by Adams, Alisa
"And your husband?" Gregor asked.
"My husband is deid, sir," she said and sighed. "We used tae live in Portree an' he went on the fishin' boats. Ane day there wis a terrible storm an' his boat went doon. That was a year ago. I wis only newly wi' child then so he never saw his son."
"I'm so sorry," Gregor's voice was low and sad. "That must have been heartbreaking for you."
"I miss him every day," she said sadly, then she squared her shoulders. "But life has tae go on, does it no'?" Martha looked at the big hands holding the goblet and wondered how she would feel if they were touching her. She shivered inwardly at the thought. It had been so long since a man had laid hands on her in that way, and now she found herself longing for that kind of touch. However, this man was about to become a monk, and he would vow to remain celibate for the rest of his life. Whit a waste, she thought, I could make much better use o' him.
"Faither!" Alan McClure exclaimed as he came in through the door, bringing a blast of wind with him. He was tall, almost as tall as Gregor, with straight red hair that was rapidly turning silver. Behind him came his two sons Malcolm and Francis, all windblown and weary-looking. "I'm that glad tae see ye!" He shook Columba's hand and laughed. "Ye're a sight for sore eyes - an' as ye can see -" he pointed to the baby, "we have a wee job for ye!"
"I see so." Columba smiled. "It is my favorite kind of job apart from marrying people."
Alan looked down at the table and saw all the food. "My God!" he cried and gasped. "Whit's a' this? It's a feast!"
"It's a baptismal feast." Gregor smiled. He stood up and put his hand out, "Gregor Carmichael, Mr. McClure. Pleased to make your acquaintance."
"Aye, likewise," Alan said doubtfully. The upper-class accent and manners were intimidating to a man of his lowly social standing.
Gregor saw his discomfort and turned his attention to the children, eventually putting a name to each face. There was Malcolm, Francis, Martha, Mary, William (after William Wallace, of course,) Robert (after Robert the Bruce,) and finally Donny. He had forgotten all their ages but if he needed to know he could ask Columba, who could tell you anything under the sun and a few more facts besides.
It was a very cheerful company that sat down to dinner that night. As well as all the food that Gregor and Columba had brought, there was a mountain of freshly baked bread and homemade butter.
Gregor had never really experienced the company of crofting folks before, and he was surprised to find that they were not only warm and friendly but intelligent too. Columba had spent quite a bit of time with this family and had taught the older ones to read and write. They, in turn, had taught the younger ones. He had also taught them chess. This was a major source of enjoyment for all of them, but particularly for William and Robert, who loved it, and fought fierce battles every evening. Columba had commissioned the chess set himself from a craftsman in Edinburgh, and it was their proudest possession.
After dinner, Columba put on his stole and began the baptismal ceremony. He sprinkled water over the baby's head and the little boy began a cacophony of weeping that practically made everyone's ears bleed. Afterward, they had a toast. All the children and Columba had watered wine, but Gregor and the rest of the adults had whiskey.
"I am not a monk yet," Gregor said, laughing. As he caught Martha's eye and saw the expression in it he somehow doubted that he ever would be.
The McClure family, as most crofting families did, retired early and rose early. By late sunset, they were all in bed. Gregor and Columba were sleeping with the family and had been allotted mattresses near the door.
At some early hour of the morning, Gregor was disturbed by the cry of a child. He picked himself up and walked over to the crib to gaze down at the infant. Whatever was wrong, the baby was very disturbed and Gregor found himself lifting him up and holding him close on instinct. As soon as baby Columba was in the postulate’s arms, he quieted. Gregor looked down at him lovingly and rocked him back and forth for a moment before placing him back in the crib.
He couldn’t help but watch the child for a while after that. Gregor took notice of his small fingers and toes. He watched the child breathing and letting out small whimpers in his sleep. It was then that Gregor realized he wanted a family. That was something he could never have if he continued down his current path.
When Gregor finally went back to bed it was almost dawn. He crept onto his mattress and snuggled under his blankets, unable to stop smiling. He finally fell asleep. Columba had seen him go and also come back again, and he knew the decision had been made.
7
The Convent
No-one but Columba had an idea that Gregor had seen to the baby the previous night. They were due to leave that morning as they had a long walk ahead of them. The family had gathered at the door to see them off and it was a pleasant farewell. The two men walked in silence for a while, but as soon as they had breasted the next hill and passed out of sight of the house, Columba turned to Gregor.
"I heard you wake up to comfort the baby last night," his voice was calm but had a question in it. "When were you going to tell me?"
"I was going to wait for the right moment," Gregor said and sighed. "But there was never going to be one, was there? Our return to Drummond Castle when we saw everyone playing happy families and then Martha’s tiny child… They both made me realize I cannot live celibate. I want a wife and children. I want a family. Forgive me, Father." He looked at Columba, shamefaced.
But Columba only smiled. "Gregor, there is nothing to forgive," he said gently, "God has a plan for each of us. Your path and mine were ordained to go together for a while, and now it is time for us to part ways, that is all." He smiled his familiar, kind smile. I know that you will be happily married and have many little Gregors and Gregorinas one day."
"Thank you, Father," he said and smiled.
"Are you not turning back?" Columba asked.
Gregor shook his head. "I don't believe it is safe for either of us to walk alone," he replied, "anyway, I absolutely must meet the famous Bishop of All the Isles since I have heard so much about him."
"I think you might regret saying that," Columba's tone was dry and he was frowning. "It is an experience second to none. If you can survive that you can survive anything!"
They walked on, talking about the birds, the wildlife, the flowers, the clouds, their families, and nothing really of much consequence. It suddenly occurred to Gregor that they had never explored the mundane things in life. His brain was filled with philosophy, history, mathematics and a host of other things but the stuff of everyday life had never been touched on.
Presently, Gregor saw in the distance a cluster of low buildings with an enormous square tower in the middle. As they got closer, he realized that it was some sort of church. "Why would anyone build that very ugly church out here in the middle of nowhere?" he asked, frowning.
"That is the convent of Saint Gertrude of Nivelle." Columba laughed. "Who is the patron saint of cats. Consequently, you will find hundreds of tame ones round here. They keep the place clean; you will not find a mouse for miles, which is why the barley, oats and vegetables do so well. The original prioress, Mother Mary, had a great love for the animals. The present prioress is Mother Cecilia.
I know that it is a sin to gossip, but she was bred from a dragon. She is a godly woman and I know that she tries hard but she has a terrible temper. She and the Bishop of All the Isles cordially detest one another but for God's sake, they are pleasant to each other. It is a relationship based on mutual loathing. But behind each other’s backs…" He shook his head.
Gregor laughed. "Why are they here in the middle of nowhere?"
"For sanctuary," Columba explained, "they take in unwed mothers and women who have been brutalized by their husbands or families. Anyone can walk out of that place, and most women can walk in, but all men except priests are very carefully vetted. They keep a few trusted guards there too."
"That is very extreme," Gregor said, frowning. "Why
take all these precautions?"
"Because some men are not men at all but predatory animals," Columba said bitterly, "who use women for their twisted pleasures and then throw them away like rubbish. These poor women are the sort of creatures who end up here."
"Mairi Elliot does a similar thing with children," Gregor said. "You have been to her sanctuary."
"Indeed," Columba said and smiled. "What a wonderful woman—a saint."
"I agree," Gregor laughed, "but she would be very amused to hear you say that."
"They are not hostile, however,” Columba went on. “They have an area where travelers can sleep, which is well away from the convent. Most convents and monasteries give alms to travelers. I think we may have to take shelter there." They looked up at the sky. There were still many miles to go and it was a mass of dark gray clouds, presaging rain. Miles and miles of sodden, miserable walking was not an appealing prospect.
"We can either pray that God will allow the rain to run off our cloaks," Columba said, sighing, "or take shelter in the convent. I think they will let us in since I know Mother Cecilia and I don't look like much of a threat. But you, Gregor… Is it not sometimes a drawback being so handsome?"
"Nice of you to say so, Father." Gregor laughed. "Thank you, but not so far."
Columba frowned at him, then looked him up and down. "At least you are in a monk's habit," he said, "just don't speak unless you are spoken to and try to look unobtrusive. Where possible stand in shadow or behind a statue or something. God knows, there are plenty of them about."
"Father, there is a lot of me to hide!" Gregor pointed out. "perhaps I should stand still and pretend to actually be a statue."
Columba gave him a threatening look. "Or perhaps you can stand in the rain," he suggested.
They went up to the gates and Columba asked to see the prioress. "Please tell her it is Father Columba McCarthy and a young friend. I can vouch for him."
The guard went to fetch one of the nuns, who turned out to be a beautiful young woman. Gregor could see chestnut brown hair peeping out beneath her veil and bright blue eyes smiling at them from behind the iron bars of the gate. He felt that he had seen her before somewhere. Gregor kept his gaze on the ground, hoping he looked humble enough to be allowed entrance.
"May I ask what your errand is?" Even her voice was lovely. It was deep, musical and slightly husky. Gregor had never before seen or heard such a lovely creature.
"We are here to seek shelter from the weather," Columba explained, "but I am also an old friend of Mother Cecilia."
"I will have to get her approval before we can house you," the young woman said. "Wait a moment." She hurried away, going through a door to the outside again, and a moment later came back with a tall, thin, dark woman with glittering black eyes. She looked positively dangerous, Gregor thought and remembered what Columba had said about her temper.
"Columba McCarthy!" she cried. The smile that she gave him completely transformed her thin, hollow-boned face and lit it up from inside. She came forward and grasped his hands in hers. "It has been an age! Where have you been?"
"Here and there," Columba said, eyes twinkling, "and back again."
She gave him a smiling frown and flapped her hand at him. "Columba - your sense of humor wears me out!" She laughed, then turned her eyes to Gregor. He felt himself quaking under her ruthless regard. "Who is this?"
"Gregor Carmichael, Mother," he bowed his head.
"He is a postulant, Mother Cecilia," Columba put in, "he has been on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land and Rome with me—twice."
"Why twice?" She frowned.
"I had to do it," Gregor confessed, "because God told me to. He was testing my commitment." This was the truth, but it sounded nonsensical now. Mother Cecilia looked at him as though she was trying to bore a hole in his head, then she gave him her sudden transforming smile.
"We are going to see the Bishop of Skye and the Isles, Mother," he said.
At once her expression became thunderous. The dark eyes glittered and she turned away. Gregor shot a questioning look at Columba, just as the nun’s manner underwent a quicksilver change.
"Right," she said, beckoning the young nun again, "Sister Teresa will show you where to sleep, and I will go to attend to the countless unending duties that fall to a busy Mother. Father, can we chat later?"
"Of course," he replied, smiling. They watched her sweep out of sight.
"She does that sometimes," Columba said, shrugging, "like night turning into day."
He was interrupted by Teresa. "You may not think the hospital is a palace." She smiled and little dimples peeped out on her cheeks. "But it is better than some."
"Anyone who offers charity to travelers and the sick is to be thanked and not criticized," Columba's voice was kind and the blue eyes responded accordingly then looked at Gregor. For a fleeting moment something passed between them, then it was gone. Gregor felt his heart skip a beat.
They followed Teresa into a large hall with a long table in the middle surrounded by a number of rough wooden chairs. There was straw on the floor and a great pile of mattresses in one corner. At the end of the huge room was a great fireplace in which a log fire was burning cheerfully. A number of people who had claimed their own mattresses were already there.
"It's first come first served for the mattresses," Teresa explained, "we only make exceptions for invalids. Everyone else sleeps on the floor." She went over to a pile of rough blankets. "One each," she informed them, "same rules as the mattresses." Then she showed them the privy and the washroom. "Anything else you need?" she asked, smiling and suddenly Gregor realized where he had seen her before.
It was the woman in the black robe from his dream.
8
Finding Each Other
Gregor was sitting looking at Sister Teresa in complete bemusement.
"There is nothing, thank you," Columba said, smiling at her.
"We serve food at sunset which is quite soon," she informed them. "The reading tonight is from the book of Ecclesiastes and will be read by Sister Patricia. Do not expect fine fare—it is very plain but nourishing. Now I will leave you to settle yourselves." She gave them a short bow and left soundlessly. Gregor's eyes followed her until she passed out of sight. When he looked at Columba again, the priest was smiling, his eyes twinkling.
"I know what you're thinking," he said, sipping his milk.
"Tell me what I am thinking." Gregor laughed.
"You are thinking that it is a pity that all the best-looking girls become nuns."
"I was thinking exactly that." Gregor laughed, then his smile slowly faded. "But that's not the only thing, Father. We are different from them. Women, I mean. They are soft and sweet. They nurture and comfort and—oh, I can't explain it. They complete us, and without them we men are nothing. I thought I could manage without them but I simply cannot."
"I understand." Columba patted his shoulder. "Willpower has to have a very strong motivation. Mine is God, but we are all different, Gregor, and sometimes celibacy is very difficult. I find it difficult to refuse a goblet of delicious wine or fresh bread spread with honey. Different things tempt us all." He sighed, "do what you need to do to be happy. Each one of us treads his own path."
Gregor had the feeling that sometimes Columba regretted his choice to be celibate. It was a very hard path to walk.
As Teresa had promised, the food was very simple. It consisted of rough bread made of barley, rye and oats, weak ale and mutton stew with very little meat in it. While they were eating Sister Patricia dutifully read the Bible passages, but no-one really listened, although there was a respectful silence.
When everyone had finished eating they cleared the dishes away and someone started a song. Columba and Gregor listened for a while and clapped their hands because they had no idea of the words since Columba had only a little Gaelic and Gregor none at all.
A few moments later a stout middle-aged nun with a kind face came to summon Columba to the office o
f Mother Cecilia. With an inward groan and persecuted look, Columba succumbed to the inevitable, while Gregor just about managed to keep a straight face. He sat for a while listening to the singing and wondered when he would be able to get to bed before he realized that someone had sat down beside him. He turned his head and to his delight, he saw Teresa by his side.
"Did you eat well?" she asked, smiling at him.
"I did," he replied. "Is this not praying time?"
"No," she replied and her voice sounded thankful. "It is our recreation time, thank the Lord."
"That sounded most irreverent," he commented, laughing.
"And I wanted to talk to you," she said shyly, “because you look as if you need to be cheered up!”
"Do I?" he asked, laughing, “then go forth and cheer me up, Sister Teresa!”
They stood up and walked out to the cloisters, where there were about a hundred cats milling around, calling to each other, grooming each other or lying fast asleep on the ground. The stench was terrible. "Has anyone ever died of tripping over cats?" he asked. "Or inhaling this disgusting smell?"
"Not as far as I know." She laughed. "But you get used to it. The sisters give it up as an offering for their sins." She put her hand down and stroked one. “I love them. They are just like people, and I have given everyone a different name.” She pointed to a striped tabby, “that one is Tiger, the tiny white one is Snowflake, the big black one is Sooty, the gray one is Ashy…” she went on and on until she had named all of them. Gregor laughed.
“And which one would you take home if you could?” he asked. He was enjoying listening to her deep husky voice and looking into her blue eyes.
“Oh, Sooty, definitely,” she replied at once, “especially since I’ve met you.”
He laughed. “You mean you think I look like a cat?”
“There is a definite resemblance,” she answered a note of mischief in her voice. “Look, he is the biggest cat here, he has shiny black fur, and look at his green eyes!”
