No Safe Anchorage

by Liz Macrae Shaw

  “It’s certainly a worthwhile job you’re doing,” she said, with a wry smile.

  He smiled uncertainly, not understanding her sudden amusement. “You seem respectable and God fearing. Jeannie is strong willed, like all the women in our family.” Her eyes glinted, “You’ll have to strive to win her hand. Meanwhile, you may bring your wages here each week for safekeeping. I shall expect to see you at church every Sabbath.”

  “Thank you for your kindness.” His heart plunged at the prospect of all the walking he would have to do on his one free day in the week.

  She stood up and went over to the press, opening a small drawer at the top and let him drop the coins into it. Then she hustled him into the kitchen where the serving girl smiled shyly and gave him milk and bannocks.

  As he was sitting eating he heard the door behind him creak open. He turned and flinched at the face that peeped round it. It was a fairy’s face. Pale, bony and pointed. Long black hair. Raven’s eyes. He gawped as the girl spoke, “Off with you now, Louis. I’ll call you when your tea’s ready.”

  Her tone was affectionate. The wee creature’s wide mouth grinned and it waved a birdlike claw. Then the door closed and the face disappeared. The girl laughed at Kenneth’s open-mouthed stare. She smiled, glancing sideways at him, “Aye, he’s a strange wee lad. He’s staying with Mistress MacKenzie just now. He’s not a relative though but …”

  “I have to go,” he interrupted her. He stood up, wiped the crumbs from his lips and hurried through the door. He knew he was being rude but he had no time for chattering. Anyway he wanted peace to ponder all that had happened that day.

  Chapter 7

  Island of Rona, Summer 1857

  After he left Janet stood by the window, looking out to the harbor. She ran her fingers over the cold, polished brass of the lamp while she thought about Kenneth. He seemed decent enough and she hoped that Jeannie would give him a chance. It would be her own free choice, whatever she decided. She was still very young and her parents would leave her to choose. As a girl, Janet had shuddered when she saw lively young women coupled with dried-out graybeards for the sake of having a roof over their heads. She had believed then that it was only right to marry for love. She hadn’t known that love couldn’t stop the rot of disappointment. If she had the gift of second sight, would she still have taken him? She had been dazzled by him but maybe if her parents had not been so vehement in their opposition, she wouldn’t have held him so close. Too closely to see him clearly. She shook her head in exasperation. It was no use brooding on what was over and done with. It was the lad’s name that had thrown her back into the past to her own Kenneth. This Kenneth seemed steady, a little dull even, but he had held his ground when she had questioned him. His visit had left her thoughts scuttling and scurrying, small sea creatures pried from their hiding place by an oyster catcher’s beak.

  Her Kenneth was an outsider too, from Lochalsh in Kintail. Well set up with his own boat, carrying meal, tools and gossip to the villages along the coast and among the islands. He provided luxuries for those who could afford them, spirits, sugar, and tea. He came into the harbor with the news of the wider world filling his sails. He threw his head back as he laughed, his tawny hair lapping around his ears and neck. He wore it longer through vanity, but it was only much later that she came to realize that. At the time she just wanted to reach out and stroke the burnished threads. He had blown her over, gusting into her parents’ staid house in Kilmuir.

  “I have my suspicions about that fellow. His prices are too good to be true.”

  “How do you mean, Papa?”

  “They’re smuggled goods, if you ask me.”

  “But you still buy them from him, none the less.”

  His glare silenced her. Mama said, “You can’t trust a man who’s always traveling. How do you know what he’s up to? Don’t be led astray.”

  But the whiff of danger only made him more alluring. It was a warm summer and it was easy to slip away to a quiet place where they could stretch out among the sheltering trees. She was entranced with him. But the spell was broken when her parents found out that she was expecting a child. They consented to her marriage but they never forgave her. There was no softening even when she named her daughter Catherine, after her mother.

  It was fortunate that Kenneth had saved enough money to get the lease on Big Harbour, but the land was poor and the rents meagre. So he carried on with the trading and the fishing. He provided for her, but after a year or two she suspected he had a wandering eye. But she smothered her doubts before they could draw breath.

  This new Kenneth’s visit was a surprise but not an unwelcome one. Maybe there would be a wedding soon to look forward to, a distraction from her unease about the lighthouse.

  He returned each week, as agreed. He would unclench his fist so that she could pick up the coins, tied together in a twist of cloth. She would take it, carefully tip out the money into the drawer, fold the fabric and return it to his open palm, pressing it down with her hand. Once the silent ceremony was over, they never lingered in conversation. He smiled and thanked her before going to the kitchen for his strupag. She would hear him mumbling through a mouthful of oatcake as he talked with Effie and Louis.

  One day a few weeks later she was out when he arrived. She had been walking along the shore and returned to find the door ajar. He was standing in front of the press. He’ll be putting this week’s wages in the drawer, she thought, surprised that he was being so presumptuous. Then she saw to her fury that he had opened the drawer below the one where his money was stored. The blue scarf she kept there was on the floor. He seemed deep in thought as he looked at the small boot in his cupped hand. She held her breath as he ran a curious finger over the cracked, bleached upper. He prodded the toecap as if it was some sort of wee beast that he was trying to poke back to life. Finally she could bear it no longer, “What do you think you’re doing?”

  He started and dropped the boot. He picked it up in a shaking hand and looked dumbly at her, a dark red stain blotching his neck and face.

  “How dare you pick through my belongings.”

  He hung his head, “I’m sorry. I just wondered what the old things were doing there.”

  “Old! They’re priceless to me. All I’ve got left from that terrible day.”

  “I meant no harm. I’ll put them back.”

  “No! Get out of my sight.” Her voice cracked. He held them out to her at arm’s length and stumbled toward the door. After he left she stood still, her eyes closed. She held the boot against her breast, her hands folded over it as it were an injured chick. Sighing, she opened her eyes and took it back to drawer. She made a nest of the scarf and settled the small boot inside it.

  That night she slept fitfully. She was furious with him for betraying her trust. She hated the idea of him pawing over the poor battered things.

  When she eventually slept, she was trapped in a nightmare that still held her in its clammy tentacles as she awoke. In the dream she was standing on the beach in front of her house on a wild night. Sea and sky merged together, inked black with the wind-lashed rain. Her eyes strained to see a boat being thrown by the storm toward the harbor. Suddenly, a gust snatched her feet away and she was aloft, out at sea and looking down on the vessel. She could see the breakers hurling themselves at it, smashing into the hull. As they did so, the waves molded themselves into living shapes. Creatures from the sea and of the sea, blue-green and transparent. Leaping like fish they launched themselves up and into the boat and let loose a hideous wailing sound.

  “The Fir Gorm,” she cried out as she was jolted awake. The blue-gray sea creatures who climbed aboard a vessel and made the passengers copy their strange songs. They would continue until one of the terrified people stumbled in their singing. Then the furious creatures would sink the boat. In the light of day the nightmare loosened its slithering grip, but she was left stranded on the edge of the sea wondering over its meaning. Was it a warning from the past or an omen for
the future? Was it about Kenneth’s shame when she caught him out? Did he see her as a fearsome sea monster, one green with envy? Would he return again, next Sunday? If he wanted his money back, he would have to show his mettle and face her again. She smiled grimly to herself.

  Chapter 8

  Isle of Rona, October 1857

  Thomas Stevenson jerked awake to find himself swaying in the saddle. The horse’s steady plod and the coal black darkness had sent him to sleep. He stretched his back and shifted his legs to bring back some feeling to his muscles. Mrs. MacKenzie had sent him a letter, carried by a sea captain traveling to Edinburgh. She wrote that Louis was recovered from the fever, but she was keen that he should stay with her until November. She gave no reason for this request. Thomas though was eager to see Louis again. So he had scrawled a reply saying that he would come sooner, hoping that it would reach her in time. The men had urged him not to travel on such a dangerous night, but he had laughed at them. “Tam O’Shanter is only a story. I won’t meet any witches.” How could sensible men believe in such superstitious nonsense? He peered ahead in the darkness. It couldn’t be far now.

  Suddenly, the horse stopped and whinnied. Despite himself he felt his heart lurch. He could see flames slashing across the sky ahead and hear a clamour of voices. Was the widow’s house on fire? He thumped his heels into the beast’s sides, urging him into a reluctant canter. As he drew closer he realized that there was no emergency. The flames came from a bonfire down on the shore and the shouts were of merriment, not distress.

  As he slowed the foam-flecked horse down to a walk he could see figures, running and whooping, silhouetted against the fire. As he got closer, one of them turned toward him. He gulped as he saw the horned skull with its black pits for eyes. Was the Devil himself abroad? He resisted his urge to turn and gallop away. His hand fumbled for the Bible he kept in his coat pocket. He forced himself to stay still and look more closely at the shrieking creatures who seemed unaware of his presence. They were all dressed in outlandish garb, festooned with leaves, heather, and seaweed. In their hands were turnip lanterns. They swung as they walked so that the grinning faces spouted flames. How foolish he was to be scared. It was only a group of half-witted revellers acting like pagans. He prodded the horse forward into a trot. A small figure ahead of him turned at the sound of their approach and let out a piercing scream like a hare caught in a trap. Thomas hauled on the reins. The trembling beast halted and he flung himself from the saddle.

  “What on earth is going on?” He seized the figure by the shoulders. The screams were turning into violent coughing. Thomas lifted off the skull mask and started to rub the child’s bent back. He looked up and both of them gasped.

  “Louis! What are you doing?”

  “Papa, I thought you were the bogey man on the horse.” Tears coursed down his face.

  Thomas bent down and dabbed his son’s cheeks with a crumpled handkerchief. “Come on now, have a good blow. No wonder you were beside yourself, running around wailing like a savage.” He took the boy’s hand and looked toward the house.

  “Is Mistress MacKenzie inside?”

  “Aye, Papa but don’t be angry with her.”

  Thomas strode to the house, towing his son behind him. He thumped on the door and the mistress of the house herself answered it. She stared at him as if he were an apparition, but then recovered herself enough to speak.

  “Welcome to my home, sir. May I offer you refreshment after your journey?”

  “No thank you, but I would like to speak to you privately.” His voice was chilly.

  “Come this way then. I believe most of our guests are still outside. So we won’t be disturbed.” She turned to take Louis’s hand, “You come in too, isean, and sit down until you’ve stopped coughing.”

  “No, I don’t want the boy to listen to what I have to say.”

  Janet raised her eyebrows but spoke calmly, “Very well. Off you go to the kitchen and find Effie,” she said, smiling at Louis’s anxious, upturned face.

  The child shuffled out and Janet ushered Thomas into the room where the lamp still stood guard lighting the window. She settled herself in a seat. Thomas pushed the door shut before sinking down heavily on the settle.

  “What’s the meaning of this abomination? Is this how you corrupt my child?”

  “We were celebrating Halloween as we always do. But we’re all God-fearing Christians like yourself.” Her voice was steady. “As for Louis, he has thrived here, both in body and soul.”

  “How could he thrive? Wearing a devil’s mask when he should be reading the Good Book?”

  “I cannot believe before God that I have caused him any harm. I took him to church when he was well enough. We said our prayers together every night and he was beginning to understand my Gaelic Bible.” Her eyes gleamed fiercely. As they glared at each other in silence there was the sound of wheezing outside the door.

  “Is that Louis? We’ll see what he has to say for himself.” Thomas rose to his feet and flung the door open. The two youngsters huddled together, white faced in the doorway.

  “He ran away from me,” Effie whispered in her cautious English.

  “Leave us,” Thomas ordered her, as he pulled Louis into the room.

  The boy’s dark eyes were spilling with tears as his gaze flickered between his father’s frown and Janet’s slight smile.

  His father held him at arm’s length. “What have you been doing these past weeks, apart from dressing up in heathen garb?”

  “I’ve heard lots of stories about Finn McCoul and Bonnie Prince Charlie. I’ve helped Effie and played by the shore.” His voice quivered.

  “You’ve not been to see how the lighthouse is progressing then?”

  Louis hung his head and swallowed a sob, unable to speak.

  “If you remember from my letter, he took some time to recover from the fever. I wanted him to gain strength and enjoy himself a little before he returned to Edinburgh.”

  “But his head has become stuffed with nonsense.”

  Thomas let go of his grip on Louis’s sleeve. The boy stumbled. “Sit down before you fall down,” his father sighed in exasperation. Turning to Janet he spoke through clenched teeth. “The boy certainly looks sturdier now but I’m disappointed that you pandered to his whims. He’s old enough now to put away childish imaginings.”

  “He’s not yet eight years old. Surely he has plenty of time to apply himself to a profession.” Janet’s tone was light, but Thomas glowered in response.

  “It’s almost my birthday, Papa. May I stay here for it?” the boy begged.

  Thomas raised a heavy hand to silence his plea. “No. You will spend it with your family in Edinburgh. You’ve been away far too long.”

  Louis bit his lips. “I don’t want to be an engineer like you. I want to write stories.”

  Thomas hissed.

  “I remember how hard I tried to stop my older boy from getting a fishing boat. I was terrified. I pleaded and when that failed I threatened that I wouldn’t speak to him anymore. To no avail. I was mistaken, of course, because it was the oil from his fish that kept the light going. We have a Gaelic proverb, ‘Mas dubh, mas odhar, mas donn, is toil leis a’ghohbais a mean.’ It means, ‘A nanny goat loves her kid, whether he’s black, dun or brown.’”

  “I’ve no time for riddles. I thank you for your care of Louis. The island air has suited him. It’s late now, well past his bedtime. If I may, I’ll share my son’s room for what remains of the night. We’ll depart early tomorrow. The horse can carry us both. I wish you, good night.”

  Janet arose at sunrise. She had allowed herself to hope that Louis would still be with her for his eighth birthday in November. Then she could be sure that he would live to grow up. He would outlive his shadow who never reached eight years and never outgrew his brown tweed breeks. But she was determined to bid farewell to Louis. The child came and smiled shyly at her. The dark shadows under his eyes made her long to embrace him but he stayed just out of
reach. He held out his bird bone hand to shake hers and his voice was a subdued cheep. “I thank you for taking care of me and hope I wasn’t too much trouble.”

  “No trouble at all. May God bless you.” She held her composure while she waved them farewell, Louis craning back from the saddle where he sat in front of his father. She stayed until she could no longer see them. Then she slipped into the boy’s room and pressed her aching face to the bedclothes to catch the downy child smell of him. She felt something crinkle beneath her cheek and found a tightly folded piece of paper. She opened it to find some words written in a child’s loopy, shaky script:

  “This is for your boy, the one who wore the rough trousers.

  Here he lies

  Where he longed to be

  Home is the sailor

  Home from the sea.”

  She cradled the scrap of paper in her hands while her pent-up tears roared down the hillside, swooping across the shore until they plunged into the depths of the ocean.

  Chapter 9

  Island of Rona, Spring 1858

  After Halloween, the weather closed in for weeks on end. No boats could safely leave or enter Rona’s harbors. It was too wild and dangerous, even with the beam of the new lighthouse to guide them. Janet was imprisoned on her island both by the sea and by her grief. It was the old grief redoubled after Louis’s abrupt departure. There wasn’t even the consolation of tending to the light. The empty lamp squatted on the windowsill as bereft and neglected as herself. She spent hours gazing out to sea, but she no longer knew what she was looking for.

  Finally, the weather turned fair and ships reappeared, like returning migratory birds. The first vessel to appear in Big Harbour was a rowing boat. Janet felt a fluttering of curiosity that prompted her to open her door and peer outside. As she picked her way among the rocks, she wondered if maybe at last she was dragging herself free from the trailing anchor that had weighed down her soul for so long. She could see two figures on the boat but couldn’t make out who they were. She should have brought the spyglass the captain had given her. All she could see of the rower was his straining back and shoulders hauling on the oars against the tide. Then the passenger waved and called out. It was her granddaughter Jeannie. Janet hurried to greet them, the waves nibbling at the hem of her skirt. Jeannie leaped ashore and into her grandmother’s arms while the rower busied himself beaching the boat.