“The ocean is like that,” I said. “From the first day I came to Port Scarnose, the sea got inside me.”
“And now?”
“I was thinking of something Iain once said, about the goodness of God’s Fatherhood. That’s what the sea always makes me think of now—the vastness of God’s love waiting to fill all men.”
“Waiting…? ” repeated Alasdair with a questioning expression. “Waiting for what?”
“For them to be ready to receive it.”
Chapter Four
Shock in the Pulpit
Once o’er the wide moor wending, or round the green hill bending,
Gay words and wild notes blending, spread far my good cheer,
For then my heart, light leaping, in waking, in sleeping,
Had no dubh ciar-dubh keeping, its joys far from here.
—“The Dark, Black-haired Youth”
It was hard to get used to the idea that I was a duchess. Alasdair had long since ceased to be a duke to me. He was just who he was, Alasdair Reidhaven.
But as much of it as had been thrown out with the march of modern times, the people of Britain still valued their traditional past. In that sense, I suppose Canada and the United States were more alike as a united “America” than Canada was with Britain, despite its long association with the British Commonwealth. The idea of “aristocracy” was still a foreign concept to me. In my mind, people were people. But there remained in Scotland a consciousness of kings, queen, dukes, earls, lairds, titles, and royalty. I would be listed in the book of peers. Even if this truly were my ancestral home, I still wasn’t sure I would get used to it.
Wherever I went now, women smiled and nodded and sometimes curtsied, men paused and tipped their hats. Along with this, of course, was the natural politeness of the British. Perhaps the gracious treatment I received was simply because the villagers were being nice. But I had the feeling it also stemmed from the fact that I had married a duke…their duke.
I would never be anonymous again. I may have been an “incomer,” but I was now their duchess, too.
After my spiritual “awakening,” I could not help but be interested and attuned to Alasdair’s spiritual outlook as well. We had talked about our perspectives, ways we had changed, ways we were still changing. But we had not explored it in great depth. I knew he was thinking about things in new ways. For now, that was enough. Alasdair had come awake, in a different way perhaps, but even more dramatically than I had. Iain once told me that God and ministers were in the business of waking people up. Thanks to him—and God!—Alasdair and I were not only together, we were awake…personally, relationally, emotionally…yes, and spiritually.
Yet I knew Alasdair might never relate to God in the same personal way I had learned to. After knowing Iain Barclay, however, I had learned to value the individual journey of growth and development and faith that is bound up in each man’s and each woman’s personal life story. I could not expect anyone else’s journey to be like mine, nor for mine to be like theirs…not even Alasdair’s.
As long as he was awake, God himself would lead him on that journey, without my interfering or trying to nudge it along.
The subject had come up in preparation for signing the marriage license.
“When they ask about religion on the license application,” I said to Alasdair, “what will you say?”
“Church of Scotland, of course,” he replied.
“I wasn’t certain whether you would identify yourself with a specific affiliation.”
“I was baptized as a child,” said Alasdair. “That’s as near as half the people inside church get to God in their lives, and I suppose as close as I ever got to him until I heard the angel harp.”
I smiled. I was still amazed at the impact my harp had had, not only in Alasdair’s life but in Gwendolyn’s life and other people’s lives, too.
“But I just could never take everything about the church as seriously as Iain does,” Alasdair went on. “And you, too, for that matter,” he added.
“But you…you believe in God?”
“Of course. But I can’t go along with all the theology and doctrine the church teaches. It’s one of the reasons I have trouble with the church—the teaching is so complicated, I hardly know what to make of it. But do I believe in him, yes. What about you—how will you answer the question on the license form—Church of Scotland, or your church from Canada?”
“I wasn’t part of a church in Canada before I came here.”
“What church will you list, then?”
“None,” I answered. “I will just say that I am a Christian.”
We arrived back in Port Scarnose late on Thursday afternoon. Friday we rested at the castle and I began the process of “moving in.” Most of my things that had been shipped across the Atlantic were still in boxes. Some of the crates from Canada had arrived during our honeymoon voyage on the Gwendolyn. I was still anxiously awaiting the arrival of my harps.
It would take me months to sort through everything. But I was in no hurry.
Most people would find themselves thinking, Hmm, where will I find room to put everything?
But not me.
I now lived in a castle!
Mostly I was dying to go out, to walk the streets and headlands and see people. Yet I knew everything was different now. I couldn’t just go where I liked, or do what I wanted, without thinking of the consequences.
I wasn’t sure I liked that. Actually, I didn’t like it—knowing that for the rest of my life I would be a center of attention, that people would be looking at me. But that was one of the price tags associated with being Mrs. Alasdair Reidhaven…the Duchess of Buchan.
I remained “home” at the castle all day on the Saturday after our arrival. I thought that the church service on the following morning would be the best time for us to make an “appearance” again after our return, and to greet the many people I was dying to see.
Alasdair agreed to accompany me, even though I wouldn’t be playing my harp for the service.
“I can’t promise to go every Sunday,” he said with a smile. “But I’m not opposed to a little spiritual food now and then from Reddy. I have to admit, he has a way of putting things that cuts sufficiently across the grain as to appeal to the nonconformist in me.”
“I don’t think anyone would accuse either you or Iain of being conformist!” I laughed.
Alicia had piled dozens of cards and letters and gifts high on a table as they had poured in during our absence. She said that Olivia had been to the castle a couple of times, but, not surprisingly, there was nothing from her.
Sunday morning came. We made the two-mile drive around to the church parking lot, which sat only some two hundred yards from our front door. I couldn’t wait till the gate was completed through the stone wall as Alasdair had planned. Then we would be able to walk through and be in the churchyard in two minutes.
We arrived about ten minutes before the start of the service and had a little time to visit and be seen by those making their way down the lane and clustered about the church door.
Everything was so changed. The first service I attended here, without my harp, I’d snuck in through the back, hoping to be seen by no one. I had also crept out before the end so I wouldn’t be seen by Iain.
Now as we walked through the door, I was seen by everyone!
Greetings and smiles and nods and a tumult of whispering spread from one wall of the church to the other as we made our way inside.
I would much have preferred to sit in the pews along with everyone else, but Alasdair convinced me that it was best for us to sit together up in the “duke’s box.” People expected it, he said.
We climbed the creaky stairs as the organ played its final Introductory, and sat down to await Iain’s appearance. By the time the service started, the hubbub from our presence was settling down.
This time, unlike the previous occasion when Alasdair had unexpectedly appeared, I knew that Iain would look up a
t us from the pulpit and smile. If I knew him, he would also probably mention our presence and greet us formally on behalf of the church.
So long an enigma, Alasdair was now part of the community.
I heard the door of Iain’s office open. The beadle appeared carrying the Bible, but as she mounted the steps, she was not followed by Iain.
Another minister walked up into the pulpit in his place!
His greetings and few words and introduction of the opening hymn passed like a blur. Alasdair and I glanced at each other with questioning expressions.
Was Iain sick, or on holiday? Neither of us knew. No one had mentioned that he would not be present.
At last came the minister’s announcements.
“Good morning again, my friends,” the minister began. “It continues to be a great pleasure and privilege to become gradually more intimately acquainted with your community and its lovely villages and people. I see the duke and the duchess have returned and are with us this morning—welcome back to you both!”
He glanced toward us with a smile, which we returned as heads throughout the church turned up in our direction. But we were bewildered.
“I look forward to meeting you both personally and getting to know you,” the minister went on, “and hopefully of finding ways I can be of service to you in any way possible.”
We smiled back and nodded appreciatively. But speaking for myself, I wasn’t paying much attention to his words.
“And to the rest of you,” the minister went on, turning back toward the congregation and glancing in the direction of each of the four alcoves of pews, “I repeat that same desire. I look forward to meeting each one of you personally, though it may take some time. As new minister of the Deskmill Parish, it is my commitment to each one of you to—”
I heard nothing more. My head was spinning.
The new minister!
Where was Iain Barclay?
Chapter Five
Departure of a Friend
I may not hide it—my heart’s devotion
Is not a season’s brief emotion;
Thy love in childhood began to seize me,
And ne’er shall fade until death release me.
—Dr. MacLachlan, “O My Boatman”
I can’t give an accurate report of what the sermon was like that first Sunday after Alasdair and I returned from our honeymoon. I sat in a stupor, hearing scarcely a word of what the minister, a forty-seven-year-old newly arrived from Edinburgh, Rev. Charles Gillihan, had to contribute to the spiritual well-being of the flock of Deskmill Parish. It might have been a great sermon; it might have been a better sermon than Iain ever preached. But I was too distracted to have any idea what he was talking about.
Whatever there might once have been between us, and in spite of the fact that I was now Alasdair’s wife, Iain Barclay was one of my closest friends. And Alasdair’s.
It would have been unseemly to begin a barrage of questions the instant the service was over. We smiled as we shook Reverend Gillihan’s hand and introduced ourselves. Alasdair complimented him on his “fine sermon.” Then we made our way outside where clusters of people waited to greet us as if we were royalty. Mrs. Gauld and so many other acquaintances from the village hugged me and cried and shook Alasdair’s hand. It was a wonderful reunion. I was pleased all over again at how the community so thoroughly took us into their hearts.
It must have been well after noon before the enthusiastic Sunday crowd had dissipated and the two of us walked back to the BMW. We got in, closed the doors, glanced over at each other with stunned expressions, then both said at once: “What happened to Ian?!”
Shaking his head in bewilderment, Alasdair reached for the key to start the car. Then, glancing out the side window, he hesitated.
“Just a minute,” he said. “I’ll have a word with Leslie.”
He got back out of the car and walked toward Leslie Mair, an elder in the church who was usually one of the last to leave and was now walking toward his own car. I didn’t know him well, though we had met. All I knew was that he, too, had grown up knowing Iain and Alasdair and was now one of the leaders in the church and community. The two men shook hands again, and I lowered my window to listen.
“Leslie, my friend,” said Alasdair, “if anyone can tell us, it is you…Where is Reddy—on holiday or a sabbatical or what?”
Mr. Mair stared back at Alasdair, seemingly puzzled by his question.
“What div ye mean, Duke?” he said after a moment.
“Please, Leslie—just Alasdair, if you don’t mind. We’ve been through enough together, even though it’s been a few years, to dispense with the Duke. And what I mean is, where is Iain Barclay? When will he be back?”
“Back?”
“Yes, man!” Alasdair laughed. “How many ways must I ask it? Where is Iain? How long will he be gone…and when will he be back in his pulpit?”
“The lad’s nae comin’ back, Alasdair,” replied Mair. “I thocht ye kennt.”
“Knew what?”
“Reddy handed in his resignation till us the day ye sailed—”
As I listened, I felt myself going faint a moment.
“—We a’ thocht ye an’ the lass kennt as weel.”
Alasdair stood motionless staring into Leslie Mair’s face. I sat in the car staring at the two of them in greater shock than during the service.
“His…resignation?” repeated Alasdair after several seconds.
“Aye,” Mair said, nodding. “Like I said, I thocht ye kennt. The way Reddy spoke till us—”
“Us,” interrupted Alasdair. “Who, exactly?”
“The elders o’ the kirk.”
“When was this?”
“He notified us o’ a special meetin’, the day afore yer weddin’ it was, told us a’ tae be at the kirk in twa days at six that evenin’. Wadna tak lang, he said. An’ it didna—ten minutes, ’twas a’. He told us he had reached a lang an’ prayerful decision, an’ that was tae resign from Deskmill Parish, effective in a fortnight, after ane mair service. He had prepared a formal letter, he said, which he then handed till ilka ane o’ us. He said it had already gane tae the session an’ ’twas sealed an’ dune.”
By this time Alasdair was shaking his head, incredulous.
“Did he say why?” he asked.
“Nae that I cud make muckle o’,” replied Mr. Mair, “only that he had been considerin’ a change for a lang time an’ ’twas for the good o’ the parish an’ its folks—”
When I heard those words I began to cry. In my heart, I knew why Iain had left. He had done it for us—for Alasdair and me.
“An’ that arrangements for a supply minister had already been made,” Mair went on, “a Reverend Gillihan fae Edinburgh—him ye heard this mornin’—wha was available for his replacement gien we liked him. He asked us tae say naethin’ till he could tell folks himsel’, which he did the naist Sunday, which, as he said, was his last. That was a’ there was tae it, Alasdair. Some folk cried an’ a few secretly praised the Lord that they were rid o’ the troublemaker wi’ his radical notions. But whate’er folks thought, the naist Sunday came the Reverend Gillihan. Nane saw Reddy again, nor ken whan he gaed awa’. He left wi’oot a word. An’ after twa weeks, the elders o’ the kirk met again, an’ there bein’ no serious objections tae the new minister, for folks seemed pleased enouch wi’ his friendly manner an’ his sermons an’ the like…we voted t’accept him as permanent.”
Alasdair still shook his head in disbelief.
“And where is he now?” asked Alasdair. “Has he accepted another church?”
“Reddy ye’re meanin’?”
“Aye.”
“Nae a soul kens,” replied Mair. “He didna tell onybody his plans.”
Finally Alasdair drew in a deep sigh. He and Mr. Mair exchanged a few more words I couldn’t hear, then shook hands again before Alasdair walked slowly back to the car.
I drew in a quick couple of steadying breaths and hurriedly wiped m
y eyes. Though obviously we were both stunned, I couldn’t let Alasdair see how deeply the news had hit me. I was surprised at my reaction myself.
Alasdair walked around to the driver’s side. I kept looking out my open window as he climbed in, hoping I could avert his eyes for a moment or two.
“That’s a shock,” I said, trying to sound lighthearted.
“That is putting it mildly,” rejoined Alasdair, starting the car. “I can’t believe it…that he would leave without speaking to us.”
We were both silent a few seconds.
“I’m sure he was thinking of us,” I said after a moment as we pulled away from the parking lot.
“Maybe,” sighed Alasdair. “Still, it seems to me a strange way to do it.”
The next silence was longer. We were nearing the outlying houses of town when Alasdair spoke again.
“I will miss Reddy,” he said. His voice was low, thoughtful, sad. “He was my best friend, and—”
He glanced away and again sighed deeply.
“I was looking forward to trying to be a friend to him again,” he added in a voice that was softer yet and a little shaky. “After waiting so long, to have it so suddenly gone…I just wasn’t ready for this, Marie. It is a blow.”
I was glad for the open window and the gentle breeze against my hot eyes and cheeks as we drove. We were both pensive.
A huge chapter in our lives had suddenly been closed. The chapters titled “Iain Barclay” told very different parts of each of our life stories. Suddenly both had ended on the same day.
Instead of going back to the castle, Alasdair turned east on the A98 and we drove along the coast. It was a lovely day. The sea was a spectacular shade of blue. Neither of us spoke for a long while. Eventually we wound up in Banff, where we walked through the town, then had lunch at a small tearoom before returning to Port Scarnose about three.
Chapter Six
The Duchess and the Laird
Heather Song Page 3
