Secret of the Ron Mor Skerry

by Rosalie K. Fry

  As first she sat in front of the fire, warming her hands at the blaze. But as she grew warmer her head began to nod, for the fog had made her sleepy. So she spread Granny’s cloak on the hearth in front of the fire, bunching the hood to make a pillow, and she no sooner laid her head on this than she was fast asleep.

  The fire crackled cheerfully, filling the room with warmth and dancing light, while the fog pressed close to the outside walls and foghorns moaned in the distance. But Fiona’s dreams were peaceful ones, for she knew that somewhere out there in the fog the Chieftain and his clan were keeping watch.

  Chapter 6

  FIONA WOKE slowly and lay for a while listening for the remembered sound of the foghorns. But they were silent now and when she opened her eyes she was astonished to find herself lying in front of a dying fire in the old McConville kitchen. In a minute it all came back to her and she remembered her mysterious journey with the Chieftain and his clan.

  She jumped up and ran to the door to find that the fog had cleared and the sea lay blue and sparkling under a brilliant sun. A solitary seal swam up and down the bay like a sentinel. Beyond him a crowd of screaming seagulls swooped and cried, fishing for their dinner. The sight reminded Fiona that she herself was hungry. She felt in her pocket and pulled out the packet of sandwiches that Granny had cut so many hours ago. She sat down on the cottage doorstep and ate them in the sun. Then, feeling thirsty, she went indoors and, selecting the largest shell from the little table, she ran along the remembered path to the well behind the cottage. It was overgrown with moss and ferns but the water bubbled up clear and sparkling in its little sandy hollow. She dipped her shell again and again into the ice-cold water. Then, feeling very refreshed, she stood up and looked about her, wondering what to do next. She decided to climb the island’s only hill and see how it looked from the top. It was all ablaze with heather now and a wide green track through the purple marked the course of a tiny stream that trickled down to the bay.

  She was soon scrambling up the hillside. Butterflies drifted over the heather and bees blundered out of her way. At last she reached the top of the hill, where she climbed a lichen-covered boulder to get a better view.

  From this high vantage point it really did look like an island, and a little one at that, for she could see the sea surrounding her completely. It was calm today, and as blue as the little butterflies that fluttered about her feet. On all sides there were islands, the far ones indistinct and shadowy, like half-forgotten dream-isles lost in the shimmering heat-blaze that quivered over the sea.

  Directly below where she stood the hill dropped steeply to a rocky coastline where even today the sea swirled restlessly, lifting the shining tangle that grew among the rocks. Then something moved at the water’s edge and she saw that it was a seal.

  She jumped off her boulder and raced down the hillside toward the rocks. As she drew near she went more quietly, and when she reached the spot where the last clump of heather overhung the rocks she lay down in its shelter and wriggled cautiously forward to where she could see without being seen.

  And there on the rocks lay a dozen seals basking in the sun. She kept perfectly still, determined to make no sound, remembering how she had frightened them off the Ron Mor Skerry yesterday.

  A movement in the sea attracted her attention. The water was green close under the rocks and wonderfully clear and as she watched, something moved in the depths. The next minute a school of mackerel came by, swimming close to the rocks, their blue-green bodies glinting in the sun.

  She was not the only one to see them; one seal more wakeful than the rest lay idly blinking at the sea. Now, suddenly alert, he raised his head and stared intently into the water, then with one swift movement slithered off his rock and dived into the sea. At the sound of the splash up came all the other heads and in an instant the island rocks were empty. From her lookout in the heather Fiona had a last glimpse of the mackerel sweeping around the southern end of the island with the seals in swift pursuit.

  For a while she lay in the heather, hoping the seals would return. When they did not she grew restless and, getting to her feet, started to wander along the coastline above the rocks. The heather soon gave place to sea pinks, which grew in thousands here, the dry flowers rustling crisply against her feet as she pushed through them. There were other flowers too, clumps of white sea campion and yellow bird’s-foot trefoil, with here and there small cushions of wild thyme.

  Suddenly she stopped abruptly. For there on the flowery hillside squatted a little boy. His bare brown skin was deeply sunburned and a mop of wild black curls tumbled over his eyes. He was singing a wordless song to himself as he picked the flowers contentedly.

  “Jamie!” she gasped when she got her breath. “Oh, Jamie, I’ve found you at last!”

  The child sprang up with a frightened cry. She had a fleeting glimpse of wide dark eyes, then he turned and fled, dropping his flowers as he ran.

  “Jamie!” she cried, running after him. “Oh, Jamie, it’s me—it’s Fiona! Oh, Jamie darling, wait!”

  But the little boy did not seem to hear as he scrambled down the rocks toward the sea, whimpering with fright. He went so fast that Fiona could not keep pace with him and he was soon out of sight. A moment later, looking down, she saw a queer little craft shoot out from the rocks below. The small boy crouched in the stern, looking back over his shoulder with frightened eyes. As the boat swung clear of the rocks she saw that it was nothing but an old wooden cradle.

  “Oh, Jamie, Jamie, come back to me!” she called imploringly. But her voice was drowned by the sigh of the waves as the cradle drifted out of sight behind the Ron Mor Skerry.

  For a long while she stood watching the skerry hopefully, but when nothing happened she wandered down to the beach in front of the cottages. The old boat lay on her side, stranded by the ebbing tide, and now, remembering how she had come here, Fiona began to wonder what would happen next, and how she was ever going to get back to her grandparents’ house. There wasn’t a single seal in sight and everything was quiet. Not even a seabird called. The only sound was the lapping of waves on the shore. She climbed into the stranded boat and sat there to wait for whatever might happen next.

  She had not long to wait before a boat rounded the end of the island, a boat she recognized.

  “Grandfather! Rory!” she shouted, standing up on the seat and waving to attract their attention. Rory was the first to notice her, and for a moment he sat perfectly still with his dripping oars suspended in amazement; then, suddenly plunging them into the water, he pulled for the island with all his strength.

  “I’ve seen Jamie!” Fiona shouted, wading out to meet them; and, standing there in the water, she poured out the whole surprising story.

  Grandfather looked at her doubtfully.

  “You say you slept by the fire,” he remarked. “Are you sure you didn’t dream it all?”

  “Well, here she is on the island anyway—she certainly didn’t dream that,” said Rory quietly.

  “That’s true,” muttered the old man uneasily.

  Rory dragged the old boat to the water and tied it astern of their own and they started for home. Fiona scanned the Ron Mor Skerry as they passed but there was no sign of anything hiding there and no seals on the rocks today.

  They were all three silent on the way home, all busy with thoughts of their own. But as they rowed into the harbor Grandfather said, “You know, Fiona, I think it’d be best not to say a word of all this to your grandmother, she thinks you’ve been out in the boat with us all day, so unless she asks particular, you’d best let her go on thinking it. If she knew what really happened she’d be that scared she’d never let you out of her sight. And another thing, don’t tell her you saw Jamie. She always loved that little lad and she’s never ceased to grieve about him.”

  “But he’s quite all right,” Fiona reminded him. “Surely it would stop her grieving if I told her that?”

  “Better leave it be,” he insisted, and Fiona knew t
hat he still believed she had dreamed this part of the day’s adventure.

  Chapter 7

  A LETTER arrived next morning that changed every-one’s plans for the day. It came from the old people’s landlord and announced that he had something important to discuss with them. After a lot of anxious talk they decided to set out on the midday bus for the far end of the island to pay the man a visit.

  “Rory’s mother will give you your tea today, Fiona love,” said Granny. “The bus won’t get us back until late tonight.”

  They had an early dinner, after which Rory called to collect Fiona.

  “The bus is there by the harbor,” he announced. “I’ve told Jock you’re coming, so he’ll wait.”

  Rory’s mother was one of the happy-go-lucky kind to whom one child more or less made little difference. She welcomed Fiona warmly, then turned to Rory.

  “Oh, Rory lad, Joe McBain from the shop has just been in. He’s had word there’s a parcel for him coming in on the afternoon train today, and he wonders would you take the boat across to the mainland and collect it from the station.”

  “Oh, can I go too?” burst out Fiona before Rory had time to speak.

  “Come along,” Rory said, grinning. “And we’d better start at once. It’s quite a distance.”

  “Do we go near Ron Mor?” she asked eagerly when they were on their way.

  “We don’t, but we will!” said Rory. “I’ll land you there on my way across and collect you coming back.”

  “That’s just what I hoped you’d suggest,” Fiona said. Then she added, “You know, I really did see Jamie yesterday.”

  “I know you did, that’s why I’m taking you there today. I’m hoping you’ll see him again.”

  “Have you ever seen him?” she asked.

  “No,” he replied, “I never have, although I’ve always wanted to. Now tell me again about yesterday, what he looked like and everything just as it happened.”

  Fiona was only too ready to describe her strange adventure and Rory was such an eager listener that they reached the island almost before she realized it.

  The seals were out on the skerry again and the Chieftain raised his head as they went by.

  “You know,” said Rory thoughtfully, “I don’t believe the old Chieftain will ever be really satisfied until he has the McConvilles back again on the island—I’ll never forget the way he moaned when the trawler took us away.”

  “But why does he like the McConvilles so much?” asked Fiona.

  “I’ve always liked to think it was one of his own Ron Mor Skerry clan that took the shape of a human woman all those years ago and came in from the sea to live on the island and learn human ways and marry a McConville. That would make it natural enough that the Chieftain should look on the McConvilles as a branch of the Ron Mor Skerry clan.”

  “I like that idea too,” said Fiona. “Then the Chieftain would be the one who’s taken care of Jamie!”

  “That’s what I think myself,” said Rory, shipping his oars as the boat slid into the bay. “Now here you are—I may be quite a while, especially if the train is late.”

  “I shan’t mind!” cried Fiona, jumping ashore. She shoved the boat off and stood waving until Rory rounded the end of the island and was lost to sight.

  Fiona skipped up the beach, delighted to feel that she had many hours before her. She scrambled up the hillside and hurried at once to the spot where she had found Jamie yesterday. But today there was nobody there, and nothing to see save the withered remains of the flowers Jamie had dropped in his flight.

  Never mind, the island was not very big. She felt sure she could soon explore it all. But after searching for an hour or two she discovered that it was larger than it appeared and full of innumerable hiding places. She had searched the cliffs and caves along one side and been into each of the empty cottages in turn before she realized how much of the island was still unexplored. The sun was hot and she was tired and thirsty. She turned toward the well for a drink and on the way noticed some straggling raspberry bushes laden with ripe fruit. The grass stood tall about them but by pushing her way through she found more fruit than she could eat. She then knelt down by the mossy well for a drink of ice-cold water.

  “And now,” she decided, refreshed again, “I’ll go up the hill and see if Rory is coming back yet.”

  She stood on the hilltop looking about her. The sun was already low in the sky and the scattered islands stood out sharply against the golden water. There was no sign of Rory. So she decided to go back once more to the place where she had seen Jamie. Several seals were playing in the rolling swell offshore and some of them turned to stare at her as she made her way along the cliffs.

  Once again she was disappointed. Jamie was not there. She flopped down among the flowers with a sigh, wondering if she was ever going to see him again. The flowers smelled sweet in the warm sun and she lay back among them, closing her eyes against the glare. A small wind whispered through the sea pinks and from somewhere below came a wump and a sigh from some cave in the rocks where the waves washed in and out . . . in and out . . . in and out. . .. It was a soothing sound and after a while she slept.

  She did not wake until the sun went down and then she sat up with a shiver to find that it was dusk. She hurried back across the cliff, stumbling along as fast as she could in the failing light. At last she rounded the headland overlooking the bay and stopped in surprise. For there was a light in the end cottage window and smoke poured out the chimney. From where she stood she could smell the tang of a driftwood fire.

  But of course—it must be Rory come to fetch her. She hurried down toward the bay hoping she hadn’t kept him waiting long. The cottage door was open and the light streamed out across the wet sand to where something rocked on the edge of the tide. She expected it to be Rory’s boat, but as she drew near she saw that it was something else. It was the old wooden cradle. It was empty and from its bow a length of rope was fastened to a heavy stone on the shore. Fiona’s heart began to thump as she made her way on tiptoe toward the cottage. Not wishing to be seen, she crept around to the side and peeped in through a tiny window.

  She saw a curious sight. The table was laid with shells as she had seen it first, only this evening there were winkles and crabs and other delicacies set out on the oyster shell plates. At one end of the table sat Jamie, while facing him was the Chieftain sitting proudly up to the table as though quite used to human ways.

  Fiona, pressing close to the window, misted the glass with her breath. She lifted a hand to wipe it clear and Jamie saw the movement and looked up. He was on his feet in an instant and out through the open door.

  The Chieftain hesitated, looking anxiously from Fiona to the shells of food. Then, gulping a mouthful of mussels from the nearest plate, he dragged himself reluctantly to the door and lumbered after Jamie.

  “Ah, stay and finish your party!” implored Fiona, running after them. But already the cradle-boat was away, heading out into the darkness with Jamie in the stern, and a moment later the Chieftain plunged into the surf and followed.

  “Oh, why will he always run away?” cried Fiona, very near tears.

  She flopped down on the cottage doorstep and sat huddled with her chin in her hands, gazing unhappily toward the sea. She could see the white lines of the breakers come and go in the darkness as the waves ran frothing up the sand, to be pulled back almost immediately, then flung up the beach again.

  She was aroused by a shout from the darkness.

  “Fio-na! Coo-ee!” And she knew that Rory had come to fetch her at last. He was just bringing the boat ashore as she ran down to the water’s edge.

  “I say, are you all right?” he called, peering at her anxiously. “I’m sorry to have left you all this time but the train was nearly two hours late.”

  “Oh, Rory, if you’d come earlier I’d have missed seeing Jamie,” she said as she scrambled into the boat. “He came to the cottage after it got dark.”

  But Rory was scarcely lis
tening. All his attention was on the boat as he pulled away from the shore.

  “It’s a nuisance, that wretched train being late,” he muttered. “We’ve missed the tide and now we’ll have it against us all the way.”

  It was a long, hard pull and Fiona sat in silence as Rory battled against the current. But the lights of the harbor drew near at last and he pulled into the sheltered water thankfully. His father was waiting on the quay with Joe McBain.

  “Och, lad, what a terrible long time you’ve been!” he exclaimed. “We thought you were never coming.”

  “The train was two hours late,” explained Rory.

  “Well, it’s a mercy the bus is late as well,” remarked his father, “else Gran would be in a fine flurry over Fiona. Better cut along quick, lass, and light the lamps before they come.”

  Fiona went home feeling disappointed. Joe McBain had been so busy discussing the railway charge on his parcel that she had had no chance to say more than goodbye to Rory, and she had so wanted to tell him all about Jamie. Something warned her that even Grandfather must not yet be told about today’s adventure, especially as he probably wouldn’t believe it anyway.

  She hurried indoors and lit the lamps, placing one in the window where it would shine out in welcome. The fire was low but still alight and she soon had it blazing cheerfully under the old black kettle. She guessed they would be hungry, as she was herself, having had no time for tea at Rory’s after all. She bustled about, preparing a meal as she had seen her grandmother do. She even put out a cup for Rory, although she felt pretty sure he wouldn’t have time to come tonight. Just as the kettle began to sing her grandparents returned.