by Darci Hannah
It came to my attention that we were not entirely alone on the Cape. Cape Wrath was indeed desolate and inhospitable where weather was concerned, but there were a few hearty families that lived on this side of the Kyle of Durness, or so Mr. Campbell had told us one night—that body of water that stood between the village of Durness (the nearest outpost of civilization) and our windswept cape. We had neighbors and I was anxious to see other faces and hear other voices than just the three I was forced upon. I knew Mr. Campbell would never abide my using one of the lighthouse horses for my own pleasure, but he need never know. I had been on the Cape for over two months and still had no word from my family, friends—or civilization in general. I felt closed in, never more so in my entire life, and I was growing restless and fractious. An opportunity to venture beyond the lighthouse boundaries had shown itself and, damn me, I was not one to let such an opportunity go by.
It was indeed a glorious January day, in spite of what Mr. Campbell thought. Certainly it was cold, and a storm might be brewing out in the Atlantic, but from all accounts it wasn’t a bad one. The snow was a refreshing change from the freezing rain of early December and it was falling in large, delicate flakes. There was a slight wind, to be sure, but there was always wind blowing about our barren little outcrop. Besides, I could tell it wasn’t a great amount of wind because the snow was falling straight down, making a perfect blanket. And a blanket of white against a landscape of white was just the thing to conceal my departure … mine and Kate’s.
The men had barely made it to the road before we slipped into the stable and saddled Wallace, the lucky one. Unlike his partner, Bruce, he had escaped the plow and was happily munching on his allotment of oats … until we came and employed him on another task.
“Are you certain we should be doing this?” Kate questioned, her face pinched and looking nervous as I pulled her up behind me.
“Very,” I replied. “’Tis a perfect day for it too. Why, the ground’s soft, the wind’s fair and we’re on an important mission.”
“Aye,” she agreed begrudgingly. It took a little effort on my part to coax Wallace out of his warm stable and into the snow, but he was an obedient creature. And as we slowly made our way into the courtyard, Kate bent forward and said loudly in my ear, so as to be heard above the mild wind, “I should really tell Robbie where we’re going.”
Kate was always saying things like that—“I should tell Rob,” or “I should let Robbie know about that,” or the dreaded “Robbie would be most interested to hear it!”—and I found it very weak-minded of her, not to mention annoying. Because Kate was a married woman, it appeared she had no mind of her own anymore, and that disturbed me. Was it normal? Could not my own mother make a decision without my father’s approval? No. Apparently not. And so, being the only independent thinker amongst the three of us, I yelled back, “No, you should not tell Robbie. This is to be a surprise, Kate, and you cannot surprise someone if you tell them everything.”
“But should we even be out on a day like today? Maybe we should wait until the weather turns milder?”
“Wait for milder weather?” I questioned, turning my head to better look at her. “Sure, and we’d be waiting until June with that attitude, and even then my guess is that the summer storms will start to blow in, and we’ll have to wait some more. No. I believe today is our day. We have to get used to this weather sometime, Kate. We cannot be afraid of it; this is our home now.” And although there was logic in that statement somewhere, apparently it was lost on both my companions.
“I’m not so sure. I think we should wait.” I pulled Wallace to a stop and I turned to look at her again. “If you want to stay here, that’s fine with me. But I, for one, believe it’s important. There are homesteads out here where women not only raise their children and care for their husbands, but also do all that’s necessary for their survival. We’re in the Highlands, Kate. These people are hearty and ingenious! You and I can barely manage the wee cottage, but these people have learned to survive and thrive here against all odds. I think we could learn a little something from them.”
Perhaps it was wrong of me, but I had convinced Kate that we were on a mission to better our domestic skills. There was some truth in it, for I was now driven by the insatiable need to appear capable in front of Mr. Campbell, merely to prove the man wrong about me. But the real reason I had saddled the horse and sought to brave the elements was driven equally by a mixture of boredom and curiosity; for who would choose to live in this wild, desolate place, and why?
Kate was quiet behind me, no doubt weighing the advantages and disadvantages of our mission. And while she silently mulled over my words, I dug my knees into Wallace, clicked twice and the big bay gelding obediently trudged ahead.
I knew there to be a croft house about two miles beyond the jetty, at a place called Kervaig Bay. There, apparently, sat the dwelling of our closest neighbor, Mr. Campbell had told us, and the family went by the name of MacKay. He apparently knew the man, but he seldom talked of the locals. People, I noticed, didn’t make a habit of coming to visit the lighthouse keeper. He alluded that there might be a wife and children there as well, but he had said no more on the subject, only that there were a few crofts he passed whenever he traveled the lonely road built by the Lighthouse Board that crosses the moorland—or the parve, as it was known—on his way to Durness. I took it Mr. Campbell was none too fond of children either by the way he spoke of them. Perhaps they too mocked him and laughed as he went by, for children have an uncanny knack of seeing through adults. But it was this kernel of knowledge that there were others here that had set me wondering, and now we were on our way to see this family for ourselves.
The men were only intent on clearing the road to the jetty, which was long enough. I felt it to be a fruitless task to begin with, for the snow was still falling at a steady rate, but who was I to argue with Mr. Campbell? We traveled a little distance inland to skirt the men unnoticed. Once I felt we were safely past, we headed back in the direction of the road and continued southeast. It took a bit longer than I had imagined. I was unused to traveling on horseback through such open, desolate country, and just when I thought that perhaps I had overestimated my abilities by misjudging the storm and its lack of intensity, which clearly I had done, I was harboring the thought of turning around and heading home. But then I smelled something. Permeating the air, heavy with wet snow, was the smell of something quite delicious. I hadn’t smelled anything remotely like it in some time, and I knew, without a doubt, we were close. “Can you smell that?” I asked Kate.
“No. I smell nothing because my nose is frozen … along with my fingers and my toes!”
“Well, you can cheer up, then, because very shortly I shall have you properly thawed,” I promised, and steered the horse in the direction of the rising smoke, praying that it was not another lie.
We found the little croft shortly after smelling it. It was a long, low building of gray fieldstone with a roof covered by a foot of snow, making it almost invisible against the landscape of white. If it weren’t for the black smoke pouring out the chimney we might have missed it altogether, but thankfully we had arrived. Kate stood beside me as we knocked on the door, and for a second the thought did flash through my mind that perhaps it was an odd time of day to be out for a visit. But then, realizing that it was too late for second thoughts, and that I too was cold, I continued pounding on the door until it opened.
The face of a little boy, topped with a mop of fiery red hair and liberally smudged with soot, poked out and asked very frankly, “Who are ye?”
“Good day, kind sir,” I greeted him with a show of good cheer. “My name is Miss Stevenson and this is my friend Mrs. MacKinnon …”
“Weel, go on, what do ye want then?”
“Ah,” I said, thinking of a way to reply, for this was not the greeting I had envisioned when I came up with the daft plan. I looked to Kate for inspiration, but she was just staring at the little creature, agog and shivering. �
�Why, we don’t want anything,” I assured him. “We’ve just come for a wee visit and to introduce ourselves.”
The boy looked at us, looked beyond us, and then looked back to us again as if we were mad. “Ye want tae introduce yourselves … today?” It did sound rather absurd coming from one so young and so unkempt. “Well then, get on wi’ it, who are ye?” the boy demanded, placing balled fists on his slight little hips, looking strangely like an underfed terrier assuming the work of a properly bred guard dog.
“Well, so much for Highland hospitality,” I said to Kate, who was still stupid with cold. I was again about to explain who we were to this scrappy sentry-from-hell when, to my relief, another voice called out, chidingly, “Hughie, for God’s sake, lad, who is it?”
“’Tis some ladies, Ma. Says they’ve come for a wee visit,” he replied skeptically, never taking his eyes off us.
“Ladies?”
“Aye, on the lighthouse horse.”
“Weel, mind your manners, laddie, and let them in!”
The boy opened the door just enough to let us pass. And then, with a sideways glance at me, he uttered in a sigh of exasperation, “I best go fetch your horse, or ’tis likely ye’ll never find ’im when ye have it in mind tae leave us again.”
Puzzled, I looked back to the horse. He was hobbled, sure enough, but a fine layer of snow had already begun to gather on his coat. “Yes, thank you. That’s very good thinking.”
“Hughie!” the voice scolded. “Make your leg to the ladies and dinna forget to pull on your coat.” The boy hastily did as he was told and then dashed outside.
The moment we entered the croft my heart sank, for it was the smokiest, darkest little hovel I had ever seen. There was hardly a window in the place and the only light to be had came from the peat fire in the hearth and the few tallow candles on the little table in the corner. It was enough to illuminate the squalid dwelling. There looked to be two rooms at best, the sparsely furnished main room we had just entered, and perhaps another room beyond the door to our left, which I guessed contained the sleeping quarters. The thought that I was indeed a fool, as so many had tried to convince me of late, rang out in my head, sounding off like a mighty fog bell. What had I been expecting? An afternoon lounging in a fine parlor, stimulated with interesting conversation while downing pots of imported tea and tiny finger cakes? I had risked the inhospitable climate and the wrath of Mr. Campbell for this? And then as quickly as the thought came upon me it went, dispelled by the sight of the woman who appeared before us.
She was a petite little thing, perhaps a head shorter than myself, but for all her diminutive size I could see she possessed a great boundless sort of energy. Maybe it was the look in her eyes, that disarming mixture of kindness and curiosity with just the hint of mirth, or perhaps it was her plain dress of sensible blue wool poking out under a stain-smudged cotton apron depicting the telltale signs of her trade—she was a mother. Under her floppy mobcap poked tendrils of ginger hair, and though it was the same color as her son’s, as well as the toddler in her arms, her greeting was more welcoming by far. She set the chubby little girl-child down and came forward to greet us.
“Do forgive wee Hughie. He’s the manners of a heathen, he does, but ye see, we dinna get many visitors out here, especially on a day such as this.”
“Yes. Oh yes, I’m sorry about that. I know it must seem odd … we shall not keep you.”
“Never think it! What a pleasure ’tis to see new faces, truly. You’ll be from the lighthouse, I expect.”
Kate and I looked to each other. “Yes,” I answered. “How did you know?”
“Well, as you’re here on this day, in the middle of January, you’ll be from the Cape side, for the ferryman willna be taking folks across from Durness in this weather. And since I already know everyone on this side of the Kyle, that leaves the lighthouse.”
“Indeed,” I replied, smiling at the woman. “That is very logical. I’m impressed.”
“Och!” she exclaimed and waved a hand. “There’s really no logic in it. Hughie said as ye were on the lighthouse horse.” Her smile was like a breath of fresh air. “The truth is, I’ve heard rumors that the new keeper has come all the way from Edinburgh, and with him two pretty ladies. I would have come to introduce myself sooner, but things being the way they are …” She trailed off, as if uncertain of what to say. But then, recovering, she smiled and asked, “So, which one of ye is the man’s wife?”
“She is,” I said, indicating Kate. The woman looked her up and down with just the hint of pity touching her lively blue eyes, then she reached out her hand and said, “Well then, ’tis a pleasure, Mrs. Campbell.”
Stunned, Kate stopped in midshake. “Ooo no, no, no! You have it all wrong! I’m Mrs. MacKinnon, the new keeper’s wife.”
“Oh, please, do forgive me. So your husband has come to replace the other gent. Mr. Duffy was a kind man, rest his soul.” Then, turning to me, she blurted, “Then ye’ll be his wife?”
It was Kate’s turn to stifle a guffaw. I threw her a chiding look before answering, “I’m sorry to say, but your powers of logic have failed you. You were doing quite well too. But I’m not Mr. Campbell’s wife either.”
“His betrothed then?” she quirked, her brow poised in a comical gesture of intrigue.
“Once again I’m afraid I must disappoint you. My name is Sara Stevenson,” I introduced myself, taking her proffered hand, “and my husband has not yet come … but he will,” I added confidently. It was then I made the mistake of looking at Kate, for she was glaring at me with an incredulous expression, her dark eyes growing even darker. “And until he does,” I continued, shifting my attention back to our hostess, “I’m here helping my dear friend become adjusted to her new life.”
“Well, ’tis quite an adjustment, I’m sure. But I’m happy to finally make your acquaintance, all the same. And I welcome ye to Cape Wrath. My name is Mary MacKay, but please, call me by my first name, and may I beg the same favor from ye?” It was agreed, and our hostess drew us to the little wooden table by the hearth. Pulling the little girl onto her lap, she stated, “Now, tell me, I’m ever so curious, what brings ye out on such a day as this?”
Mary MacKay knew the feeling of being “cooped up” all too well, for she herself had suffered from the same affliction when she first arrived on the Cape a little over five years ago. Both she and Mr. MacKay were from a village to the south, but when the Countess of Sutherland and her English husband began evicting her tenants from the lands they had lived and worked on for hundreds of years to make way for her sheep runs, the MacKays felt it a good time to move north and help Mary’s husband’s great-uncle with his sheep, lest they become victims of the countess as well.
“They can do that?” I questioned, thinking her story of such heartless eviction—from a clan laird, no less—a bit overdramatic.
“Aye, they can, and there’s naught anyone can do about it. They have that power. My Hughie saw it comin’, but others refused tae believe it. My own brothers had to join the countess’ own regiment to avoid eviction. She promised my parents that they could stay on their farm if my brothers would serve the king in her colors. They did, and were both sent to the continent to fight Napoleon. My brother Jamie died shortly thereafter in a bloody battle in Spain. And my other brother, Fergus, well, when he heard about what was goin’ on here, he got it in mind to stay on the continent awhile longer, because all the time they were away fighting for king and country, the good Countess of Sutherland still managed to evict my parents off their land, burned their home to the ground with a’ their belongings still in it and forced them into an early grave.”
“Oh how terrible!” I interjected with real outrage. “How can that be? Isn’t that illegal or something?”
“No’ up here. This is the Highlands. ’Tis a different way of life and a different law altogether than in the Lowlands. There was a time when the clan laird used to look out for his kinsmen, but now he just cares about filling his ow
n coffers, no matter what the cost. Anyhow, I dinna mean to bend your ear tae my ain troubles, but what I was trying to get at is that living up here, in this desolate, harsh place, is certainly better than having no home at all. And for that, and my Hughie, I’m grateful.” Hughie, I gathered, was also the name of her husband. And then, placing the little girl on the floor, she went to fetch the tea.
I watched as she deftly removed the blackened kettle from the fire and poured it into a little earthen pot to steep. She then rootled around a cupboard, finally pulling down a little corked jar and a plate of flat cakes. The little girl, adorable and apple-cheeked, followed her mother along, holding her apron and tugging on it while begging, “Mama, I help! I help!” She lifted the little girl up and placed her on a stool. “There, now, Maggie, will ye please tae put these on a plate for the ladies?” The child looked delighted with the task and set about putting the cakes onto a wooden plate with her chubby, dimpled hands. I smiled at Kate and both of us became enthralled watching them. While these preparations were under way, the boy, wee Hughie, came back inside.
“Your horse, if indeed he is your horse,” the boy drawled skeptically, “is fine now. I gave him some hay,” he said pointedly while hanging his coat on a hook by the door. And then, like quicksilver, his attention shifted to his mother. “Are ye makin’ tea, Ma? May I have some too?”
“Why, of course, Hughie, this is a special occasion. Miss Kate and Miss Sara are from the lighthouse, and they’ve come for a visit.”
