by Darci Hannah
There was nothing I could say, because it was true. And so I took my seat and remained quietly brooding, knowing for a certainty that I had lost any ground I’d made with the light-keeper, as well as a good deal of money.
I did, in fact, learn one thing as I sat chastened in the stern of the little oar-boat, aside from exercising prudence when travelling in a small craft, and it was that when given a chance, promoted by steadiness and pacing, experience prevails over youth. As the bay of Kervaig opened up before us—her welcoming waters glittering in the sun as the first rays of the day were just poking through—it became evident that the men in Robbie’s boat were growing tired. They had worked the oars with such strength and vigor that after the long pull—the first of the year—they were exhausted. Hugh and his kinsmen were also tiring, but not nearly at the same rate. They had experience on their side. I watched as all four oarsmen gritted their teeth—Tosh uttering guttural words of encouragement to his son—while using their heads as well as their arms to close the gap that had been present from the start. Robbie’s boat was drawing closer as we entered the bay, and once the younger men noticed our boat gaining on them they leaned on their oars with redoubled vigor. The problem with that, however, was that not all the men pulled with the same strength and the boat began to veer off course in spite of the coxswain’s corrections. Mr. Campbell saw the gap and took it, urging the men on with a steady calm in his voice, a voice that revealed the reclusive lighthouse keeper had at once the confidence and experience to guide his fellow man. I was as much in awe of his handling of the situation as I was with the fact that we were pulling ahead of the other cutter.
“By God, they’re doing it, aren’t they?” I uttered, and found myself smiling at the man next to me. Without waiting for him to answer, I shouted encouragingly from the safety of my seat, “Keep pulling, MacKays! You’re doing it! You’re going to take the lead!”
At the sound of my voice Robbie looked at me from across the way. The grimace on his face, the narrowed eyes, combined with urgent cries delivered to his men in such a competitive way, made me realize that he was hell-bent on fleecing me, likely for the shoddy way I had tricked his wife into the care of a suspect minor. I had never seen him like this before. I glanced at Mr. Campbell. Sensing my eyes upon him he turned and delivered a darkly disarming grin.
“I believe Mr. MacKinnon is intent on making you pay for years of torment to his dear wife.”
“I was just thinking the same thing,” I said, and offered an apologetic smile. “I’d be lying if I didn’t say there’s some justification there too. But if I do appear to torment her from time to time, it’s because I have my reasons.”
“It’s more than your spiteful nature?” he offered, and assumed he was being clever.
But for some reason his words of accusation hurt more than I cared to admit, largely because Mr. Campbell thought me the unscrupulous one. Out of pique, and with the threat of tears at recalling how Kate had betrayed my trust, I said, “Do you really want to know why I’m here?—thrust on your promontory of hell and a constant burden to your self-imposed isolation?” This got his attention. I continued. “I’m here because I told Kate about my sailor and she promised she would keep it a secret, but she told my parents anyway. Perhaps it was a blessing he never came for me; they would have never approved of him. But my heart dies a little every day because of it, so you’ll just have to forgive me if I sometimes appear cruel or unduly mean. She was my dear friend once, you know.”
I could see him weighing this information behind his piercing eyes, and he looked at Robbie in the other boat. “Did ye … ever consider that perhaps it was for the best?”
“No,” I said plainly, looking into his guarded face and feeling the familiar sting of tears that came all too easily. “And I’m surprised that you could even ask such a thing. I live in hell for my sins, Mr. Campbell, just as you do for yours. The only difference is that I was hoping to avoid this hell by seeking a little bit of heaven. I overreached myself.”
“I’m sorry” was all he said, and strangely, I could see that he meant it.
With a new and driving force, Mr. Campbell set to guiding our rowers, and no one could doubt his desire to win. It was a harrowing, heart-pumping pull to the finish. Past the magnificent sea stacks that rose out of the water like the spires of sunken cathedrals, and straight to the approaching beach. No one spoke a word for the last hundred yards of the race. It was only when our boat touched on the sands, just seconds ahead of the other boat, did a cheer go up. The MacKay men were bent over their oars, mouths open and breath coming heavily. But it was the look in their eyes that lifted my spirits. For they were looking at Mr. Campbell, and this time there was no derision or fear, as there had been at the jetty, but something akin to respect. I too turned to the man, who both unnerved and intrigued me. His eyes, burning with the same intensity as the lighthouse he tended, held to mine, and then he nodded. Although in a rather unorthodox manner, and one not without some glaring flaws, I had upheld my end of the bargain … and rather successfully too, for Mr. William Campbell could not complain that he had lost any money in the bargain, as I had.
• • •
It was agreed that I would pay the men from the winning boat their two guineas apiece when they were to gather next, a week hence at the same beach, due to the fact that I was not in the habit of carrying that kind of money on my person. It would also bring them back to Mr. Campbell’s cause for another go-round. I threw out the concept of a nominal pay for their continued efforts, somewhere in the vicinity of one shilling per week. Friendly greetings went around and everyone proceeded to the MacKay croft in much higher spirits than when they had first gathered at the lighthouse jetty.
It was at the croft, only a short jaunt from the beach, where I learned that I had lost yet another gold guinea. Apparently the Duchess of Sutherland, when properly coaxed and duly prodded with a rod, was a faster beast than I had given her credit for. And from the scurrilous glare from Kate I deduced that she felt blessed to have arrived at all.
Not only did I lose my bet with Hughie MacKay the younger, but I had also lost the opportunity to introduce him to the world of reading. He would not be pressed upon to spend time learning his alphabet with me when all the men were about. The ban of infantile attacks on my character was also lifted, though strongly tempered by the lad’s mother.
Mr. Campbell had already headed back to the lighthouse, and most of the others were on their way home, when I finally was able to sit and visit with Mary and Kate.
“Angus told me how ye almost swamped the boat,” wee Hughie gibed, speaking loud enough for all to hear. “Sent the fear o’ God through ’em, it did. Ye stood up an’ the whole boat began to topple. I heard ’twas Mr. Campbell what saved ye, and kept ye in his lap until he was certain ye’d not stand up again.” The boy cast me a rather condescending look.
“Well, it wasn’t nearly as dramatic as that,” I corrected with a flippant wave of my hand. “And it was a wave, not me, that gave us the fright.”
“Really.” He narrowed his eyes skeptically. “Not the way I heard tell. Perhaps if ye lost some weight the boat wouldnae tip? I noticed ye’ve grown a wee thick since the last time ye were here.”
“Hughie! That’ll be enough out o’ ye! Is it no’ enough that ye scared poor Mrs. MacKinnon to death with your wicked driving? An’ now ye insult our dear guest like the ill-mannered besom ye are! Another word and I’ll see your faither bend ye ower the rail and take a stick to your backside!”
“But Ma, I’m only commenting on a fact,” he pleaded, the damnable blue eyes wide and guileless.
I held up a hand to stop Mary and replied softly, “You’re right, Hughie, and very observant; I am getting thicker, and I’m likely to get thicker still until I’m thin again. But I’ll thank you to not mention it. Women are very sensitive about their weight.”
“But why are you getting thick?”
“Because I’m with child.”
&n
bsp; This he was not expecting. His face, usually filled with mischief and good humor, grew sullen. His round, boyish features became pinched with incomprehension as he stared at me. And then he repeated his question: “But why?”
“Well now, that’s a long story. And if you ever want to know it, you’re going to have to learn to read. For mine is a story best told on paper, with words scribed in ink and not passed down orally from one person to the next, where the facts get lost and twisted in personal interpretation. I’d not wish that to happen. So, if you want to know, the next time I come here, ask me to teach you to read.”
He stared at me silently for a long while, as if what I told him had somehow altered how he thought of me. And then, abruptly, he nodded and stood to leave, heading outside where his father and Robbie MacKinnon were talking.
Mary MacKay looked thoughtfully at me from across the table and then she mused, “Perhaps I shall learn to read too.”
• • •
Later that evening, well after supper and while Robbie was nearing the end of the first shift in the light-room, I heard Mr. Campbell’s door creak open. He had been sleeping, I assumed, and had kept to his room since our return from the MacKay croft. We had not seen him, nor did he appear for supper. Kate suggested we wake him, yet I countered her advice by offering some of my own, namely that it was best to let a sleeping bear lie. This she agreed to, but only under the condition that I handle the task of feeding said bear myself when he awoke. And so, merely to bide the time, I sat in my room with the door open, writing a cursory letter to my parents—purely a courtesy to let them know I still lived, that the child I carried seemed to be thriving and therefore was still a black mark on their sterling name.
I heard his footsteps progress only as far as my threshold. And then came a soft knock on the stout oak door frame.
“Mr. Campbell, you’re awake,” I greeted, turning to face him as he stood silhouetted in my doorway. “I’ve saved your supper and will have it ready for you in a moment.” He gave a small nod in acknowledgment, yet from the way he looked at me, the way the glowing eyes held to mine, made me to understand that food was not why he had come. I made no move to get up as he walked into the room, silently closing the door behind him. Kate was still awake, I consoled myself as he approached. She was darning stockings in the main room while awaiting Robbie. Mr. Campbell could do nothing to me while she was awake. Yet all the same, my hand, still holding the dripping quill, began to tremble. I stuffed the pen back into its holder and brought both my hands to my lap, willing them to be still.
Mr. Campbell stood very near to me. I could smell the essence of sweet tobacco mingling with the more antiseptic smell of the local whisky that was wafting off his black coat. The entire room seemed to come alive with his dark, masculine presence.
He clasped his hands behind his back and bent his head slightly forward, looking down on me. “I … I wanted to thank you for what ye did today, Miss Stevenson. But never again do I want to see you in one of those boats. Do I make myself clear?”
I pushed back my chair and stood, not coming exactly eye to eye with the man, as he was a good deal taller than I, but at least on somewhat more equal terms. “I did what had to be done. And for what it’s worth, I quite agree with you on account of the boats. Charming as they appear, being rowed in one of your little skiffs is not my chosen form of travel.”
“Ye prefer a coach and four, perhaps?—with a heated brick at your feet and a fur mantle pulled around your shoulders?”
Although he was making sport of me, it did sound rather wonderful, and I couldn’t help but smile at the thought. “Ah, how well you know me. Before you held me captive on your lap I would swear you were only able to discern the subtle shifts of objects mechanical or scientific. And here I thought you were only trying to torment me, but I see the experience gave you some valuable insight.”
“I was hoping it would give you some valuable insight so you’d be able to think more clearly,” he countered with the same insincere smile.
“But I do think clearly,” I replied, and looked at him earnestly. “I bought you more time, Mr. Campbell, and another go with those men. They need leadership, and perhaps a little incentive.”
“Incentive? You bribed the men. You already owe the MacKay men eight guineas, and all of them are now expecting coin every time they show up.”
“Why shouldn’t we pay them?”
“With what? Outfitting two rescue boats with eight men’s not exactly in the budget for a lighthouse so far from civilization. And where are ye planning on getting the eight guineas you promised the men?”
I huffed, wondering how he could maintain being such a boor, and pushed him slightly out of my way so that I could go to my chest. After rootling around a bit I pulled out a white canvas sack, unremarkable in all aspects with the exception of its weight and the way it jingled as I shook it. It was another of the heavy objects I thought to pack.
“Ye have the money?” he marveled, looking suspiciously at me. “Your father gave ye a great sack of money?”
“Gave me?” I replied. “Not exactly.” And I tossed him two of the gold coins, his payment for winning the bet. “I was planning my elopement with a sailor, remember? Just what kind of fool do you take me for?”
He looked at the coins in his hand, the gold glowing brilliantly in the lamplight. And then his focus shifted to me. “I have never thought ye a fool, Sara,” he said, using my Christian name for the first time. “Only foolish. And may God help me, but I suffer fools ever so much better than idiots. Keep your money,” he said, tossing the coins back to me. “You owe me nothing. But I would be much obliged if you could see it in your wee foolish heart to make me some food. I’ve a muckle long night ahead of me and a little kindness from you, I find, never goes amiss.”
• • •
Over the next few days it became obvious to me that Mr. Campbell’s attitude toward me had softened. There was even something as foreign as respect coming from his many covert glances. And, not to embarrass the man, I pretended not to notice. But I did notice how he began to regard Kate.
It was no secret that from the start of our stint on the Cape he had thought Kate the paradigm of female virtue, never lashing out at her with a cross word or glaring her way in disapproval. Those reproaches were reserved solely for me. But things had altered slightly since our conversation on the boat. He was still polite and courteous where Kate was concerned, yet I could see he began to watch her more closely, and took a more objective interest in our relationship and how we treated each other. But not until Kate aired her pious thoughts during Thursday night’s dinner about the irresponsibility of my choice to correspond with a stranger from Oxford did Mr. Campbell, uncharacteristically, defend me.
“Miss Stevenson deserves to know the truth,” he said evenly. And before she could reply, before she could even counter with the improprieties of such scandalous behavior, he gently cut her off and advised her to keep to her own affairs. And then, without so much as a glance in my direction or at Robbie, he left for his duty in the tower.
All throughout the week I kept an eye out for the mysterious little skiff I had seen the morning my package was delivered, but I never did spy her. And not until Friday morning, directly after the great light had been snuffed out and the horses hitched to the wagon as we made ready to embark on our trip into Durness, did I ask Mr. Campbell if I could retrieve the letter I had left at the jetty. I wanted to make certain it would reach Mr. Alexander Seawell of Oxford. With a show of chivalry, Mr. Campbell volunteered to retrieve the letter himself and dashed down the steep road to the end of the pier while we sat in the wagon, waiting for him at the top. When he finally came back I could see that his hands were empty, his expression perplexed.
“The letter’s gone,” he declared with the air of wonder. “By God, I never saw a boat pass this way. I must have missed it.” And I could tell the mere thought that he had troubled him greatly.
Yet what troubled me was
not the mysterious boat or her skipper. It was that my letter was gone; my only thought, my only prayer, was that Mr. Seawell, the antiquarian from Oxford, would answer it.
EIGHT
Mr. Seawell’s Reply
The village of Durness was certainly no Mecca, nor was it a thriving hub of civilization. In fact, village was perhaps too lofty a word to describe the shocking paucity of whitewashed cottages that dotted the vast and austere landscape. Yet it was more civilization than I had seen in a great long while, and sorry though it was, Mr. Campbell did let on that there was a house that acted as an inn of sorts where a meal could be ordered and a room procured. We had traveled a long distance indeed, and the thought of ordering a hot meal and having it served by an unknown procuress was titillating. Yet the meal, however wonderful it would be, was not why we had come to Durness. We had made the journey to the little cluster of cottages by the sea just so I could have the local doctor glance at my swelling midriff. I would have liked to profess that such a visit was unnecessary, but as the child within me grew, so too did my fears. I knew only too well it was a mortally dangerous prospect with both the child’s life and mine hanging in the balance, yet one I was undoubtedly obliged to make. And as our wagon trundled over the undulating moorland, across the still frozen streams and the Kyle of Durness, I was struck with a bit of an epiphany, and that simply was that no matter how long my labor was apt to be, it was highly unlikely a doctor would ever be fetched in time. This thought left me with the distasteful realization that Kate would be the one to help my child into the world; hers would be the first face my child would see. I was not well versed in the folk arts and had little knowledge of omens good or bad. However, I did strongly feel that if my baby’s first glimpse of the world was Kate’s great haughty glare it could not bode well for the child. I would just have to pray that Mary MacKay, bless her good-hearted soul, might be gotten as well.
