An Island Apart (19 page)

‘Aye, we can do that but will he come?' her husband posed the question.

‘We can try him,' she said. ‘But let's get him used to taking his meal with us here as a first step.'

It appeared that Jamie was by no means averse to coming to the house for a meal, and it was not long before he was helping to clear out the small room. Kirsty showed him her wireless. ‘They tell me you are good at sorting out wireless sets, is that so?' He nodded eagerly, ‘How about having a go at sorting this one?' Again he nodded so she left it with him, reflecting that since it was no good to her as it was it would be no loss if he made a mess of it.

So Jamie was installed in what had been a lumber room and Kirsty revelled in having four people at the table for meals. It was almost like a family, she thought. And she particularly liked having a youngster to feed: a youngster who had a good appetite and who appreciated her cooking: a youngster who enjoyed ‘sorting' things. He'd sorted her wireless set though reception on Westisle proved to be barely audible and totally erratic. Since his hearing seemed to be more accurate than hers she told him to keep the set and on winter evenings he would bend over it, the headphones over his ears and exclaiming whenever he managed to pick up a word or two of what was being broadcast. His stammer was improving and she remarked on the improvement to her husband.

‘Aye, well, he'll be bound to lose it at sea. When you're feared of something it's no good shouting for help if you've got a stammer,' he mocked.

‘Is he turning out to be any good at the fishing?' she asked the two Ruaris one evening.

‘No bad, no bad at all,' murmured Ruari Beag.

‘He does well enough,' granted her brother-in-law. ‘He can bait creels, I'll say that for him.'

‘I'm asking because he likes fine to come to the cattle with me when he's not at sea. And he's learned how to milk,' Kirsty told them. ‘I'm thinking the day might come when he will forsake the sea for the land.'

‘Maybe, maybe,' Ruari Beag agreed indifferently.

The winter was coarse but the house was cosy enough since there was now always a good fire to ensure the oven was hot. It was too wild for fishing and for week after week the boat lay hauled up in the shelter of Glen Roag. But as soon as spring brought gentler seas and longer hours of daylight the two Ruaris, with visibly rising spirits loaded the creels which Jamie had baited aboard the boat and headed out to sea. Kirsty felt an upsurge of her own spirits and she busied herself with the spring-cleaning, the annual blanket washing and the planting of her garden which had yielded well enough the previous year. The hens had got over their winter sulk and had begun to lay again, calves were born, and when the men returned from the fishing they dug the ground for potatoes, sowed corn and if there was still daylight, crossed to the adjacent Island to cut peats for the following winter.

Kirsty had realised that she was using far more peats than the two brothers must have thought necessary, since before she came they'd needed to keep only a frugal fire of smouldering embers while they were out fishing. She'd volunteered to help by throwing out the peats as they were cut but they'd refused her help saying they worked better on their own. Now Jamie was available they appeared to be keen enough to have his help. It was just herself they preferred to do without, she realised and though she hadn't resented their refusal it deepened her feeling of being a women of no consequence. They had made it plain that they had managed without help before her arrival and they would manage again if she was not there. Perhaps life might be a little less comfortable for them but they had been so accustomed to discomfort they would easily get used to it again. She'd been useful to them, but being useful didn't mean being wanted, and more than anything she would like to have felt wanted. The thought set her to wondering if Jamie felt the same way.

The next time she met Mairi Jane, Kirsty said, ‘As soon as the spring work is finished I shall be expecting you to be over on an evening cruise.'

‘And aren't folks speaking of it already?' replied Mairi Jane. ‘They fairly enjoyed the last one and they're saying the weather is set fair for a week or so. I've no doubt you'll be seeing them soon enough.'

‘It can't be too soon,' Kirsty invited.

It was early the following week when they arrived and this time they had with them not only the bride and bridegroom but also the man who'd played the melodeon at the wedding. As soon as they were gathered in the house and had satisfied themselves with tea and scones the melodeon was produced and it was not long before the younger folks were dancing barefoot on the grass outside the house. Jamie, very much less shy than he had been the previous year, had joined the dancers and seeing him Mairi Jane observed that Kirsty had ‘likely undone the harm the nuns had done to him'. Kirsty accepted the observation with an ironic smile.

She went into the house to brew more tea for the thirsty dancers. Mairi Jane followed her. ‘
Mo ghaoil
,' she said, ‘will you not sit down while I brew the tea? You are not looking yourself tonight.'

‘I think there must be thunder hanging around,' Kirsty answered her. ‘I felt a little dizzy and headachy this morning.'

‘And thunder affects you?' Mairi Jane looked at her quizzically.

‘I'm afraid it does,' Kirsty admitted. ‘It did when I was living in the city anyway.' She filled one of the teapots and Mairi Jane filled another before going to the door calling ‘Strupak!' The dancers came crowding back into the kitchen.

It was after midnight when they left, but the peaks of the hills were still gilded by the afterglow of the sunset. Mairi Jane, as she kissed Kirsty ‘
Oidhche Mhath!
' asked if she would be over with her eggs the following Saturday. ‘Why, yes,' Kirsty assured her. ‘The hens are laying well again now.'

‘Ask will the two Ruaris give you leave to stay overnight in my house,' she surprised Kirsty by saying. ‘We are having a wee ceilidh and concert in the village hall and you would do well to come. There is to be a singer who's won prizes at the Mod and a wee dancing girl who's won prizes at the games. It will be good entertainment.'

‘I'd love to come but it will mean one of them having to milk the cow on Sunday.'

‘And cannot Jamie milk the cow?' she asked.

Kirsty blinked at her momentary forgetfulness. ‘Why, yes, I'm sure Jamie would like to milk the cow. I've taught him how to do it and he's keen enough when he's not at sea. The trouble is, I doubt if either of the two Ruaris will agree to use the boat on the Sabbath to come to get me.'

‘Not on the Sabbath but on the Monday morning when they've finished at the lobsters surely?'

‘I'll put it to them,' Kirsty promised.

The two Ruaris made no demur at all when she did put it to them and young Jamie jumped at the idea of milking the cow, so on Saturday Kirsty packed her nightdress and a new blouse and skirt she had made for herself, safely under the eggs in hen basket and, warning the two Ruaris and Jamie not to forget to call for her on the Monday morning, she set off to get the bus to Mairi Jane's house.

She enjoyed the concert but found the hall stuffy and had to go outside during the interval to cool herself down. She found herself wishing for a moment or two that she was going back to Westisle that night so that she would have a cool sea wind to refresh her before she went to her bed. When the concert was over, a friend whom Mairi Jane had introduced as Flora MacNee insisted they accompany her back to her cottage for a ‘wee strupak'. Kirsty would have liked to forgo the invitation but she knew she must not. There was a porch overlooking the sea at Flora MacNee's house, and there as they sat drinking tea topped with a small measure of whisky they talked of the old days – the old folk and the old ways. It was fascinating but Kirsty's head was heavy with sleep. She saw Mairi Jane regarding her attentively and realised she had not drunk her tea.

‘Kirsty has been having a touch of the weather so she says,' Mairi Jane explained to Flora. ‘But I'm thinking it's not only the weather that's troubling her just.'

Kirsty glanced at her with eyebrows raised. ‘A touch of the sun?' she queried. Mairi Jane said nothing. ‘Surely you're not thinking I've caught something or other,' Kirsty joked.

Mairi Jane smiled. ‘Flora here is the nurse for the village,' she said. ‘What would you say she has caught Flora?'

‘No more than a touch of pregnancy,' said the nurse.

Kirsty was aghast. ‘But I'm too old!' Her voice was almost a shriek. ‘I'm forty. I can't be pregnant. I started the change three months back.'

‘I doubt it's not the change,' the nurse insisted.

Kirsty held her face in her hands. ‘How can you be so sure?'

‘I cannot be certain but I have nursed a great many pregnant women. The signs strike me the minute I see them. You will soon know if I am right.'

‘I can't believe it,' Kirsty protested. ‘Not when I'm forty years old.'

‘My mother was forty-four when she became pregnant with me,' Mairi Jane interposed.

‘My sister was forty-six when she gave birth to her first child,' the nurse added.

Kirsty was voiceless for several minutes and then she pleaded, ‘You will not say a word of this to anyone, will you? Least of all to Ruari my husband. I shall wait for a while before I make it known to him.'

The nurse raised her chin proudly. ‘You should not have to ask a nurse to keep a secret,' she admonished Kirsty. ‘It's part of our training.'

‘And you need have no fear that I shall break your secret,' asserted Mairi jane.

As they walked to Mairi Jane's cottage Kirsty could only converse in stilted monosyllables and when they reached it Mairi Jane, blessedly understanding, made no fuss when she chose to go straight to bed. Kirsty lay with her secret and stroked her palms over her rounded belly. She could detect no swelling; no difference in its normal roundedness. She still could not believe she was pregnant and yet she wanted to believe it. Her age still worried her. Would she be likely to go the full term? As sleep overpowered her she resolved not to speak to her husband about the possibility until her pregnancy had run for at least another couple of months and the signs had become inescapable.

The summer was hot and sunny and the harvest bad finished much earlier than usual, so the two Ruaris and Jamie decided to go more feequently to the peat Island to bring back a good stock of peats. She and Jamie collected driftwood from the shore and well before autumn winds threatened to stir the sea to violence they felt satisfied they had plenty of winter fuel within easy reach of the house.

‘We shall be nice and snug this winter by the look of it,' she remarked as she saw the two Ruaris putting the final touches to the stack. She thought, if there is really going to be a bairn we shall need to be nice and cosy.

Her husband said, ‘One can never have too many peats.'

The following Saturday when they were returning from the mainland, although the sea was hardly touched by wind, Kirsty suddenly retched. She tried to be discreet about it and neither her husband nor her brother-in-law appeared to notice anything wrongs but Jamie was concerned. ‘Just something I ate at the tea-room,' she excused herself. ‘Say nothing about it.'

‘Next Sat … I c-could t-take this,' he managed to say, gesturing towards the empty egg basket.

She didn't want him to see how profoundly relieved she was. ‘I would be glad if you would somtimes do that for me Jamie,' she told him. ‘I would have more time to spend doing all the things I need to do before the Sabbath.' He smiled at her warmly.

For six consecutive Saturday she did not go to the mainland and the brothers, seeing that Jamie was now taking her eggs, asked no questions. But on the seventh Saturday she knew there were some things she must do. Her pregnancy was advancing and she had made few preparations for the birth. She'd pored over catalogues which advertised baby clothes, but imagining the look she would get from the postmistress when she saw the address she hadn't dared risk posting an order at the fish pier post office. Instead she'd written to Mairi Jane saying she would likely be on the mainland and hoped they would be able to meet. Mairi Jane would then take the money for a postal order and would send it together with a list of baby clothes to the catalogue address from her own post office, and when the order was delivered Mairi Jane would write to her for instructions as to how Kirsty would get it.

They chatted together in the tea-room.

‘And your man is pleased?' Mairi Jane asked, and when Kirsty admitted she hadn't yet told Ruari Beag she shook her head disapprovingly.

‘I've made up my mind to tell him this very evening,' Kirsty assured her. ‘I have promised myself I will do that.'

They were back on the Island earlier than usual, Ruari Beag having mentioned that since the sea was calm they might just as well bring back some more peats from the peat Island. ‘No sense in leaving them there to go rotten,' he said.

Ruari Mhor wanted to spend his time working on the engine of the fishing boat, so Jamie went with Ruari Beag and Kirsty started on her baking. She felt a little tense at the thought of telling her husband he might soon be a father. How would he take the news, she wondered. Would he be pleased, or would he be disgusted at the idea? And her brother-in-law? Would he revert to his sulky resentment if he had to put up with a child in the house?

She was lifting a pan from the fire when she heard the sound of boots outside the door and was expecting Ruari Beag and Jamie to appear. Instead it was her brother-in-law. He stood in the doorway staring at her as if he was transfixed. His face looked more agonized than she had yet seen it. Is it his back or has he had an accident, she asked herself. She put down the pan and went hesitantly towards him. ‘Ruari Mhor,' she pleaded, ‘will you not sit down or lie on your bed? I can see you are in great pain and I will go and find Ruari Beag to help you.'