“I follow Maggie around from room to room, no better than a dog too lazy to chase his own tail. I’ve been looking forward to later this mornin when I’m going with Maggie to hang the washing. Hugh finally talked me into letting her do it again since ’tis one of her favorite chores.”
“You mean you still fear for her safety?”
“I guess I’m acting like Maggie. I call her a ‘mither hen’ for the way she’s always keeping an eye on me, but I’m just as bad.”
“Why don’t we go out to the back yard right now? You can wheel your wheelchair down to that stone walk over there and follow it to the back girse where she hangs the washing to dry.”
He eyed the walk she pointed to. “She’s told me no’ to use that ramp without her beside me.”
“Och, she is a mither hen.” She struggled to her feet. “I’ll be with you, so on you go. Let’s go do some exploring.”
His stomach fluttered with excitement as he studied the ramp. It must be used for access to the back of the infirmary, or even to the front path, without having to use the stone stairs. Taking care not to move too quickly, he maneuvered the chair down the ramp from the entry to the walk. “How are you doing?” he asked Elspeth, who walked behind him, gripping the wheelchair handles.
“I never did like a blethering traveling companion.” She knuckled the top of his head. “Hold your tongue and let’s see if this chair can go faster than a wee bairnie learning to crawl.”
He wheeled faster, taking care not to outpace her steps.
“Maggie’s been hard at work. Her garden is a wonder,” she mused.
He looked over the stone dyke at the flowers in front of the McGrath cottage.
“I wish I was taller or that dyke shorter so I could see it all,” Elspeth said.
“Once I’m on crutches, I’ll take you over there. I’ve been wanting a closer look, too.”
When they rounded the back corner, Rob stopped so abruptly, Elspeth scolded him and told him to move forward a few more feet so she could see what caught his attention.
He rolled the chair forward, gazing in wonder at the wide expanse of grass that led up to the stone dyke at the back of the croft, a profusion of tiny wildflowers covering the area with a carpet of yellow, blue, white, lavender, and pink. “Look at all the wee flowers,” he breathed.
She stepped onto the grass and stood beside him. “Raise your eyes, lad, for that’s where the real beauty lies. That is Ben Innis with her four stone sentinels standing guard at the top.”
He shaded his eyes from the glare of the sun and looked up. “It’s so big,” he said, filled with awe. At the very top of the mountain peak, four tall, erect stones stood dark against the cloudless sky, reminding him of pictures he had seen of Stonehenge. Narrow paths meandered across and up the ben, skirting large yellow bushes, but most of its flanks were blanketed by heather bushes covered with flowers in varying shades of purple. The fragrance of heather brought an instant vision of Maggie’s face.
“Aren’t you happy you came now?”
“I am that.” His gaze was drawn to a huge pile of peat at one side of the yard. He started to ask Elspeth about the intricate way it was stacked when Maggie called his name from the entry. Her voice rose in urgency every time she called.
“Och, I’m in trouble now,” he said. “I shouldn’t have gone off without telling her.”
“Then call to her. There’s no reason to frighten the lass.”
He placed two fingers in his mouth and let out a shrill whistle. When footsteps raced over the stone flags toward him, he turned his chair. “I’m back here, Maggie. With Elspeth.”
She careened around the corner, eyes wild, hair in disarray. “Och, Rob, what are you doing out here?” she cried, hand clasped to her heart. “And Elspeth, you could have fallen on that uneven walk.”
Elspeth drew herself up to her full height of just under five feet. “I don’t like that tone of voice from a wee sliver of a lass. Rob was fidgety this morning so I saw no reason to wait for you.”
Rob held out his arms and Maggie fell into his lap, pressing her face against his shoulder. “I’m sorry, luve. I got so busy I disremembered all about you coming out here with me after your lesson.” He raised her chin so he could look into her eyes. “I’ve never really seen Ben Innis.” He brushed stray tendrils of hair from her forehead. “And there’s a whole island out there to explore. When I’m finally walking, I’m going to cover every inlet, every path, every burn, and especially that fresh water loch you told me about.” He took a deep, uneven breath. “A man has the right to see the place he ... he might want to call home the rest of his life.”
“Then see it you shall but you won’t have to wait that long. We’ll put your chair in Angus’s or Alec’s cairt and allow you to explore even before you can walk on your own.”
The idea excited him. What better way to gauge the reactions of the folk than getting out among them? “Can we really do that, Maggie? See the island? Someday, when I return to duty, I want to call up images of Innisbraw from my mind when I think it.”
“And you shall, but I hear Angus with his cairt come to take Elspeth home. Can you stay here while I walk her out to the main path and fetch my laundry basket?”
“I won’t move a muscle.”
***
He helped Maggie fold the sheets so she could hang them on one of the four lines strung across the center of the grass, smiling when she stretched onto her tiptoes to reach the higher ends of the line where she hung the sheets. She had discarded the woolen tights she wore in cold weather and this first glimpse of her shapely knees flooded him with warmth.
She was quiet for a time and he was sure she was thinking about his reluctance to return to Innisbraw. Before long, she sang as she worked—some ballad in the Gaelic—and the soft language and her clear soprano voice rising and falling to the lilting cadence brought tears to his eyes.
When she hung the last item, she ducked the sheets flapping wildly in the wind and danced from item to item, touching each once with her forefinger, then her pinkie, before moving on to the next.
He grinned when she returned to him, breathless, cheeks and lips rosy, and blue eyes sparkling. “You looked like a fairy casting a spell on everything so it would dry quickly and smell of heather and honey, the twa scents I’ll always associate with Innisbraw—and you.”
“A fairy, is it?” She grabbed the empty basket from his lap. “’Tis a dance Elspeth taught me when I was a verra young lass and it makes me feel so guid, I still do it.”
“You all finished?”
“Unless you want to stay out here, though you do have an appointment with those parallel bars.”
“Let’s get it over with. At least it puts me on my feet for a while. Don’t worry, I’ll be back out here, and soon.”
CHAPTER 34
Una Hunter paced from one side of her small cottage to the other, hands clenched into tight fists. Each day brought more irritation. She had tried to visit some of the widows but they slammed their doors in her face. “Good riddance. Stupid, weak, gullible old fools!”
Even those who lived on her path, like Susan Ferguson, turned up their noses and ignored any attempts at conversation. She would never go to kirk again, which meant no more catching up on island gossip. Hugh’s public scolding angered rather than shamed her, but she could no longer tolerate anything that milksop said.
Pray for help and the Lord will answer.
Utter nonsense. Her ancestors, the Celts, knew the gods and goddesses to worship—the ancient ones with powers to shame the Christian God.
Her temples throbbed. Why did she have so many headaches? Surely, they were that Yank’s fault, the way he talked down to her. She came from quality, from folk with money and prestige who paid for her education.
And the nerve of that policeman, first threatening to put her into jail if anything happened to Maggie, then sending a restraining order signed by a magistrate, forbidding her to get anywhere near Maggie or th
at Yank.
Threatening to put a curse on that old drunken fool sealed his mouth. The police hadn’t taken her off to a jail cell. But she still lived in this miserable cottage on Innisbraw. “I’ve always hated this island and its ignorant crofters and fishermen.” She spat. “It’s even worse now, and it’s all that Yank’s fault.”
She passed the hutch and her gaze caught on a sepia picture of her only relative still living in Scotland. All the other aunts, uncles, and cousins in the Munro family sailed off to America before the war. At least they sent her a little silver each month, enough to live on if she was careful.
Such a faded, old picture. She carried it to the front window to study each detail. Her mother’s only sister, clad in a fancy silk gown, sitting in the parlor of her well-appointed two-storey home situated high on a hill above Portree on the Isle of Skye. She wrote her aunt every week, but her letters always came back, “Addressee Unknown” stamped in black ink across the envelope. She had checked the address several times. Fools staffed even the General Post office.
For years, she had waited for word that her very elderly aunt was ill and needed her. She would make herself indispensable and once the old woman passed, that stately home with its gardens and fountains and lovely furniture would be hers.
She looked around at the cramped, ugly cottage she had lived in all of her life and closed her eyes, picturing life in a grand home with roomy bedrooms on the first floor, up that broad staircase sweeping elegantly from the ground hall.
Her own bedroom, with a large bed, dressing table, and wide armoire for her clothes.
Not the narrow cot that had been hers for as long as she could remember. No privacy growing up, only an uncomfortable box-bed in the family part of the two-room cottage. She tried sleeping in her parent’s bedroom the night after she buried her mother, but didn’t last an hour. Too many voices were trapped in there—voices that tittered and whispered obscene words.
If Auntie didn’t write for her to come soon, she would take the initiative and think of a way to go to Skye without an invitation. “But in the meantime, it’s up to me to get rid of that Yank once and for all.”
Rubbing her pounding temples, she made her way into the kitchen and checked that she had all the ingredients needed for one large scone. No sugar, but flour, and a few spices to mask the foul taste of her secret ingredient.
She took a small leather bag from the back of her writing desk and opened it, taking care not to get any of the oil from the toxic seeds on her fingers. Henbane, the deadly herb the Celtic goddess Scathach reminded her about in a dream just the past night. Everyone on the island knew the Yank had a taste for scones. At the right time, when no one expected it, she would find a way to leave the scone next to his bed.
No reason to hurry. She would be very clever not to be caught inside the infirmary. Safely back in her cottage, what evidence could link her to anything? It would be in his stomach.
“A healthy dose of Henbane to cure what ails you, Yank,” she mused, “and you cannot be too angry with me. After all, it is said to be a most pleasant, though lingering, death.”
CHAPTER 35
“Hope Angus isn’t late,” Rob said, fingers tapping.
“You’re fidgeting like a hen on a hot griddle,” Maggie replied. “We’re out here a wee bit early. I didn’t know how long it would take you to maneuver your chair down the ramp and out to the path.”
“You can’t know how I’ve been looking forward to this.”
“Your waiting is over.” She squeezed his shoulders. “Here he comes.”
Angus pulled his cart to a halt in front of the infirmary stairs. “Hear you’d do for a keek at Innisbraw,” he said, grinning at Rob. He pulled two long pieces of wide, heavy lumber from the back of the cart. “I brought a sort of ramp I gathered together this mornin. With you wheeling, and me pushing, you’ll be up there in a tick.”
The ramp proved easy to use with minimal effort.
Angus angled Rob’s chair. “You’ll see more if you’re riding backarts.” He pulled Maggie into the cart. “Flora sent a stool so you can sit at Rob’s side.” The crofter chuckled as he climbed onto the driver’s bench. “Where first?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Rob said. “I haven’t seen much.”
Maggie’s smile evaporated.
He regretted his hasty words. “I remember Elspeth’s flowers when you brought me here.”
Angus took his cue from Rob and pulled the cuddy to a stop in front of Elspeth’s cottage. She wandered about her garden, deadheading blossoms, a light shawl pulled over her hair. “So, you’re out broadening your horizons at last, lad? ’Tis only fitting.”
“I owe it all to you. Without your prodding, I’d never have dreamed this possible.”
“Och, on you go then. Explore. Find out all you can about the island you’ll be calling home forever.”
The certainty of her tone tied his tongue in knots.
Angus slapped the reins over Jack’s broad, bony back and he and Maggie lifted their hands in farewell.
Half way down the hill, Maggie pointed out the path leading inland to Angus and Flora’s croft. Soon, Angus pulled the cuddy to a stop in front of a stone building with a large Scottish flag whipping in the breeze.
Several women standing by the building smiled and called out greetings.
He took deep breaths of the fresh, briny scent of the sea.
“That’s Alice Ross’s Post Office,” Maggie said. “She lives in the back.”
“And that run-down place next to it? That must be the howff.”
“It is, but ’tis closed now since Donald MacGinnis will never be welcome back on Innisbraw.”
Two older women came out of what Maggie told him was the weaving shop. They smiled and waved before hurrying up the path.
The knot in Rob’s stomach eased.
His gaze took in the large abandoned shed on the harbour side. It looked in good condition, though the slate roof could use some work. From what he could see, it appeared perfect for a boat-building business. Too bad.
The path turned west. No more businesses. Only a post office, shuttered howff and weaving shop? “Is the grocery store on the other side of the island?”
“Och, there isn’t one on Innisbraw. We give Malcolm our ration coupons, a list of our needs, and silver. He brings our order from Oban.”
No wonder everybody had a garden and at least a goat, pig, or chickens if they had a large enough croft.
They passed a large copse of tall trees he’d seen before. He spotted the kirk spire and steeled himself when Angus pulled the cart to a stop.
Maggie pointed to a two-storey stone building. Several rocking chairs graced a broad, railed entry, offering a place to rest after a long walk. “That’s Hugh’s manse. The minister before him had ten bairns, so ’tis huge. Hugh doesn’t even use a fraction of the rooms.” She waved her hand at a dense stand of tall trees and hedge of bushes behind the manse. “The primary school is back there, but the leaves hide it from view in summer. There’s a large hall around the side of the kirk where Hugh hopes to hold ceilidhs when the war’s over.”
“What’s a ‘kay-lee’?”
“A ceilidh ’tis a party with music, dancing, and story-telling. A guid time for a blether between friends.”
Rob averted his gaze from the kirk. Too many bad memories.
Angus slapped the reins and they continued west, passing two large crofts with neat cottages, peat piles, and herds of cows. A few sheep, goats, and cuddies grazed on the lush grass.
Angus halted the cart and leaned back. “Up that path is Heuch Fell.” He pointed to Rob’s left.
“The stone quarry and broch are up there,” Maggie said, “but that’s a climb that’ll have to wait ’til you’re walking well.”
A steep, deeply rutted path zigzagged across the face of the high fell. Sparse grass and a few wildflowers clutched the thin soil surrounding scattered piles of grey stones. A few huge rocks, lichen-covered and someh
ow menacing, crouched on the hillside, like giant behemoths protecting their young.
Now, Rob understood why all the cottages on the island were made of the same grey stone. From what he could see, the entire fell was nothing but rock. “I know what a quarry is, but what’s a broch?”
“’Tis the ruins of an auld, round, stone tower that once served as a home and fortress to some of Innisbraw’s earliest inhabitants. ’Tis said it goes back to the Iron Age.”
He whistled. “Now, that’s what I call auld.”
Maggie pointed to the last and largest croft where a herd of broad-horned cows lay in their pasture, placidly chewing their cuds. “That’s Alec and Morag’s croft. Alec must have his bulls tethered out on the machair. Those are all coos and heifers.”
“I thought only bulls had horns.”
“They raise Hieland cattle only. The coos also have horns.”
They rode in silence until the path took another abrupt turn and Rob spied the mighty Atlantic, waves combing far out over a shallow seabed. Between the shore and path was what Maggie called the “machair,” heavy with wildflowers. Here and there bulls staked to long ropes grazed, their long, rough tongues pulling up the tallest grass. A few low stone dykes separated parts of the machair, where stretches of grain crops and turnip fields rippled in the breeze, a colourful patchwork of gold and dark green.
“So this is the western side of the island,” Rob said. “Is there any way to get down to the water from this main path?”
“We don’t have time to explore all the paths now. Angus, why don’t you take Rob to that cove just past Scaur Fell? It has a bonnie strand with white sand and shallow water.” She leaned close to Rob. “’Tis also where twa men patrol at night since it offers such a broad, shallow landing place for the Germans.”
Angus turned Jack down a narrow path heading directly west.
Rob scanned the coast. Maggie was right—no rock outcroppings were high enough to form a cave. Och, why did memories of the Selkie’s tale keep popping into his mind? Perhaps because he’d heard it so many times, clutching at the diversion from pain. He seldom thought of Maggie as the Selkie anymore—she was his lass, his Maggie.