God's Highlander

by Thompson, E. V.

  ‘There … look!’

  He saw a movement on one of the tiny islands that had been formed by the floodwater. Suddenly a small girl rose to a standing position from among the debris strewn about her. In her arms she held a baby.

  ‘It’s Kirstie … with Barbie!’

  The child saw Wyatt and Mairie at the same time and became so excited it seemed she was about to plunge into the river and make for them.

  Waving his arms frantically, Wyatt shouted: ‘Stay there. Stay where you are. We’ll come to you. Don’t move!’

  ‘How are you going to reach her?’

  There was a wide and fast-flowing expanse of water separating them from the children, and Wyatt had no answer to Mairi’s question.

  ‘There must be a way. There has to be.’

  Wyatt’s words were more hopeful than accurate. The island was situated more than three-quarters of the way to the far side of the swollen torrent.

  ‘We might reach them from the other side, but I can see no way of crossing….’

  Fed by a whole network of swollen brooks pouring from the surrounding peaks, the river gained in strength as it poured down the mountainside.

  ‘I know a way across. Come,’ said Mairi.

  She shouted for Kirstie Munro to remain where she was with her young charge, then began to make her way up the slope, heading back towards the great waterfall she and Wyatt had passed a short time before. By the time Wyatt caught up with her the thunder of the water made it impossible for him to ask what she thought she was doing. Then she took his hand and headed straight for the waterfall, taking a seemingly suicidal course.

  Seeing the anxiety on his face, Mairi shouted an explanation that was lost in the noise of the water. She tugged at his hand determinedly and he followed, but with increasing anxiety.

  Mairi never faltered. Keeping close to the cliff-face, she walked behind the wall of water crashing down only feet away from them.

  The noise here was deafening, and spray leaped all about them, preventing them from seeing what lay ahead. Soon they began wading through knee-deep water. Then it was waist-high, swirling back from the falls. It was cold, too, cold enough to have Wyatt gasping for breath. Suddenly the water became shallower. Moments later they were clear of the waterfall, wading through the floodwater that swirled all about them.

  Stumbling clear of the water, Wyatt found he was shivering, as much with realisation of what they had just accomplished as with cold, while his head felt as though it had been resting against an anvil in a busy blacksmith’s shop.

  Mairi was shivering, too, but she did not release his hand. Instead she began awkwardly running over the sodden slippery ground, dragging him after her.

  They located the island on which the two children were stranded, but reaching it would not be as easy as Wyatt had hoped. There were a number of deep channels between the bank and the island, and one carried a fierce current of water that reached as high as Wyatt’s armpits. When he attempted to cross this channel he was swept off his feet by the current and was lucky to be deposited in shallower water some distance down the hillside.

  When he made his next attempt Wyatt was secured to an improvised ‘rope’. It was made from strips of cloth torn from Wyatt’s shirt, the clothing made by Mairi and her sister-in-law – and Mairi’s own dress.

  Mairi’s dress was sacrificed when it became evident that the improvised rope was still not long enough to reach the island. Without seeking Wyatt’s opinion, Mairi stripped the sodden dress from her shoulders and dropped it to the ground before his startled gaze.

  For a few moments, as he looked at her naked body, Wyatt’s emotions were those of the soldier he had once been and not the minister of the Church he had become. Then Mairi covered her nakedness with Wyatt’s discarded coat and was fastening the buttons.

  ‘If you’ve done with your gawping, you can help me rip up my dress. You’d better knot it yourself; it’s your life that’ll be depending on it.’

  Wyatt entered the water stripped to the waist, the temperature of the water causing his very bones to ache. He had one end of the ‘rope’ twisted about one hand, while the other end was gripped by Mairi.

  Once, in mid-channel, Wyatt slipped and was carried away by the fierce current, but Mairi’s grip on the cloth rope held firm until he gained a footing once more. Then he waded ashore on the island and, forcing his way through clumps of tangled brushwood, reached the two children.

  Kirstie Munro, a very frightened nine-year-old, had reached the end of her endurance. When Wyatt reached her side and took the ten-month-old Barbie from her she burst into tears.

  With the baby caught in one arm, Wyatt held Kirstie to him and did his best to comfort her, saying: ‘It’s all right now, Kirstie. You’ve been a brave girl. It’s nearly over. Try to stay brave for a wee while longer….’

  Kirstie Munro had endured hours of terror and despair, despite a fervent belief that her father and mother would not abandon her. Rescue had seemed far away at the height of the storm, but she had never doubted she would be rescued eventually. Now that help had arrived, she realised how close she had come to death.

  ‘In a few more minutes we’ll have you and Barbie safe on the bank with Mairi. But you’ll need to be a brave girl for a few minutes more. Can you do that?’

  Kirstie nodded vigorously. ‘I … I’ll try.’

  ‘Good girl. I’ll send you over first. Let me tie this around you….’ Wyatt knotted the end of the cloth rope about Kirstie’s body and signalled for Mairi to prepare to haul the child to safety.

  Kirstie was frightened of entering the water, but gradually Wyatt coaxed her to the edge of the small island. When he was quite sure Mairi was ready, he pushed the girl in.

  She disappeared beneath the surface of the water immediately. A few anxious seconds later Wyatt saw her surface in mid-channel. Spluttering and coughing, she struck out for the safety of the far bank, helped along by Mairi’s strength at the other end of the rope.

  Soon Mairi was helping Kirstie Munro ashore, hugging the child briefly before she returned her attention to Wyatt and the baby.

  Little more than thirty feet separated Wyatt and the safety of the bank, but not until Mairi knotted a large stone on the end of the rope and made a number of desperate casts did the rope reach him.

  Tying the cloth rope about his waist and holding Barbie Munro in his arms, Wyatt signalled to Mairi – and plunged into the water. He lost his footing almost immediately, and as the waters closed about him felt Barbie Munro struggling frantically in his arms. It seemed an eternity before his head rose above the surface of the water and he was able to fill his lungs with great gulps of air. There were a few more anxious moments when he felt the flimsy rescue-line tear, but by then he was able to gain a foothold. Coughing and choking, he was pulled to safety by Mairi.

  Overjoyed at their success, Mairi took the baby from Wyatt’s arms. Then he collapsed to his knees, coughing up water he was not aware of having swallowed.

  Half an hour later, when they were no more than half a mile from Eskaig, the strangely garbed quartet were met by a party of villagers making their way up the flooded glen. In the lead were Lachlan and Ewan Munro.

  Lachlan Munro was not fully recovered from his illness, and his experiences in the storm had done nothing to help his recovery. He staggered rather than walked at the head of the villagers, but when he saw his two daughters he discovered new strength and was the first to reach them.

  ‘Thank God! Thank God!’ was all the veteran of the Seventy-Second Regiment seemed capable of saying as he held the baby in one arm and hugged Kirstie to him with the other.

  His initial relief over, Lachlan Munro began to express his gratitude to Wyatt.

  ‘Mairi’s the one you need to thank.’ Wyatt was embarrassed by the veteran’s tearful gratitude. ‘Without her courage and knowledge of the glen we’d never have succeeded in rescuing the girls – and I think you owe her a dress.’

  ‘I owe the both o
f you far more than I’ll ever be able to repay.’ Lachlan Munro clasped Mairi’s hands, oblivious to the curious looks of the Eskaig villagers who had become aware that Mairi was wearing nothing beneath the preacher’s coat. ‘We’d given Kirstie and Barbie up for dead….’

  Lachlan Munro’s voice broke, and Wyatt laid a comforting arm across the ex-soldier’s shoulders. ‘They’re both all right, but what about the others?’

  Lachlan Munro turned a gaunt face up to Wyatt. ‘I’ve never known such a storm, Captain. We were all washed away – yet the whole family is safe. It’s little short of a miracle.’

  ‘That’s not the end of it, Lachlan. I’ve more good news for you. But it’s news to be shared with the family…. Where is the family?’

  ‘In Eskaig. In the churchyard.’ Seeing Wyatt’s shocked expression. Lachlan Munro said hastily: ‘It’s best for everyone, Captain. It’s eviction for anyone who harbours those who’ve been turned off Lord Kilmalie’s land. We’re camped in the churchyard, but we’re not short of food.’

  Anger with John Garrett welled up inside Wyatt, but this was neither the time nor the place to air his views.

  ‘You’ll not sleep without a roof over your head again, Lachlan, but let’s go and find your family. You’ll sleep in the manse tonight. Tomorrow? Well, that’s what I want to talk to you about….’

  Six

  THE VILLAGERS OF Eskaig owned few possessions, but throughout that evening small gifts of food were brought to the manse for the Munro family. Mairi was loaned a dress by a sternly disapproving matron who saw her pass by wrapped only in Wyatt’s loose and ill-fitting coat. Hurrying after the dishevelled party from the mountainside, the woman caught up with Mairi as she was about to enter the manse and thrust the dress at her.

  ‘Here, girl. I’ve brought a dress for you to put on. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, parading through Eskaig half-naked. It’s an affront to decent Christian folk. I don’t know what your father can be thinking of, I’m sure. Before I ordered him inside the house my husband had seen more of you in a single minute than he’s seen of me in thirty years of marriage.’

  Careful not to smile, Wyatt said: ‘Bless you for the kind thought. Mairi sacrificed her dress to make a rope with which to rescue young Kirstie Munro and her sister. I’m sure the good Lord will understand.’

  ‘Perhaps. But it will be a while before she meets with Him. In the meantime she has to live with the folk of Eskaig. She’d never have dared flaunt herself so in front of Preacher Gunn – God rest his saintly soul.’

  Biting back the retort that Minister Gunn had probably never been confronted with a similar situation, Wyatt said mildly: ‘I’m sure you’re right – and bless you once again for your kind thought. It’s something I shall remember.’

  When the woman departed her expression left no one in any doubt that ensuring Mairi was ‘decently’ attired was of more importance to her than the approbation of Eskaig’s newly appointed minister.

  Settling the Munro family in the manse for the night was no easy matter. There were only two bedrooms in the small house, and Wyatt turned them both over to the large family.

  The children were given the largest bedroom, and in spite of his protests Lachlan Munro was put to bed in the other. The ex-soldier was swaying with fatigue but was reluctant to give in to his weakness until Wyatt forcibly led him from the room.

  Returning to the living-room, Wyatt saw Mairi running a finger along the polished-wood sideboard that had probably been donated by a previous landowner.

  ‘It’s time you started for home, Mairi; it will be dark soon. Or would you prefer to stay and share a room with the girls?’

  ‘I’ll go home when I’m ready.’ Mairi looked up and saw that Wyatt’s concern for her was genuine. ‘It’s all right. I’ve been out after dark before.’

  She looked down again at the polished sideboard beneath her finger. ‘I’ve never seen such a piece of furniture as this. It’s beautiful. Is it yours?’

  Remembering the simple earthen-floored cot on the high land above Eskaig, Wyatt shoot his head. ‘I’ve rarely stayed anywhere for long enough to accumulate possessions.’

  ‘Is that why you’ve never married?’

  Had the same question come from any other woman – from Evangeline Garrett – Wyatt would have expected it to be accompanied by a degree of coyness. But there was nothing coy about Mairi Ross. It was a perfectly straightforward question.

  ‘I suppose it is. A soldier’s life was not one to share with a wife.’

  Mairi’s chin came up immediately. ‘Neither my father nor my mother would agree with you. They met in Spain. Pa was a Guardsman.’

  The information that Eneas Ross had been a soldier did not surprise Wyatt. There were few true Highland men of his age who had not served in the British army, and Eneas Ross had both the build and proud bearing of a Guardsman.

  ‘Your mother is Spanish?’ It explained Mairi’s dark, almost swarthy complexion, and the haughtiness that did not accord with the status of a barefoot mountain girl.

  ‘My mother is a good woman. As good as any around these parts.’ Mairi spoke with a fierce aggressiveness, as though it was a defence she had put forward on many occasions.

  ‘I don’t doubt it for one minute. I fought under a brave commanding officer in South Africa. He met his wife in Spain. She went with him wherever he fought and as well as being extremely brave was also one of the most charming women I’ve ever met.’

  Much of Mairi’s aggression left her. ‘Minister Gunn never felt that way. He always spoke of Ma as “Eneas Ross’s foreign woman”. I overheard him once.’ The defensiveness returned again. ‘Pa says she was as brave as any man on the battlefield. More than one wounded soldier owed his life to her tending.’

  ‘She can be proud of what you’ve done today, Mairi. You saved the lives of the Munro children. I’m sorry about your dress, though.’

  Mairi shrugged. ‘Kirstie and Barbie are more important than an old dress.’ She smiled unexpectedly. ‘It was worth it, just to see the look on the face of Laura Cameron.’

  ‘Is she related to Angus Cameron, the Eskaig church elder?’

  ‘His wife. They make a good pair.’ Mairi brushed her fingers lightly along the highly polished top of the sideboard once more. ‘My ma had furniture like this in her house, when she was a girl. She said it was so highly polished you could see your face in it.’

  Mairi looked at Wyatt with an expression that combined bravado and uncertainty. It was as though she was used to having such statements challenged.

  ‘She must have lived in a very grand house.’

  Mairi nodded, satisfied she had made a favourable impression.

  ‘You must bring her down to the village some time and call on me.’

  Again there was a searching look from Mairi: an expression of uncertainty that was unusual in a girl who appeared to possess such confidence in herself.

  ‘She’d like that. I must go now.’

  ‘Of course. Thank you for guiding me through the storm, Mairi. I’d have been hopelessly lost – or worse – if it hadn’t been for you, and the Munros have much to thank you for.’

  Mairi shrugged her shoulders in a bid to hide her pleasure. ‘Lachlan or Elsa would have done the same for me – or for anyone else who needed help. They’re nice people.’

  ‘You’re nice, too, Mairi. I’ve enjoyed your company. You’ll be included in my prayers tonight – and for many nights to come.’

  Mairi opened her mouth as though to say something in reply. Instead she turned quickly and hurried from the house.

  Wyatt was left with a feeling that he had offended her in some way, and the thought made him unhappy. Mairi Ross was a strange girl. Seemingly straightforward, yet undoubtedly complicated. She would trouble his thoughts as few other girls ever had.

  The Munro family moved into their new home the next day. Word had gone around that Lachlan Munro had been given the tenancy of the small croft, and men, women and childre
n – many from the mountains – came to see the family move in.

  They were treated to the sight of their minister with his coat off, working with Lachlan and young Ewan Munro to repair at least a section of the roof in order to give the family a few square feet of shelter against the heavy spring showers.

  As Wyatt attempted to lift a weighty roof-timber into position on top of the stone wall of the cot, one of the onlookers climbed up beside him to offer his help. It was difficult even with two of them, and soon they were joined by two more men. Minutes later men and boys were swarming over the cot, raising timbers or carefully handing down reusable thatch to those still on the ground. Elsewhere, women and boys began gathering branches to lay on the timbers beneath the thatch.

  Taking a breather some time later, Wyatt stood back from the path to allow two women carrying an old and heavy cooking-pot to pass him. He viewed the busy scene with great satisfaction. This was how a Highland parish should be: a community where neighbour helped neighbour, and families shared each other’s triumphs and tragedies, joys and sorrows.

  Yet, even as he took pleasure in the scene before him, Wyatt was aware that none of the men who had gathered at the Eskaig jetty to oppose his landing was here. These were, in the main, the crofters and cottars who eked out a precarious existence in the remoter glens of the mountains around Loch Eil.

  Neither was there any intimation that Wyatt had yet been accepted by them. When the roof was completed each man shook Lachlan’s hand and wished him well. Some nodded to the new minister as they went on their way, others walked off without acknowledging his presence. Their message was clear. Wyatt would need to bide his time before he was accepted as the minister of Eskaig.

  But time was not on Wyatt’s side. That evening he returned home tired and grubby after carrying and laying black earth divots on the now-completed roof of Lachlan Munro’s cottage. When still some distance from the manse he saw two riders cantering towards him along the narrow road.