God's Highlander (27 page)

Wyatt thought. ‘No – and that's surprising in view of the importance of my journey to Edinburgh. Is he ill?'

‘He's well enough to have walked to the factor's house – at Garrett's invitation.'

Wyatt paused with his spoon poised above the bowl in front of him. ‘Why should Garrett want to speak to Angus Cameron?'

Putting his own bowl of stew on the table, Alasdair Burns lowered himself to a seat. ‘Only Garrett and Cameron have the answer to that question. Evangeline told me both men were looking well pleased with themselves by the time Cameron left to return to Eskaig.'

Wyatt was baffled. What could John Garrett want with the Eskaig elder? It had to be something to do with church affairs, of course. Angus Cameron could offer nothing else of interest to the factor. Wyatt wondered whether it had anything to do with the imminent Disruption of the Church of Scotland. No doubt the senior elder would enlighten him when they met that evening.

 

The meeting between Wyatt and the church elders was a solemn affair. It took place in the tiny meeting-room that had been added to the
church building by Wyatt's predecessor. Even the crackling of a warm fire brought little cheerfulness to the occasion.

After Wyatt had given the elders a résumé of the Convocation's proceedings there was a long silence among his listeners.

‘What do you think will happen?' The question came from the oldest and most frail elder, a man Wyatt had seldom heard utter a word in his presence.

‘I fear Parliament will reject the demands of Convocation. If it does, those preachers who think as I do cannot in all conscience remain in a church where spiritual authority has been usurped by the State.'

‘Who will take on the pastoral responsibility given up by you and the others who resign their livings?'

‘If the people of Eskaig agree with what I'm doing, I will stay and work for them – as a minister of the ‘free' church. No doubt the present church will make some attempt to carry on here, too.'

Wyatt looked seriously at each man in turn. ‘I wish there had been another way, but unless there is a change of heart in London men of conscience have no alternative.'

‘I don't agree with patronage, but wouldn't it have been better to fight against it from within?' The speaker was Angus Cameron.

‘Sadly, no. The Church has tried without result to free itself from the dictates of the State. It has resulted in
increased
government control. If we are to worship in the way we wish, we must be a “free” church.'

‘Who will pay your salary in this brave new “free” church?'

‘Convocation suggested a levy of a penny a week from each family.' Wyatt found himself puzzled by Angus Cameron's opposition to Convocation's decision. The senior elder had been the most intransigent of all the elders when Lord Kilmalie had appointed Wyatt to the Eskaig living. ‘It shouldn't prove beyond the means of most families.'

‘Is Eskaig to have a “penny preacher”? Would you bring the Church to
this
, after the sacrifice and hard work of generations of dedicated churchmen? We're respected by landowners and the highest authorities in the land. Would you set this at nought? I say we must remain within the established church. If there are any wrongs, they are best righted from
within
.'

‘Would you have discussed this with John Garrett, Angus?'

The senior elder's reaction was immediate and angry. ‘What are you suggesting? That I've been influenced by something Garrett's said?'

‘I'm suggesting nothing. I heard you've been to Garrett's house while I was in Edinburgh. It would be natural enough to discuss the state of the Church while you were there. I thought he might have given you his views.'

‘I went to Corpach with the church accounts. It's usual for the minister to take them about this time of year. You weren't here, so Garrett asked me to deliver them. We discussed the accounts. No more, and no less.'

Wyatt did not believe the senior elder. He was far too defensive. But why should he lie – and about what?

After the meeting, Wyatt pinched out the candles that had illuminated the room and checked the doors and windows. Fierce gales were likely to spring up suddenly in the Highlands at this time of year.

Outside the church Wyatt thought there might be some justification for accusing him of being over-cautious. Not a breath of wind disturbed the few brown leaves that hung dry and lifeless from the trees. It was cold and cloudless, and the ring of light encircling the full moon promised a heavy frost. The night was made lighter by the reflection of the moon on mountain snow. So still was it that the soft whistle of an otter a mile or so up the loch sounded noisy.

Wyatt crossed to the corner of the little churchyard where a holly-tree sheltered his father's grave. Dropping to his knees, Wyatt shared his thoughts with the man who had been forced to make many unpalatable decisions during his own lifetime. Then he prayed that he, too, might have the strength to do what he knew to be right.

When he brought the brief graveside sojourn to an end, Wyatt stood up, shivering in the chill air of the night. He glanced up towards the snow-covered mountains towering high above Loch Eil.

Beyond those peaks lay the Highland moor on which lived Mairi Ross. He wondered what she was doing tonight. He wished it were possible to see her. To speak to her. He found he was missing her more and more as the days and weeks passed. It would be a long lonely winter.

I
N THE HIGH mountains in a harsh winter such as this life was reduced to a basic determination to survive, and the provision of sufficient food and warmth for humans and animals. Both suffered the hardships of Highland living, and both shared the minimal comfort of a Highland cot.

Outside the back door, if there was one, peat was piled to the level of the roof, and stacked as deep as a castle wall. Above the door turfs came together in the manner of a badly built igloo. The occupants could keep their fire alight by reducing the width of the peat walls, even when snow lay about the cot deeper than a man.

Part of the cot was partitioned off from the family. In here lived the cows and pigs that would provide the heart of next summer's stock. Sometimes there would be a sheep or two, but they were not intended to survive the winter snows. They would be killed and eaten when the time was right.

Other sheep remained outside, taking their chances with the weather. Most would survive in the shallow glens to which instinct had driven them. They sheltered from the icy blast in tunnels and holes formed in the snow by the heat of their bodies. When the weather improved the cottars would go in search of them, hoisting them from their life-saving prisons, by which time they would be no more than fleece-hung skeletons. Inside the cot, if the occupants had calculated correctly, they would survive on a monotonous diet of salted meats and fish, used to flavour oatmeal cooked in as many ways as ingenuity would allow.

If the calculations had been seriously wrong, or the winter exceptionally harsh and long, it might become necessary to bleed the cattle. The blood would give extra nourishment to the mess of oatmeal that
by now would be the sole food left to beleaguered crofters and cottars. If the weather had not relented by the time the cattle were weakened to the point where they could no longer stand, then lean and tough beef was added to the menu. If, as had been known to happen, there was still no let-up in the weather, one of the household would need to set out through the deep snow to seek help. The remainder of the family would sit with hunger gnawing at their entrails, awaiting succour. If none came … they perished.

It was this environment that made the Highlander what he was. His hardiness in surviving the harshness of winter bred a soldier who had become a legend in the British army. Stalked by death from birth, he had cheated him so many times that death was no longer a stranger to be feared, but an opponent to be outwitted and frequently defeated.

Eneas Ross had met the ultimate enemy many times, in the Highlands and farther afield. He knew better than most how to keep him at bay. The Ross cot was snug and well stocked to withstand the harshest winter. The animals that occupied a full half of the cot added a pungent aroma to the smell of a peat fire, damp thatch and unwashed bodies. The smell passed without comment. It was possible to live with a stench, and
living
was what it was all about.

The Ross family were more fortunate than most. They had bread, cheeses, salt butter and beef to eat, and sheep to kill if required. They had whisky, too, and many stories to tell as they sat around the fire.

There were tales of Wellington's campaign through Portugal and Spain, and across the Pyrenees into France; memories of Magdalene's childhood among the sun-kissed orange-groves of Spain; accounts of how constables and militia had been outwitted when raiding for sheep in the lowlands. Stories, too, of the long-ago, when all Englishmen were enemies and men of the mountains and glens forgot their centuries-old feuds and joined together to follow their prince and drive the forces of a Hanoverian king southwards from Scotland.

Mairi listened with one ear to stories she had heard through nineteen Highland winters as she struggled to master the arts of reading and writing. Sometimes she would read to the family from the bible Wyatt had given to her. This gave particular pleasure to her mother. Magdalene Ross would sit nodding approval of the bible stories that had been told to her in her own language when she was a child.

At night, with only the faint light of the peat fire to keep the darkness
inside the cot at bay, Mairi would lie in bed, listening to the whisky-induced snores of her father and brothers. Occasionally there would be other sounds from the cupboard-like box bed shared by Ian and Tibbie. The sounds embarrassed Mairi. The whole family knew what they were doing, and she felt no young married couple should need to make love surrounded by parents and family. That was not how she wanted it to be when she married.

She wondered what life in a manse with Wyatt would be like. The thought caused her to squirm on the heather-filled mattress. It was all a foolish dream, of course. She lacked the background and the education to become a minister's wife. All the same….

A moan from Tibbie brought her back to earth. She wondered how many other members of the family were lying awake listening to sounds that were never meant to be shared with more than one other person….

 

Christmas in Eskaig was almost lost in a howling blizzard that swept in from the mountains. Not until evening was it possible for Wyatt to clear a way to the church, assisted by a grumbling but hard-working Alasdair Burns.

The Christmas service was held in a candle-lit church and attended only by those few Eskaig residents who had been able to dig a way from their houses. After the service they stood around in the church porch, seemingly reluctant to leave the shelter afforded by the building. All agreed it was the worst winter weather in living memory.

Then, early in January, an unexpected warm spell of weather brought about a partial thaw – on the loch's edge, at least. People emerged from their houses to take advantage of the break in the winter weather and repair some of the ravages of winter storms.

Evangeline rode to Eskaig from Corpach, and classes were held in the school for the first time in many weeks. The factor's daughter was pale-faced and looked very tired when she and Alasdair came to the manse for a midday meal. When they were all seated at the table, Wyatt asked her if she was feeling ill.

Evangeline shook her head. ‘No, but Mother has become a worry. She's more confused than ever. She really needs to have someone with her for every hour of the day and night. When the weather improves I'll take her to Edinburgh again. There's a doctor there who has helped her in the past.'

‘Couldn't you take advantage of the good weather and take her now?'

‘I can't leave the house with only the servants there. Father went to Edinburgh himself yesterday. He boarded a boat at Fort William.'

Wyatt wondered what business the factor had in Edinburgh, but he said: ‘Couldn't he have taken your mother with him?'

‘He hasn't taken her anywhere for at least ten years. If he had, she might never have become as she is now. I spoke to him about her, but he said his business was too important to be wasted on matters that could very well wait.'

There was a deep bitterness in Evangeline's voice, and Alasdair Burns looked sympathetically in her direction. ‘If there's anything I can do, you have only to ask.'

Evangeline reached out and rested her hand on the teacher's arm. ‘Thank you, Alasdair. Just being able to tell you my troubles this morning has helped.'

Evangeline toyed with her knife for a few moments before saying: ‘Actually, I think my father is up to something. He's spent hours in his office, studying the maps of the Eskaig estates produced by Charles Graham's surveyors. He's been writing many letters and notes and goes to Fort William whenever weather permits. Once the Fort William magistrate came to the house, and he and my father spent the whole day in the office together.'

‘Maps and magistrates…? It sounds to me like the recipe for a clearance. ' The comment came from Alasdair Burns.

Wyatt lowered his spoon to the unfinished meal. Food had suddenly lost all taste for him. ‘It should surprise no one. The factor has never made any secret of his thinking. He's always saying it's sheep and not tenants that make profits for an estate.'

Wyatt stood up from the table. Walking to the window, he gazed up at the high mountains. The thaw was beginning to touch them, too. Here and there a dark outcrop of rock protruded from the white snow.

‘If the weather holds, I'm going up into the mountains tomorrow.'

‘Be careful. The mountains are dangerous after a thaw,' warned Alasdair Burns.

‘I'll be careful.'

Wyatt thought of the first occasion when he had been in the mountains. Of Mairi, the rescue of the Munro children – and the
disapproval of some of the villagers when he brought Mairi back to the manse dressed only in his coat. The thought made him smile.

‘If there's another change in the weather, you might be marooned in the mountains for weeks – months, even. Perhaps you might even return to us as a married man! Can a minister conduct his own wedding?'

There was an exchange of glances between the two teachers.

‘It's another married couple I'm particularly concerned about. Donnie and Seonaid Ross weren't wed long enough to plan for a winter such as this.'

Evangeline's face stiffened at the mention of Seonaid, but Alasdair Burns did not notice. ‘No doubt you'll be looking in upon the Ross croft, too? Just to make sure they're surviving the winter?' he asked.

Wyatt looked up at the mountains again before replying: ‘Of course. It's on the way to the Fraser cot, after all.'

 

Eneas Ross and his family did not waste the unexpected break in the harsh winter weather. Able to leave the house for the first time in weeks, they turned the animals out of the house and cleaned up after them. Doors and windows stood open, washing was draped over a freestone wall to dry, and Eneas Ross's many sons were scouring the still-deep snows of the high area, searching for sheep.

When the animals were located in their body-width caverns they were hauled out unceremoniously. Carried to a patch of land, their diligent nuzzling uncovered winter grass that was promptly grazed to its roots.

Sound travelled far in the clear air of the mountains, and Wyatt was still half a mile from the Ross croft when one of the sons saw him. Shielding his eyes, the young Ross identified the unexpected visitor, and his voice carried clearly as he called to the croft.

‘Mairi! You've just time to put on your best gown. The preacher from Eskaig's coming calling.'

A moment later Mairi's face appeared at the window, her long hair loose about her face. Even from this distance Wyatt could distinguish the smudges on her face. She was working as hard as any other member of the Ross family.

Wyatt raised his hand to wave to her, but she disappeared from view before his hand reached shoulder height. The greeting was returned by the brother who had first seen him.

Mairi had not reappeared by the time Wyatt reached the croft, but the remainder of the family were gathered outside to welcome him – and Wyatt's appearance was the subject of immediate concern. The sun was quite warm up here in the mountains, and the snow had been reduced to a depth of no more than two or three feet in most places. However, where the path ran through a shaded place the snow still lay man-high. Wyatt had also been forced to wade through some of the many mountain streams which tumbled from the peaks. As a result his clothing was sodden and it was as much as he could do to stop shivering.

Magdalene Ross tut-tutted about him, while Eneas Ross suggested a practical solution.

‘You'd better get out of those clothes, Preacher, before you catch your death of cold. Come into the house by the fire. I've a shirt that will fit you well enough. Ian, you're about the same size as the preacher. Let him have those new trousers you bought for your wedding. Malcolm, you have the best pair of shoes in the house – bring them quickly. All you women can leave the house – and don't come back until you're told. I'll be pouring you a wee dram, Preacher. What are you doing coming up here in the middle of winter? I doubt if there's ever been a preacher here in January before.'

Wyatt passed Mairi in the doorway. Clean-faced, her hair was tied neatly at the nape of her neck, and she wore a clean dress. She smiled at him, and in that moment the long and arduous climb to the high lands became worthwhile.

As he changed from his wet clothes, Wyatt spoke to Eneas Ross. ‘I came up here because I've been worried about the effect the bad weather might have had on you.'

‘We've had bad winters before. Not for such a long spell at one time, perhaps, but I've lived up here far too long to let any weather take me by surprise.'

‘I'm worried about the Frasers, too. Donnie hasn't been there long enough to have things properly organised, and Hamish Fraser wouldn't have been able to prepare for winter.'

Eneas Ross's face showed concern for a brief unguarded moment. Then his expression hardened. ‘Fraser has managed well enough all these years. I don't doubt he'll be better off this year.'

Wyatt put on the last of the borrowed clothing, and Eneas Ross called the women back inside the house. As they returned, Wyatt said:
‘You're probably right about the Frasers, Eneas. All the same, I'll go on to see them as soon as my clothes are dry and I've a dram or two of your whisky inside to warm me on my way.'

‘Please yourself, but you'll not visit Fraser and get back to Eskaig tonight. Return here and stay with us. There's so many of us already that one more will make no difference, and I fancy you'll have better company than you'll find there.'

Wyatt hesitated for only a moment. ‘I'd like that. Thank you. Now, where's that whisky? I'm chilled through to the bone.'

While Eneas Ross half-filled a pewter mug with whisky and Magdalene began cooking dough bannocks on a barred ‘girdle-iron' set on the fire, Mairi began arranging Wyatt's clothes, placing them so close to the fire that very soon steam began rising from them, drifting upwards until it was lost among the smoke-blackened beams. She had heard Wyatt give notice of his plans, and the thought of having him sleeping beneath the same roof excited her more than she would allow the others to see. It meant poor Tibbie and Ian would lose the scant privacy of their box bed for the night, but they would survive.