Island of Wings

by Karin Altenberg

  Around the same time Betty Scott announced that Calum MacDonald had asked her to marry him. It happened on an evening when Mrs MacKenzie and Betty were alone with the children in the kitchen. A westerly gale was raging over the north Atlantic, and St Kilda was isolated amidst the hostile ocean. The minister had shut himself into his study. The gale inspired him; he saw it as a metaphor for the spiritual vulnerability of the Christian lives of his congregation. Gusts of wind were beating against the glass of his study window, threatening to shatter it at every violent blow. Waves as high as thirty feet were crashing with unreasonable fury against Dùn, breaking over its rugged peaks and rocky battlements and sending great showers of sea spray over the eastern slopes of Ruiaval and over the huddled dwellings in the clachan. Village Bay was a boiling cauldron; tufts of yellow sea foam lifted from its strange and secret brew and flew over the island, only to settle in shuddering sods between the houses, behind the ridges and in the furrows. The howling sound of the sea and the storm was everywhere; it roared down the slopes of Conachair, boomed in the sea cliffs at Mullach Bi and screamed through the arch at Toll sa Duin.

  Lizzie was uneasy; it seemed as if the island was going to break in half and sink back into the mother ocean. The children were crying with fear as doors rattled and sparks flew from the chimney. Because she needed reassurance, Lizzie told Betty about Stevenson, who had drawn the plans for the manse and had built the great lighthouse at Bell Rock which would stand against the elements until the end of time. But Betty was calm and steady. She rocked James Bannatyne on her knee and sang all the songs and shanties she knew. The soft sound of the words in the old language and the clear tone of her young woman’s voice soothed her mistress. The singing told of a people who had weathered fury like this for thousands of years.

  On this evening Betty was strengthened by the love that lived in her heart. Nothing could touch her now that Calum had finally revealed his feelings to her. She could not keep it inside her any longer; the wonder of it was too enormous. She had finally escaped her fate; she would be her own at last. ‘Calum MacDonald has asked me to marry him, ma’am,’ she blurted out almost aggressively. ‘What!’ If Lizzie had grasped the full meaning of the statement, she was already hiding from it. ‘As I have no relatives here, I suppose Calum will have to ask for the minister’s consent.’ The maid was glowing now and added quickly as if to crush any doubt about her intentions, ‘He must give it, mustn’t he? He has no reason not to.’ Lizzie was pale; she felt very tired. The girl had become indispensable to her. On this night she felt it more strongly than ever. Betty had served as an intermediary, an interpreter between Lizzie’s solitary world and the world of the island. Lizzie could not bear to be shut out of it again. She could not bear it if her language was to die again.

  ‘Ma’am? Are you feeling unwell?’

  ‘No, my dear, not at all. I was just saddened by the thought of losing you.’ She hugged Eliza, who had fallen asleep in her arms.

  ‘Oh, Mrs MacKenzie, ma’am, don’t speak like that. I will come and help you during the days for a while until I have little ones of my own.’ Betty seemed moved.

  ‘No, Betty, you must have your own life. I will be fine. I am sure there is a girl in the village who would be willing to come and help me. Perhaps somebody who would be willing to learn some English.’

  The mistress and the maid looked at each other and smiled shyly at the first hint of the unlikely friendship which was to grow between them. The rest of the evening was passed in warm confidentiality, discussing the wedding and the nature of men and what made them so attractive – so soft and so hard. When Neil MacKenzie entered the kitchen just before bedtime he was surprised to see the two women giggling intimately, and he felt himself blush for no good reason at all as they stopped their whispering abruptly and looked up at him from the glowing dust by the fireplace.

  The storm lasted for three days. On the third day, as the wind settled and minds eased, the rèiteach, or betrothal party, for Calum MacDonald and Betty Scott was celebrated. It was the custom to hold the rèiteach in the house of the bride’s father, but as Betty was alone on the island it was decided that it should be held at Calum’s father’s house. Mr and Mrs MacKenzie were invited to the party, which was normally a family affair. The minister acted as the girl’s representative and had to state the intentions of the betrothal before he was let over the threshold and into the house. As the MacKenzies entered the house on their hands and knees they found all the men reclining on the floor close to the walls on either side so that their feet met in the middle. The MacKenzies found it difficult to pass as they had to step over the outstretched legs of the guests. Calum’s female ­rela­tives were in an adjoining hut with the bride, and Lizzie soon understood that she was intended to join them. Mr MacKenzie, in the meantime, was offered a seat on a chest and sat down to drink a toast of spirits which was passed around by the groom’s father. The reason for coming together was not mentioned, and as soon as all the spirits had been drunk the party separated without much further ado. Lizzie stayed on for a while longer with the women. They did not drink any whisky, but in spite of this their gathering was less solemn; Lizzie enjoyed listening to the songs and stories and, although she did not understand the language, the feelings communicated filled her heart. One song in particular caught her attention. It had few words but the vocals which the women produced seemed to imitate the cheerful chirps of seabirds during the mating season. Betty laughed at the lyrics and explained to Mrs MacKenzie that the song described a young woman who makes fun of her admirer as he does not have the courage to climb even the smallest stack. But Lizzie liked the chorus best and laughed as the women sang the bird-like noises:

  Inn ala oro i, o inn al ala;

  Inn ala oro i, uru ru-i uru ru-i;

  Inn ala oro i, o inn al ala.

  The following Sabbath the betrothal between the couple was announced, and when it had been proclaimed on three successive Sabbath-days the wedding date was set, after careful planning and consultation of the omens.

  When the day arrived it was wrapped in hoarfrost. One of the rare Soay sheep was slaughtered and two elderly men were appointed to boil the mutton. Young girls were given barley to grind and bake. Others who had no chores did no work at all but hung about in the houses, chatting and getting ready for the feast. One of the old men produced a fiddle which had not been seen for a while and expectations were high. It was as if everyone was set on defying the dark season and welcoming this stranger into their midst. It had been some time since an outsider had married into the community.

  As the bride was being dressed by her future female relatives a story was told of an unlucky girl who once came with the factor to the island as a servant and married a local man. The St Kildans soon found out that the girl was giving information to her former master, about goods which were hidden from the factor when he visited.

  Not long after, the girl’s husband volunteered to go to Dùn to bring back a sheep which had strayed there. The St Kildan women then lured the girl down to the shore at low tide. When they got to the low-water mark all the men descended on the foreign girl and tied their ropes around her thin neck. They then pulled in each direction until she was dead. In this way everyone was equally guilty of the murder and no one had to carry the guilt on their own. As the tide returned it washed away not only the signs of the struggle but also the guilt. When the factor returned the following spring, each and every St Kildan could give him the same story – the girl had tragically fallen into the water from the landing rocks and been carried out to sea. The body was never found.

  Betty felt slightly uncomfortable as she was told this story. She realised that her new kin were trying to tell her that from now on she had to be loyal to the St Kildan community and no one else, not even to her former masters in the manse.

  Once the bride and groom were dressed in their finery, mostly in odd garments borrowed from fam
ily and friends, they went with a group of close relatives to the manse. It was a fine day in early December. The ground was covered in crunchy frost and the dying sun was too weak to rise above the summit of Conachair; it would soon be dark again.

  Lizzie made a peephole in the frost-flowers on the window and watched as the little wedding party approached over the frozen glebe. They left deep footprints in the white grass and now and again a straying ray of winter sun would find its way down the slopes of the hill to send glittering diamonds in their wake. The couple looked very happy as they strolled hand in hand over the thin sheath of frost, the two of them only eighteen, with the rest of their lives ahead of them. Calum was young and proud in a fresh white shirt and a fine striped woollen vest. The red muffler around his neck had been washed and stood out in the dark landscape. Betty looked prettier than ever. Her clothes were rather dull, but her cheeks glowed and her copper hair had been curled with a hot iron. There was love and passion in their eyes as they smiled at each other, the youth gripping the hand of the girl harder as a low sparkle of winter light illuminated a straying strand of her hair. For a moment a queer sadness gripped Lizzie’s heart as she remembered her own wedding day, which had been a very formal affair. She had hardly known her husband then, and the ceremony had felt more like a transaction than a celebration. Many of the guests had been alien to her and she had felt very out of place. How long ago it seemed now; how different she was. She would never again know the girl who had embroidered monograms on the wedding sheets on long Sunday afternoons, and for a moment she grieved for the innocence of her younger self. How flattered she had been by the idea of love!

  The minister and his wife received the young couple in the kitchen before they all entered the kirk. Mrs MacKenzie had made Betty a beautifully worked lace mutch – the cap she would wear from now on to signify her married status. Betty received the gift straight and serious, but as Lizzie handed her one of her best silk ribbons Betty thanked her mistress with a thick voice. The former maid had never known the luxury of vanity, and as she tied the blue ribbon around her waist she blushed. Mr MacKenzie gave the couple a bible in Gaelic.

  When it was time to go into the kirk the minister walked ahead through the passage by the pantry, closely followed by the young couple. His wife and the children followed last. Lizzie stopped for a moment by the kitchen door and watched the departing backs of the young couple. They were leaning into each other, sharing a lovers’ secret, with their hands and fingers linked as tightly as all the days and nights to come. ‘Goodbye, Betty Scott,’ Lizzie whispered after the girl who stepped so lightly into her new life.

  Most of the village had gathered in the church. Lamps on the window sills were burning fulmar oil, and the breath rose from the islanders in white puffs. But as soon as the little kirk warmed up, their woollen garments started steaming, releasing some rather unpleasant odours.

  Lizzie was surprised to see that her husband had marked the words of Isaiah as a starting point to the wedding sermon; ‘A man shall be as a hiding place from the wind, and a covert from the tempest,’ he read in a low voice with an intensity that filled the high room. ‘Each one of you must look inside yourself for comfort in this harsh world. The Lord Jesus lives inside those who believe and as you stand before me in this house, in this place where there is reason to hope, and where His Gospel is preached, know that you are married to Jesus first and to man second.’ Lizzie listened to the sound of her husband’s voice as he continued to tell the congregation in their own tongue of their vulnerability and of the sacrament of marriage, and of how two are one and yet must be single; without understanding the words she was drawn back into the eye of the storm that sometimes lived inside her. She thought she heard him talk of duty but not of love and she wished that somebody had told her as she stood next to her love in front of the altar that she would one day perceive her husband from this distance – that she would be so alone.

  As soon as the couple were married they were followed out of the kirk by a procession of their kin. The young people were chanting and cheering as they returned to the village in anticipation of the feast. The MacKenzies returned alone to the manse and put the children to bed. After some time, the governor of the feast, Calum’s brother Aonghas, arrived to invite the manse-folk to the feast. He had sewn a patch of white cloth to each shoulder to signify epaulettes and a patch to the front of his cap. These insignia showed that he was to lead the feasting. As the MacKenzies entered the house of the feast they found most of the adult village men seated on the floor with a table of planks before them. The livestock had been moved out to make space for all the guests. One end of the table was raised higher and placed before a chest to which the minister and his wife were led. Next to them and opposite each other sat the newly married couple. Three plates had been placed on the boards in front of the minister and his wife. One contained the boiled mutton, another one the barley bread and the third some cheeses saved from the summer. Across the long table similar crude planks with food had been distributed, but there was no soup or drink to wash down the food. The minister said grace, after which everyone ate greedily without talking much. Once the men had finished their food there was a bit of conversation before they left the table to let the women and boys have their share. Lizzie suspected that the party would only liven up once the minister had left, so she whispered to her husband that they ought to leave. It was a cold starry night and the frost was thick on the roof thatch. A white moon was hanging silently over Village Bay, illuminating the blue frost. The first tickling notes of a fiddle escaped from the smoke hole of the wedding house.

  The dark sea cliffs loomed threateningly around the clachan. This was a different world from the Hirta which was populated by birds in the summer. This black island did not belong to mankind, only to the ocean from which it had once sprung. It was bitterly cold. Lizzie blew into her bare hands and leaned against her husband for warmth and comfort. He was thinking about something quite separate and found her closeness rather irritating. Since starting his big project he had been withdrawn and distant. Normally Lizzie didn’t mind. She was used by now to his moods and the way he would forget about her and the ­children for long periods of time when something more pressing related to his calling occupied his mind. But this night she felt miserable and lonely and she wanted him to give her reassurance. As they walked towards the manse she lifted his arm to put it around her shoulders, but he shook himself free and looked at her with cold eyes. ‘What?’ he said in a voice that made her shrink away.

  ‘Nothing,’ she answered, and sank ‘I was a bit cold, that’s all, and I thought you could warm me up.’

  ‘Wind your shawl closer around you, why don’t you?’ His voice offered no comfort.

  ‘I will miss Betty,’ she said then, and turned her face towards the sea to hide her eyes. A thin crust of ice had formed by the shore.

  ‘Don’t be silly – you will be able to see her whenever you want.’ He was getting quite annoyed. He could not understand her loneliness. Could she not engage her mind in something useful rather than acting so forlornly? What did she want from him? Was he not the minister – and master – of this island? Did being his wife not offer her belonging and purpose enough?

  ‘I am not so sure,’ she replied, his coldness for once making her stronger. ‘She belongs to the St Kildans now and her first loyalty must be to them. They still see us as foreigners and gentlefolk – we do not belong in their world.’ She tried to explain her feelings in general terms. She realised that he did not understand that she sometimes felt her exile and alienation so strongly that she found it hard to breathe. Perhaps he had forgotten – or chosen to forget – that she had left her world and her youth behind to follow him here.

  ‘Nonsense!’ he said, and quickened his step. But he had no wish to belong; he wanted to command.

  ‘Well, why do you think they wanted us to leave the party just now? It was quite clear that t
hey did not want us there for the rest of the festivities.’ Her voice quivered with emotion.

  ‘Well, for my part, I have no wish to partake in their merriments. They are crude and vulgar.’

  ‘How can you know when you have never been invited? Are you not at all curious?’

  ‘No, not at all. I look forward to going back to my study to read about world affairs.’

  ‘World affairs that are a year old – you do not live in reality,’ she muttered flatly. He would get an annual supply of news­papers sent with the taxman once a year and had made a habit of reading each paper on the same date that it was published, but a year on.

  He said nothing to this, but she knew he had won as he was fulfilled by his pride and his mission, wrapped in his magic robes, and she remained empty and solitary. He had become increasingly withdrawn since the children were born. He seemed especially awkward around his son, she thought. She had caught him looking at James Bannatyne once or twice in a way that she could not quite interpret. It was as if he was bewildered by a mystery in the boy that he could not decipher. It struck her that perhaps he had hoped to recognise himself in their son’s soul. She shook her head and realised that in this she was stronger – at least she had knowledge of the children. Still she needed him desperately. As they got back to the manse she tried to make friends with him again by making him a cup of tea and smiling seductively. She wanted to sit up and talk by the fire, but he was suddenly tired and wanted to go to bed. She got in after him and put her hand on his chest. She tried to kiss his lips, but he pulled away and turned over on his side with his back to her. ‘Do you not want to give me a goodnight kiss?’ she asked, humiliated and diminished, still wanting him to understand and to open himself to her.