The next time she met Mairi Jane, Kirsty said, ‘As soon as the spring work is finished I shall be expecting you to be over on an evening cruise.’
‘And aren’t folks speaking of it already?’ replied Mairi Jane. ‘They fairly enjoyed the last one and they’re saying the weather is set fair for a week or so. I’ve no doubt you’ll be seeing them soon enough.’
‘It can’t be too soon,’ Kirsty invited.
It was early the following week when they arrived and this time they had with them not only the bride and bridegroom but also the man who’d played the melodeon at the wedding. As soon as they were gathered in the house and had satisfied themselves with tea and scones the melodeon was produced and it was not long before the younger folks were dancing barefoot on the grass outside the house. Jamie, very much less shy than he had been the previous year, had joined the dancers and seeing him Mairi Jane observed that Kirsty had ‘likely undone the harm the nuns had done to him’. Kirsty accepted the observation with an ironic smile.
She went into the house to brew more tea for the thirsty dancers. Mairi Jane followed her. ‘Mo ghaoil,’ she said, ‘will you not sit down while I brew the tea? You are not looking yourself tonight.’
‘I think there must be thunder hanging around,’ Kirsty answered her. ‘I felt a little dizzy and headachy this morning.’
‘And thunder affects you?’ Mairi Jane looked at her quizzically.
‘I’m afraid it does,’ Kirsty admitted. ‘It did when I was living in the city anyway.’ She filled one of the teapots and Mairi Jane filled another before going to the door calling ‘Strupak!’ The dancers came crowding back into the kitchen.
It was after midnight when they left, but the peaks of the hills were still gilded by the afterglow of the sunset. Mairi Jane, as she kissed Kirsty ‘Oidhche Mhath!’ asked if she would be over with her eggs the following Saturday. ‘Why, yes,’ Kirsty assured her. ‘The hens are laying well again now.’
‘Ask will the two Ruaris give you leave to stay overnight in my house,’ she surprised Kirsty by saying. ‘We are having a wee ceilidh and concert in the village hall and you would do well to come. There is to be a singer who’s won prizes at the Mod and a wee dancing girl who’s won prizes at the games. It will be good entertainment.’
‘I’d love to come but it will mean one of them having to milk the cow on Sunday.’
‘And cannot Jamie milk the cow?’ she asked.
Kirsty blinked at her momentary forgetfulness. ‘Why, yes, I’m sure Jamie would like to milk the cow. I’ve taught him how to do it and he’s keen enough when he’s not at sea. The trouble is, I doubt if either of the two Ruaris will agree to use the boat on the Sabbath to come to get me.’
‘Not on the Sabbath but on the Monday morning when they’ve finished at the lobsters surely?’
‘I’ll put it to them,’ Kirsty promised.
The two Ruaris made no demur at all when she did put it to them and young Jamie jumped at the idea of milking the cow, so on Saturday Kirsty packed her nightdress and a new blouse and skirt she had made for herself, safely under the eggs in hen basket and, warning the two Ruaris and Jamie not to forget to call for her on the Monday morning, she set off to get the bus to Mairi Jane’s house.
She enjoyed the concert but found the hall stuffy and had to go outside during the interval to cool herself down. She found herself wishing for a moment or two that she was going back to Westisle that night so that she would have a cool sea wind to refresh her before she went to her bed. When the concert was over, a friend whom Mairi Jane had introduced as Flora MacNee insisted they accompany her back to her cottage for a ‘wee strupak’. Kirsty would have liked to forgo the invitation but she knew she must not. There was a porch overlooking the sea at Flora MacNee’s house, and there as they sat drinking tea topped with a small measure of whisky they talked of the old days – the old folk and the old ways. It was fascinating but Kirsty’s head was heavy with sleep. She saw Mairi Jane regarding her attentively and realised she had not drunk her tea.
‘Kirsty has been having a touch of the weather so she says,’ Mairi Jane explained to Flora. ‘But I’m thinking it’s not only the weather that’s troubling her just.’
Kirsty glanced at her with eyebrows raised. ‘A touch of the sun?’ she queried. Mairi Jane said nothing. ‘Surely you’re not thinking I’ve caught something or other,’ Kirsty joked.
Mairi Jane smiled. ‘Flora here is the nurse for the village,’ she said. ‘What would you say she has caught Flora?’
‘No more than a touch of pregnancy,’ said the nurse.
Kirsty was aghast. ‘But I’m too old!’ Her voice was almost a shriek. ‘I’m forty. I can’t be pregnant. I started the change three months back.’
‘I doubt it’s not the change,’ the nurse insisted.
Kirsty held her face in her hands. ‘How can you be so sure?’
‘I cannot be certain but I have nursed a great many pregnant women. The signs strike me the minute I see them. You will soon know if I am right.’
‘I can’t believe it,’ Kirsty protested. ‘Not when I’m forty years old.’
‘My mother was forty-four when she became pregnant with me,’ Mairi Jane interposed.
‘My sister was forty-six when she gave birth to her first child,’ the nurse added.
Kirsty was voiceless for several minutes and then she pleaded, ‘You will not say a word of this to anyone, will you? Least of all to Ruari my husband. I shall wait for a while before I make it known to him.’
The nurse raised her chin proudly. ‘You should not have to ask a nurse to keep a secret,’ she admonished Kirsty. ‘It’s part of our training.’
‘And you need have no fear that I shall break your secret,’ asserted Mairi jane.
As they walked to Mairi Jane’s cottage Kirsty could only converse in stilted monosyllables and when they reached it Mairi Jane, blessedly understanding, made no fuss when she chose to go straight to bed. Kirsty lay with her secret and stroked her palms over her rounded belly. She could detect no swelling; no difference in its normal roundedness. She still could not believe she was pregnant and yet she wanted to believe it. Her age still worried her. Would she be likely to go the full term? As sleep overpowered her she resolved not to speak to her husband about the possibility until her pregnancy had run for at least another couple of months and the signs had become inescapable.
The summer was hot and sunny and the harvest bad finished much earlier than usual, so the two Ruaris and Jamie decided to go more feequently to the peat Island to bring back a good stock of peats. She and Jamie collected driftwood from the shore and well before autumn winds threatened to stir the sea to violence they felt satisfied they had plenty of winter fuel within easy reach of the house.
‘We shall be nice and snug this winter by the look of it,’ she remarked as she saw the two Ruaris putting the final touches to the stack. She thought, if there is really going to be a bairn we shall need to be nice and cosy.
Her husband said, ‘One can never have too many peats.’
The following Saturday when they were returning from the mainland, although the sea was hardly touched by wind, Kirsty suddenly retched. She tried to be discreet about it and neither her husband nor her brother-in-law appeared to notice anything wrongs but Jamie was concerned. ‘Just something I ate at the tea-room,’ she excused herself. ‘Say nothing about it.’
‘Next Sat … I c-could t-take this,’ he managed to say, gesturing towards the empty egg basket.
She didn’t want him to see how profoundly relieved she was. ‘I would be glad if you would somtimes do that for me Jamie,’ she told him. ‘I would have more time to spend doing all the things I need to do before the Sabbath.’ He smiled at her warmly.
For six consecutive Saturday she did not go to the mainland and the brothers, seeing that Jamie was now taking her eggs, asked no questions. But on the seventh Saturday she knew there were some things she must do. Her pregnancy was advancing and she h
ad made few preparations for the birth. She’d pored over catalogues which advertised baby clothes, but imagining the look she would get from the postmistress when she saw the address she hadn’t dared risk posting an order at the fish pier post office. Instead she’d written to Mairi Jane saying she would likely be on the mainland and hoped they would be able to meet. Mairi Jane would then take the money for a postal order and would send it together with a list of baby clothes to the catalogue address from her own post office, and when the order was delivered Mairi Jane would write to her for instructions as to how Kirsty would get it.
They chatted together in the tea-room.
‘And your man is pleased?’ Mairi Jane asked, and when Kirsty admitted she hadn’t yet told Ruari Beag she shook her head disapprovingly.
‘I’ve made up my mind to tell him this very evening,’ Kirsty assured her. ‘I have promised myself I will do that.’
They were back on the Island earlier than usual, Ruari Beag having mentioned that since the sea was calm they might just as well bring back some more peats from the peat Island. ‘No sense in leaving them there to go rotten,’ he said.
Ruari Mhor wanted to spend his time working on the engine of the fishing boat, so Jamie went with Ruari Beag and Kirsty started on her baking. She felt a little tense at the thought of telling her husband he might soon be a father. How would he take the news, she wondered. Would he be pleased, or would he be disgusted at the idea? And her brother-in-law? Would he revert to his sulky resentment if he had to put up with a child in the house?
She was lifting a pan from the fire when she heard the sound of boots outside the door and was expecting Ruari Beag and Jamie to appear. Instead it was her brother-in-law. He stood in the doorway staring at her as if he was transfixed. His face looked more agonized than she had yet seen it. Is it his back or has he had an accident, she asked herself. She put down the pan and went hesitantly towards him. ‘Ruari Mhor,’ she pleaded, ‘will you not sit down or lie on your bed? I can see you are in great pain and I will go and find Ruari Beag to help you.’
He was still staring at her, and impulsively she extended an arm towards him, thinking he needed help. ‘Please,’ she began, and pushed a chair close to him, fearing he was about to collapse. At last he spoke. ‘You will not find Ruari Beag,’ he said stoically.
‘I cannot leave you while I go to find him,’ she said. ‘Not while you are in such pain.’
‘Be quiet woman. You will not find him,’ he repeated.
‘But he’ll surely be back from the peat Island by now,’ she insisted. ‘Why wouldn’t I find him?’
‘The sea has claimed him,’ he said flatly.
Her head shot up in alarm.
‘The sea?’ She thought he was confused. ‘What are you saying, Ruari Mhor?’ Her hand went to her throat as she stared at the hard set of his jaw. ‘Oh, dear God!’ she whispered, as what he was telling her pierced her consciousness. She could not stop herself swaying: the kitchen furniture seemed to move as if it was being shaken by an earthquake. When she came to she was lying on her bed and thinking she was just awakening from a bad dream. She sat up and saw her brother-in-law holding a mug of tea towards her but, wordlessly, she shook her head. ‘Is it true what you are telling me?’ she said faintly.
‘It is true,’ he said.
‘But they only went across to the peat Island and it is a calm evening,’ she tried to argue. ‘What happened?’
‘Jamie tells me he and my brother had a good load of peats on the small boat and were on their way back when Ruari saw a good piece of driftwood a distance away. My brother thought it would be good to carve and wanted to tow it behind the boat, so Jamie jumped in the water and started to swim for it. He didn’t see Ruari was having trouble with the outboard motor, but thinking he heard a shout he looked round and was in time to see the wee boat turn over, and though he swam back as fast as he could hoping Ruari would be holding on to the boat there was no Ruari, no boat and no engine. He shouted and dived and swam around searching for long enough before he gave up and swam ashore here on the Island to tell me. I went with him in the fishing boat but we knew my brother was gone. We went over to the mainland to let them know and more boats have gone to search. They are still searching.’
‘Then I must away and join them. I’m a good swimmer,’ she shrilled, getting up from the bed.
‘There will be good swimmers there. If he is to be found they will find him. Otherwise we must wait until the sea chooses to give up its dead.’
Distraught, she hurried into the kitchen and began to shift pots and pans about on the range not really knowing why she was doing so.
‘Where is Jamie now?’ she thought to ask.
‘Jamie is down on the shore,’ he told her. She looked at him questioningly. ‘He is suffering because he was unable to save his father.’ He paused for a moment before adding, ‘He thinks you might blame him.’
‘His father?’
‘Jamie is Ruari Beag’s son,’ he said.
Her voice dried up in her throat as she stared up at him. ‘His son?’ she repeated incredulously.
‘He never told you?’ Slowly she shook her head in denial. ‘He did a foolish thing,’ he said. ‘It was a long time ago. Try not to blame him.’
She remembered suddenly that Ruari Beag had drowned without knowing about the bairn she was carrying in her belly and the knowledge drove like a blade into her heart. ‘I had something to tell him,’ she confessed. ‘I was going to tell him tonight I am near five months pregnant with his bairn and now he has died without knowing it.’ Her voice broke on a sob and she shook her head bemusedly. She had a yearning to feel someone’s arms around her, someone, her mind prayed, someone who would offer her comfort. He stood there watching her as she sank into the chair. ‘I cannot blame Jamie and I do not blame Ruari Beag,’ she said quietly. ‘He has always been kind enough to me. It is I who failed to make him happy.’
‘You made him very happy,’ he contradicted. ‘Particularly when you accepted Jamie into this household. Not only just accepted him but were keen to have him. I tell you no woman could have made him happier.’
She cupped her hands to her face to hide her tear-filled eyes.
‘Will I go now and bring Jamie?’ he asked her.
‘Please,’ she assented, and when Jamie came into the kitchen she held out her arms and hugged him to her, feeling his need for comfort. It was not until she was in bed that night that she called to mind that she had not offered Ruari Mhon a trace of commiseration over the loss of his brother.
Apart from the fact that they noticed Jamie’s stammer seemed to have been cured, at least temporarily, by the tragedy they carried on stoically for the next few days, doing what needed to be done and doing nothing that was not necessary. Jamie accompanied Kirsty to the cattle. Ruari Mhor wandered the shore. None of them seeming to know what they were expecting to happen until a few days later, Ruari Mhor came into the house and demanded Ruari Beag’s seaboots.
Kirsty looked up at him, perplexed by the demand.
‘They have found his body,’ Ruari Mhor confirmed. His voice was harsh but she knew it was an attempt to disguise his grief.
‘Why would you want his boots?’ Kirsty asked nervously.
‘He is to be buried tomorrow,’ he replied. And when Kirsty still looked puzzled he went on, ‘Do you not know the custom here?’ She shook her head. ‘When a man dies by accident in these parts his boots must always be buried beneath him.’
‘What reason would there be for that?’
He looked at her gravely. ‘It is so his ghost cannot walk,’ he said.
She shuddered. ‘I never heard of that,’ she confessed and went to get her drowned husband’s boots.
The sealed coffin was brought to the Island and placed on a bench outside the house. There was mist rolling in from the sea and the land was eerily quiet. The male mourners, mostly recognisable as fisherman, grouped themselves loosely beside the bier as the missionary read the servi
ce. Mairi Jane stood closed to Kirsty, offering support while the rest of the women stood around the doorway of the house.
When the service was over, the coffin was carried back to the boat and left, while the men there returned to sustain their genuine grief from a bottle while the women took sustenance from the teapot. After a while there came an urgent call for the mourners to get aboard the boat which had brought them and was not returning to the mainland, but since the bier was to be taken to a port nearer the burial ground The Two Ruaris was to wait until the missionary was ready to go.
The missionary’s wife waited with him. She was a thin stringy woman with a ‘face like yesterday’ as Mairi Jane described her, and a skin like faded calico. Even her smile was supercilious. Mairi Jane, who had volunteered to stay the night with Kirsty, made a grimace of disdain and disappeared but having cornered Kirsty, the couple sat in the kitchen taking more tea. Kirsty wished they would go but she supposed they thought they must stay to offer more comfort and condolence, and at the same time wring her soul with more prayers. But that was not why they had stayed, as she was soon to find out.
‘What are you thinking of doing now?’ the missionary’s wife asked.
‘Do? I’ve had little time for thinking,’ Kirsty countered.
‘Well, we think it best to tell you it wouldn’t be right for you to stay on here, don’t we, Lachlan?’
Kirsty fixed them with a puzzled glance.
‘Stay in the same house with your husband’s brother and no other women to chaperone you! That will not fit in with church teaching,’ she added relentlessly.
An Island Apart Page 15
