The Sea-wreck Stranger

by Anna Mackenzie

  ‘Mama?’ I call, my voice little more than a whisper, stumbling after the sound into the slight shelter of the trees. A piteous wail comes back to me and I laugh aloud, a sharp alien sound amidst the buffeting wind and creaking torment of the branches. There before me stands the bedraggled owner of the voice; not the spirit of my long-dead mother, but a creature even more helpless and needy than me.

  Dropping to my knees I wrap Sandpiper in my arms while my foolish laughter turns fast to hysteria, so that I’m gasping and gulping as if air can’t find a way into my lungs. I’ve almost given myself up to it when a new voice reaches me. It’s no phantom this time. It’s Marn – Marn calling my name from somewhere up ahead.

  Keeping the little goat in my arms I clamber to my feet and struggle on towards his voice. I’ve no energy to spare for answering him and I doubt I could anyway – I’m shivering so hard I fear I’ll chatter my teeth out of my head. The wind and rain pummel me as I concentrate on placing each foot ahead of the other. In my arms I can feel Sandpiper quivering and once, when I stumble, she lets out a forlorn bleat.

  I don’t know how far I go or whether I could have made my way back to the farm alone. Suddenly I’m swept up off the ground by strong arms. I lean my head against Marn’s chest and close my eyes, turning my face against the soaked cloth of his jacket.

  ‘I found her,’ I mumble – foolishly, for he can surely see I have the goat – but if Marn makes any answer, I don’t hear it.

  Chapter 15

  When I wake, I find myself tucked warm inside my bed with no memory at all of getting there. I have a hazy notion of being bundled in front of the fire, and of Tilda’s voice, angry and thin, but I can find no images to link this to my last memory of the storm.

  Marn must have carried me home, and probably up to bed as well, because I couldn’t have climbed the stairs on my own. I shy away from thinking of Marn. If he hadn’t come to find me, both Sandpiper and I would likely have died in the storm. I don’t know what to do with this knowledge: it doesn’t fit with the Marn I thought I knew; the Marn who would marry me to Jed because it suits the farm to do so. Perhaps that’s why he came to look for me: to keep his chances of a favourable alliance alive.

  Wishing I could slip back into the softness of sleep, I close my eyes and slide further into the warmth of the bed I usually share with Sophie. My head feels full and heavy and I ache a little, but there’s no fever to plague me. Chinks of light creep around the shutter that’s still fixed firm across our window, and from somewhere outside comes the steady drip of water. Beyond, the silence feels wide and peaceful. The storm has blown itself out.

  From the kitchen below comes the sound of a door slamming, then feet hurrying up the stairs. When Sophie’s head appears around the doorframe, she smiles to see me awake.

  ‘Ness! Are you better? When Marn brought you in, you were like a lamb left abandoned in the rain and like to die.’

  She comes into the room and I look at the mud on her clothes with a twinge of guilt that she’s out working while I lie snug in my bed, but Sophie barely pauses for breath. ‘Ty told us you’d gone after little Sandpiper, and Tilda called you all kinds of fool, but you found her, of course you did, and –’ She stops her rush of words and sits suddenly on the edge of the bed, eyes wide and watchful. ‘You are all right, aren’t you, Ness? Tilda said you’d catch your death and –’

  She bites off her words, but I can well imagine the way Tilda’s ranting would have run. I nod and push myself up to sit against the pillows with arms that ache to take my weight.

  ‘What time is it?’ I ask, clearing the croakiness from my throat with a sharp cough.

  ‘Late morning. You’ve been asleep since Marn brought you in yesterday afternoon. You slept restless,’ she adds. ‘Marn said to leave you be this morning.’

  That pulls me up sharp: I can’t remember a time that Marn’s let me lie late in my bed, and to think I’ve been here since yesterday afternoon! It means, as well, that I’ve lost near a whole day. ‘How’s Sandpiper?’ I ask, fixing on the most straightforward of my thoughts.

  Sophie’s face eases. ‘Up on her legs this morning, thanks to you. She was even closer to dead than you when Marn carried you in to the fire. We had to unbend your fingers so you’d let her go, then I rubbed her down and fed her warmed milk from a bottle.’

  My mind keeps flitting about, as if it can’t yet get at what it really wants to know. ‘Where is everyone?’ I ask.

  ‘Out checking on storm damage,’ Sophie answers, knowing already what questions I’ll next be asking. ‘The animals are fine, though Sal kicked one side of her stall down during the thunder, and the chooks are off laying. Marn’s gone to Cotterburn,’ she adds. ‘Jed came down early to say half their roof’s been staved in by a tree.’

  I heave a sigh of relief that I was tucked up in bed and didn’t have to face Jed, on top of everything else.

  Sophie takes up her list. ‘There’s a dozen trees down; four at least smack on the fences Marn and Ty just finished mending, and one right across the ditch, clogging it up so water’s pooling like a lake across the bottom field. Marn said it was near where he found you, so you’d likely have drowned if you hadn’t died of cold –’ Sophie’s eyes scan me critically, before she keeps on with her telling.

  ‘Jed said Elsie’s in a state about the house. Marn’s gone to help, and he said he might go to Merryn’s as well, seeing as she’s all on her own, and her house is more exposed to the sea than ours. You’ll never guess, Ness!’ Her eyes sparkle and I shake my head, scarce able to take it all in without there being more. I don’t know whether I’m more amazed by the news or by Sophie talking so much.

  ‘Tilda got angry over Marn saying he might visit Merryn and they had an argument, right there in the kitchen with Jed Barritt listening in!’

  My stomach does a dip and I clench my hands tight beneath the bedclothes. The Barritts knowing our business is bad enough, but after what Marn told me, the less they hear of Merryn’s the better. ‘I’d better get up,’ I say, by way of an answer.

  ‘Do you think you should?’ Sophie asks, standing away from the bed to give me room. ‘Tilda’s been moaning all morning about how much work it’ll make if you take ill, and Marn told her off for that too!’

  The storm has shaken Marn up, that’s for certain, but Sophie looks fit to burst with all her news, even now it’s told. As I swing my legs out of bed and reach for my clothes Sophie spits out the last of her news.

  ‘The beach is all chewed up, Ness,’ she says, her excitement gone. ‘I went to check because I knew you’d want to know. I couldn’t get near because of the water across the bottom field, but I went around the side of Cullin Hill to where I could see down into the bay.’

  Our eyes meet, and we both know what she’s saying. It’s what I’ve been trying to turn away from in my mind. ‘I know,’ I say.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she adds.

  With a throb starting up like a hammer beat in my head, I walk down the stairs to help with the aftermath of the storm.

  Chapter 16

  It’ll be weeks before the storm damage is fully abated, but by late in the second day Marn and Ty have finished clearing the tree that dammed the ditch. Sophie and I spent the morning carrying away debris and stacking the cut branches to dry further along the stop-bank. We worked in silence.

  Come mid-afternoon, Sophie is nearly in tears from tiredness, but I’m grateful for the rigours of the task. Pain from my muscles and the dozens of scratches on my hands helps to mask the ache inside me.

  The bottom field, once the flood water has drained, is barely recognisable. Muddy silt lies thick over everything, all traces of green buried deep. Marn scowls as he studies it. ‘We won’t be setting crops here this season,’ he says. ‘We’ll plough it under when it’s dry. If we’re lucky we might get an autumn crop in.’

  Even though it’s our richest land and the loss will leave us short of both trade and winter stores, I can only nod blandly. Marn
turns away, sending Sophie back to help Tilda in the house and Ty to fetch shovels so they can begin mending the ditch’s torn banks.

  ‘Ness, take yourself up to Merryn’s and see how she’s faring,’ Marn says. ‘I’ve not had time yet to check on her.’

  I hesitate. ‘Tilda’ll be wanting me in the kitchen,’ I tell him.

  ‘I’ll deal with Tilda,’ Marn answers, face turned to his work. ‘Tell Merryn from me there’s always help here at Leewood, if she needs it.’

  I chew on my lip, my thoughts as slow and murky as the sludgy water of the ditch. ‘Colm was there when I last went,’ I say, hedging uneasily.

  Marn turns. ‘Colm?’

  I nod. ‘I think they were arguing.’

  Marn’s face darkens into a frown. ‘When was this?’

  ‘Last week,’ I tell him, wishing I’d held my tongue, for I’ve just remembered that Tilda had sent me only as far as Hollows. ‘I couldn’t give her your warning.’

  Marn grunts. ‘You did right to say nothing while Colm was there.’

  He’s bothered by my news, it’s clear. I hesitate a little longer, until Marn waves me on. ‘That makes two reasons to call on her,’ he says. ‘You’d better hurry, Ness, if you’re to be back before dark.’

  As he turns his back I look past his shoulder to where the roof of the barn shows over the rise. The sun’s already low in the sky. The bottom fields are scarcely passable but if I cut across the northern slope of Cullin Hill I might be able to reach the footpath and save myself a loop of road as well as the risk of running into Jed. I close my mind to the other reason for going that way.

  Hitching my skirt I pick a line across the highest edge of the field, but my calves are still spattered in mud before I reach the wall that rounds the flank of the hill and marks Leewood’s southern boundary. As I scramble across I cast a glance back towards Marn. All I can see above the stop-bank is the swing of the shovel as he clears the sludge and rubbish left behind by the flood. Since the storm I’ve seen Marn in a new light but for all that I seem to understand him less rather than more.

  Veering west I follow the boundary wall till it nears the sea, then cut south till I meet the footpath. It’s little more than a goat-track and slippery since the rain. I give it my full attention. Where it curves beneath the hard face of Cullin Hill you can look straight out across the bay. I pause, eyes searching the littered sand.

  The darkness that’s been hovering around the edges of my mind suddenly sweeps down like a sea fog. For two days now I’ve pushed all thoughts of Dev away, but the time has come to face it. Setting Sophie’s words against what I can see of the beach, I know that Dev can’t have survived the storm. Standing on the narrow path high above the sand, I allow myself to grieve before I turn and walk on.

  Merryn is in the barn coaxing milk from her nannies but she straightens when she sees me. We share our news as I help her finish the milking, then she leads me inside, pails slopping at our legs. If she notices any trace of tears on my face, she makes no comment.

  ‘Marn wanted to know how you’d fared in the storm,’ I tell her, as she sets the milk pan on the bench. ‘He’d have come himself, but the storm’s left us with so much work he’s scarce had a moment even to sleep.’

  ‘If your legs are anything to go by, it’s not only Marn who’s been out working,’ Merryn comments, and I look sheepishly at the mud that’s spattered up my legs, glad I stopped to leave my boots by the door.

  ‘Ness, why were you surprised that Marn came out looking for you in the storm?’ she asks, as she reaches for the kettle. Her question startles me. I’d told her the story while we were milking the goats, and Merryn had listened without comment.

  ‘Don’t you know how fond he is of you?’ Merryn continues.

  My anger floods out as if she’s broken a dam. ‘Fond of me!’ I cry. ‘Marn is so fond of me that he’s planning to get rid of me as soon as he can, and he doesn’t care two feathers in a bird’s nest how I feel about it!’

  Merryn frowns at my outburst. ‘Hush, Ness! What’s this?’

  ‘Marn doesn’t care for me at all,’ I announce. ‘And he doesn’t care, either, how Tilda behaves!’

  Merryn spreads her palms on the smooth wood of the table. ‘Tilda can be demanding,’ she says, her voice slow and careful, ‘but that’s not Marn’s doing.’

  ‘He doesn’t stop her,’ I complain, hating the childish whine that’s edged into my voice. I take a breath and straighten my shoulders, thinking I’d best lay the real problem before her. ‘Marn says I’m to marry Jed Barritt, so the farms can be run together.’

  ‘I see.’ Merryn considers me carefully as she thinks out her response. ‘Ness, I doubt there’s anything fixed yet and from Marn’s point of view, the idea has merit. He’d like the thought of you settled nearby,’ she says.

  I stare at her in amazement. ‘But Jed!’ I splutter. ‘He’s …’ I can’t find words for what I think about Jed.

  ‘The way we are as children isn’t always how we’ll be when we’re grown,’ Merryn offers, but the lines around her mouth are tight. ‘Wait a while, Ness. It’s years yet till you need to be thinking of such things.’

  My hope that Merryn will have a solution begins to fade. Suddenly tears are pricking at my eyes. I smudge at them roughly with the heel of my hand. ‘Jed does horrible things,’ I blurt out, my voice shaking. ‘He tortures animals, and he grabbed me last summer and tried to kiss me, and worse. And he says things …’

  Merryn takes hold of my hand, squeezing it tight. ‘It’ll be all right, Ness, I promise. Marn will understand if you tell him.’

  ‘I’ve told him,’ I wail, the tears spilling down my cheeks, and me knowing all the while that they’re as much for Devdan as for myself and the thought of marriage to Jed Barritt.

  Merryn’s arms come around me and she takes me onto her lap, stroking my hair and speaking quiet and soothing, the way she does when one of her animals is injured.

  ‘I think you’re suffering delayed shock, from your fright in the storm,’ she tells me when my tears at last taper into sniffling. ‘I’m glad you’ve told me, Ness, because it’s better to share your worries than leave them to fester.’

  I sniff noisily as I wipe my eyes.

  ‘It’ll work out,’ she adds, ‘you wait and see. Marn has a lot to contend with right now, but he always has your best interests at heart.’

  Suddenly I’m remembering what else Marn had to say that unsettled me, though it feels months rather than days since he stomped out of the kitchen leaving me boiling at his words. A wash of guilt streaks through me, that I’ve put my own troubles first.

  ‘Marn wanted me to pass on a warning, as well,’ I tell her hastily, swallowing down the last of my self pity. ‘He says there’s talk in the village, and he doesn’t hold with it but he’s worried it might lead to trouble. The Barritts are behind it.’ It gives me a shred of satisfaction that I can link Jed’s family to the problem.

  There’s a line drawn deep between Merryn’s brows. ‘What sort of trouble?’ she asks.

  ‘Marn said,’ I hesitate, trying to recall his exact words. ‘It was about the bans.’ I stop to watch her face. ‘Elsie thinks you use teck in your medicines and that’s why they work so well.’

  Merryn snorts and sets me gently on my feet. ‘That’s nonsense, Ness. You mustn’t give it another thought.’ She turns her back on me as she adds a log to the firebox.

  ‘Marn knows it’s nonsense, but he thought you needed warning anyhow,’ I say, wondering afresh about Marn.

  ‘Elsie Barritt was made for stirring trouble,’ Merryn says, turning to face me. ‘If she tries to turn it on me, she’ll get more than she bargains for.’

  Her words have an end-of-discussion ring to them but there are questions still brewing inside me. As if she can see them coming, Merryn raises a hand to stop my words. ‘People can’t always see what’s lying right in front of their noses, Ness,’ she says. ‘But as well, they see things that aren’t there at
all.’

  ‘Was Colm –’ I start to ask, but again she cuts me off.

  ‘What happened between Colm and I is nothing for you to trouble over,’ she announces. ‘Now you’d best get along home. Tell Marn I’ve come through the storm just fine, though my hen house is surely the worse for wear. At least I’ve tracked down all but two of my hens.’ She smiles, as if hens are as weighty a matter as we’ve been speaking of. ‘It’ll be a week at least before I’m getting eggs from the pullets. Even Pollnoll is unsettled. She’s probably too old and I should be thinking of the pot, but I just can’t bring myself to do it.’

  Pollnoll is ancient, twice the age of any of our hens. She’s matriarch of Merryn’s yard, and comes running with her tilting stride whenever Merryn calls her name.

  ‘Are your birds off the lay?’ Merryn asks and I nod, uncertain whether I want to abandon our previous topics so abruptly. She doesn’t give me a choice. ‘Give Tilda my regards with these,’ she says, putting a fat packet of honeycakes into my hand as she turns me to the door. I mutter my thanks, remembering at the last to give her Marn’s offer of help.

  Merryn shakes her head. ‘He’ll be busy enough at Leewood.’

  Outside, what’s left of the day is dreary and dull and I’m in no hurry to return to Tilda’s carping and my chores, but Merryn doesn’t seem inclined to give me the chance to linger.

  ‘Keeping out of harm’s way isn’t as easy as minding your own business, Ness, though it should be,’ she says. ‘There’re always other people all too ready to mind yours.’

  I hesitate, worrying suddenly that Merryn thinks I was prying when I mentioned Colm’s visit. Before I can find words to explain she gives my shoulder a push that sets me off down the path from her door.

  ‘Off you go now,’ she says. ‘You’ll have to be quick, to get home before dark.’

  Where the track from Merryn’s farm meets the road, I stop. To my left lies the overgrown path that leads to the cliffs and the bay. I look at it, knowing full well I planned all along to go that way. Knowing, too, that I’ll not like what I find, and that most likely what I’ll find will be nothing.