Summer of Love

by Gian Bordin

  Helen caught herself time and again searching the crowd for Andrew all afternoon, but to no avail. She tried hard to get back into the dancing. She returned Robert’s smiles, made an effort to laugh at his banter. However, it was all a façade. Her heart was not in it. Her thoughts invariably strayed back to Andrew. Why did he come back? Why didn’t he talk to her? Why didn’t he greet her with a smile? She had no answers, just the ominous feeling that her mother might be right, that his coming back could only spell trouble. It had already upset the fragile inner peace she had fought so hard to find and keep these last three years.

  On their way back home, Robert asked her pointedly: "What was the matter with you all afternoon? Mad at me or something?"

  "No, Robert, I’m not. Nothing’s the matter… I don’t know, maybe I’m just a bit preoccupied about our wedding… How’s our cottage coming along? Is there much left to do?"

  "You saw it yesterday. So why ask? It’ll be ready for our wedding." He eyed her suspiciously. "You’ll come for a walk with me tonight." It wasn’t a question, more a command.

  Out of habit, she almost said ‘yes’. She had learned that with Robert it was simplest to say yes. He took a ‘no’ almost as a personal affront. He needed to dominate everybody around him. It was best to reserve the ‘no’s’ for really important things. But now she hesitated. She didn’t feel like kissing and cuddling with Robert today—his only reason for enticing her on a walk. They rarely talked. They didn’t have much to talk about, and then it was mainly Robert who talked. He didn’t know how to listen. Not like Andrew! … Why did she compare them? She had never done this so far.

  "Why don’t you answer? See, you’re mad!"

  "No, Robert, I’m not mad at you. But tonight I would rather not go for a walk. I feel tired. We can go another day."

  "See! I knew you’re mad at me or else you’d come. I know you like it too! … There’s something the matter. Why were you always looking around at the dance? … Searching for somebody?"

  "No, I wasn’t."

  He stopped, grabbing her arm roughly. "Yes, you were… It’s another man, I know!"

  She tried to pull her arm free. His grip tightened. "Robert, let go! You’re hurting me!"

  His eyes narrowed to threatening slits, his face reddening. He raised his voice: "Who is it? … Answer, I asked you a question!"

  "Don’t be silly, Robert. Now you really make me mad." She again tried to wrestle her arm free. "Robert, this hurts!" she cried.

  The others ahead of them turned to see what was happening. He let go, throwing her arm down, and stormed ahead. She rubbed the painful spot above the wrist and linked arms with Betty who had waited for her.

  "Are you going to see him?" whispered Betty.

  "How could I? … I don’t know where he stays. Anyway, I couldn’t get away without raising suspicions."

  "He’ll be at the lochan."

  "How do you know? Did he tell you?"

  "No, he didn’t… I just know that he’ll be there tomorrow, waiting for you." Betty smiled. "I never told you that I had a crush on him… And I never thanked him."

  Helen looked at her sister in surprise. "I never thanked him either. He didn’t expect any thanks."

  "Will you go and see him then?"

  A paralyzing battle was already raging inside her. After a while, she murmured: "I shouldn’t, not after what happened between our clans… And I’m promised to Robert."

  "But you never stopped loving him… I know, even if you never told me." Betty squeezed her arm.

  She’s right, but I must be strong, she admonished herself.

  * * *

  Helen didn’t go for a walk with Robert that evening. Sunday morning the whole clan went to church in Killin. She hoped that Andrew might be there too, fearing it at the same time, but he wasn’t. Back in the glen by early afternoon, she selected a book and told her mother that she was going up to the terrace behind the clachan to read for the rest of the afternoon. Once out of sight, she hurried up the path to the lochan. When she came over the crest, she saw a horse grazing. She looked up to the promontory, but could not see anybody. What did I come up here for? she asked herself suddenly. Wouldn’t it be better to leave? She dithered. But knowing Andrew was up on the promontory irresistibly drew her up the path. At the corner, she paused. He sat against a boulder at the back of the rock, his elbows resting on his pulled-up knees, his face hidden in his palms. She watched him for a while. He sensed her presence and raised his head, a sad smile greeting her. He got up and walked slowly to her, locking eyes.

  "Hello, Helen!" he murmured, stopping in front of her, and taking both her hands. "I hoped you would come."

  So Betty was right. "Hello, Andrew."

  She tried to withdraw her hands, but he held firmly on to them.

  "You look well, Helen."

  His green eyes penetrated hers. She wanted to look away, but couldn’t, feeling herself sliding deeper into his. With a major effort, she broke eye contact. He let go of her hands.

  "Come, Helen, will you sit with me for a while?"

  She followed him to his pouch. They sat, facing each other. Smiling, he murmured: "I brought a few delicacies."

  He opened a little jar, broke off a small piece of a bun, and heaped salted roe on it. He passed it to her. "For old times sake," he whispered.

  Helen waited for him to prepare a second one. They both took a bite at the same time, chuckling embarrassed.

  "Tell me about yourself, Helen."

  For a while she did not answer. She didn’t want to tell him that she was getting married soon.

  "You’re getting married, aren’t you?" he asked softly.

  She met his gaze and murmured: "Yes, Andrew."

  "I wish that you’ll be happy, Helen."

  How can I? Maybe if you hadn’t returned, maybe if I had never known you I could have found some happiness. She said nothing, keeping her eyes to the ground. Then she asked reproachfully: "Why have you come back, Andrew?"

  "I’m going to America. I wanted to see the Highlands for a last time."

  "But why did you come back here? To the lochan?"

  "I don’t know… I knew I shouldn’t, but I couldn’t help it. I had to see you once more, Helen." A sad smile lingered on his face. "Why have you come to the lochan, Helen?"

  She blushed for having the question thrown back at her. "So this is the last time?"

  "Yes, tomorrow I’ll leave for Glasgow and then south to Liverpool."

  The conversation faltered. Helen experienced again that familiar urge to flee. Self-conscious, a tinge of desperation, she asked: "Where have you been, Andrew?"

  "I traveled… London, France, Switzerland, Italy, Greece… I was trying to forget us…" The sentence remained suspended. Their eyes met briefly before each broke away. "I want to make a new start in America, away from the quarrels of Europe."

  Away from me, echoed Helen’s mind.

  Andrew reached for her book which she had placed next to her. "Pamela, or Virtue Rewarded, by Samuel Richardson," he read aloud. "I don’t know this one. What’s it about?"

  Helen was glad that their talk shifted away from their own unspoken, but ever present summer of love. "It’s a story told in the form of letters by a young maidservant to her parents and …"

  "And?"

  "—and how she struggled against the attempts by the young gentleman of the house to seduce her with promises."

  "And is she successful in defending her virtue?"

  Helen smiled at the choice of words. "Yes, she remains virtuous and strong."

  "But it can hardly end just like that."

  "No. In the end the young man proposes to her—"

  "—and they lived happily ever after," he interrupted with a hint of sarcasm.

  "The letters end before that. It’s well written," she said defensively.

  "And what’s your view? Was the young woman truly virtuous or was she extremely clever and scheming, making sure that the young man would pos
sess her only in marriage and not simply for his pleasure."

  "That’s maybe a rather cynical view of her motives."

  "Is it? You read the book. Did the possibility of stepping up a few rungs in the social ladder never enter her mind?"

  "It did, but she was never willing to compromise to get there. All women have to be crafty and scheming to survive."

  "You weren’t with me, Helen."

  "No, but you were different, not like other men."

  "Was I? I don’t remember. I wanted to make love to you."

  "But you didn’t try to seduce me. I wanted it to." She murmured and lowered her gaze, trying to hide her blushing. Then she faced him squarely, and exclaimed with a challenge: "All that men want is to bed you, and if you give in, you are done. And when you’re with child, they drop you."

  "Not all men."

  "But most. The only way to get them to church is to keep them at bay, letting them hope, but never giving in completely. And when they’re married, they want to be served left, right, and center. We slave away, burdened with a child every other year, while they play gentleman."

  He looked at her, an admiring smile in his eyes. "Don’t you want any children, then?"

  For a second, she was taken aback. "Yes, I would like three or four… And I would like the girls to be able to go to school, same as the boys." The defiant tone of old had returned to her voice. "But it’s more. I don’t want that my opinions are always belittled and sneered at. I want to be listened to," she wanted to add "like you did," but refrained. "I want to be involved when important decision are made that affect me and my children."

  "Like whether or not to go to war?"

  "Yes, that’s right, and …" All of a sudden, she became self-conscious and fell silent.

  Andrew looked at her with a warm smile. "We had some good discussions that summer, didn’t we, Helen?"

  They sat quietly and occasionally smiled at each other. She was listening to memories in her mind. After a while, she got up.

  "I’ve to leave, Andrew."

  "I’ll come down to the lochan with you."

  He walked behind her on the narrow path. At the bottom, she turned. He placed both hands on her shoulders. Their eyes met and held each other.

  "Helen …"

  "Yes, Andrew?"

  "I love you." He pulled her slowly to him.

  "Andrew, no! We mustn’t." She tried to avoid his kiss. "I’m promised to be married."

  He let go. "We were promised to each other," he murmured, bitterness in his voice.

  "But it could not be, Andrew. It could not be." Her voice faltered. She turned to leave. Suddenly, he grabbed her and took her in a tight embrace. She struggled to get free. Then his lips found hers, burning, soft, yet demanding. She felt his tongue reach inside. Her own body responded, wanting him, and with a last desperate effort, she pushed him away and tore herself free. He let go.

  "I’m sorry, Helen. I don’t know what took me," he murmured, but he knew exactly what. "I love you." It was only a whisper.

  "It can’t be. You are my brother." She felt his strange look on her, as if he were denying it. He opened his mouth to say something, and she quickly added: "I’m betrothed to Robert and we’ll get married within the month."

  He lowered his gaze. "Don’t you love me anymore, Helen?"

  When she did not answer he looked up and searched her eyes. She saw hurt, despair, resignation. She fought the urge to sooth his hurt, to embrace him.

  "Don’t you?"

  "Why do you want to know? What would it change?"

  "I just need to know."

  "Andrew, I’m betrothed." It came out more vehemently than she intended. "I knew I should not have come," she added in a murmur, and started to walk away. Turning briefly, she said: "Goodbye, Andrew."

  He did not answer. She hurried down the path, almost running, oblivious to the tears streaming down her cheeks. Only when she was hidden in the trees did she slow down and wiped her face. "This won’t do," she murmured to herself and went down to the creek to wash her face.

  * * *

  Andrew watched her disappear, holding himself back from running after her. Why didn’t I tell her that I’m not her brother? … Was it fear to find out that she might not love me anymore? He ambled back up to the rock and watched again the sun slowly plunge behind the western horizon in a blazing, red ball. But he didn’t really see it. He tried to conjure up her image as she said goodbye. There was deep sadness in her eyes. I should have told her! But would it have made any difference. She had chosen another man—one of her own clan. She must love him or at least be fond of him. His Helen wouldn’t marry somebody she did not love. And she still believed him to be her brother. I should have told her! he berated himself again, while at the same time afraid to know the truth.

  He knew that this was the last time he would meet her and rather than part as friends, he had spoiled it. What had he really hoped from meeting her? To win her back? Hadn’t he seen her laugh happily at the dance and smile at her chosen man?

  The light was fading when he returned to Killin. He went to bed without eating dinner. He didn’t feel like eating. Lying in the darkness, he relived every moment with her on that rock. The light in her eyes when she smiled. Her soft chuckles when they ate. The righteous protest when she talked about men. The warm softness when he held her in his arms, the sad look in her eyes when they parted. What did that sadness mean? That he had spoiled everything … or that deep down she still loved him? But what did it matter. Tomorrow he would leave, never to return. Finally, when dawn was breaking, he slipped into a restless sleep, a sleep haunted with visions of Helen’s face peering from the misty shores of Lochan nan Geadas.

  When he woke up, his resolve to depart was gone. Instead of packing his few belongings, he asked the inn keeper for another packed lunch, saddled his horse, and was off to the lochan. He didn’t expect Helen to come again, but nevertheless waited on the rock until sunset. At midday, he quickly went down to the cave to fetch the chewed-up copy of the Canterbury Tales.

  He was back on Tuesday and on Wednesday, and the day after. He didn’t really know why he was not leaving—they had done their farewell—why he was lingering on, why he was irresistibly drawn back to the lochan, each day growing into a new torture.

  He attempted to resurrect the happiness he had felt when they were sitting on the rock on Sunday afternoon. But instead of bringing solace, it only deepened his despair. He looked down into the dark waters of the lochan, idly throwing down pebbles, watching two or three tight little rings form, slowly expand over the surface, and ultimately lose themselves at the shores. It took minutes for the ever fading ripple to reach the opposite side. He searched for the spot where they had made love the first and only time and lay there looking into the sky. He closed his eyes and saw Helen in her full womanhood standing over him, one hand reaching out for him to get up. Once he stood at the edge of the rock and the thought crossed his mind that he could jump and just let himself sink into the black, cold depth of the water below. But it lasted only for a fleeting moment. He searched his mind whether he was secretly clinging to a hope for her to return, to be his again.

  10

  After Helen returned from the lochan late Sunday afternoon, Robert became angry and abusive when she declined again to go walking with him. She couldn’t stomach the thought of him touching her. She chided herself. In less than a month she would be his wife. Her meeting with Andrew had changed nothing. He was still her brother. She was frightened how close she had come to yield to him—in fact, wanting him to take her. And now, the thought of Robert making love to her gave rise to a queasy apprehension.

  That same Monday, when Andrew was driven back to the lochan for the first time, the young people of the MacGregor clan moved into the shielings with their cattle. As the oldest, Helen was in charge, at least until her mother and the other women joined them after they completed sowing the oat and barley crops. She welcomed getting away from Robert who,
with the help of her two younger brothers, Robin and Alasdair, was setting up the rafters for the roof of their cottage.

  On Wednesday evening, Betty and Helen sat on the bench in front of their hut, reading in Pamela. Helen’s thoughts began to drift. She read the words, but they slipped her mind immediately, as if they never reached her brain. Her thoughts replayed the discussion with Andrew about Pamela’s real motives. She felt again his attentive eyes on her as she expounded her theory. Her gaze left the page and lost itself in the distance. Betty’s hand coming to rest on hers startled her. She looked at her sister, confused.

  "Are you going to see master Andrew again?" asked Betty in a low voice.

  Helen blushed. "How do you know I saw him?"

  "I know. You’re different. Often you seem to be far away, as you were just now."

  "Does anybody else know?"

  "I don’t think so. At least not yet. But mother will guess if you don’t hide it better… Will you see him again?"

  "No. It was our final farewell."

  "Did he kiss you?"

  Helen’s color deepened.

  "You don’t have to tell me. You just did… Why don’t you run away with him, since you love him so much?"

  "I can’t."

  "Why? Hasn’t he asked you?"

  "No. He wouldn’t."

  "But why? Doesn’t he love you?"

  Helen closed her eyes and brought Andrew’s face up in her mind. Oh yes, he does! But she did not respond.

  "It can’t simply be because he’s a Campbell and you a MacGregor! Mother or father can’t forbid you to marry him anymore. Why, Helen?"

  I wish I could tell. She needed to share her secret. To confide in somebody who would understand her pain, who would share the heavy load, help her endure it.

  "Helen, please tell me. We’ve always been so close."

  "Because he’s our half-brother." It was out.

  Betty raised a hand to her mouth, sucking in her breath. "How do you know?"

  "Mother confessed to me that Andrew was her own son after I told her that he wanted to marry me … almost four years ago. She got with child when she lived at the castle in Inveraray… But you now must promise never to let anybody else know what I told you. Andrew is the only other person who knows. Father doesn’t know."