Children of Rhanna Read online

  ‘Yes, Kate, you did,’ Kirsteen broke in hastily. She had heard Kate’s story many times before and was in no mood just then to listen to gory details about birth. She felt sick and afraid and when Fergus came in she stared at him wordlessly.

  ‘We’re turning back,’ he told her, his dark eyes lingering on her lovely face with its finely honed features and beautifully shaped mouth. ‘Don’t worry, there’s no fuss, Mac was about to go back anyway.’ His voice was soft, intimate and Kate’s eyes flashed.

  ‘Would you listen to him – makin’ love to her wi’ his voice!’ She grinned at Kirsteen. ‘It’s no wonder you’re lyin’ there wi’ a belly like a Christmas puddin’! If Tam had used that voice on me all our married life I’d have spent my days on my back doin’ all the things we aren’t supposed to like and churnin’ out bairns like sausages!’

  Everyone laughed, even Fergus, because it was impossible not to like Kate with her blunt tongue and earthy humour. She was reliably strong in difficult situations, never panicking, enjoying any challenge that chanced her way.

  ‘Look you here,’ said Mollie, wife of Todd the Shod, the village blacksmith. ‘You won’t get to see your relatives in Barra for a whily yet, Kate. It wouldny go amiss if you was to share a droppy o’ your cough mixture wi’ us.’

  ‘But you don’t drink, you just turn up your nose and sip at a glass of good whisky like a hen wi’ a sore throat,’ Kate accused firmly. Mollie’s face grew red, but she persisted. ‘Ach, it’s no’ for myself, Fergus here could be doing wi’ a dram, I’m sure. It’s no’ every day a man is about to become the father o’ twins and it’s no’ every day that Kirsteen here gives birth to them. A droppy would do her good.’

  ‘Ach, you’re right enough.’ Kate delved into her bag. ‘Tam won’t mind a wee bottle or two going to his friends.’

  As if on cue Captain Mac appeared at the door, his words for Fergus but his gentle brown eyes surveying with languid joy the bottle that Kate was pulling from her bag. ‘Just to tell you, McKenzie, I got the message through to Behag and she has promised to have Lachlan standing by at the harbour.’ His eyes roved slowly from the whisky bottle to Kate’s ruddy fresh face. ‘My, would you look at what this bonny woman has smuggled into that innocent-looking shopping bag o’ hers.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘Cross my palm wi’ a full bottle and I won’t be telling the Customs mannie.’

  ‘You haverin’ de’il, Isaac MacIntosh!’ an outraged Kate yelled. ‘You blasphemin’, twisted old sea dog! How could you say a thing like that, after all my Tam’s given you in the way o’ free whisky?’

  ‘Oh, he’s a good man all right, my bonny Kate, but a crafty bugger for all that. Last night he made me stump up a shilling for a half-pint of the malt. I’ve never had a free drink from him yet.’

  Kate’s eyes bulged with chagrin. ‘Never!’ she breathed. ‘Wait till I get my hands on that lazy lying cheat . . . Just for that . . . here.’ She thrust a bottle at Captain Mac. ‘Drink it all and there’s more where that came from. Now –’ she said, turning to Kirsteen, ‘you take a good swallock o’ this, mo ghaoil, and then me and Mollie here will give you an arm and help you walk about for a bit. It’s the best way to keep your muscles goin’. When he’s fu’ enough, Captain Mac will give you a song, that’s another thing that helps when you’re in labour.’

  ‘A song?’ Kirsteen asked rather dazedly.

  ‘Ay, if the wee buggers are at all musical they will be in quite a hurry to come out and see what it’s all about. When I was having Angus, Tam was in the kitchen, stupid wi’ the drink and singin’ his head off, and there Angus popped out so quick even auld Biddy was taken aback.’

  Fergus threw back his head and roared with laughter. Putting his arm round Kate’s shoulder he whispered in her ear, ‘You’re a wild wild woman, Kate McKinnon, but thank the Lord for you right this minute – and I wouldn’t mind a good dram from that shopping bag of yours.’

  When they arrived at the harbour Lachlan was waiting with his motor car, which he had managed to get started after much pushing from one or two stalwarts making their leisurely way down Glen Fallan. Captain Mac’s predictions about Behag’s ever-busy tongue had proved true enough.

  As Kirsteen was helped down the gangplank and into the car curtains twitched all along the length of the harbour and Lachlan’s thin face broke into a smile. ‘Just think of yourself as royalty,’ he told Kirsteen. ‘They were all agog when they heard you were going to have your twins on Rhanna after all. I might add that Biddy, too, is delighted. She was quite peeved at the idea of another midwife bringing Rhanna babies into the world.’

  All that had been hours ago, or it might have been yesterday to Fergus’s confused mind. It seemed as if daylight had hardly broken at all during that drab misty day, which had merged into evening without much noticeable difference. Lachlan had gone away to take evening surgery, and now he was back upstairs with Biddy and Babbie, the young nurse who had come to Rhanna earlier that year for a holiday and had stayed to become Biddy’s assistant.

  Fergus knew he would only be in the way if he stayed in the house, so he busied himself around the farm, glad of the company of old Bob the Shepherd, and Matthew the grieve of Laigmhor. But he couldn’t escape Kirsteen’s cries of distress when he came in with Bob at teatime. Seven-year-old Grant had been all for coming home after school, delighted to know that his mother hadn’t gone to Oban after all, but Fergus had chased him up the road to Slochmhor where he was staying till everything was over.

  ‘Rotten babies,’ the little boy had sniffed, his black eyes flashing scornfully. ‘We don’t need them, Father, it was fine the way it was. I want to come home. Fiona bullies me all the time. This morning she skelped my ear just because I went to see old Joe’s new boat and was a wee bit late for school.’

  ‘You needed a skelping then,’ Fergus had told his young son firmly. ‘You play on Mr Murdoch’s good nature. Off you go now to Phebie’s. She’ll have your tea ready.’

  Phebie, the doctor’s wife, had prepared a meal for Fergus and Bob, which they ate in an uneasy silence while round them bustled Biddy, scuttling on spindly legs from sink to fire with pans of water. She was seventy-two now, age was showing in her lined face and knotted fingers but she wouldn’t hear of retiring. ‘I’ll work till I drop,’ she sharply informed those who dared to suggest she was past it. ‘Auld Mum went on till she was eighty. I’ll push up the daisies when I decide the time is ripe and not before.’

  Everyone who knew and loved the kenspeckle old nurse fully believed that she was capable of dying when it suited her. ‘She’s as tough as cow’s hide,’ said Kate. ‘She’s seen that much o’ life and death in her time I fine believe she has learnt the secrets o’ both. It wouldny surprise me if she does just what she says. The day she knows she can work no more is the day she’ll die.’

  Bob’s grizzled old face was serious as he tackled his meal. Across from him, Fergus went rigid as yet another agonized sound rent the air. ‘Kirsteen, Kirsteen,’ his heart cried out helplessly. ‘I love you, my darling, yet I can’t share your suffering.’

  Bob looked at his ashen face and muttered, ‘She’s a strong lassie. Dinna fash yourself, lad. By God, it’s a terrible struggle for the women right enough. I thank the Lord I’m a man and will never know the pain o’ givin’ life. It’s times like these I’m glad I never married, though betimes I think what a grand comfort a wife and bairns must be. I’m used to livin’ alone but I often wonder what it would be like to have a daughter lookin’ after me in my auld age. At sixty-eight I’m still a bit of a spring chicken . . .’ He chuckled, not because he didn’t believe that he was indeed still in the prime of life, but at the spark of amusement in the other man’s eyes. ‘Ay, smile, lad, for at forty you are still that, but I’m tellin’ you, in another twenty years or so you’ll take bad at the idea o’ folks thinkin’ you’re gettin’ on, for you will still think much the same things you’re thinkin’ now. Forbye that you’re a lucky man, you’ll never know an auld age wi
thout your bairns around you, for you have provided yourself wi’ plenty and enough to guarantee that one at least will look to you when you’re nothin’ but a heap o’ dry bones.’

  He rasped the back of a gnarled hand over his stubbly chin and scraped back his chair. ‘I’m away down to Todd’s to see if Conker has been shod yet. I might stay and have a game o’ cards wi’ Todd but I’ll look in on you later.’

  ‘I doubt it.’ Fergus smiled faintly. ‘Captain Mac and his crew will be ashore and there will be ceilidhs all over the place, so you’d better take your fiddle along with you.’

  ‘Ay, right enough then.’ Bob sounded apologetic. Quickly he pushed his feet into his wellingtons, waved his crook at Dot, who sprang up obediently and glided to his side, waved his stick in farewell to Fergus and plodded away over the cobbles of the yard. After that it was so quiet in the kitchen Fergus felt he might have been alone in the house except for the tread of feet in the room above and Kirsteen’s muffled cries.

  The flames from the fire gave the room a mellow hue; shadows danced on the ceiling and distorted everyday objects into strange shapes. Light spilt golden over the hearthrug, falling on a quivering little bundle of curling amber fur. The three-month-old spaniel was a new arrival at Laigmhor, yet was so familiar a sight lying there in the pool of warmth that Fergus’s heart turned over. It might have been old Tot breathing gently in contented slumber. Tot had been Shona’s dog, given to her by Hamish when Shona had been just five years old. Tot was dead now, but this little dog was one of her offspring. His master had offered him to Fergus just recently.

  ‘I’m going off to stay with my sister in Australia,’ the old man had said rather sadly. ‘I’m getting too old now to enjoy living on my own.’ He had glanced down at the pup. ‘Thought you might like this wee devil. You mind auld Tot had pups? Well this one sprung from one o’ them. The bairnies will like him. Children should never grow up without a dog they can call their own. Farm dogs is all right in their place but they know better how to work than play, this one will play wi’ a body till they are just about dropping.’

  When Grant first saw the pup he immediately had christened him Squint. It was an appropriate name as one of the limpid brown eyes was badly crossed, yet rather than detract from the dog’s appearance, it added to it and endowed him with an irresistible appeal. Fergus could hardly wait to see Shona’s face. She would be home for Christmas.

  The thought made his heart bound with joy. He hadn’t seen her since her marriage to Niall, the doctor’s son, nearly two months ago. God, how he missed the child of his first marriage. Her departure from the island had left a void in his heart. They had spent so many of her eighteen years together at Laigmhor, comforting each other in the days of their loneliness when his heart had pined for Kirsteen and when Shona had been plunged into an abyss of despair on learning that Niall was thought to have been killed at Dunkirk. She had been expecting his child at the time, and in a state of shock had given birth to a little stillborn son. Fergus could still see the child in his mind’s eye, the neat perfection of it, the small head covered in downy fair hair, the flesh waxen and cold as marble. It had taken her a long time to get over the trauma, but it was all behind her now. Niall had come back from the dead and they had married and gone to live in Glasgow where Niall was training to be a vet, and Shona a nurse. Fergus breathed deeply. Often he was so busy in the bustle of farming and family life that he had no time to miss his firstborn child, but sometimes he fancied he heard her light step on the stairs or her singing in the kitchen and he never quite got over the feeling that she still occupied her bedroom upstairs. He missed going to her door, whispering goodnight to her and hearing her whisper softly back, ‘Goodnight, Father.’

  He stopped pacing and sat down in the inglenook. Squint opened one eye, got up, stretched lazily, then on big, gangling puppy paws padded over to Fergus and climbed calmly onto his lap. His body was warm and soft. Fergus caressed the golden ears and felt again he was back in the past feeling Tot’s fur under his fingers.

  A light tap came on the door and it opened quietly. Phebie stood there, her sweet face smooth and rosy, her expression slightly defensive. ‘I hope you don’t mind, Fergus,’ she said rather hesitantly. ‘I have left Grant to Fiona’s tender mercies.’ She smiled. ‘It’s strange how these two snarl at each other so much. How unlike Shona and Niall at their age.’

  ‘It would be asking too much for history to repeat itself,’ Fergus said as he lifted Squint from his knee and got up. He looked at Phebie and the knot of tension in his belly uncoiled a little at the sight of her calm face. He knew of course the reason for her defensive attitude. Once, long ago, he had rejected Phebie’s offer of help at a time such as this and he had lived to regret it sorely. He stretched out his arm to her. She was soft and warm, like a plump little rosebud that smelt of antiseptic, for she quite often helped Lachlan out in the surgery.

  ‘I’m glad to see you, mo ghaoil,’ he told her in his deep lilting voice. ‘I’ve been sitting here feeling sorry for myself. I feel so strange, as if the clock was turned back and I’m re-living that hellish night of Shona’s birth.’

  ‘I know how you must feel.’ She felt drawn to him in this moment. Often he was a dour, unapproachable creature, though she had learnt that underneath his hardness there lay a soft heart.

  ‘I’m a coward, Phebie,’ he continued, shamefaced. ‘I wanted this to happen in hospital. To be near Kirsteen yet to be apart from her. I should go to her now but I can’t. I don’t want to see her pain because there’s nothing I can do to help her.’

  ‘Nonsense.’ Phebie became brisk. ‘Kirsteen knows you’re down here and not miles away like some husbands are when their bairns come into the world. I’ll make tea, a good strong brew; I could be doing with a cup myself.’

  In minutes the kettle was singing on the hob. She poured two cups and handed him one and he was annoyed when his trembling hand slopped some of the liquid into the saucer. ‘You are in a state,’ she said. ‘Sit down for heaven’s sake before you fall down. I don’t think I’m strong enough to catch hold of a man your size – not that it wouldn’t be nice, but think of what Lachlan would say if he found us in each other’s arms . . .’

  He glowered and she giggled. ‘Och c’mon now, let’s see a smile. Would you like me to make you a sandwich? No doubt you haven’t eaten very much of what I left earlier.’

  ‘Ay, that would be fine.’ His tones were brusque in the effort to conceal his emotions. Babbie danced into the kitchen, smiling smiles he felt she had no right to in such a situation. Her red hair gleamed in the lamplight, her green eyes sparkled.

  ‘Relax, Mr McKenzie,’ she said. ‘Kirsteen is coping beautifully, but these things take time. Labour isn’t known as such for nothing, you know – but of course –’ her eyes crinkled again – ‘what would a man know of that?’

  There was no smile of response in the dark, ruggedly handsome face looming above hers. Instead, the well-shaped, sensual mouth tightened with annoyance.

  Babbie went to the fire and lifted the teapot, her face glowing in the fire’s light. In her pocket was a letter from Anton Büttger, the young German Commander who had crash-landed his plane on Rhanna in March of that year and who had been badly wounded in the process. She had nursed him back to health and during that time they had fallen in love. He was now in a prison camp in England and she longed to see him again. His letters to her were the one thing that illuminated her life. The present one had come on yesterday’s boat and she had read it so often she knew every word by heart. The war could end next week or next year, whatever way it went she would wait for him to come back to her. Dreamily Babbie poured tea into large cups. ‘I’ve been sent to fetch a cuppy for Biddy – laced with a drop of brandy if you’ve got any. She’s grumbling like mad up there, even though she’s so thrilled you would think she was having twins herself.’

  She went off with the laden tray and the kitchen was quiet again. Phebie was not a demanding companion and Fer
gus found himself thankful for her presence. Each little night sound made his ears crackle with awareness. A strange mewing cry filtered through the silence but it was a sound outwith the sturdy walls of Laigmhor, a seabird’s cry, a haunting, lost sound that melted away into the night.

  Fergus could sit still no longer. ‘I have to go out to the cowshed,’ he told Phebie, and lifting a lamp from the dresser, he made his way outside, not to the cowshed but to the little garden at the back of the house. Mirabelle had planted roses here. Despite storms and howling winter gales they somehow managed to survive and in the summer the air was filled with their fragrance. Carefully he set the lamp down on the mossy earth. Yesterday he had noticed a perfect red rosebud shining like a jewel amidst withering foliage. The light from the lamp picked it out, red as a ruby as it loomed out of the chilly mist. It was studded with droplets of moisture that lay on its satin-smooth petals like teardrops on a baby’s cheek. He cut through the stem with his tobacco knife and the rosebud lay in his hand, marble-cold, an object of perfection. It was then he saw another bud on the same bush, a fragile-looking red blob, smaller than the first, drooping slightly on its stem as if cowering away from the threat of winter that ought to have killed it but hadn’t. With a gentle finger Fergus touched it, a strange thought coming to him. It deserved to live; he couldn’t leave it to die after such a game struggle for survival. It needed to be cherished, protected. Gently he plucked it and tucked it into his pocket along with the other.