Heather Song

by Michael Phillips

Oh summer days and heather bells

  Come blooming owre yon high, high hills.

  There’s yellow corn in a’ the fields,

  And autumn brings the shearin’.

  —“The Band o’ Shearers”

  Having Iain gone simplified things, I suppose.

  There had been no awkwardness leading up to the wedding. I am certain there wouldn’t have been any had he still been in Port Scarnose. But in some ways it probably made it easier for us to begin anew as husband and wife, as duke and duchess.

  Alasdair missed Iain more than I would have expected. Of course we spoke of Iain, wondering when we would hear from him, hoping he would come for a visit. There were times Alasdair actually pined for his friend. To have regained the treasured friendship after so many years, then to lose it—it was hard for him. At the same time, however, as crestfallen as he was at first—for a couple of days I saw hints of his former moody nature that I had not seen once since our engagement—I think Alasdair may have been liberated in some ways by Iain’s departure as well. Without Iain’s shadow hanging over his past, he was able to be his own man, as the saying goes.

  When I had come to Scotland a year before, the rift between Alasdair Reidhaven and Iain Barclay—childhood friends, rivals in love as young men, and in the eyes of the community adversaries who had not spoken to each other ever since—was known by everyone for miles around. It had long since ceased to be a matter of daily gossip, and though it was not put in such stark terms, most people more or less took one side or the other in the unspoken debate about who had caused what, who loved whom, and what were the real reasons behind the ill-fated first duchess Fiona Reidhaven’s death. Doubts, therefore, had circulated for years about Iain as well as about Alasdair. Yet Iain’s role as parish curate had slowly succeeded in raising him in the esteem of the community, while Alasdair’s Howard Hughes imitation at the castle had diminished his. Because of his sister Olivia’s subtle methods of swaying opinion, few recognized the true cause of Alasdair’s self-imposed exile.

  But most people are influenced more by example and practice than by persuasion. Olivia had been so successful in poisoning the general outlook of the community against Alasdair only in the absence of the counterbalancing influence of his own example. The moment Alasdair became visible again, first with me, then with Gwendolyn, then beginning to stand up against Olivia and in his reconciliation with Iain, and finally in his more active and benevolent relations with the community as a whole, nearly everyone was eager to give him the benefit of the doubt. While many people thrive on believing the worst about their fellows, and enjoy nothing more than spreading low gossip, I think there are an equal number who are eager to find the good and believe in it.

  As we began being more a part of the community, he became all the more beloved by the people. He went to church occasionally, maybe once every month or two. I didn’t mind going by myself, and he felt no stigma about not being regular. I think Reverend Gillihan wondered why I came alone. But for all the townspeople to see Alasdair even once a month was a blessing. He was so liberated, in fact, and so free in his newfound self-confidence, that to any potential criticism—such as his not going to church more often—he always replied with a laugh and, “Let them eat cake!”

  When I went to church alone, I continued to sit up in the duke’s box, or the laird’s loft, instead of down in the regular pews. Actually, when Alasdair didn’t accompany me I asked Alicia and our cook, Jean Campbell, if they would like to go with me, which they often did. But then we split up when we entered the church, them to the pews, me up to the loft. I didn’t like it at first, afraid it would appear that I felt entitled to a more exalted position. But since Alasdair and I sat there when he joined me, I thought it might reflect badly on him if I behaved differently when I was alone. I tried my best to accustom myself to it.

  We had not once seen Alasdair’s sister, Olivia, since our return, nor had she been in church. Everyone knew there was bad blood between them, so we didn’t want to be too forward in making inquiries. Eventually we learned that she and her husband, Max, had bought a house in Aberdeen, ostensibly to make his work on the offshore oil rigs more convenient. It was a relief to know she wouldn’t be in Port Scarnose spreading her subtle poison about Alasdair and me.

  Alasdair had already begun some changes and renovations before the wedding; we now continued and expanded them. Together we set about personally visiting every tenant whose rent was directly payable to the estate to determine whether the rent was fair, and to learn whether there were hardships or grievances we should know about.

  In many cases, rents were lowered. In some cases back payments were made to tenants to correct what Alasdair now considered excessive rent from past years. Alasdair also made available the purchase of property from the estate to those who might desire it, and set up favorable terms allowing them to do so.

  Whatever grievances anyone might have had against him, or the estate, for any reason, Alasdair sought to learn the facts so as to remedy the matter justly. Though he still professed little overt religious belief, he reminded me of Zacchaeus, trying to make amends and restoration for his oversights and even sins of the past.

  For all he was doing, whatever they might have once thought, the people revered him.

  We also set about making improvements to the three villages that had once been in the feu of the former dukes of Buchan—​Findectifeld, Port Scarnose, and Crannoch—refurbishing walking paths, dredging out and upgrading the three harbors, improving and making necessary repairs to churches and public buildings. Alasdair made money available to borrow at low interest to any who desired to make improvements to their own homes. Lanes and parks were spruced up, buildings cleaned, flowers and trees planted in public places.

  We found more places to open the estate lands with gates and styles so that the villagers would be free to come and go in keeping with the right to roam and the public footpath system of Britain. The gate between the castle and the church was undertaken almost immediately. It was a “hands-on” project carried out by the men of the church and village, supervised by Alasdair and Leslie Mair, along with James Findlay and Alec Bruce, with Alicia Forbes and me supplying tea, ale, sandwiches, and scones throughout. Though Alasdair’s valet, Norvill Campbell, Jean’s husband, was a bit standoffish, Farquharson and Nicholls rolled up their sleeves with their boss and the men of the community and appeared to have a great time. Everyone had so much fun working together, and especially alongside the duke himself, whose hands were crusted with mortar and bruised by the occasional errant stone along with everyone else’s, that Alasdair determined to find more such projects to bring the people of the community together.

  We undertook an investigation of ancient public footpaths and had a map distributed so that everyone would know the routes of these former public byways. We encouraged all to make use of them again. Alasdair now viewed the estate property as a public trust, which, though legally it belonged to him, in a larger sense belonged to the entire community.

  We also began a tradition of opening the castle for visitors on Sunday afternoons.

  At first no one knew what to make of it. We posted a notice on the gate at the entrance to the grounds, and even asked Reverend Gillihan to announce the Sunday opening of the castle in church. But apparently everyone merely assumed this meant they could walk on the grounds, which we had already been encouraging for some time. Some people came and wandered about, but no one ventured near the door.

  On the following Sunday, therefore, I asked Reverend Gillihan if I could make the announcement myself from the laird’s loft.

  “Last week,” I began when the time came, “it was announced that the castle would be open on Sunday afternoons. My husband and I were apparently not completely clear about our intent. You are invited to our home…inside…into the castle, for tea and a light buffet. The duke and I will be there, and we would like to visit with you personally. Please come. It will mean a great deal to Alasdair and…I
mean, to the duke and me. Our doors will be open, we will both be on hand, and tea will be hot…anytime between three and six this afternoon. We look forward to seeing you.”

  I smiled and sat down as a general murmur of approval went round. And thus began a tradition every Sunday afternoon of what we would call an “open house” in Canada, which we held in either the Drawing Room, the library, or the Great Room. When the weather was particularly nice, we set tables and chairs about outside in the gardens.

  Big crowds didn’t come. Sometimes there were twenty or thirty, on other days only five or ten. But the mix of individuals was always different. It not only gave us the chance to visit with them, but acquaintances were made and renewed among the people of the neighborhood as well. It may be that this was the most important benefit of our Sunday gatherings.

  After so long in isolation, Alasdair wanted personally to know everyone in the community, and he wanted each and every one to have free and unfettered access to him. As he gradually made this desire known and as people realized he was sincere, they began taking him at his word. The Sunday gatherings at the castle, therefore, were not the only change. Both Alasdair and I often walked through the village, together and alone. Gradually people became less shy about approaching us and talking to us.

  That this desire of Alasdair’s had been successfully conveyed was evidenced when we heard the door knocker echoing in our window from outside late one winter evening long after dark when we had been married about a year and a half. Neither Alicia nor Jean nor her husband—ostensibly our part-time “butler” and Alasdair’s valet, but either too deaf or unwilling to be much good for that purpose at night—heard it. The knocking continued, and eventually Alasdair rose himself to investigate.

  At the door stood a poor pig farmer from up over the other side of the Hill of Maud.

  “Beggin’ yer pardon, Duke,” he said, “but after what ye said the ither week aboot us comin’ till ye…I didna ken whaur else tae gae for help—”

  “It is quite all right, Mr…. uh, Dingwall, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Go on, then—what can I do for you?”

  “My wife’s at her time, ye see, sir, but I canna find the new doctor an’ old Dr. Mair, he’s awa’ the noo. The midwife’s there, but…pardon the request, sir, but noo wi’ Mrs. Urquhart gane, which dinna matter on account o’ my wife canna bide the woman, meanin’ nae disrespeck tae yer sister, sir. But as it was she wha helped wi’ sich things, an’ sae my Lettie wanted me see gien the duchess wud come till her. It would be a great comfort tae her, sir.”

  When word spread of Mr. Dingwall’s visit to the castle, and my going to help his wife give birth, as it turned out, to twin sons, more and more people came to us for a variety of things.

  I cannot say their requests were always convenient or pleasant to comply with. Having never been a mother, I did not fancy myself a midwife by any stretch of the imagination. But now many of the young women took it into their heads that their birthings, not to mention the lives of their children, would be blessed if I were present, a sentiment shared by their husbands in the respect of Alasdair and the offspring of their horses and cows.

  Never had Alasdair and I been so busy attending births of man and beast!

  Though fishing had once been the lifeblood of coastal Scotland, the region now tended to move more to the rhythms of the plantings and harvests of the farming life. The harvest was always an exciting time in the life of any agricultural community.

  As the harvests of wheat and barley and oats got under way every August, followed by potatoes in September, Alasdair drove all about the area, standing at the side of one field or another and watching in fascination as great combines turned the stalks of huge fields of grain into chewed-up piles of straw in a single afternoon.

  I was with him one day as one of the great machines lumbered toward us, then stopped to make the turn and begin the next row.

  Alasdair waved to the man seated high on top, his face brown with dust. He turned off the engine and jumped down and walked over to greet us.

  “How goes the harvest, Leith?” asked Alasdair.

  “Weel enouch, Duke,” replied the man. “Gien the sun hauds, we’ll hae her all in afore the morn’s morn.”

  “Do you have room for a passenger up there?” said Alasdair, pointing toward the combine. “I would dearly love to see how it works.”

  “There’s aye room, but ’tis dirty wark for the likes o’ yersel’.”

  “The likes of who—me?!” Alasdair laughed. “I can take the dust of the field as well as the next man!” he said, climbing up and leaping over the fence. “Come, Leith…give me a lesson in combine harvesting!”

  Two minutes later, with Alasdair at his side, farmer Leith guided his combine into position to begin the next pass through the stalks of grain, then engaged the great paddle-wheel rollers and blades and away they went. What a sight—the rhythmic clatter and whirr of so many complex parts of the apparatus, the enormous paddles flattening and chewing grain beneath them like thousands of tiny impotent vanquished foes, dust spewing from beneath in all directions, straw pouring out behind in what appeared almost a liquid flow, speckles of silt and chaff floating up behind like a trailing cloud of tiny harvest angels.

  The machine was alive!

  When they slowly turned back toward me from the opposite side of the field some fifteen minutes later, they were moving jerkily and somewhat unevenly it appeared, even to my untrained eye. As they came closer I saw the reason why.

  There was Alasdair at the controls!

  Mr. Leith was giving him instructions as they went. Even from where I stood, I could see an expression of animation and pleasure on Alasdair’s face that took my breath away.

  It was wonderful to see him so happy, and tears filled my eyes.

  They stopped at the end of the row. Alasdair jumped down and ran over to me. He was dirty…and radiant!

  “If you want to go, Marie,” he said, “go ahead and take the car. I am going to stay and help. Leith says that if I drive the John Deere over there with the wagons—”

  He pointed across the field to a green tractor standing idle in front of two empty trailers.

  “With a wagon moving beside him, he could make faster progress. His man isn’t with him today—sick or something…Actually, I didn’t quite understand it all! When Leith gets talking fast enough in his Doric, I can only follow about a fourth of it. And I grew up only four miles from where he did! In any event, he is shorthanded. Leith will bring me home later.”

  I did not see Alasdair for hours. When he finally appeared at the castle sometime after nine o’clock that evening, exhausted but radiant, his face was nearly black with remnants of the dust of Mr. Leith’s field of barley.

  The next day, midway through the morning, the telephone at the castle rang. Alicia came to the breakfast room where Alasdair and I sat with our tea.

  “There is a Mr. Leith on the phone, Mr. Reidhaven,” she said. “I could scarcely understand him, but he asked to speak to you.”

  Alasdair rose to answer it. He returned a few minutes later.

  “Leith’s man is still away,” he said. “He fears rain tonight and cannot get the rest of his barley in alone. He asked if I might help him. He even offered to pay me!” he added, laughing.

  “What are you going to do?” I asked.

  “Go upstairs and change my clothes!” he replied. “I haven’t had so much fun in years. Don’t wait up for me. I know these farmers—if they have to, they’ll work straight into the night! The harvest must get in.”

  The rain did come, but not before Mr. Leith’s harvest of barley was safely stored in his barn.

  Word of the new “hired hand” at the Leith farm, who refused pay for his work, quickly spread. By the time that season’s harvests were all in and the fields plowed and planted with winter grasses, Alasdair had lent his assistance at another half-dozen farms between Fordyce, Berryhillock, and Drybridge.

>   Those were such happy times.

  I could not imagine the people of a community loving their “laird” more than ours, and they truly took Alasdair into their hearts.

  Chapter Seven

  Six Harps for Castle Buchan

  How sweet when dawn is around me gleaming beneath the rock to recline, and hear

  The joyous moor-hen so hoarsely screaming, and gallant moor-cock soft croodling near!

  The wren is bustling and briskly whistling, with mellow music and ceaseless strain,

  The thrush is singing, the redbreast ringing its cheery notes in the glad refrain.

  —Duncan Ban MacIntyre, “The Misty Dell”

  When the crate with my things from Canada arrived, I was more concerned about my harps than anything. But they were well packed and arrived safely.

  Now here they all were, with me in Scotland. I couldn’t wait to play the Queen for Alasdair in the Music Room where he had first heard me play my traveling harp, Journey. Once she was set up, she looked so regal in her new surroundings. Now she was a queen indeed, with a whole castle for her domain.

  I was itching to hear them being used again. I had no interest in having a mere collection of harps. I wanted to hear them being played and practiced on and making music.

  Gwendolyn, of course, had been a unique case. But there were surely others in the community with talent and aptitude. What was I going to do with myself as a duchess—sit around all day, go for walks, poke about in the garden, make flower arrangements?

  That sounded pretty boring!

  I had a hard time getting used to having a cook and a housekeeper and maids and a butler and a chaffeur. It seemed that I ought to cook Alasdair’s supper and make the beds and do the housework. That’s what wives did. But neither did I want to upset the routine of life at the castle, and the order of things Alasdair was comfortable with and had been accustomed to for so long. I was the newcomer, after all. If there were adjustments to be made, it was up to me to make them, not try to change everyone else. But I have to admit that I spent a great deal of time with Jean in the kitchen and helping Alicia with the daily chores of the castle. I needed to have things to do.