A Breath of Autumn Page 6

  As always the winter came swiftly, enclosing them with storm-force winds, rain and mountainous seas. The fishing boat The Two Ruaris, hauled up safe and snug in her winter berth, was awaiting the coming of spring and calmer weather. Kirsty fretted because she was able to see Wee Ruari only sporadically, it being a matter of snatching, at the most, perhaps an hour of calm between tides when ‘the boys’ could launch the Katy and nip quickly across the Sound to collect or to deliver him home or to school. They refused to allow Kirsty to go with them and she made no attempt at argument knowing full well that, in a sudden squall, a third person plus Wee Ruari would only increase the risk. She had perforce to settle herself as well as she could on the headland overlooking the Sound and wait, her eyes often blinded by spray, her mind racked and her body tensed with the agony of watching as the frail-looking little Katy did her best to combat the assault of the uneasy grey sea. Her only respite from watching was when Euan Ally intended staying over in Clachan to see Enac, and Jamie and he would yield to her plea to be allowed to accompany him.

  After one such visit to Clachan, Euan Ally brought news that, since the fishing boat was laid up, and his uncle had declared that it would be a whiley before he could start work, he and Enac had decided to make a quick trip to Glasgow where they would be married. Enac’s sister, who was a companion to a rich old lady who lived in the city, had written to say that her employer was going to stay with a relative for a time so the couple could be accommodated in the house for the time they needed to be there. Also, the staff would not only be delighted to welcome the new bride and groom but would also be happy to give a little celebration afterwards: So it was arranged that during the next short spell of calm Jamie would ferry Euan Ally over the Sound where he would join Enac for the journey to the city.

  Euan Ally had said he wanted to be back on Westisle in good time for the beginning of the fishing season, and since there would be no possibility of their ‘but and ben’, as Jamie chose to call it, being restored sufficiently to provide even a few vestiges of shelter, Kirsty suggested that they might care to live with her after they were married, taking over her bedroom which she had cleared ready for Enac’s weekend visit and had not since reoccupied. It had seemed to her a simple answer to the problem and both Enac and Euan Ally had welcomed the idea. ‘Maybe Enac will learn to cook food the way you do yourself,’ he’d suggested.

  ‘I’m sure Enac is a fair enough cook without learning anything from me,’ she’d demurred.

  ‘Aye, but you cook grand pies with crusts and cakes and puddings and treats. I doubt she’d be up to that.’

  ‘You will need to get yourselves a proper cooking range even better than the one you see here, ‘Kirsty informed him. ’ Shell not manage those sort of things on a girdle.’

  ‘Aye, she’s been looking at pictures of stoves and we hope to take a look at others while we’re away. She fancies one that’s called a “Modern Mistress”. It speaks well for itself, she thinks.’

  Kirsty was dubious. Her granny’s stove had been a ‘Modern Mistress’, but of course that had been many years ago.

  ‘Well, you’ll need to tell your uncle to be sure and fit a chimney on your house. I doubt if any stove you would buy nowadays would suit a hole in the roof to let out the smoke as there would have been in the bothies at the old settlement.’

  ‘Aye, and doesn’t he know that fine. Wasn’t it his own father just that put on a good many of the tiled roofs with chimneys in Clachan and never a one to this day has been taken away by the storms. Aye indeed, Uncle Lachy is said to be a grand chimney man himself,’ claimed Euan Ally.

  It was arranged that when the bridal couple wished to return to Westisle they would make a fire with plenty of smoke on the cliff above the Clachan schoolhouse and, as soon as there was a spell of calm, Jamie would go across to meet them and ferry them over. Kirsty busied herself baking a fruit cake with a good sugar coating which she put away in a cupboard where neither Wee Ruari nor Jamie would be likely to see it, for they would almost certainly take a slice from it. That done she made sure that her old bedroom was completely ready to receive the young couple; mused upon what alterations, if any, she would be wise to make before sharing her home and her kitchen with another woman, and then composed herself to carrying on with her ordinary winter lifestyle.

  With the fishing boat safely ashore Jamie had, without the slightest hint from her, taken over the responsibility of feeding and milking the cattle. She was extremely grateful that she did not have to face the daily trudge in all weathers over the moors. Whenever he could make the time Jamie would go over to the settlement to ‘sort’ the stonework in readiness for Euan Ally’s uncle to begin work when he did eventually come over. She never knew how he ‘sorted’ the stonework but accepted that he was being helpful. Back at the house he was equally helpful, always ensuring that the peat buckets were full, thus saving her the burden of carrying them, and cutting plenty of kindling. He’s a right good laddie she reflected, accepting that his childhood had probably been lacking in warmth and wondering if, at any time in his life, any adult had shown or spoken to him of affection. It seemed improbable from what she had learned and he himself had never spoken of having fond memories of anyone from the past. He had appeared touched by his father’s death but apparently no more so than when his uncle had died, though she accepted that any sign of emotion would have been masked by the bluff practicality that deflected all solace. And yet he’s a warm-hearted boy, Kirsty conceded. There was no doubting the affection that existed between himself and Wee Ruari, and he and Euan Ally were staunch friends; unlike Euan Ally, however, he had shown no interest in any of the Clachan lassies who had visited the island infrequently during the summer months. Despite his physique, his fearless blue eyes, his dark good looks and his unruly black hair, she had to allow that the indifference appeared mutual but that, she had assumed, was because in Presbyterian Clachan Jamie was still regarded as a Papist. She was sure the day would come when he would fall for some nice lassie who would genuinely return his interest. When that day comes, she told herself, the lassie will have got herself the chance of a grand husband. She wondered if Euan Ally’s forthcoming wedding had perhaps slanted Jamie’s ideas in that direction but knew only too well that she would be given no inkling of such a happening until all was settled between himself and his chosen one.

  She began to wonder if it might be kind to indicate that she had grown to think of him not simply as her stepson but as a true son and to assure him, if such assurance was needed, that he, or indeed he and any bride of his, would never lack a welcome in her home. The more she thought over it the firmer became her conviction that it would be the right thing for her to do. One noisy evening, as the storm was howling and bustling round the house and the hailstones rat-tatting at the windows, he came indoors carrying two overfull pails of peats and a bundle of kindling. Kirsty burst out in a sudden surge of gratitude, ‘Jamie, you know you’re as good as a son to me. I’ll always be fond of you and be grateful to you for the help you’ve given me.’

  He put down the buckets by the hearth and kicked them roughly into position. Straightening up he glared angrily above her head. ‘Stop talking bloody nonsense, woman,’ he admonished her and, pulling his oilskin more firmly about him, he stumped back outside preferring to face the elements. She flinched. He had never before addressed her so harshly, yet she could not regret having spoken.

  Chapter Eight

  The winter had been harsh, the storms starting early and bringing unusually heavy snow which had lingered chillingly into a belated spring. At the end of April, Westisle still had a stark look about it as if not yet recovered from the mauling of the weather, while across the Sound the stately hilltops above Clachan were still capped by winter-white bonnets above black skirts that were becoming burnished by melting snow and liberally scored by silvery burns rushing and tumbling to join the swollen rivers and shadowed lochs.

  Wee Ruari had not managed to make it home for Halloween an
d, in his absence, Kirsty had mused over distant memories of the festivals held in her young days when her granny was still alive; the secret excitement of the evenings, prior to the festival, that had been devoted to mask-making; the thrill of seeing her granny’s pretended fright when Kirsty had confronted her wearing the finished article; Uncle Donny’s good-humoured grumbling that his bed in the loft took a long time to settle after she had rooted amongst the old clothes of which it was mostly comprised. It had been so much fun on the night, dressing up and donning their masks before joining the other children with much giggling as they revealed their identities; lighting the lanterns which had been patiently hollowed out from the biggest turnip that could be found in the winter store and then trooping off together to indulge in a night of merry mischief-making. Hammering on doors, they would challenge the occupants to guess their identities. Almost always they would be rewarded with a piece of scone and jam, or maybe a softened biscuit from a treasured tin, unearthed from beneath a recess bed where it had probably been secreted since the previous Halloween. Whatever the reward, the children were always delighted with it.

  Where doors had remained closed they would retaliate by stealthily removing some piece of equipment lying around, such as a cherished and easily identifiable peat iron, which might be found the next day buried in a neighbour’s peat stack; a cas chrom might be hidden behind the barn; a wheel-barrow deposited half a mile away. When their lanterns had burned out the children usually spent the rest of the night spying on the more adult pranksters who, not being so much in fear of a skelping, dared to go further with their mischief. They would pile peats on top of some old groucher’s chimney so that, coughing and retching from the smoke, he would have to fling open the door and come outside to be jeered at while the house cleared of peat reek, or maybe they would strike matches and throw them onto some old bodach’s reed roof.

  There was never any malice in the tricks played by the children or by the more adult pranksters – just a reckless desire to tease. No danger was envisaged since the perpetrators reckoned on being near at hand, ready to rally round and help should the situation show the least sign of becoming threatening. ‘Ach, it was all good fun,’ they would intone the next morning and the victims, no doubt mindful of their own youthful misdemeanours, knew that they were expected to nod tolerantly and murmur dismissively, ‘Aye, right enough and Halloween comes but once a year just.’

  No, Kirsty reflected, Wee Ruari would have been only too happy to have stayed in Clachan for Halloween. He would have had much more fun.

  Euan Ally and Enac had planned to return to Westisle within a week or two after they had departed for their wedding and honeymoon, but two months had passed and there had been no visible smoke signal to indicate that they were waiting to be picked up from Clachan. Meanwhile, Jamie and Kirsty, after inspecting this year’s proposed potato plot, decided conditions were right and it was high time to begin planting. Jamie brought out the heavy cas chrom from the shed where it had spent the winter and began the ploughing while Kirsty, a poc of seed potatoes hanging from one hip and a poc of manure from the other, followed behind him dropping a handful of dung and a potato at regular intervals into the furrow. The task brought back vivid memories of her childhood on her granny’s croft when it had been her Uncle Donny wielding the cas chrom and her granny following behind manuring and planting in exactly the same way as she herself was now doing. She’d been too young then to be trusted with the actual planting and her job had been simply to follow along the furrow and kick back the turves to cover the potatoes.

  About a third of the plot had been planted when Jamie paused and, supporting himself against the cas chrom, peered with narrowed eyes across the Sound. ‘See that now,’ he instructed. ‘I reckon that must be the pair of them wanting back.’

  Kirsty straightened and followed his gaze. The drift of smoke above the schoolhouse was scarcely distinguishable from the lowering cloud. ‘Ach, it is so,’ she agreed, flexing her stiff shoulders and massaging her aching back. ‘I believe that’s them right enough.’

  ‘I’d best away and get the Katy then,’ said Jamie, carrying the cas chrom underarm and setting it against the earth dyke that bounded the plot. ‘That will take no harm for a whiley,’ he added kicking the earth from his boots.

  ‘Do you see the rain on its way?’ Kirsty asked, discerning the assemblage of thin grey mist that was beginning to lower itself over the hills.

  Jamie followed her gaze. ‘I’d say it’s likely enough,’ he admitted.

  ‘I was wanting it to stay away until the dark.’ There was only a tinge of regret in Kirsty’s voice. ‘But I reckon I’ll be glad enough of a wee rest from my labours. These days my back gets stiff with too much bending.’ She detached the two sacks and untied the rope from around her waist before taking them to the shed. ‘I reckon I could as well be making a wee strupak for the wanderers.’ She spoke as if the thought had just entered her head, though it had smote her with relief the instant she had seen the smoke.

  ‘I’m away then,’ Jamie called as he strode down to where the Katy was moored.

  Kirsty rested for a moment and then stooped to draw her dung-caked hands several times through the clean moist grass before going back to the house.

  In the kitchen she kicked off her earthy boots, replaced her rough sack apron with a clean cotton one and set to work preparing what she had spoken of as a ‘wee strupak’, though she knew it must be something more satisfying. She baked fresh girdle scones, and boiled a pan of salt herring and a pan of potatoes – a meal which she knew from her own experience and from oft-repeated appreciation was accepted as the fare all islanders yearned to return to when they were away from home. Finally she set fresh butter and crowdie and cream on the table. She pondered putting out the cake she had baked in readiness for the return of the newlyweds but, deciding it would be best left until Wee Ruari was at home so he should not be excluded from any celebration there might be, she left it in the cupboard. After setting fresh peats on the fire she set about mixing the hens’ mash, thinking she would feed them earlier than customary. This would leave herself time to take the binoculars down to a spot where she could overlook the Sound and watch for the return of the Katy. However, on taking out the mash she saw to her dismay that the mist she had noticed earlier veiling the hills had by now drifted so close that it was shrouding the whole Sound. There would be little chance of noticing a small boat like the Katy, and even the noise of her outboard motor would likely be either muffled or deflected.

  The check to her plans brought the realisation that she was now actually genuinely looking forward to the return of Euan Ally and Enac. Hitherto her feelings had settled into what had become little more than a resigned acceptance of their residence in her home; a necessity which must be endured at least for the time being. Had she, she asked herself, grown to cherish her privacy too much? Had Mhairi Jane been right to chide her on her preference for being alone? She leaned back in her chair, staring at the changing patterns of the glowing peats, her mind wrestling with her confusion, until the sound of thudding boots and voices reached her through the open door.

  There were warm and hearty greetings and exclamations followed by Euan Ally and Enac retailing their experiences and impressions of Glasgow. They were almost too excited to eat as they told how they had travelled on tram cars; had twice visited a cinema; had been to a theatre and had attended a roup. Enac enthused about the splendid shops and the outdoor markets she had seen and Euan Ally boasted of having been to a billiard-hall and a funeral. And yes, of course, they’d inspected several cooking ranges and had chosen one which both Enac’s sister and the cook at the rich old lady’s house had recommended as being suitable. The range was, they said, to be put on the very next steamer to be calling at the nearest mainland port and then to be shipped to Westisle, along with a dresser and a purple and gold pottery clock which they had bought at the roup.

  ‘A clock?’ queried Kirsty. ‘Does it give the time?’
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br />   ‘Not so that you’d notice,’ said Euan Ally with a grin. ‘But Enac was that taken with it.’

  ‘It will look grand on the dresser,’ Enac defended. ‘And who needs the time anyway?’

  ‘No one on this island,’ approved Kirsty.

  ‘And while we were in Clachan we arranged for my loom to come over as soon as Jamie and Euan Ally have The Two Ruaris sorted,’ Enac told them delightedly. ‘You will make room for it?’ she appealed to Kirsty.

  ‘In the shed where we keep the cas chrom. I should think we will be well finished with the potato planting before your loom arrives.’

  ‘Did you not bring a wee present for herself from Glasgow?’ Euan Ally reminded Enac.

  ‘Indeed I did,’ she responded. ‘It’s there in one of the boxes just inside the door.’ Euan Ally brought in a small box which he dumped on the table. Enac lifted out a brown paper-wrapped parcel which she placed in front of Kirsty. ‘That’s for you,’ she announced impressively. As soon as she touched the parcel Kirsty guessed what it contained.

  ‘Well, isn’t that beautiful just!’ she exclaimed as she unwrapped the large loaf of city bread. ‘If I hadn’t already eaten my fill I would be wanting to taste a piece of it at this very moment.’