'Bruce loves farming. He'd stifle in a town. Malcolm might be able to do it, and Meg will marry in time. But none of the lads here in the glen even speak to her.'
'She's a pretty lass, but still missing her mother, she has too sad a look about her. In a couple of years, though, they'll have forgotten, and she'll have the lads round her,' Jamie predicted. 'Now, a few minutes with my daughter, and then when she's asleep, I'm for my nice warm bed and my lovely wife.'
***
It was high summer. Flora sat on the bench outside, podding peas, and Rosie was toddling unsteadily around, laughing at the hens as they darted away from her grasping hands. Then Flora suddenly put her hand over her stomach. She felt a faint fluttering, as her child quickened. This time, she prayed silently, let it be a son. As the thought formed, she glanced guiltily at Rosie. The child was sturdy, pretty, and loving, with a happy nature, yet all she could feel was a dutiful affection. Surely she was a most unusual mother! This was her child, a part of Jamie, but she had to force herself to respond when Rosie lifted up her arms to be kissed.
Her reverie was broken as heavily-shod feet came pounding down a path from higher up the mountainside. She looked up in alarm, to see Jamie racing towards her.
'What is it?' she demanded, leaping to her feet and scattering peas all around.
'Fire,' he panted, pausing to catch his breath. 'I saw it from higher up. I must round up the men. Stay here.'
He was off once more, and Flora, ignoring his command, swept Rosie into her arms and ran after him as fast as she could. She soon had to slow to a walk, and ease a protesting Rosie into a more comfortable perch on her hip. Then she stopped abruptly. Outside Eliza's cottage Andrew was standing with his two youngest brothers, staring down the glen.
Flora was close enough to hear Eliza's voice as she called from her kitchen, asking what was the matter.
Andrew laughed. 'I think it's getting too hot for Bruce Mackay,' he replied, and swung away along a narrow path that led to the slopes behind.
Bruce? The fire was at his croft? This disaster could be the end, Flora was thinking, gasping for breath as she went. She walked as swiftly as she could, and in half a mile she rounded another bend and saw thick black smoke rising straight into the still air.
It wasn't the cottage itself, she saw when the fire itself was visible. Somehow the peat stack stored to one side had been set alight, but the walls of the croft were stone, and the roof of slate, and it looked intact. The byre was at the far side, and its thatched roof was safe for now. A crowd of men and women were filling buckets from the burn nearby and even as Flora went closer the flames subsided, defeated by the water. She tried not to breathe too deeply, for the air was filled with the acrid stench of smoke.
Then Meg, who was running back to the stream, saw her, dropped the bucket, and ran to fling herself into Flora's arms.
Flora set Rosie down, keeping a firm hold on her hand, and tried to gather the sobbing Meg to her.
'Hush now, Meg, it's over, the fire will be out soon,' she soothed. 'Come and sit over here, and tell me how it started.'
Meg struggled to suppress her sobs, and Flora led her to the side of the track. She pulled Meg to sit beside her, and patted her hand while she waited for the girl to regain control.
'I saw it first,' Meg whispered at last. 'I was turning the hay, and I looked up, and there were flames as high as the roof. I saw someone walking past, but when I shouted they took no notice. I had to fetch my father and Malcolm, I couldn't stop it on my own.'
'Where were they?'
'Up on the hill there, with the lambs. It took me so long to get there! They ran down faster than I could, and when I got back some of the neighbours were helping.'
'It's all over now,' Flora said gently, 'and no one was hurt.'
'But it took so long to cut that peat!' Meg wailed. 'We all work every hour of daylight, and it will be worse when it's harvest time. There'll be no time to spare to get more, and then it will be winter, and what shall we do? I want to go home!'
She sobbed bitterly, and Flora held her close. This was only the latest of several disasters to hit the small family, and there was little comfort Flora could offer.
She looked across to where the men were pulling apart the carefully stacked peat, beating out the small flickers of fire still surviving. Bruce, his face smeared black with the smoke, was standing nearby. His shoulders drooped, and suddenly he seemed like an old man. Then he shook his head slowly, glanced round and saw her.
'Why does he bear such a grudge?' he asked, coming across and sitting beside Meg. 'Come lass, the cottage wasn't damaged, we've still a home.' He hugged Meg, whose tears were flowing again, and glanced over her head towards Flora.
'Who do you mean?' Flora asked, knowing the answer.
'Who else but young Andrew? He's resented us from the start, and maybe in his place I'd have felt the same.'
Flora shook her head quickly. 'He wouldn't have started the fire deliberately! Is that what you're saying?'
'He'd be pleased enough to see us give up, and then he could have the croft.'
'Jamie's promised him the next one that becomes vacant,' Flora said. Why was she unwilling to suspect Andrew of causing the calamities Bruce was suffering? She'd only ever seen him at a distance for almost a year now. 'All of you, come and share our dinner, Meg won't feel like cooking today.'
'I daren't leave the croft for fear he comes back. But if you'd take young Meg I'd be grateful. She'll sleep easier with you than she will here for a day or so.'
***
Jenny was a small, sickly baby, coming reluctantly into the world on a bitterly cold November night. One of the women from the far end of the glen had been staying with them for a couple of weeks, as Flora refused to ask Eliza to help her this time.
'How can I?' she had asked fretfully when Jamie suggested it. 'She won't give me the time of day.'
'She's no' long for this world,' the midwife commented with well-meaning brusqueness.
With a sudden determination to prove her wrong Flora clasped the small baby to her. It had been a difficult, protracted labour, more painful than the first, and she was exhausted, yet she felt such an overwhelming surge of love for the tiny scrap that her bones seemed liquid. Why, she thought guiltily, hadn't she felt like this when Rosie was born? This child wasn't the longed-for son, either, but her feelings were totally different. She must make more of an effort, she promised herself. Now that Rosie was growing, she was becoming a little person, not just a soft, plump bundle.
Against expectations Jenny put on weight, thrived, and by the age of six months was attempting to crawl after her sister as she played around the house. Rosie adored her, called her rag doll Jenny too, and tried to copy all that Flora did for the baby.
Jamie looked proudly at his daughters when he came home for his dinner one day. 'They'll both be as pretty as you, my darling. But are you feeling better now?'
Flora nodded. She had been tired since Jenny's birth, suffering from all sorts of small ills. 'That infusion of burdock root is helping.'
Jamie kissed her. 'I want you to be well. Now what's the matter?' he added as footsteps were heard outside. 'Can't I eat my dinner in peace?'
'It's when they know you'll be at home,' Flora said, sighing. Somehow there seemed to be more problems this year for him to deal with. But at least Andrew had his own croft. When old Angus Campbell had died in the spring, Jamie had been able to fulfil his promise to the impatient young man. Not that it had softened Eliza's antagonism. She had lost three of her sons, and if things had been different they might not have gone to Nova Scotia.
A large figure appeared in the open doorway, making the room seem dark.
'Good, you're home. Can I come in?'
'Bruce, come in, and sit down. Will you have some broth?' Flora asked.
Bruce slumped onto the bench. 'Broth?' he asked, as if he didn't understand what she meant.
Flora silently put a bowl and spoon in front of him, a
nd after a moment he began to eat, spooning the broth into his mouth as if he were starving. They waited, and after a while he looked up, blinked, and sighed.
'I'm sorry. I've been up all night, and I don't think I've eaten all day. One of my cattle died.'
'Another?' Flora looked at him in dismay.
'Aye, another. The third this year. To join the half dozen sheep that wandered up into the ravine in January and froze to death. I can't go on like this. My animals die, my peat stack burns, my potato patch gets trampled by a couple of loose horses, and my oats are flattened one dark night by a wind that affects no one else!'
'You've had so many misfortunes,' Flora began, and he turned towards her, shaking his head violently.
'Misfortunes? No, these aren't all simple misfortunes. That damned Andrew is behind it.'
'You can't prove it,' Jamie said wearily. 'I've questioned him every time something's happened, and he's always been somewhere else. With someone else.'
'His friends, who resent me as much as he does.'
'Surely he wouldn't deliberately harm you, not now he has his own croft?'
'And a better one than mine,' Bruce said with a sigh. 'I want you to do something, Jamie, or we'll all be starved out. My money's all gone, I won't be able to pay the rent if anything else happens. Then you'll have to turn us out. We should have gone to Glasgow while we had something to live on until we found work.'
Flora could find nothing to say. She picked up Jenny and sat down, cradling the child and rocking her silently, resting her cheek against the silky fine hair, dark like Jamie's. Rosie, her thumb in her mouth, appeared to sense the mood and crept towards Jamie, snuggling against his knee. Absently he put his arm about her.
'I'll lend you the money for the rent,' Jamie said. 'I'll have another word with Andrew, and some of the other hot-heads he's friendly with. No, I feel responsible,' he said quickly as Bruce began to shake his head. 'I didn't have to offer you the croft, persuade you to stay here. Maybe you would have been better off in Glasgow, who can tell? But I made it possible for you to stay here, and I'll help you.'
'I don't want charity!' Bruce almost snarled, glaring at Jamie.
'It's a loan, help from a kinsman. You'll not be churlish enough to refuse?'
There was a long silence, and then Bruce dropped his gaze. 'If I'm to safeguard my children, I have no alternative. I thank you, Jamie, and I'm sorry if I was churlish. I'll repay you as soon as I can.'
He left abruptly, and Jamie, with a sigh, said he'd better go and speak to Andrew straight away. Flora cleared away the remnants of the meal. She had eaten nothing, but she felt too distressed to force anything down. Was this all her fault? It had been her persuasions that had pushed Jamie into giving Bruce the croft, and there was Andrew's kiss.
Was Andrew behind all these calamities? Could he be taking revenge for this too? Was he in some obscure way punishing her? She sighed, and as it was so hot took the children out into the orchard where they played while she tried to concentrate on her embroidery. Her aunt was selling all she could produce, and by now Meg was proficient enough to sell some of her best work too. The child had so many other tasks helping her father and brother, though, and scant leisure for her efforts to bring in more than a few pence. It was too little to make a real difference to the family finances.
***
For some months no more calamities happened. Bruce was able to gather in his harvest, store the potatoes for winter, and sell a few of his cattle. Jamie accompanied the drovers who took all the glen's cattle to market, and on his return reassured Flora they had obtained good prices for the beasts.
'There's a growing demand from England for good Scots meat,' he told her as they prepared for bed. 'It will help the farmers survive the winter. Has all been well here?'
She knew what he meant. Andrew had remained behind, and despite the cessation of attacks on Bruce's animals and crops there was always the fear that the simmering resentment below the surface might erupt without Jamie's presence.
'No trouble,' she said quietly. 'Eliza still refuses to speak to me, but William came yesterday to see me. He'd seen a stranger on the hillside, wanted to warn me.'
'A stranger?' Jamie asked, alarmed. 'What did you do?'
'William took a few of the men and dogs to search, but they found no trace. William said he must have gone by, but I think it's likely he went into the next glen.'
'I'll go myself tomorrow. Come here, my love, I've missed you.'
Before Jamie had eaten his porridge the next morning Bruce arrived. He looked worried and barely nodded to Flora before sitting opposite Jamie and breaking into speech.
'Jamie, my cousin's come to the glen. He followed me from home, and wants to stay a wee while. Just to rest. Do you have any objections?'
'Another who lost his home?' Jamie asked. 'Of course not.'
'He's been trying to scrape a living from the sea,' Bruce explained. 'He and his brother, they had no families, you see, and thought they'd rather stay in Sutherland, but the sea's defeated them. His brother drowned, and he lost heart. He's on his way to Glasgow, to find a ship. But he'd prefer to wait over the worst of the winter. He says he's no wish to go on another boat until the storms die down.'
'Can you support him all winter?' Flora asked, surprised. She knew how little Bruce had for his family.
'He's money, enough to pay for his food and ale, and I was wanting to put up some byres, the beasts have no real shelter by me. He'll earn his keep helping me do that.'
Flora was pleased Bruce would have adult company. She knew how keenly he still missed Margaret. But when she met Bruce's cousin a few days later she found him oddly unwilling to talk to her.
'Flora, my dear, meet Gordon Mackay,' Bruce said, when Flora visited his cottage to give Meg some wool the girl had promised to spin for her. As well as being clever with embroidery Meg was quick with her fingers at all sorts of tasks Flora found tedious. Flora was able to give her money, and now Bruce had another man to help with the heavier work of the croft, Meg had time for more congenial tasks.
Malcolm, standing behind his father, gave a quick smile, equally quickly suppressed, and Flora wondered what had amused him. The newcomer was big-boned, but so thin as to look emaciated. His skin, where it could be seen for his straggling beard, was pallid, almost grey, and she thought he looked ill. But he smiled cheerfully at her, grasped her hand firmly, and said how grateful he was to Bruce and her husband for giving him shelter.
He kept to himself for the next few months, never attending the Kirk, and Flora only saw him briefly if she happened to go to the cottage. Bruce was busy, and she saw less of Meg who complained bitterly of the cold and made that an excuse not to visit Flora as often as in the past. Flora assumed the visitor was either unsociable, or still feeling sick and in need of rest. When she saw him in April, though, just as the warmer spring weather had melted the snows, he looked much healthier, his face fuller, and weathered from the outdoor work he'd been doing.
'You look much better,' she commented. 'Life at sea clearly didn't suit you.'
Malcolm, who was nearby, sniggered, and Gordon Mackay looked uncomfortable. He glared at Malcolm and ordered him brusquely to see to the task he'd been given. Malcolm shrugged and moved away. Flora went thoughtfully back to her own cottage. There was some mystery here, and she didn't like it. She'd suggest to Jamie that he tried to discover what it was. But she was once more pregnant, and feeling unusually sick herself, and forgot the whole problem for a couple of weeks.
Then one day Jamie returned from a visit to the Minister, and he had a stranger with him, a thin, spare man in city clothes, driving a small trap. No farmer, Flora guessed, he didn't look strong enough to lift a hayfork, let alone anything heavier.
'This is Mr McGregor, from Edinburgh,' Jamie said, and Flora glanced swiftly at him, wondering why his voice sounded odd, as if he had difficulty in speaking. Jamie's head was bent, and his gaze was fixed determinedly on his boots.
'Will
you come inside, Mr McGregor?' Flora asked. 'I can brew some tea.'
'Thank you.'
He climbed stiffly out of the trap, and Jamie hitched the horse to the rail outside the croft. No more words were uttered as they went indoors, Flora picking up Jenny and Rosie following shyly behind. Jamie gestured to the stranger and he sat down on the bench, after fastidiously inspecting it.
What does he expect, grease and dust, Flora thought angrily. Why had he come? Had someone died? Her aunt, perhaps? Why should someone who looked like a lawyer come to visit them, all the way from Edinburgh?
'Mr McGregor is here to tell us – to ask us – that is – ' Jamie covered his eyes with one hand. 'I don't believe it!'
Mr McGregor accepted the cup Flora handed him with a brief nod. He took a delicate sip. His eyes widened slightly, as though he found it unexpectedly palatable.
'I merely come as the laird's new factor to inform your husband, as tacksman, that the rents of the crofts need to be increased,' he said curtly. 'This is good tea, Mistress.'
Flora's heart began pounding. A rent increase? Like Bruce had suffered in Sutherland?
'The tea. I have it sent from Edinburgh,' she said, some instinct of politeness making her respond to this irrelevancy. What did tea have to do with anything? 'What sort of increase? And why?' she demanded, her voice rising in anger. 'We already pay more than many people.'
Mr McGregor's lips stretched in what might have been a smile, but which looked more like a grimace to Flora. 'But this land is better than most,' he said patiently, as if to a dim-witted child. 'It's fertile, has a good aspect, milder than further up in the mountains.'
'How much?' she demanded, a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. 'How much do you expect us to pay?'
Jamie clasped her hand. 'They want four times what we pay now, from everyone,' he said hoarsely. 'There is no way at all that any of us can afford that and still be able to live on what is left.'
'I'm sorry,' Mr McGregor said, but Flora, gazing disbelievingly at him, thought with a sudden rush of fury that he was nothing of the kind. His eyes were cold, and he jutted out his chin aggressively.
To A Far Country Page 4
