David laughed, refusing to be drawn into further argument with either of the two women.
“Have it your own way, Coira,” he said. “I’ll hold the door open for myself. But I might have thought better of you, Auntie,” he added, not without a tone of kindly rebuke. “My request was an honest one and intended only for the good of the village. I’m thinking of poor Saxe and Isobel. If you can’t respect my words more than to throw them back in my face, then I will wish a good day to you both.”
The two women watched him leave, both still red-faced, though his aunt felt put in her place by his rebuke. She had spoken harshly to her nephew in front of another and already regretted it. In the privacy of her own kitchen she didn’t mind treating David like one of her own children. But in her heart of hearts, though she considered him a bit of a pantywaist, she was proud of her nephew. She did not want him treated by anyone else with less than the respect the chief deserved. Coira’s remarks rankled her as much as David’s. She took her own leave on David’s heels.
David walked on to the Whales Fin. While he had been seeing Odara Innes back to her cottage and was engaged with the two gossips at the bakery, Hardy had returned to the village. He now stood with several of his friends outside near the door of the inn with their cigarettes.
“Weel if it isna oor chief!” said Hardy as David approached along the walkway.
“And if it isn’t our new laird too, eh, Hardy,” rejoined David, “if all goes as you hope.”
“There’ll be nae if aboot it. So . . . what think ye, lads, is the bloke a man or woman!” said Hardy, pointing to David’s kilt with an insulting sneer.
David took the insult in stride. He had learned years before to laugh off his cousin’s rudeness.
“You ought to try it sometime, Hardy,” he said. “It’s actually quite comfortable. I daresay you would look good in a kilt. What do the rest of you think?” he said, glancing around at the others. “Hardy in a kilt?”
They roared at the suggestion. A well-deserved ribbing at Hardy’s expense followed as David made his way past them into the hotel.
Well after six o’clock now, the place was hopping. Every table was full, a buzz of conversation, laughter, and the clatter of dishes filled the large room. Audney and Rakel scurried about with trays of drinks, while Evanna came and went from the kitchen with platters loaded with fish suppers, kidney pies, vegetable plates, and steaks of fresh haddock, cod, and salmon. David walked up to the bar and joined his uncle Fergus, who was engaged with Noak Muir.
“I’m afraid I upset your wife just now, Uncle Fergus,” he said, chuckling. “I saw her in the bakery with Coira.”
“Wouldna take much tae rile the likes o’ her!” said Fergus affectionately.
“Well, I apologize in advance if she takes it out on you when you get home.”
“Wouldna be the first time!” laughed Fergus. “She may be the love o’ my hert, but there’s nae denyin’ she’s a sharp-tongued lassie when she’s heated.”
“What’ll ye hae, David?” said Rakel, walking behind the bar and setting down a tray of empty glasses.
“A pint of Caffreys, if you please, Rakel.”
She placed a clean glass beneath the Caffreys spout and pulled the handle, then handed him his pint and hurried off.
David lifted his glass of ale off the counter and made his way about the room, visiting the others at the bar and stopping to chat at several of the tables. After popping into the kitchen for a moment to say hello to Keith twenty minutes later, he set his empty glass on the bar and left the hotel, nodding as he again passed Hardy and his friends.
52
Threats and Promises
Hardy took several quick strides and quickly caught up with David. “I dinna like being laughed at, David,” he said.
“What are you talking about?” said David.
“That remark about me in a kilt.”
“It was nothing, Hardy!” laughed David as he continued on. “All in good fun. Don’t take it so seriously. I laugh at your jibes. Surely you can laugh at mine. If you and I are going to be laird and chief, we’ll have to get along.”
“Speak for yourself. An’ ye’d be advised tae tell that auld fool Erskine tae keep a civil tongue in his mouth. I will fire him if he speaks tae me in sich a tone again. I’ll let the whole lot o’ them go, the auld Mathesons wi’ him.”
“I take it, then, you are planning to move into the Cottage?”
“I haena decided yet. If I do, I’ll git rid o’ that auld man an’ his sister.”
“I would tread carefully, Hardy. If you become laird, you will need all the friends you can get.”
“Ye’re tellin’ me what tae do?”
“I’m just giving you some good advice from a kinsman—it does no good to anger folks.”
“It winna do for ye tae anger me,” retorted Hardy. “I want none o’ yer advice. Nor yer interferin’. The next time ye speak tae me in front o’ anyone as ye did up on the hill, it will gae the worse for ye. My business wi’ Erskine was my ain, none o’ yers. Ye had nae right tae speak so tae me.”
“The island’s people are my business, whoever else’s it may be—and how they’re treated as well.”
“For noo. Once I am laird, there’ll be nae mair chief.”
“You plan to abolish the chieftainship? I doubt the islanders will like that.”
“They will have nae say in it.”
“Even if you become laird, you will have no power over the chieftainship.”
“We shall see aboot that. I jist may hae mair power than ye ken. Nane o’ it will matter if I evict the whole lot o’ ’em.”
“Who do you mean?”
“All o’ ’em—the whole village.”
“You could hardly do that, Hardy!” laughed David. “That would eliminate your income. What good would be a village of empty houses?”
“I might jist sell them an’ make more’n twenty years o’ rents.”
“Who would buy them? Most of the village is a hundred or more years old. Its buildings would command little on the open market. You need these people as much as they need you.”
“I need nobody, an’ I need none o’ yer advice. There’s people who’ll pay, an’ good money, for the likes o’ this land. I may sell the whole island, an’ then where will yer chieftainship be? So stay oot o’ my way, David!”
“Look, Hardy,” said David, “I don’t want to pick a fight with you.” He tried to remain calm and spoke softly. “As I said, you and I need to get along.”
Hardy’s eyes glowed at the mere suggestion of mixing it up with David. Unconsciously his fingers began to twitch.
“Ye wouldn’ actually think ’o fightin’ me, David?” he said, his voice betraying his eagerness.
“I would fight no man for my own sake,” replied David. “But for another, if it came to that, I would fight whoever it required. However, that is not my preferred method of resolving disputes.”
“Dressed like that, I doobt ye’re man enough tae fight anyone,” said Hardy scornfully.
“What is it you think makes a man, Hardy?” asked David.
“Mair nor ye got yersel’ aneath that kilt!” laughed Hardy. “Ye look like a milksop an’ a woman in that dress! If ye fancy yersel’ chief, ye bring disgrace upon the word. These are new times, David, an’ no kilt will bring yer so-called Highland customs back. ’Tis the era of wealth an’ big oil. Ye canna stop it. An’ if ye git in my way when I’m laird, wearin’ a dress or no, I’ll lay ye oot on the groun’. So dinna anger me, David, an’ stay oot o’ my affairs, or it will go the worse for ye.”
David turned toward his cousin and gazed into his eyes. “I will stay out of your way as far as my conscience allows, Hardy,” he said. “And if you indeed become laird, I will give you my hand and my support. But if you hurt or are unjust to anyone on this island, be they man, woman, or child, you will have me to deal with.”
David turned and left Hardy staring after him in mingled disbelief
and fury.
53
A Sunday Drive
EASTERN PENNSYLVANIA
Loni Ford awoke on June 20 to a gorgeous, cloudless sunny day. Tomorrow was the first day of summer. A spirit of adventure suddenly seized her. In its wake came an equally surprising tinge of nostalgia. Her thoughts filled with fond thoughts of her grandmother and grandfather.
It took her no longer than a minute to make up her mind. She went quickly to the phone.
“Hugh . . . hi, it’s me,” she said when Hugh answered. “Would you like to go for a drive today?”
“Where?”
“The country . . . Pennsylvania. The mood just hit me to visit my grandparents.”
“That’s what, an hour or two? Sounds like a long drive!”
“More like two and a half, actually,” Loni said. “So . . . you up for it?”
“I’ve had an invitation for golf with a couple congressmen today . . . can’t pass up the opportunity.”
“All right, but don’t say I didn’t give you the chance.”
“Believe me,” laughed Hugh, “I won’t.”
Loni hung up the phone and began planning the day. She would try to arrive an hour or so after her grandparents returned from church.
The expression on her grandmother’s face when she opened the door several hours later nearly broke Loni’s heart. In that moment she realized she had allowed too much time to pass, let too many precious years slip away.
“Alonnah!” exclaimed Mrs. Ford.
“Hello, Grandma,” said Loni with a smile.
The older woman ran onto the porch and took Loni in her arms. She was three-quarters of a foot shorter than her granddaughter. That did not stop her from clasping Loni and holding her tight, weeping freely.
When grandmother and granddaughter finally parted, Loni’s eyes, like her grandmother’s, were wet. She couldn’t remember the last time she had cried. She bent down and kissed her grandmother’s wrinkled cheek.
“I’m sorry it’s been so long, Grandma,” she whispered.
Hearing the commotion on the porch, Mr. Ford came to the door.
“Alonnah, what a surprise!”
Loni embraced him affectionately.
“It is wonderful to see you! I can’t believe you’re actually here.”
“It’s me—in the flesh, Grandpa! You are looking well. And you too, Grandma.”
“We are happy and healthy,” replied Mrs. Ford. “Feeling our age, I suppose, but that’s to be expected.”
“What’s the occasion, Alonnah?” asked Loni’s grandfather. “You’re not engaged?”
“Nothing as serious as that,” laughed Loni. “It was a beautiful day, and tomorrow’s the first day of summer. I felt like a drive in the country, a chance to see you both, so here I am.”
“Well, we are delighted to have you. I hope you know you are always welcome—announced or unannounced.”
“I do know, Grandpa, thank you. Actually,” Loni went on, “speaking of . . . you know, I am dating a man. Hugh Norman is his name. I asked him if he wanted to come today, but he had other plans.”
“What does he do?” asked her grandfather, leading the way inside.
“He works in politics, like half of Washington. He’s an assistant to a congressman from Wisconsin.”
“Is he a believer?” asked Mrs. Ford.
“I don’t really know, Grandma,” answered Loni. “He’s pretty vague about spiritual things. I doubt he believes much of anything.”
“We would like to meet him,” put in Loni’s grandfather, “before you get too serious.”
“You won’t put him through the third degree about his beliefs, will you, Grandpa?” said Loni, fun in her voice as she sat down on the aging couch.
“Not without your permission, Alonnah,” he said. “You don’t want to be marrying a man without knowing where he stands with God. But I promise I will say nothing without consulting with you.”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it!” laughed Loni. “The subject of marriage has not come up. But we have been seeing each other for a year, so . . . well, you never know what the future holds.”
“I suppose it’s too much to think that you might stay for Meeting this evening?” her grandmother asked.
“That might be pushing things a bit,” Loni said, keeping her tone light. “Besides, I suspect the two of you have already suffered enough grief over me. I don’t want to stir all that up again at the Fellowship with my modern dress and—”
“Let us worry about that,” interjected her grandfather. “You are beautiful, and any man who says otherwise, whether in our Fellowship or anywhere else, will have me to answer to!”
“My knight in shining armor!”
“And don’t you forget it!”
Loni laughed.
“Anyway,” she said, “I have to get back tonight for work tomorrow. It’s a long drive.”
“But you’ll stay long enough to have dinner with us?” asked her grandmother. “We still have Sunday dinner at three.”
“Absolutely. I’m not about to miss the chance to enjoy your cooking, Grandma!”
54
A Daring Attempt
WHALES REEF, SHETLAND ISLANDS
The fair weather across the North Atlantic for the solstice proved to be the literal calm before the storm. By Friday of the following week, with David’s Wildlife Tour behind him and Hazel and Frieda MacFarlane on their way back to the States, dark menacing clouds began gathering in the west. They portended high winds and evil seas.
When David left the village in midafternoon, the wind had risen to a frenzy. The sea was a cauldron of angry gray-green waves tipped with whitecaps. The horizon was a mass of black.
He hurried his cows into the barn, then did the same with the ponies. Dougal would see to the animals at the Cottage. Finally he carried several loads of peats into the house and was cozily shut inside by six o’clock.
The wind howled until daylight. David awoke to an island that had been drenched during the night. The wind had moderated somewhat and the rain abated, though the storm was far from past. After breakfast he dressed warmly and, with skies still threatening, went out into the tempestuous morning.
Waves roared along the sands and rocky bluffs, a mass of foaming white. The wind tore across every chimney of the island, blasting the white peat smoke horizontally with violence across the slates of the village roofs. Drawn to the roiling sea, David made his way along the shore and thirty minutes later approached the harbor. Twenty or thirty men were clustered in small groups along the top of the cement quay, gazing out across the turbulent waters. Those with binoculars were scanning the horizon. In the distance, sky and sea were virtually indistinguishable.
David walked toward them and stopped beside Noak Muir. “Surely you’re not thinking of going out?” he said.
“I admit I was thinkin’ o’ it when I came doon,” replied Muir.
“It would be foolhardy in that,” said David, waving a hand toward the sea.
“I must gae when I can, David. Times is hard. Hardy’s offered to buy my boat like he did Sandy’s,” he added, almost as an afterthought.
“Do you want to work for Hardy?”
“Nae for a minute, but Sandy’s makin’ a livin’. An’ Iver too.”
“Perhaps, in a way of speaking. But both have lost their boats. They are now at Hardy’s mercy.”
“A man’s got tae feed his family, David. Ah, weel, it winna matter noo anyway—Hardy’s nae aboot tae be buyin’ any mair boats noo.”
“What do you mean?” asked David.
“Jist that,” said Noak, pointing out across the water. “’Tis the storm, like ye said yersel’.”
“What’s that to do with Hardy?”
“Haena ye heard, David?”
“Heard what?”
“Hardy went oot yesterday. He hasna been heard fae since.”
“Hardy went out in this? Everyone knew this storm was going to pound the islands.�
�
“Ye ken Hardy.”
“He must have put in somewhere. He’s probably riding it out in Lerwick.”
“Folk hae been callin’ aroun’ everywhere, a’ the small harbors an’ coves, fae Fitful Head tae Lamba Ness. There’s nae trace o’ him. Aboot nine last night Keith at the hotel had a call fae the harbor master in Lerwick—picked up an SOS. They werena sure it was Hardy, but his was the only boat reported missin’.”
“Did they get his coordinates?” asked David.
“I didna speak wi’ Keith mysel’.”
“Then I’ll find out,” David said, turning away. “We’ve got to go find him!”
“Oot in that! Look at it, David—ye said yersel’ ’tis nae safe.”
“Your boat can handle it, Noak. Get one or two men to go with us.”
“Naebody’s aboot tae gae oot in that! Not for Hardy.”
“Whatever else he is, he is one of us.”
“They’d gae for yersel’ maybe, but nae for Hardy.”
“Then it will have to be just you and me!” said David. He was thinking hard as he glanced about. “Get your engine under way. I’ll run up to the hotel and see if Keith’s heard anything new.”
David sprinted off the quay and up the hill into the village.
Noak watched him go, his mind swirling with unpleasant memories. He had secretly prayed for an opportunity to redeem himself in the matter of the Bountiful from years before. The guilt he carried sometimes nearly overpowered him. To have watched as the boat of a friend went to the bottom still tore at his heart. How could he have been so foolish, he had asked himself a thousand times, to have believed all that Fountain of Light nonsense?
At last, it seemed, his prayer was being answered. Or, some might say, his sins were coming back on his own head. If he lost his life in the attempt to save a fellow Whales Reef fisherman, it was no more than he deserved. If only it were someone other than Hardy!
Yet Noak Muir, like his chief, had grown spiritually as a result of the community’s history with the dark influences of the cultish group. He had become sufficiently a man of prayer in recent years to recognize the great truth that he could not dictate those whom God would send into his life as the instruments and agents of answered prayer. He would not have chosen Hardy Tulloch for use in answer to his. Apparently God had.
The Inheritance Page 24
