me she has a special love and that no matter what happens she will in the end come back to me. I have to protect her you see, her mother has never taken a great deal of interest in her affairs so, in a way, I am the only one she can turn to in the end. Her affair with – your husband – brought her no consolation, instead she has suffered more loneliness and heartache for she cannot forgive herself for what she did to you. I live with her, I see her striving to be happy, but always there is a shadow, the shadow of Ruth, the friend whom she loved and whom she feels will never look kindly at her again. The only thing in the world she wants is to be an ordinary young woman, but her talent won’t allow her to rest. She is obsessed – possessed if you like. It takes a rare type of person to understand a genius like Rachel – in me she found one – in you another . . .’

  ‘She should have thought of that before it was too late!’ Ruth cried in angry protest but Jon went on as if she hadn’t spoken, telling her that Rachel could never be like other young women of her age.

  ‘She used not to care about children – now—’ he spread his hands, ‘she would do anything to have beautiful babies like you, Ruth.’

  ‘She of all people should know how to go about getting them,’ said Ruth coldly.

  A new kind of sadness showed in Jon’s eyes. ‘Rachel might not be able to have babies, Ruth. We have tried but so far we have had no luck. You are the lucky one of the two, you have been blessed with a talent for writing, but it didn’t stand in the way of motherhood – your two adorable children are gifts far greater than anything Rachel might ever have.’

  Ruth’s kindly heart turned over. Jon had made his point well. She looked at him steadily.

  ‘Where can I find her?’

  ‘Over by the cliffs of Burg.’

  She walked away from Jon and took the winding cliff road above the great crags of Port Rum Point. In the distance she saw Rachel walking with her head bent and in an instant knew that Jon was right. Rachel was lonely. She was beautiful, talented, widely admired, fame had brought her material gain but little else. She had no children to love, or to love her. She walked through her life, shut into a lonely existence, never to be able to express her hopes, her fears, never able to communicate with another living soul except through the medium of her hands and those wonderfully expressive eyes which bared so much of her tragically isolated soul. All at once Ruth felt herself to be the luckiest person in the whole world. She had her adored father, she had children who were her world and a husband whose love was doubly precious to her after knowing what it was like to live without it, and she had just finished a book which Lorn had read. Entranced by its warmth and power he had hugged her and made her send it off to a publisher right away.

  Rachel turned then and saw her, her steps slowed, stopped, her whole attitude was one of tensed longing, of waiting.

  ‘Rachel!’ Ruth’s voice was light and clear. ‘Are you coming down now? The ceilidhing will be starting soon.’

  Rachel came slowly, as if she couldn’t quite believe what was happening. Reaching Ruth she stopped short, her eyes searching the other’s face for a sign that would tell her it was all a pretence, that there could never be a reconciliation with the girl she had so wronged. But she saw only the sweet, warm expression of honesty on Ruth’s face – and something else – a new strength and determination that gave the young face a rare and special kind of beauty. Rachel’s lips moved, forming the name ‘Ruth’, a hesitant smile touched her mouth and there on the lonely windswept cliff they embraced briefly before walking side by side over the flower-strewn turf to the village nestling below.

  Mark James stood at the kirk door smiling at the banter flying back and forth on the Hillock, then he turned inside and going to the vestry removed his robes and laid them neatly over a chair. Going out of the side door, he made his way up to the Manse where he shut himself in his study and sat for a long time at the window, staring out over the garden to the Sound of Rhanna lying beyond the cliffs of Burg. He saw the figures of two girls on the machair above Burg Bay and a little smile of triumph lit his face. His little talk with Jon and Rachel in kirk looked as if it had worked after all. Rachel had wanted to go to Ruth right away, to try to explain to her how badly she felt about everything, but he had advised Jon to talk first with Ruth. It was a situation that required more than an eloquent pair of hands to get everything into its proper perspective.

  Getting up, he paced for a while then going back to the window he trained his vision on the sturdily built house down by the shore, where on a stormy day the wild Atlantic tossed its spray over the walled garden and helpings of seaweed draped themselves over bushes and gateposts. The front of the house looked out on a green oasis of machair cropped short by the cows who roamed this part of the island at will. For months now the sight of the house had evoked in him a strange sweet yearning that grew more insistent with each passing day.

  The very idea of Megan Jenkins living so near filled him with a restlessness that wouldn’t be stilled. She was so near and yet so far out of his reach as all his approaches had been met with politely but with decided coolness. When first she had come to the island and was finding life in the old house anything but easy, she had, after the initial polite refusals, been obliged to accept his neighbourly offers of help. He had carried coal for her, arranged for a stack of peats to be delivered to her shed, had fixed a temporary water supply to the house after first shoring up the burn that tumbled from the moors on its way to the sea.

  As work progressed on the ancient building, as plumbing and other amenities became fixtures, she had required his assistance less and less so that finally there had been no excuse to go and visit her. But the more time he spent away from her the more intrigued he was by her and was actually glad one day to have Tina, his housekeeper, call her out to minister to him during a bad bout of ‘flu. But the visit had been a disaster. She had been clumsy and confused, had spilled pills all over his bed and in helping her to scoop them up their heads had come together with a clatter. In a fit of humiliation she had gone to seek out Tina in order to leave medication and instructions before departing the house as hastily as she could.

  Placing the palms of his hands on the windowseat he hunched his powerful frame nearer the window and saw that smoke was spiralling from her chimney. His mouth set resolutely and before he could change his mind he threw on his old tweed jacket and was soon making his way down through the Manse garden and out on to the machair atop the cliffs. The wind buffeted him, ruffling his cap of thick dark hair, stinging his ears, making him dig his hands deeper into his pockets, for although it was a warm day it was always colder up here on the crags.

  Megan watched the approach of the loose-limbed, athletic figure and she tried vainly to stay the fluttering response that the sight of him never failed to invoke. In the beginning she had resented his warmhearted, well-meaning attempts to be friendly but the passage of time had changed her attitude entirely. Now she burned for a glimpse of his tall, straight figure, did everything she could to ensure that their paths crossed – and yet when they did she was so disturbed by him she always made a complete and utter fool of herself. In trying to hide her feelings, she had adop
ted a front that wasn’t just cool, it was icy. She hated herself for it but there was no way she could behave rationally in his presence without the protection of such a façade.

  All her defences were up as she intercepted him at the door, though inwardly her heart melted at the sight of his big handsome frame dressed in casual jacket and slacks, the collar of his shirt lying open at the neck, exposing a little gold wedding ring hanging on a chain. She had heard about the tragic death of his wife and child and knew that the ring must have belonged to his wife. Nevertheless it did nothing to instil the confidence into her that she so badly needed. She didn’t dare look at his face, having had previous experience of the things his penetrating smoky gaze did to her reason and so she lowered her eyes as she told him rather shortly that she was just on her way out.

  ‘This won’t take a moment.’ His deep, pleasant tones were clipped, and miserably she wished that he would speak to her as he had done at the start, in that lovely, warm, caring way that had so entranced her. She led the way into the sitting room. It was a small room, pleasantly furnished with chintzy sofas and brimming bookcases. Outside the window the ocean heaved and sighed, rattled the pebbles over the smooth white sands. Her eyes were very bright that day, sprinkled, he noticed, with warm gold flecks. Her shining brown hair had been cut just recently and curled inwards just below the curve of her dainty ears. Her face was sun-flushed, the skin on her arms tanned to a deep golden brown. His eyes lingered on the well-shaped contours of her mouth then he saw her watching him and with an effort he tore his gaze away. She was looking at the clock on the mantelpiece and again he spoke brusquely. ‘I have something to ask you. Do you think you could spare a few moments of your time to hear me out?’

  Crimson stained her cheekbones. Motioning him to sit down she placed herself on a chair some distance from his. He spoke haltingly at first but as he warmed to his subject his voice glowed with enthusiasm, his hands moved expressively. They were nice hands, she mused, strong and masculine, yet the fingers tapering – hands that could easily extract pleasing sounds from a piano – hands that could do anything they wanted – with anybody.