by Paul Kelly
Peter tried to divert, as he knew how painful it was for Fern to accept his mother’s death, but the boy did not hear his last remark. His thoughts took him back to a small kitchen; to the smell of scones being baked on a black griddle. He wanted to taste again the fresh mixed dough before it was baked; to hear again the humming sound of his mother’s gentle voice and the enchanting music that filled his ears as he closed his eyes in fragrant memory.
“La la la, dah dah de dah. La la la.”
Fern was in a world of his own in thoughts that would not leave him.
‘Ma il mio mistero e chiuso in me,
Il nome mio nessun sapra ...’
He sang softly and Peter could hear again the cultured and strong sound that came from the soul of his young companion.
‘Ed il mio bacio sciogliera,
In sielnzio che ti fa mia ...’
There was a long period of silence before Peter could find the words he wanted to say. He wanted the boy to go on singing, to go on and on, and never to stop, but he knew the folly of his thoughts.
“That was beautiful, Fern, but I thought you only sang Scottish ballads?”
Fern smoothed his hair with his hand and rubbed his lip.
“This is my mother’s song. I regard it as her music.”
“Do you know the English version?” Peter asked quietly.
Fern smiled and bit his lip. “I’ll give you the Scottish version, if that will do?” he answered, heavily accentuating the Highland accent,” and Peter laughed as he sat back and Fern began to translate.
‘My secret lies within me,
No-one shall discover my name.
I will reveal it only on your lips,
When daylight shines forth
And my kiss shall break
The silence which makes you mine…’
“I think it flows better in Italian, don’t you, Peter?”
Peter rocked back and forth in his chair, without comment. He saw something different in Fern each time they met and he resolved never again to patronise…
Chapter Thirteen
THE BOLARNE CHOIR WAS EXCITED that they were to sing at Manning Hall in Edinburgh. Fern was to sing solo and although it was an opportunity that he had long since dreamed about, the prospects did not thrill him as he had anticipated. If only he knew that Shona was happy and could forget about him, he would be fine, but her words ached in his heart and they hurt very deeply for he knew he could never respond.
***
The rehearsal came, and Mahon tapped the music stand whilst Fern glanced at the music as the orchestra commenced to play and the choir blended in beautifully; softly at first then leading into crescendo as he took his cue.
‘The mist is high, the sun breaks through,
My soul takes flight above,
The body shrinks in fear an’ awe
My soul is caught in LOVE
Throughout the song, Mahon swayed like a maestro. He loved the feeling of power and control that his role of choir master allowed him and his fantasy of leading an orchestra in Milan, only seemed a matter of time…
Oh web of grace, entangling love,
Why should I strive to free?
How can I stay this torrent strong.
This love that dwells in me…?
Fern sounded well. He was aware that his voice was in excellent condition, but that awareness was not his pride. It only seemed to make him more humble as he was not at all confident. His face belied a sorrow that seemed to him that it would remain forever. He left the rostrum without much concern for the appraisal of his colleagues and made his way home with a weary heart.
***
Stephen introduced his fiancée to Fern much to the boy’s surprise She was rather a large lady, that was in comparison to his mother, with much to say and with all the mannerisms to back her verbal velocity.
Laura Bain made no secret of the fact that she would reconstruct the Manse to her way of thinking, and that all would run smoothly in that direction, indicating that things had never run smoothly nor efficiently until she had made her entrance to the scene. Fern made a quick exit and headed for the waterfall.
***
The wedding duly took place after a suitable mourning time had been allowed to elapse, which according to Laura was seven months and three days. The affair was quiet and matter-of-fact, but the feminine influence was effective from the first moment of the nuptials. The Manse would be redecorated and rooms made to look different in every way from what they had been before ... The era of Laura Bain had begun . . .
Fern had met Peter at the bookshop by arrangement. He wanted to talk about the Edinburgh concert in the hopes that Peter would be able to come, but Peter knew there was something troubling Fern.
“Are you all right, Fern?” he asked as the boy pushed back his hair from his forehead.
“Yes, I’m all right, Peter. I just find it hard getting used to a woman around the house. Well ... a strange woman, I should say,” The priest smiled as he replaced a book in its shelf.
“A problem I don’t think I will ever have,” he said and his voice was on the verge of laughter, but Fern looked worried.
“This Laura creature seems to be everywhere and there is no privacy whatsoever.”
“Yes, that must be worrying,” agreed Peter.
“I really don’t feel she should be allowed the authority she has, but I can’t interfere; it is Stephen’s house, and now, since I don’t have a true mother or father, I can’t expect to have any say in the way they want to run their lives.”
Peter looked anxious.
“Fern, you are a human being. You have rights the same as any other human being, and privacy is one of those rights. Please talk to Stephen. You need not be unfriendly about the matter, but I do feel you are entitled to some privacy and respect, otherwise it will no longer be a home for you, regardless of what it is to Stephen and Laura.”
Fern looked away and his face was troubled.
“I found the key had been removed from my bedroom last night. I can’t see what good that does, especially as I am rarely in the room, and whenever I am, I don’t ever think of locking it anyway,” he said but Peter was not happy about this last statement.
“Fern ... even I, who am a confirmed old bachelor, celibate and chaste,” he grinned ... “and whose life should be an open book to all and sundry, need some privacy at some time or other and even I have a key to my bedroom. Supposing I am changing …supposing I want to have a shower … supposing I just want to be on my own, to think ...I feel that is a basic human right.”
Fern laughed at the celibate bachelor ... and Peter gave him a playful dig in the ribs.
“I’m sure your housekeeper finds you a source of ‘temptation’ every day,” added Fern and a smile played across his lips.
“And more so every night,” added Peter with a mischievous grin, knowing that Miss Harrison was a very prim lady housekeeper, whose boast that she was still a virgin at forty five years of age, and would remain so until the day she died, was her pride of perfection. She had no threat or opposition in the village and lived in a reign of peace …by everyone…
“Now, let’s talk a bit more about your concert,” Peter went on. “I’d love to come to it, but I’m not sure if I can make it. Weekends are a priest’s busiest time, you know. We don’t all get Sundays off...”
***
Shona was in the bookshop when Fern arrived. It was becoming a regular rendezvous.
“Nice to see you again, Fern, I hope you are well.”
“Yes, thank you Shona. I am pleased to see you again and looking so well, too.”
She blushed a little.
“I am going to London on Friday. Start of term, you know,” she said, hating herself for saying what
she had said, but she wanted some response that she would be missed and would have thrown everything to the air just to have stayed with Fern in Bolarne.
“I hope you continue to do well at University and that you soon realise all your dreams and ambitions,” was his response and Shona threw her head back as if she didn’t care. It was not at all the response that she wanted, or expected, but Fern was Fern and it was then, just at the moment when she felt all was lost, that the bonus of her day came like a bolt from the blue, to bring a smile to her face.
“Would you like to have tea with me?” he said as he shuffled from foot to foot. “There’s a nice tea shop not far from here.”
He spoke in authority as though Shona did not know the village, but he was glad to see her and he wanted so much to make up for his behaviour of the last meeting. They had tea together but Fern was apprehensive as to what he would say. Should he enquire about Andrew? Should he get straight to the point and tell Shona he liked her a lot. He even loved her, but he was not IN LOVE with her, however, Shona saved the situation with her own apology.
“I am sorry for the way I behaved the other day, Fern. I should never have said what I did. Please forgive me and forget the whole matter,” she pleaded and Fern looked at her tenderly. He was confused himself and he knew then that he loved Shona, but not as she wanted to be loved.
“I am flattered that you spoke as you did, Shona, and I will always think of you, in very high regard ... “I am the one who should apologise,” he stammered and Shona was surprised at his statement… “You are one of the sweetest persons I know,” he went on, “and I would never willingly hurt you, Shona. You must know that. It is simply that I am not mature enough to know much about love, or being in love ... I also believe that Andrew is a very good choice for you and I feel sure he would be very much more suited to you in every way. He is confident and mature and already knows what he is doing with his life, and in such a great way as a doctor.” He gazed deeply into Shona’s large eyes and pressed her hand gently. “The extent of my love for you is that I wish every joy and happiness to you both …and the fullest love together ... you and Andrew.”
Shona did not take her hand away, but her grasp became weak. In her heart she understood what Fern was saying, however much she had hoped that it could have been otherwise.
“Thank you Fern. You are and always will be my very best friend. I’m not going to apologise ever again for loving you, for we should always be honest. I do love you, Fern. You will always hold some part of my heart that no-one else would ever believe was there. I don’t pretend to understand this situation, but I respect you, and I know you have your reasons for being so caring and so honest.”
They left the tea room and walked together along the road towards the forest and she kissed Fern on the cheek when they arrived at the cross-roads and went home alone as he headed for the waterfall as fast as his legs would get him there. The scene was as always; the vicious old spluttering waterfall that never changed. It bellowed and roared complacently and Fern sat down to tell his friend of his latest news.
He was sad that Shona was leaving the village again, but he knew that it was for the best, in many ways and he hoped and prayed that she would be happy and find even greater happiness with Andrew.
“This ‘breathing’ prayer is so simple,” he said aloud and spoke with a confidence, feeling that he was being heard above and he breathed for Shona ... and for Peter.
***
As he trudged wearily homewards, the earth felt warm underfoot and he swished his way through the deep purple heather that sprung defiantly through the coarse yellow grass. It would soon be evening and he could feel the dampness in the air as he walked, but he kept ‘breathing’ until he came to a stile by the end of the field. The sun hid herself shyly as he sat down on the roughened wood and abandoned the earth to the struggling moon in the fading dark red sky. He sat quietly and still whilst a bird chirped happily in a tree nearby, but would not show itself and then there was a crackling of wood that made him look inquisitively into the corpse on his right, where a young fox glared at him with bead-like eyes, sparkling in the faint moonlight. The little fellow rustled into his new found lair; his tail waving goodnight to the world and Fern giggled; his peace being interrupted only by his thoughts of love. The world was beautiful for him and conducive to the love that he held in his heart, which sang clear and strong in bursts of youthful energy, screaming to be recognised and accepted, but his mind was a little disturbed as he pondered. He wanted so much to understand what it was all about ... this love thing ... this breathing that Peter talked about …and he plucked a blade of grass and stuck it between his teeth, as he touched his cheek where Shona had kissed him and sighed with gentle pleasure. This kiss was not for him; her love was not his, but as gossamer as the air. He knew it would not endure the winds of fate that awaited him, but he could not understand why he knew what he did. His heart burned vehemently with love; a love that would not leave him alone ... that would not identify itself and he looked across the yellow meadow, chewing the grass that protruded from the corner of his mouth, as the saffron corn blew its shadow across the earth in the darkening field, and the owl had taken her perch. There was so much peace around and yet, his heart called out like an echo in the wilderness for the LOVE that he could not comprehend. He would not allow himself to utter its name and his soul ached for the understanding of Peter’s words ... “OF THE SNOW WHITE DOVE, as it pierces the clouds to rest on the blanch-tipped heather clad mountain ... the dove, that descends to earth, to glide with grace in the wind that bends the yellow corn.” Fern sighed for the sight of such a dove that would enlighten his mind and nurture his heart forever as he lowered his head and jumped from the stile where his foot sank deeply into the sodden earth below him. His shoe squelched as he retrieved it from the mud and slowly he made his long, sad journey home ...thinking all the while that perhaps Peter’s God had touched him in some strange way by the way he felt within himself. Could this be love … he asked himself again. Could God be telling him something that he should already know? Perhaps Peter could answer that question for him.
Chapter Fourteen
TOM MAHON had received a letter about the bursary and the school had approved Fern’s further education to the Music Academy in London, but he would have to supply the details to the Academy and state how long he anticipated he would be staying there. It was also requested that any musical degree, to which Fern would aspire, should be specified and the information was enthusiastically received, but Fern would be required to live in London and his thoughts about that situation were coloured differently. He would be near Shona…
For Fern, there would be a pleasure in attending the college in London, and indeed, all of his aspirations seemed to be realised, but his thoughts of the closeness to Shona worried him, because he knew the worry and anxiety it would cause her and it seemed to him that a lot of ‘breathing’ would be necessary.
***
He looked at the Presbytery in the moonlight. It was dark apart from one light in a lower window and he knew the priest was at home. He wanted to share his news, clouded though it was, but he also felt it would be an imposition to visit Peter at that time of the evening, without appointment. He was apprehensive. He had been seeing a lot of Peter in the last few months and he knew that a priest was a very busy man, who certainly should not spend more time with one person than he would with another, but as he looked again at the solitary lighted window Fern envied the occupant his peace and tranquillity. He was almost jealous of Peter’s detachment from everything that was not of God and this peace and serenity puzzled him as he glanced further at the window and slowly opened the narrow gate that led to the side of the house, only to be interrupted by the voices of two young people who came out from Peter’s door. Fern stood still in the darkness, hoping he had not interfered in any way with something that Peter’s duties as a priest might be involved, but th
e young couple left the Priest’s House laughing merrily between themselves and wishing Peter ‘Good Night.’ After a few more moments Fern approached the house and hesitated.
The night owl hooted and his large head revolved as Fern pressed his finger on the doorbell. It seemed an eternity before the door opened and the light from the hall lent a frame to the huddled figure that presented himself to the Parish priest.
“Good evening, Peter. It’s me, Fern. Can I please talk with you, if it is convenient?”
“Of course Fern, come in. I am sorry if I kept you waiting at the door, but I forgot it was Miss Harrison’s night off and I had expected that she would answer the bell.”
The two men sat down together in the lounge.
“Would you like a drink, Fern?”
“No thank you, Peter, not at the moment. I just wanted to talk to you about something that is on my mind.”
“Yes of course,” Peter reassured him. You know you can talk to me about anything,” and Fern felt an immediate relief as he swallowed hard. He was used to talking to Peter and that did not present a difficulty, but the subject of his problem did ...and as he hesitated, further and started to bite his lip. Could he really talk to Peter about this God thing that he thought might be making him feel different to the way he usually felt, or was it something that might make his friend think he was having some sort of a brainstorm? Peter could sense there was some unusual anxiety. “I think I’ll get some coffee,” he said, aware that there would be a delay and anxious to ease the situation. “Come with me into the kitchen and we’ll get a tray, how does that feel?”
“Fine… I’d like that really.”
They returned to the lounge with coffee and sandwiches. Miss Harrison always left Peter some sandwiches on her day off, or if for any reason she had to go out in the evening and a percolator was forever in use.
