The Skye in June (2 page)

“The blue blanket the n
urse wrapped him in.” 

“Oh, aye, of course! Look at him. He’s lovely. Like a wee clootie dumpling wrapped in a cloth.” 

Cathy laughed heartily at the young mother
’s description of her baby. Babies wrapped in blankets did indeed resemble the Scottish boiled pudding wrapped in a towel. Politely, she inquired further, “Is he your first?”

“Oh, no. Mah
third.”

Surprised by the answer, Cathy mumbled,
“Oh my!”

The woman didn
’t look much out of her teens, although she already had that gravel tone of a voice heard in heavy smokers.

“
And he’s got a big bawface just like his two brothers,” the young woman said, extending a hand to Cathy. “I’m Jenny. Ah see ye had a bonny wee lassie. Oh, look at that tuft of fiery red hair. Lovely, isn’t it?” She pointed to the pink, blanket-wrapped baby and saw a red curl popping out from the blanket.

Cathy leaned over and moved the blanket from her baby’s face.

“She’s the spitting image of ye. Except for the red hair. She’s no yer first either, eh?”

Cathy looked at the younger woman
’s large round face that the Scots called bawfaced and smiled before answering Jenny. “Goodness no! I’ve got four girls at home and now this wee one.”  …adding quietly, “One passed away right after birth.”

“Oh! How horrible fer ye. I’
m so sorry.” Jenny smiled sympathetically at the woman with the sad blue eyes and pale, flawless skin.

Cathy looked away from Jenny
’s pity and then with a sly smile, gestured to the young woman to hand over her teacup. “Would you like me to read your tea leaves?” 

“Ye
can do that?” Jenny asked in surprise.

“
Well, I never have before, but a tinker once read mine. It can’t be that hard.”

“
What’d she say tae ye?”

“She said
I’d have a lot of bairns. She got that part right. And she said I’d cross a bridge of gold to live in a faraway place. Maybe I’ll be happy there.” Cathy reminisced for a moment about what else the gypsy woman had told her. She put down her cup. “Let’s have a look and see how many more weans you’ll have.”

Taking the last gulp of tea, Jenny handed over her teacup and plunked down her plump bum next to Cathy on the bed. She peered over the older woman
’s shoulder, intently watching and quietly waiting for news of her upcoming good fortune. Cathy took the cup in both hands. She moved it from left to right, looking at it from different angles. The women tilted their heads to the right as Cathy angled the cup in that direction.

Jenny held her breath in anticipation until she could wait no longer.
“Tell me ye see gold in mah purse and me in a big hoose. Oh, and one more wean. Ah want a wee lassie the next time.”

Cathy studied the leaves in the cup. She didn’t see a big house for the younger woman.
Pointing out a collection of leaves clinging to the side of the cup, Cathy said, “See that boat there? Aye, well, that’s bringing you good news from abroad.”

“Is that right? Mah
sister just left for Australia for a new job! And mah ma’s hoping she’ll find a man, too! What else do ye see?”

Looking back into the cup
, Cathy prophesied, “I see your husband will get a promotion at work next year. Then maybe you will get a bigger place.” She handed the teacup back to Jenny and smiled. “There you go.”

“
Oh! I am a lucky woman!”

The women laughed and began to chat about babies.

At that moment, Jimmy MacDonald, a stocky, working-class man, strolled into the ward. His sour look dampened the women’s laughter. They froze in place for only a brief second before Jenny stepped away from Cathy’s bedside.

He walked quickly over to his wife
’s bed, pulled up a straight back, wooden chair and sat down with a thud. His long, sharp nose narrowly separated his squinty, hazel eyes, which he set directly on Cathy. In his deep, throaty voice he inquired, “How ye doing?”

She covered herself with a sheet, pulling it up around her milk-swollen breasts.
“Alright. I had a girl.” 

He rubbed a hand over his face as though to wipe away the tiredness from it, saying nothing.

“Take a wee peek at the baby. She’s lovely.” Cathy nodded her head toward the bassinet.

He hesitated and she wondered if her husband was afraid if this baby, like the last one––shrieked bloody murder when he held her. N
o doubt, she thought, the reaction from the baby was from the smell of whiskey on his breath. This time she smelled no alcohol on him.

Jimmy rose slightly to lean over it. The baby
’s eyes fluttered then suddenly opened wide. He pulled away. “Looks like your mother, staring at me with those watery blue eyes.”

Although she understood
he must be tired from work, she was in no mood to listen to his grouchiness. Staring him squarely in the eye, she retorted, “I was thinking she looked like
your
mother.”

Jimmy leaned in closer, clutching the blanket in his thick calloused fingers.
“Don’t you speak ill of the dead. You hear me, woman?”

Cathy was afraid
Jimmy’s rough Glaswegian voice was embarrassingly loud. She quickly glanced around the ward to see if the other women could hear them quarrelling. They were busy with their own babies and paid no heed to the MacDonalds. She bit back her angry words, not wanting to add to the tension between her husband and herself.

He took a deep breath and said more quietly,
“Shouldne be taking time off work, but I just wanted to see you.” He gave her a weak smile.

She didn
’t smile back.

“Your
mother’s already getting on my nerves telling me how to take care of my girls,” he complained.

“Tsk. She’s just trying to be helpful, Jimmy.”

“When are you
coming home?” he bleated.

“
Dr. MacFadden thinks I need to stay a wee bit longer.”

“
What’s he know about what we need?” he snarled. “Me and the lassies need you at home. That’s where you belong, woman.”

Cathy was afraid she
’d say the wrong thing and upset him, which was easy to do, so she said nothing.

He said,
“Speaking of my mother. . .I’ve been thinking about this for a while. Just in case you didne give me a son again, I’m naming the baby Elizabeth, in her memory.”

She had no choice but to tell him the truth.
Cathy knew the name she chose was not the kind of name given to a Catholic baby. It was Catholic tradition to name a child in honor of a saint. There were no saints with this name. “I’ve named her already,” she said hurriedly. “It’s June. And I’ve made up my mind on that.”

Jimmy leaned away from his wife with an incredulous look on his face.

“What do you mean you’ve made up your mind? Och, stop your blethering about you’ve made up your mind. What’s wrong with you?”

With her mouth set in determination, Cathy thought how cruel he could be at times. It
’s my wean. I gave birth to her, she argued inwardly. She looked directly into her husband’s eyes. His haggard face caused her to reconsider continuing the quarrel. It was true that he was more bad-tempered than ever since taking a second job. Still his hard work had afforded them a larger, more expensive new flat with a separate bedroom for the girls, an inside bathroom with a large bathtub and even a parlor, Cathy’s favorite room. It was much nicer than their previous cold-water flat with a kitchen, one small room and a toilet in the outside hallway that was shared with two other families. Her faced softened and she leaned back on the pillow.

“
Look hen, that’s a heathen name,” he said. “She’s no a pagan baby. I’ve picked a name. A good Catholic name––a saint’s name. You know she’s got to be named for a saint. All our girls are named after Catholic holy women; Katherine, Anne, Margaret, Mary, and Helen.”

A fiery anger filled Cathy
’s stomach, spreading upward past her heart and lungs. She didn’t want to hear him sweet-talk her with hen or any other pet name. “Jimmy! Just this once I’ve decided something. Just once. I’ve said that I’ve made up my mind and that’s that! If you don’t like it. . .” she hesitated before continuing in a tight voice, “. . .you can bloody well go to Hell.”

He clenched his fists as though preparing to launch them. He
’d been in many a fight and even the bravest men backed away from him. This was his wife and he meant to get his way.

“
Jesus, woman! Don’t be cheeky with me! I’ve spoken! Her name will be Elizabeth!”

They stared at each other. Unable to withstand his wife
’s steely glare, Jimmy was the first to look away. Cathy knew she had won.

Jimmy stood outside the ward with his hands in his pockets, waiting for his wife and new daughter to join him. Cathy came out of the ward holding her small cloth bag in one hand and Baby June, swaddled in a pink blanket, in the other.

As the MacDonalds turned to leave
they saw Dr. MacFadden sauntering down the hallway of the maternity floor. The doctor adjusted his glasses as he came closer to them.

“
Hello there, Mr. MacDonald.” He extended his hand to Jimmy. “You’re no leaving us already are you, Mrs. MacDonald?” the good doctor said with a warm smile.

“
She’s better off at home where she’s needed.” Jimmy’s answer sounded gruff to Cathy. When she had told her husband the doctor said she needed extra bed rest and ordered her to stay a week, instead of the usual five days allotted new mothers, Jimmy had disagreed. Cathy knew her husband wasn’t too fond of “the big
chucker
” as he called Dr. MacFadden. When he spat out the derogatory term for a county lad, it was on the tip of Cathy’s tongue to remind him that even though the doctor grew up on the rather isolated Isle of Skye, he was still smarter than Jimmy would ever be.

The doctor motioned Jimmy to step over to a quieter place away from the busy corridor. Jimmy told Cathy to wait before he followed the do
ctor further down the hallway. Dr. MacFadden leaned his shoulder onto the wall. The doctor, with his powerful build, youthful complexion and dark, wavy hair, didn’t show his age of forty-five-years. Jimmy, in his worn clothing and thinning hair, looked older than his forty-one-years. He straightened himself to match the doctor’s towering presence. It was useless. He was still a full head shorter than Dr. MacFadden. Jimmy leaned back and crossed his arms. “Is there a problem?” he asked tersely.

“
Aye, sorry to say but there is, Mr. MacDonald. This birth was exceptionally difficult on your wife. I’m recommending that this be her last baby. It will be very dangerous for her health if she were to birth again. Something is not right with her and…”

“
Aye, something is wrong with her, alright,” Jimmy interrupted him. “As for what happens with more children, I can’t say. God decides that. No you or me.”

The doctor rose to his full height, accentuating every inch of their differences. Impatiently, he said,
“Mr. MacDonald, if your wife gives birth again, she’ll be seeing God before you know it.”

“
We’ll talk to our priest,” Jimmy responded with his arms crossed tightly on his chest.

“D
id you no hear me right? We’re talking about your wife. If it were my wife…”

“
But she’s no, is she?” Jimmy argued. “I’ll make the decisions for us.”

“
Good. Then I recommend condoms.”

“Doctor! You being a Catholic, you
ought to know better than to talk about that!”

“
My God man, it’s 1950! We’re living in modern times. Give your children a chance for a better life.”

“I take care of my
family just fine.”

Without waiting for a response, Jimmy quickly walked away while angrily rummaging throug
h his pockets for a cigarette.

* * * * *

Chapter 3

THE GYPSY FORTUNE TELLER

FEBRUARY 1951

A TINY GYPSY WOMAN walked through the mist in Partick, a working class neighborhood in Glasgow. When she came to the tenement house at Twelve Dumbarton Road. The sounds of the bells on her bracelets preceded her as she walked up to the first of the four landings in the building. Her craggy face peeked out of her cowl. Her boney knuckles rapped on the first door. She pressed an ear to it in hopes of sounds of life.

The laughter of young children grew closer from behind the closed door.

Cathy MacDonald flung open the door to find the gypsy. The old woman stood still, except for her eyes, which slowly peered up at the younger woman. A tiny smile crept over the gypsy’s face. “Read yer fortune, missus?”

Mary and Maggie, Cathy
’s two middle children, stared at the old gypsy woman with wide-eyes. Maggie loudly announced the gypsy, “Granny! Come see the witch!” Mary jumped up and down. “Witch! Witch!” she chanted. Baby June perched on Cathy’s hip began to babble along with her excited sisters.