by Darci Hannah
“Somebody could have sent it to him, somebody who knew about the watch or knew Thomas,” she suggested. Then, thinking on something else, she asked, “Well, what about his writing? You said your Thomas had distinctive writing; wouldn’t Mr. Campbell’s be distinctive as well?”
I paused to look at her. “Dear God, the writing!” And then I recalled that there was indeed something odd about it, something familiar. Both Mr. Campbell and Mr. Seawell had small, neat handwriting. But it had been a while since I had seen Mr. Campbell’s. Yet I knew he wrote daily in the log up in the light-room. I would have to compare the two to be certain. But why? Why would he go to the trouble? What end would he possibly be hoping to serve? Or was it merely for the pleasure of tormenting me? Was it another game to him—baiting my already volatile emotions? I felt anger rise at the thought of such a cruel prank. My eyes blurred with tears. How dare he toy with me!
“Sara, dear, please calm yourself,” came Mary’s voice, pulling me back from my plaguing thoughts, her eyes wide with concern. “’Twas only a suggestion, and likely wrong. I’m certain ye are in the right of it. Mr. Campbell and this Mr. Seawell sound nothing alike.” Yet although she revoked the thought, retracting it coyly from the conversation, the seed had already been planted.
• • •
I stayed with the MacKays for an entire week while the storm raged outside, hitting the Cape with the most ferocious winds and pelting rains I had ever witnessed. We were perpetually wet and cold; our fire smoldered and sputtered, yet thankfully we never lacked food or good cheer. There was plenty to eat and drink, and surprisingly I was treated to my medicinal allotment of the same high quality claret Mary had given to Kate and myself on our first visit. Hugh often insisted that I have as much as I needed, regardless of what auld Maura (his great-aunt, who also happened to have delivered Mary’s two children) had advised. Hugh, apparently an expert on breeding women, proclaimed that rest and claret—in the proper measure—brought about healthy offspring. It was his secret, at any rate, he told Mary and me one evening as we sat by the fire, long after the children were snuggled in their rain-damp beds. We had all been dosing ourselves a bit heartily to keep away the chill when Hugh gave over his advice to me. “Auld Maura is full of suggestions for all who seek her. Some, as in the case of a wee dosing, are quite sound, others, one in particular she’s aught tae mention,” this he said catching the eye of his wife and delivering to her a lascivious wink, “is quite grand and should be followed tae the letter, as often as one can.” As he spoke, the room fell silent. His singular focus was on his wife, and she, blushing like a young bride beneath his gaze, gave him a look of pure adoration. Suddenly I felt very out of place and secretly wished I were back in my own little room at the cottage. I was an intruder here, an uninvited guest forcing myself on the hospitality of this family. The MacKays were a gracious and kind lot, and although they went out of their way to make me feel at home, there remained that unseen chasm between us that suggested I didn’t really belong.
Mary, sensing my discomfort, cleared her throat and proclaimed, “I highly doubt, Hugh, that the auld witch would give that particular advice to Miss Sara.”
“Well then,” he smiled again, this time his charming gaze directed at me, “and maybe she dinna. By God, I pray she dinna!” he declared, and let out a hearty chuckle.
“Actually,” I admitted softly, drawing their attention, “I believe she did. But the advice she gave to me I flat-out rejected, as it had to do with Mr. Campbell being the one to ‘satisfy my every desire’ and you must know, we’re only just … friends.”
“Campbell!” they cried in unison. This passionate outburst gave me a start, yet I noticed that while Mary’s face merely held a pleasantly scandalous grin, Hugh’s did not. A flash of primal anger appeared behind the crystalline eyes and, pointing his near-empty wineglass at me in lieu of his finger, he advised, “Never heed advice, lass, from a canny auld crone what has ye dancing with thae devil! In fact, I gave yon devil of yours an earful on that verra matter just the other day, thon randy wee fool! And what man, guardian or no’, would let a lass in your condition wander out here all by her lonesome, the weather turning dark and in the gloaming forbye!”
“You saw William?” I interrupted. “I mean, Mr. Campbell? When?”
“Why, the very day ye came. Shortly after breakfast I found him racing that team of his right across the parve. He was all riled up that ye left and was meaning tae fetch ye back before the storm blew in. I told him you were safe with us and would be staying for a spell. He was about to argue that point, was verra insistent that ye return, but I must have convinced him otherwise on thae matter!” Here he cast a wink at his wife, but her meditative countenance hardly changed. His focus shifted back to me. “However, just tae put that wee dark mind o’ his at ease, I told him no’ tae worry about ye, and that I’d return ye in a week’s time. I think he was square with that.”
I looked the rugged Highlander directly in the eye. “You … you never mentioned to me that you saw him.”
“Nay, I dinna see the need. After all, ’twas you that ran away from the man in the first place, aye? I figured ye had good reason … perhaps a verra good reason, at that. And I’m no’ a man tae argue with a woman, especially a breeding one.” His eyes, deep set beneath the cinnamon brow, studied my face intently.
“Again, I’m sorry to correct you, but it was from Kate I was running this time, not Mr. Campbell.”
Mary, knowing ever so much more about the mind of men than did I, placed her hand gently on her husband’s arm. His head turned, their eyes locked, and she delivered that all-knowing look. It was a puzzle, that look, but one Hugh seemed to understand. He gave a small nod in return.
“Aye, perhaps I should have told ye. Forgive me. An’ perhaps there’s a wee something else ye should know as well. Campbell, he wouldna race across the parve for just anybody, lass.” The cinnamon eyebrows raised in a knowing manner.
“I am, after all, his charge, in a manner of speaking, Mr. MacKay,” I replied dispiritedly.
“Och, I’m well aware o’ that! But I’m also well aware that a man coming tae fetch back his charge seldom reveals such desperation. And Mr. Willy Campbell, racing hell-for-leather across the parve, why, he was fair desperate!”
• • •
As I lay in the little makeshift cot by the fire, I found myself unable to sleep. Truthfully, I was awash with guilt. The storm that had raged for a week was finally diminishing, yet I knew by now that during such storms the duties of a light-keeper never subsided. The light would be going day and night, the fog bell would be tolling continually and eyes would be ever fixed to the sea. It was not a time to abandon one’s post, even if that post merely required one to produce warm meals and offer kind words of encouragement every now and then. Yet I had abandoned my post at the worst possible time. And the thought, along with learning of Mr. Campbell’s efforts to retrieve me—even after reading my letter that should have explained everything—caused an unseemly amount of guilt to well up within me.
And guilt, on such a level, was quite foreign to me.
Could it possibly suggest that I was growing used to this life? Could I ignore the feeling that arose whenever Mr. Campbell went out of his way to find me? No man had ever tried so hard to find me.
Not even Thomas.
And as the fire dwindled, my mind had time to wander—to meander the tangle of convoluted thoughts, turning them over, examining them, attempting to make sense of the insensible. What was happening to me? What did I even think anymore? With whom did my loyalties lie? And why did I long to be back in the cottage, sleeping snugly in the very bed I had fought so hard to despise? The answer, quite simply, was that I was in limbo; for I could hardly make sense of anything at all. But I did know, come daylight, I would ask Hugh MacKay to take me home.
Dawn broke and the house came to life in the manner that houses do when there’s work to be done. I sprang up and lent a hand in the kitchen while th
e men—or, rather, man and boy—tended the livestock. Breakfast was served up in the usual MacKay style, and after all had been sated I thought to make my request to return to the lighthouse. Yet the storm had created an ungodly amount of work, and both Hugh MacKays headed out the door before I ever got the chance. The day progressed as every other I had spent in Mary’s company. She was perhaps hell-bent on preparing me for motherhood, but she was a font of knowledge. I learned the art of nappy-wrapping and how to apply one on an unwilling toddler. I cooked. I sewed. I mixed salves. Wee Hughie, whose sole mission in life was to teach me patience and humility as I fought to impart his letters to him, was out for the day. So Maggie was my charge, Maggie with the beaming smile, who made me understand how precious was the gift of life.
As midday approached, another meal under way, I was prepared to make my request again, when visitors, unannounced, began to arrive. It was a bright sunny mid-April day, and the passing of the storm had brought the neighbors out in surprising number. They came to pass along gossip about damage done, livestock lost and any unfortunate ship that got caught unawares. It was mostly men from the boat crews that came, old Tosh and his son, Angus; Jamie MacKay, with the signature MacKay hair, also sauntered in and made himself at home. The men had gathered around the table drinking and talking pleasantly when the Gilchrist brothers bounded in. Seeing me there without the benefit of my austere and churlish light-keeper guardian brought out their more flirtatious side, and they preferred to make small talk with me by the fire, while the rest of the men attended to matters of the Cape. In honor of our guests, a young lamb had been sacrificed for the evening feast. The poor creature, dressed and spitted, was hung over the fire. Wee Hughie, doing honors at the spit, turned to me, interrupting both Gilchrist brothers, who were recounting some wild Highland tale, and said, “Miss Sara, see this here lamb? I killed it myself. One blow and he was done for.” Pride oozed from the boyish voice as his head gave a knowing nod. “I should tell ye also, the woman what marries me, she’ll never go hungry,” and the conspiratorial wink was delivered. This caused the Gilchrist brothers to laugh heartily, slightly wounding the lad. They made gibing remarks, teased the boy and declared that stalking a penned-up beast chained head and tail to a fence, with his father’s sharpened axe in hand, was no sort of test of manhood. I took wee Hughie’s trembling hand in my own, not only to steady the lad’s growing anger, but to save him from striking out at the young men, making an even greater fool of himself.
“Tell me, Archie, Hector, what did you bring to this feast besides your hot air?” The brothers’ smirking faces went blank. “Why, you didn’t even stop to pick a head of cabbage for the pot, did you? And this young man here, half your age, has gone and provided his father’s fattest lamb for the feast. You should count yourselves lucky he did so too, for now you’ll have yourselves an honest meal and not the mean black broth I would have served you.”
And that was wee Hughie’s cue, for he chimed in, as I knew he would: “Och, she’s bloody right, lads, for I’ve done saved ye! I ate what Miss Sara made once and no’ only did it come back out, but I had the shits for weeks!”
As evening drew near a few more men arrived at the MacKay croft to squeeze themselves around the table and partake in the good cheer. It was a wonderful diversion, a rare chance to talk and get to know these people who lived and worked beside us, and for the duration of that enchanting evening I forgot about my desire to get back to the lighthouse.
Liam Ross, the small, dark-eyed man whose quiet demeanor belied a great wit, pulled out a fiddle and began to entertain the little gathering of crofters with traditional airs and songs sung in a language I did not know. He was a Gaelic speaker, as were many others gathered there, and Mary sat beside me near the fire, translating ballads written when the Highlands had kings of their own. Spirits began to flow, for Hugh MacKay had quite a stock, and before long many slightly intoxicated voices filled the low rafters of the little dwelling. I was swept away as the deep, melodic voices joined together, honoring the land of their ancestors with the melancholy airs. Darkness came and the visitors stayed. More food was laid out, some little cakes, cold meat and cheese, more drink was poured round and the dancing commenced.
Mary and I were the only females in the croft, and I had grown rather large, but not so large that I couldn’t dance a jig or two. By the time the visitors retired to the barn and outbuildings to sleep, for most were too drunk or just plain spent to even contemplate the journey home, I was dead tired—my guilt driven from me by pure exhaustion. And what was more, having so many men around vying for a dance, I felt very like the belle of the ball!
It was in the wee hours of the morning that I awoke suddenly, driven once again by the desire to get back home. Dreams of Thomas had come again, and so too did dreams of another man, but whether it was Mr. Campbell or Mr. Seawell, I was uncertain, for in my dream they were one and the same. But the dream was vivid, the emotion sharp, and it left me feeling empty … wanting. The cot by the fire contributed to this feeling, for although it had been lovingly made for my comfort, it was not a proper bed. My body, young though it was, was not immune to the aches and pains brought about by dancing with a turgid midsection, aches that were only exacerbated by the hard floor. Try as I might, I was still a spoiled, self-centered young lady who longed for her own bed in her own room—a room not so heavily infused with the scent of sweaty male.
I knew that I should wait until dawn to leave, but I was impelled by an inner drive. I had been away too long; I had been burden enough on the gracious MacKays and the family would have plenty of company to contend with come morning. Hugh hardly needed the added burden of seeing me safely home.
A swift note written clearly, using words and pictograms I knew Mary could decipher herself, told of my heartfelt thanks, my appreciation for all they had done and that I felt it was time I return to my duties at the lighthouse. Thomas’ pocket watch, steadily ticking away in my bodice, revealed the time to be three in the morning. Dawn was a good ways away yet, and I just might make it back in time for breakfast. Still in the dark of night, I gathered my belongings and left the croft, heading for the road through the parve that would lead me home.
It was my good fortune that a full moon had appeared to guide me, risen late yet throwing a strong enough glow to cast a shadow. The night was quiet and still but for the low rustle of the nocturnal creatures who rummaged through the heather in the dark. A light breeze came at my back to help me along as I picked my way gingerly through the undulating landscape, atop the tender grasses and bell heather just springing to life. And as I walked farther away from the little croft that was the last outpost of civilization for a good long while, my body fell into a comfortable stride, a cathartic rhythm, and my mind began to wander.
I hadn’t gone very far before my gentle musings were shaken by a sudden sound that split the air. It was the whistle of a man, high-pitched and shrill, and it came from no great way off. At the sound I dropped where I was, pressing my swollen body to the earth, afraid that I had been spotted. My heart tatted away with the rapid beat of fright, and I silently cursed myself for my impulsiveness—my stupidity. I was alone on the moorland at night, and God only knew what specters and banshees claimed these wastes as their own! I remained hidden, attempting to meld with the landscape, while thinking I was a fool of the worst kind. Yet as I waited, it seemed eerily quiet, and I thought that perhaps the sound I heard was all in my imagination. Minutes passed. I grew restless, and lifted my head again to peer into the moonlit darkness.
At that instant the sound came again, closer this time, and it came in three quick bursts instead of the lone one. I dropped to my former position, heart beating, skin tingling, and curled into a protective cocoon around my belly. Another moment of silence followed, and then, somewhere far out in the distance, I heard an echoing call. Three haunting whistles floating on the cool night air, sounding as if they were bouncing off the cliffs far below.
Quiet settled over the
moorland once again. Curiosity got the best of me, and I decided to move to a place where I might better see this creature that called so boldly in the night. I left my basket and proceeded on hands and knees to a little rise, my cumbersome frock and cloak making the going slow. And there, as I crouched in a thick clump of heather, my breath coming quick and short, I peered over the rocky embankment, only to see the entire bay of Kervaig open up before me far below. High cliffs sheltered the cove on three sides while the dark, softly undulating water shone like polished onyx under the full moon. The tide was in, greatly reducing the length of the gentle beach at the head. And though it was a spectacle of wonder on such a night, it was nothing compared to the sight of the magnificent ship ghosting at anchor just inside the protection of the cliffs. Upon spying the vessel, so near the dangerous coast, I inhaled sharply. My hand flew to cover my mouth and I prayed that I hadn’t been heard. But what in God’s name was it doing here?
Just the sight of it, sitting there at anchor, was mesmerizing. She was a sleek craft with two masts supporting a spectacular array of both square and triangular sails, most of which were furled. Had I any knowledge of the sea other than that one particular sailor, as Mr. Campbell had accused, I might have been able to identify what type of ship she was. But my knowledge, unfortunately, did not extend so far. Yet I was in awe; and in my awe a great and terrible vision flooded through me. I became convinced Thomas was on that ship.
I watched intently, searching for any movement—searching for a glimpse of the person I longed to see. I caught a glint in the moonlight. Some activity was taking place on the ship. And staring with eyes strained to the point of pain, I saw that a small boat was being lowered into the pearly black water.
My heart soared.
Thomas was coming for me … Thomas was finally coming for me!
I could wait no longer. How odd it was, after all this time—all this waiting—that I should be so anxious to see him. I should be mad. I should be boiling with fury at the way he had left me, but I wasn’t. I was overjoyed at the thought that he had finally come for me—that he had searched for me and now was here. My child would know his father after all.
