Children of Rhanna

by Christine Marion Fraser

  ‘All the blame is with you!’ Lorn couldn’t stop himself shouting. ‘And I didn’t get drunk last night because – oh – what’s the use of trying to explain anything to you! You never hear anything for all the brimstone bunging up your lugs!’

  Morag let out a yell of outrage and slammed the door. Turning, Lorn walked away, his shoulders stooped with dejection.

  The next day he heard that Ruth’s father had taken her for an indefinite period to Coll where he had relatives. Immediately Lorn went to get the address from Isabel, but she and Jim Jim were not yet home from their holiday in Barra. He thought about going to see Totie Little of Portvoynachan, whom he suspected was more than just a good friend of Dugald’s, but Totie too had ‘gone away for a whily’, leaving the Post Office in charge of Jemima Sugden, a retired teacher of the area. Lorn was in a daze of despair. Just a few days ago he had been sublimely happy – now he didn’t know where to turn. And there was no one he could find who would help him.

  PART V

  1960

  CHAPTER 17

  Rachel made an excuse to extend her Christmas holidays, and she and Lewis ran wild together, like children. They ran and played through the virgin tracts of snow on the moors, danced close together at the ceilidhs, walked hand in hand along the wide, windswept bays. They looked like beautiful children with the fresh bloom of youth on their cheeks, immaturity allowing them to indulge in the kind of things they might never do again with the onset of adult sobriety. But the passions that consumed them belonged to a man and a woman, and when childish things were done with they fell into each other’s arms, eager for the pleasures of love. It seemed they could never tire of one another. He couldn’t get enough of her silken body pressed against his – the sight of her long-legged, firm-breasted young body sent him crazy with desire – and they had to force themselves not to be seen touching in public places. Though Annie had always allowed her daughter to run free, though her own morals had often been dirty linen to be mulled over by the gossips, she had an unbolt sense of propriety, which had been passed to Rachel. Oh, she was going with Lewis McKenzie all right, but she was careful to give the impression that, to her, he was just another boy. So while Behag, Elspeth, and others who came into the category of nosy cailleachs, tightened their lips and talked among themselves of sinful flaunting, the rest of the population looked and saw just a lass and a lad having a bit of a fling. But soon after the New Year Rachel went away, and Lewis seemed to retreat into himself. He had changed since his eighteenth birthday: he had laughed less, and had become moody and irritable. Everyone put it down to the affair over Rachel, but Lachlan, to whom Lewis went complaining of headaches, knew better. On questioning the boy Lachlan discovered he was suffering other symptoms as well.

  ‘I get dizzy a lot,’ Lewis told him off-handedly, ‘and sometimes I can’t get things into focus – and I’m getting as grumpy as old Behag,’ he finished with a grin that didn’t entirely hide his anxiety.

  Lachlan bent over his desk, keeping his voice even as he said, ‘Too much wine, women and song, you young rascal. Right, we’ll arrange for you to have a thorough check-up. I’ll give you some painkillers just now, and make the arrangements to get you over to Glasgow for some tests . . .’

  ‘Glasgow! Och, c’mon now, Doctor!’ burst out Lewis, his face going pale. ‘It surely isn’t serious enough for that!’

  Lachlan’s smile was warm, reassuring. ‘Heads are funny parts of the anatomy, Lewis. It could be you’re just needing glasses – it could be a thousand and one things – but I have to be sure, and I don’t have the facilities here to carry out the necessary tests. I’ll get a letter away to Glasgow and let your parents know . . .’

  ‘No!’ Lewis exploded violently. ‘I couldn’t bear Mother worrying over me and wondering about getting over to Glasgow to see me.’

  ‘The tests will only take a day or two,’ Lachlan said patiently.

  Lewis looked him straight in the eye. ‘On the other hand they might take ages.’ He shook his head. ‘No, Lachlan, I’m old enough now to do things for myself. I’ll make up some excuse to be away from home for a while. If – if everything is all right I will have saved a lot of fuss, and unless I need specs, no one need be any the wiser.’

  Kirsteen and Fergus had no inkling that Lewis was ill, they only knew that both their sons were becoming increasingly difficult to live with.

  ‘Hell, Kirsteen, what are we going to do with them?’ Fergus appealed one day in bewilderment. ‘I thought it was bad enough when Shona was going through all this, but I didn’t expect it with boys! They moon about like sick puppies and it’s impossible to talk to either of them!’

  Kirsteen sighed. ‘Darling, darling, I know. We mustn’t forget that we mooned about, too, when we were in a tangle over each other. I wonder if we were as difficult to live with. I want to help, but they just turn away as if they had been scalded. Lorn is impossible – and Lewis –’ She frowned. ‘Lewis is behaving very strangely – out of character. He’s so bad-tempered and moody. It seemed to start before Christmas and has got worse and worse. Maybe it’s the real thing with Rachel. Thank goodness Grant isn’t here to bother us with the affairs of his heart – I couldn’t take three of them moping about.’

  Rachel was gone only two weeks when Lewis announced his intention of going to Glasgow to stay with Andrew McKinnon, a great friend of his, who had gone to the city to find work. ‘It will only be for a week or so,’ Lewis told his parents. ‘I’ll write.’

  But the week stretched to a month, and Kate nodded her head sorrowfully. ‘The laddie has got it bad this time. Fancy following Rachel to Glasgow – mind, who can blame him? Though she’s my own granddaughter I have to admit she’s a bonny bonny lassie – she has that tempting look about her men canny resist.’ She pushed out her ample bosom. ‘I had it myself in my day, but for all Tam noticed I might have been born wi’ my head screwed back to front and my bosoms where my bum is!’

  When Lewis returned, neither Fergus or Kirsteen could get much out of him beyond the fact that Glasgow was busier but the same as ever it was.

  ‘Did you see Rachel at all?’ Kirsteen persisted, her blue eyes glinting with exasperation.

  Lewis grunted and refused to expand on the subject.

  Fergus glowered in puzzlement at the son who, from the start, had laughed at life. The boy had always eaten like a healthy young horse, now he toyed with his food, his face was thinner, he’d had his hair cropped in Glasgow and somehow the boy had left him, leaving in his place a stranger whom Fergus didn’t know. ‘Are you well enough?’ he asked sharply.

  Lewis’s head jerked up, the blue eyes flashed. ‘Of course I am – at least I was till I came home and you all started poking and prying into my affairs. Och – why can’t you leave me be!’ he said and angrily scrunched back his chair and stomped away out of the house to walk moodily through Glen Fallan.

  Lorn pushed back his chair also, and moved to follow his brother, catching up with him by Murdy’s house, where quite a little crowd were gathered. Then Andrew McKinnon stepped onto the road and hailed Lewis with delight. ‘Lewis McKenzie, you young bugger! It seems years since I saw you. I heard you were in Glasgow and you never even came to see me. I could have shown you the town!’

  Lewis’s face reddened and he groaned, ‘Oh, no.’

  The crowd were staring at him. Murdy spat at the ground and murmured in an aside to his wife, ‘Stayin’ wi’ Andrew indeed! The young stallion must have had a fine time to himself wi’ that Rachel! Stayin’ wi’ her more like!’

  Lewis clenched his fists. ‘You can’t get away with anything in a place like this. They all want to know your business, and by God! They make it their business to find out where you’ve been, what you’ve been doing! Christ Almighty!’ he exploded. ‘You can’t even fart in this place but they all hear the bloody explosion!’

  Despite himself, Lorn sniggered, and Lewis looked at him and laughed also, especially when a peacefully grazing cow lifted its head a
t his cries of protest and, as if on cue, lifted its tail and released a mighty ripple of wind.

  ‘God! Did you hear that!’ Murdy bellowed. ‘It minded me of old Shelagh farting in kirk when the minister was bawling out thon awful sermons in our lugs!’

  Lorn clapped his hand over his mouth and both boys erupted into laughter. ‘I tell you what,’ Lorn said, throwing an arm over his brother’s shoulders, ‘let’s go back and get the horses out. A good ride over the sands might help us to get things into perspective. We’re a miserable pair of buggers at the moment, and are making Father and Mother the same . . .’

  They arrived back at Laigmhor with rosy cheeks and were in time to see Erchy whistling up the cobbled yard to the kitchen door. He popped his head round. ‘Telegram. I’m thinkin’ I will be waiting for an answer and watch your faces while I have a cuppy.’

  Kirsteen had turned slightly pale. Telegrams weren’t always the harbingers of good tidings. ‘Is – is it happy news, Erchy?’

  Erchy grinned and spooned generous amounts of sugar into his tea. ‘Good, I’m thinkin’. Ay, damty good right enough.’

  Kirsteen tore open the envelope. The words leapt out at her: ‘Got married last week. Home in a few days. Grant.’ She gasped and slowly read the news aloud.

  ‘Where did it come from?’ Fergus asked as the colour mounted in Kirsteen’s face.

  ‘Here, take it,’ she said faintly and handed over the scrap of paper with shaking fingers.

  ‘Country of origin, Kingston, Jamaica,’ Fergus said, ‘Well, bugger me! He’s done it at last!’

  Erchy slapped his knee and beamed widely. ‘Ay, he was aye a one for surprises was young Grant.’ His smile widened. ‘It might be there’s more to come – maybe he married one o’ they native girls wi’ the belly buttons he’s always sendin’ to auld Dodie.’

  Lorn and Lewis came in to hear the tail end of this, and the latter picked up the telegram, his eyes crinkling, while Erchy indulged in further fancies. Everyone stared at him blankly for a few moments before they erupted into gales of laughter. Then Kirsteen went rushing over to Slochmhor with the news.

  Phebie wiped floury hands on her apron and hugged Kirsteen delightedly.

  ‘Does he say exactly when he’ll be home?’ Lachlan asked with a smile.

  ‘No! That’s just it!’ wailed Kirsteen. ‘It’s obvious he’s taking leave and flying back from Jamaica with his new wife. Och, I could kill him that I could! We must have a ceilidh and the house is a boorach! The only double bed in the house is in our room – we’ll have to give them that. Fergus and me will just have to move another bed into Grant’s old room because Shona and Niall will want to come home for the reception – unless of course you put them up here. I hope she won’t be one of those very sophisticated types . . . Erchy thinks she might be a West Indian girl, and knowing Grant I wouldn’t put it past him! Oh, they’re beautiful girls and I’m not in the least prejudiced, but can you imagine what the cailleachs will say! I’ve got absolutely nothing to wear either – nothing that’s suitable that is. I wonder if it should be a formal gathering – oh, I wish I knew what she was like . . .’ She paused.

  Phebie had fallen into Lachlan’s arms. The pair of them were helpless with laughter. ‘You should hear yourself, mo ghaoil,’ Lachlan gasped. ‘You sound like an old gramophone record with the needle stuck!’

  Phebie wiped her eyes. ‘I tell you this – if that besom Fiona ever decides to get married I’ll no’ be working myself into a state over some laddie I’ve never met – ay – even supposing he was the future king of Britain and ate herring with a gold fork! Now, you calm yourself this minute. Am I not here to help you get the house in order? By the time we’re finished it will be fit for a princess, and we might no’ consider her good enough to set foot over the doorstep.’

  Lachlan’s mask of jollity fell as he watched Kirsteen going down the path. Only that morning he had received Lewis’s reports from the hospital – to the effect that the boy had a deep-seated brain tumour, which was inoperable. He had sat, white-faced, staring at the words, unable to believe the evidence of his eyes. He was so shocked that Phebie, coming into the surgery, had glanced at the papers on his desk and gone quickly to get him some whisky. He had buried his face into her soft breasts and whispered helplessly, ‘How am I going to tell him, Phebie? How? How?’

  She had cradled him gently, her heart brimful of love for this dear husband of hers on whose shoulders so many burdens had been heaped over the years. ‘I know how you must feel,’ she had murmured. ‘Dear God! I can’t believe it myself! It might be better if he didn’t know – if you just told Kirsteen and Fergus.’

  ‘No, no.’ He shook his head as if to clear it. ‘He made me promise not to mention anything. As far as everyone knew he was away in Glasgow for a jaunt. He’ll have to be told, Phebie, but he won’t want a fuss. I’ve a feeling he’ll make me promise not to tell another soul. He’s funny about illness; even as a wee lad he hated to be near sickness. I mind once he turned and ran from the room when Lorn had a bad turn. No, he’ll carry this alone; it will be easier for him than sharing it with those whose faces will remind him of it every waking day. I – I’ll tell him in the morning.’

  She put her hands on his shoulders. ‘God be with you, Lachy; yours has been a difficult role but you’ve never shirked any of it.’

  He took her in his arms and kissed her. ‘Only because you have stood by my side all these years. I wouldn’t have got by without you – and now you’re going to be called upon to be very strong indeed, mo ghaoil. If Lewis reacts the way I think he will, you will be called upon to put on the greatest act of your life for the benefit of the McKenzies.’

  Next morning Lachlan walked over the fields of Laigmhor. The frosty air was fragrant with the scent of newly turned earth. Lewis was driving the tractor that pulled the plough. He was alone as Lachlan had guessed he might be.

  At sight of the doctor walking along by the edge of the field Lewis’s blue eyes darkened. Something was wrong. Lachlan wouldn’t have come up here to talk to him if everything had been all right. Lewis shivered as the cold hand of fear clawed into his stomach. He jumped down from the tractor, and as he went to meet Lachlan he recalled his horrible time in hospital: the hellish apprehension; the bewilderment of never knowing what was going to happen next, bewilderment that turned to fear as days stretched into weeks and no one would tell him why he was being kept in, just the rather distant smiles and the stock phrases: ‘Patience, young man, these things take time,’ or: ‘Won’t be long now, lad, just another day or two.’ Once Lewis had cried out, ‘What things? What takes time? I want to know! It’s my bloody head!’

  Which outburst had sent ripples of shock through the hospital staff, who treated Lewis rather coldly for the remainder of his stay.

  How different was Lachlan with his warmth, his humanity – how different was a man who walked over the soil to personally talk to a boy who was so apprehensive his voice shook as he said, ‘You’ve got the results of the tests, Lachlan, and if they had been good you would have had no call to come here and tell me.’

  Lachlan’s face was drawn, his brown eyes full of a terrible despair as he looked straight into the boy’s eyes. ‘Ay, you’re right, Lewis, the news isn’t good. I had a mind to tell your mother and father first – but I didn’t think you’d want that.’

  Lewis sank onto the bank. He shook his head and stared at his hands. ‘No, whatever it is they mustny find out – tell me, Lachlan, and tell me quickly.’

  When Lachlan’s soft pleasant voice finally halted there was silence. Then Lewis burst into tears that rasped harshly in his throat, and shook his head from side to side in an agony of disbelief before he buried his face in his hands. Lachlan gathered him into his arms, saying nothing, letting the tears flow. When the boy was finally quiet Lachlan said firmly, ‘We’re going to fight this thing, Lewis, I’ll arrange for you to have treatment . . .’

  ‘No, no, Lachlan,’ Lewis said, drawing away, his e
yes full of a desperate pleading. ‘I don’t want to go through months of hell lying in some hospital only to die anyway. I hate hospital – being surrounded by sick people. Just leave things be. All I ask is that you won’t say a word to anybody – promise – not one word – please.’

  Lachlan drew in his breath. ‘Ay, if that’s what you want, Lewis.’

  ‘It’s what I want – by the way – I almost forgot to ask – how long?’

  ‘Six months – a year perhaps – with treatment it could –’

  ‘Lachlan – will you – could you go now? I want very much to be alone for a while.’

  Lachlan got up and began to walk over the tracts of rich brown earth, his steps heavy.

  ‘Lachlan.’

  Lachlan spun round. ‘Ay, son?’

  ‘You won’t let me suffer – will you?’

  ‘No, I won’t let you suffer, Lewis, I’ll do everything in my power to help you.’ He walked quickly away, aware of nothing but the pain of unshed tears and the sight of a young boy sitting alone in the fields knowing that soon he was going to die.

  Lewis was thankful for the diversion that Grant’s news had brought. He was able to be quiet without anyone noticing or asking questions. For the next few days Laigmhor was such a hive of activity that Fergus groaned at the disruption of normal routine, and old Bob grew so disgusted at being told continually to wipe his feet and watch where he put his pipe ash that he took a huff and stamped off to the peaceful disorder of his own little cottage. The news had soon spread and old Joe, who had just celebrated his 100th birthday, and who had received a telegram from the Queen to mark the occasion, shook his snowy head and chortled. To him Grant was still a boy, not long removed from golden childhood days when he had spent fascinating hours in the old sailor’s company, listening to his tales of the sea. ‘Fancy, that lad married,’ he murmured, ‘I wouldny be surprised if he brings back a beautiful mermaid . . .’ His sea-green eyes were faraway. ‘Did I ever tell you about the one I saw sitting on the rocks near Mingulay?’ he said, and the small boy to whom he addressed the question shook his head and listened avidly to the unfolding of a tale that had been told to numerous children before him.