Love and Music Will Endure (7 page)

‘Have you heard any news from Skye at all?’ Morag asked Màiri when they bumped into each other by the Clachnacuddin.

Màiri shook her head.

‘What about Isaac? Has he heard anything?’

‘He’s had no news either. One of his customers let him read his
Courier
after he had finished with it.’

‘And?’

‘He got into a lather. “How dare they compare us to bog Irishmen, saying we eat nothing but potatoes.”’ Màiri mimicked Isaac’s actions, slapping her thigh with an imaginary newspaper before scrunching it up and trampling on it.

‘Aye, he’s a man of strong opinions,’ laughed Morag.

‘And how’s my favourite Skye heifer today?’ shrieked Jeannie as she joined them, throwing a sinewy arm around Màiri’s waist and pinching hard.

‘Och, stop tormenting the poor lass,’ chided Morag, ‘She’s worried about her family back home.’

‘Do you know what I heard just now down at the harbour?’ She put her hands on her slender hips and smiled.

‘Is this something you heard from Angus, your fancy man?’ mocked Morag.

The younger woman pouted in mock indignation, ‘Well it’s true enough. There are two boats down there, waiting to be loaded for London. Guess what the cargo is?’

‘Tatties,’ chorused the others.

‘But that can’t be right,’ protested Màiri, ‘There’s not enough
to feed people here and yet they’re taking supplies away to London.’

Jeannie shrugged, ‘Well that’s the way of the world isn’t it? The rich only think about themselves.’

‘Something should be done to stop it,’ Màiri cried, ‘Pappa always says you should speak out against injustice.’

‘Aye, and what happens then? The poor are punished and nothing changes,’ muttered Morag.

‘Well, something’s being planned,’ Jeannie said.

‘Come on then. Tell us,’ urged Màiri.

‘You’re just itching for a fight. Look at that jaw of yours, jutting out like the prow of a ship,’ teased Jeannie. She seized Màiri’s hands, ‘And I bet those big fists of yours are clenched, ready for action. Well, there’s lads watching the warehouse where the tatties are stored. When they see the carts being loaded they’ll send out wee boys as runners and a big crowd will hurry down to Thornbush Pier and block their way.’

‘And who will do that?’ asked Morag.

‘Lots of folk. Men, women and boys, too many for the constables to get through and arrest anyone. Some of the men are dressing up as women to confuse them. They won’t be as likely to take a swipe at a woman.’

‘Those constables have itchy fingers. They like an excuse to lash out,’ said Morag.

Jeannie ignored her and turned to Màiri, ‘Are you with us then? You Skye folk are fighters aren’t you?’

‘Indeed we are. There are lots of tales about the bloody battles between MacLeods and …’declared Màiri, but she hesitated, all her indignation skidding to a halt.

‘Come on Màiri, surely you’re not running scared?’ Jeannie goaded, ‘I expected you to be up at the front, swinging your claymore.’

‘I’m keen to come right enough but what would Isaac say? He doesn’t approve of fighting. He says that you have to be canny; play them at their own game and stay within the law.’

‘Well, we’re not going to be fighting, we’re only going to stop the carts,’ insisted Jeannie.

‘Aye, but he would say that should be up to the men.’

Jeannie grunted in derision while Màiri frowned, ‘It’s like being pulled between my parents again. Mamma’s so careful in what she says and does while Pappa stands his ground. He even argued with the Minister about working on the Sabbath. That was how they ended up in Glasgow for years.’

‘And here was me expecting that a big, brawny lassie like yourself would have some fire in her belly,’ sneered Jeannie.

‘I have,’ Màiri cried out, clutching her head in distress.

‘Come on, Màiri, how will Isaac even find out? He works all the hours God sends,’ Jeannie declared, grabbing Màiri’s wrists in her wiry fingers, ‘we’ll have some sport, you’ll see. When I get the word I’ll come down your road and tap twice on the back door. Don’t worry, your mistress won’t hear.’ She stretched up on tiptoes to lift up Màiri’s downturned chin, then skipped off, whooping, her shawl unfurling at the edges like a banner.

Later, when Jeannie came for her, they scurried together down the road, arms linked, joining other small groups in the darkness, parting and sidestepping to make way for the newcomers, then forming a line and stepping out. It’s like being back at home setting out to go to a dance or a wedding, she thought, my feet slipping on shiny rocks and springy heather. She felt a flurry of fear, like a cuddy fish tossed into a basin. Her heart skittered as she thought how here she was sliding on broken, slimy cobbles and surrounded by the grim faces of strangers. There was a whiff of danger, like the scent of a fox. She shivered but then chided herself, “I’m as free as a wave of the sea, one lost among the swell of many others.”

‘Why are you grinning like a wild woman?’ Jeannie’s voice jolted her.

‘Because I feel full of life,’ she shouted.

A man’s voice roared, ‘There are the carts up ahead.’

The crowd heaved and juddered before surging forward. Now we’re like a flock of gulls, Màiri thought, swooping and swinging behind a fishing boat. Gulls feel no shame or guilt. They just do what they need to do.

The throng slowed as it neared the carts. The horses jostled and fidgeted. Looking over her shoulder Màiri could see some of the constables at the edges of the crowd, trying to push their way through with their clubs. They were being forced back by shoulders, fists and feet. It seemed to her that the constables too were doing what they had to do, even though it seemed wrong. She had hated it when her father went out with the other men to hunt seals. To her their deep-pooled eyes were human; she believed the tales about the selkies, the seal folk who could shed their skins and become people. But her father had taken the furious young Màiri onto his knee and explained how the seals ate through the fishing nets and took the food out of the family’s mouths, ‘They do what they have to do to live and so do we.’

People, like animals, had to follow their destiny. Màiri smiled to herself. How scandalised the Minister would be if he knew that she was comparing animals to human beings, “Man was given an immortal soul. We are not mere beasts driven by instinct,” he would declaim.

Looking around she could see elation in some faces, fierce anger or apprehension in others. The horses were very fretful now, rolling their eyes and squirming. One of them started to rear up on its hind legs. The flustered carters began to turn their charges and the crowd shifted back to give them space. The carts set off back to the warehouses while cheers and yells burst in the air like fireworks.

‘We’ve done it. We’ve beaten them,’ cried Màiri, flinging her arms around Jeannie’s neck.

Jeannie looked at her pityingly, ‘You don’t imagine that’s the end of it, do you, lassie?’

‘Oh, my poor head hurts. It feels as if it’s been used as a shinty ball,’ Màiri groaned, ‘and I’m black and blue all down my side. I don’t know how I kept working this morning at all. Thank Goodness it’s the Sabbath tomorrow and I can have a rest.’ She slumped down heavily by the Clachnacuddin stone.

‘You poor
isean
,’ commiserated Morag, ‘That pig of a constable gave you a real thumping. I suppose with you being so tall he must have thought that you were a man disguised in women’s clothes.’

‘He must have been half blind or just seen your back,’ hooted Jeannie, ‘If he’d seen yon big lumps on you he would have known you could never be a man.’

Morag glared at her. Jeannie continued, ‘Anyway it’s not just the constable’s stick that gave you a sore head. Don’t you remember all the wee drams you had when the bottles were passed back and forth? That’s what gave you the courage to say your piece.’

‘What piece?’ Màiri asked.

‘You certainly gave as good as you got,’ smiled Morag, ‘It was when they were tipping the cart into the harbour. It was quiet for a moment and you called out, “That’ll serve them right for keeping tatties from the starving Skye folk.” Then a man shouted out, “Well, you’re not a starving
Sgitheaneach
yourself, lassie, that’s for sure.” So what did you do? You turned your back on him, slapped your rump, hoisted your skirt up and called out, “They breed us good and sturdy on Skye.” And everyone cheered.’

‘Did I really say that?’ asked Màiri, blushing.

‘Aye, but I wouldn’t worry. Just make sure that he doesn’t get to hear about it,’ muttered Morag who had seen Isaac approaching.

‘Come on, you,’ she told Jeannie, hauling her to her feet, ‘we’ll let them have a few words in peace.’

‘Just look at the state of you!’ Isaac exclaimed, peering at Màiri’s half closed eye and mottled bruises. Did your master or mistress do this to you?’ She shook her head.

‘Well, Isaac, now folk will think you’ve been taking your fists to her,’ cackled Jeannie over her shoulder. Morag gave her a furious cuff over the ears and pushed her on her way.

He put his hands on her shoulders and stared, ‘You were involved in that business last night, weren’t you, with that Jeannie? You’re lucky that you haven’t broken any bones or been locked up,’ he continued, frowning and shaking her slightly.

‘Don’t take on so, Isaac. How were we to know that it would turn nasty? For three nights running we turned those wagons back. Two nights ago one of them even ended up in the water. What a splash!’ Her eyes danced.

‘It wasn’t just a bit of harmless fun though, was it? Some of the mob broke windows at the Provost’s house and I heard that the Provost himself was struck by a stone.’

‘Aye, but what about the constables lashing out at everyone with their sticks? They gave me a beating and I wasn’t throwing anything.’

Isaac sighed and pulled her closer, ‘Well thank the Lord that you weren’t badly hurt or arrested. You risked being turned out of your job without a character.’

‘Why are you talking as if I was the one in the wrong? What about the wrong done by those rich people making money from high potato prices while poor folk go hungry? They’re the ones you should blame. Three nights running we stopped them. Maybe they’ve learnt their lesson now.’

Isaac shook his head and spoke more gently, ‘You’ve not heard then? Early this morning eight loads were taken down to the pier under armed guard and stowed aboard. They’re on their way south as we speak.’ He took Màiri’s hand, ‘Don’t look so crestfallen. It was bound to happen. What am I always saying about the way forward for working men? We must stand together but stay within the law.’ His rallying cry did nothing to raise Màiri’s spirits.

Isaac lifted Màiri to her feet, ‘Come on, let’s walk a little way. Anyway, I’ve heard some better news from Skye. The disease has struck hard there but no-one is starving. Lord MacDonald has been giving out meal to the worst afflicted.’

‘That’s something. But as Pappa would say, no doubt they’ll have to be properly grateful for any charity.’ She sighed, ‘It’ll mean more people leaving the island.’

‘Well we have to face up to the truth,’ Isaac declared, tucking Màiri’s arm through his own and steering her past horse manure strewn across the cobbles, ‘The future lies here in the towns and cities. I make shoes for everyone but I’m building up my business with the people who run Inverness; the merchants, the magistrates and especially their ladies who want the new London fashions. I smile at their whims and take their silver. When I’ve saved enough I’ll have apprentices and rent a fancy shop. Then I’ll get a seat on the council. That mob, you see Màiri, is like a flooded river. It destroys everything in its way but then it shrinks back again to nothing.’ He stopped and turned to her, ‘But I’m the burn that keeps on flowing onwards, gradually gaining strength, deepening and widening my influence as I go.’ He looked into her peat brown eyes that were nearly level with his own, ‘You could be part of that life.’

‘But I want to go back home. I don’t want to spend all my life here.’

‘Maybe we could afford to go back one day.’

‘But how would I ever earn enough money to do that?’

Isaac laughed, ‘You’re not listening to me. I’ve had it in mind to marry you from the first time we spoke and you held out that heavy basket even though your arms were trembling. You’re strong and hardworking, not like those vain young women who imagine that they can snare me with their simpering faces. But you must keep away from riots and stay peaceably at home. We suit each other well enough, don’t we?’

As he squeezed her hand, Màiri felt his controlled strength. Yes, she could gladly share a warm bed with this man, enjoy the deft touch of his fingers and the weight of him on top of her. And his family was from Skye too.

‘But will you promise me that one day we will return to live in Skye? I want cattle to tend. I want to wake early and see the Old Man of Storr standing stark against the sky with clouds bearding his face. And what of our children? They must know where they came from and see their homeland for themselves.’

‘You’re jumping ahead. You’re talking about children and you haven’t even said whether you will marry me. Are you a wicked woman who is thinking of having children out of wedlock?’ he whispered in her ear, the scrape of his dark beard making her tremble with desire.

‘No, indeed. I shall be happy to spend the rest of my life with you and I shall learn how to be a respectable lady.’

The cottage smelt of warm bannocks, bubbling soup and drying clothes. Màiri tucked her youngest under her arm and shouted out to the other four playing on the Green. Then she turned to her husband, ‘No, Isaac. This is my father. I must go this time. I missed Mamma’s wake and I won’t leave it to relatives and neighbours this time. Flora will look after the others. I know your mother won’t like it but she’ll survive until I get back. Maybe she’ll even miss me a little when I’m not there to wait on her.’

Isaac opened his mouth but shut it again. He could see that she was determined and he didn’t have the strength to argue. His new work as a chimney sweep seemed to have eaten away at his sinews and the sour smell of soot was always in his nostrils. Meanwhile Màiri crackled like burning heather despite having five children and an aged mother-in-law to care for.

So for the first time since their marriage she left their cramped cottage in the Maggat, overlooking the Green, to travel away from Inverness. When they first came there to live Isaac had told her that the house was near the river. It would surely remind her of her home, near the Snizort on Skye. She had smiled and squeezed his hand, not wanting to disappoint him by saying that this river couldn’t be more different from the Snizort. The Ness was so wide, surrounded by buildings and where were the mountains? He carried on, telling her the story of the local strongman, Jock on the Maggat who had once carried the Clach na Cudainn all the way up to the Old Jail steps.

‘I was grateful for that stone many times when I rested my heavy tubs of washing on it.’

‘I would hope you would be even more grateful to the stone for meeting me there,’ he had growled in mock anger, pressing her close to him.

She had resolved to make the best of her new life. Like Ruth she had said, “Whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge; thy people will be my people.” At least she had said that to Isaac, unlike Ruth she had not felt able to speak such words to her mother-in-law. And she had grown to like Inverness. She thought of its people with affection as ‘
Clann na Cloiche
’ for it was true that the stone had brought Isaac to her. The town was a good foster mother to her, although it couldn’t replace her birthplace.

And so she returned to Skye where the blustery autumn weather lifted her skirts and carried her into the new house. It was a strange homecoming because she had never set foot in this house. Her parents had moved there when they had to leave the old township after the landlord had sold the land for a sheep run. It didn’t look so different from her old home, a low lying, round cornered black house, its stones moulded into the landscape but the house still smelt raw to her. It wasn’t steeped in years of peat fires and memories like the old home.

Iain Bàn had been as hale as ever, so they had told her. No-one had ever known him to take to his bed with illness, even for a day.

‘But I knew someone would need my services,’ the gravedigger told her. ‘The night before, my tools began to rattle against each other where they leant on the wall of the byre. Sure enough, the next morning your father’s neighbour noticed that he hadn’t come out to smoke his pipe as usual.’

‘And she found him still in bed. He had slipped away during the night,’ Màiri replied.

How she hated the idea that his neighbours, not his family, had lifted his still-warm body, laid him out on an old door suspended over barrels and covered him with a sheet. They had remembered to put salt on his belly and turn the mirror to the wall to deter evil spirits. But he would have wanted familiar hands to prepare him for his final journey.

She had surprised herself during the wake. While the voices around her murmured and rumbled she had started to rock backwards and forwards on her stool near the fire. She started to chant, a cascade of words about her father, how he could quieten a fractious beast, plough tirelessly all day and know by instinct where the shoals of fish would be lurking. She recounted the tale of how he fell foul of the minister and nearly ended up in Canada and of how when he returned to Skye he knew exactly the best place to dig his well. Her words gained power and speed, a waterfall of sound, praising his life and keening over its ending. Maybe some of the folk there disapproved of what they saw as an old heathen custom but she knew that Pappa would have been pleased.

On the morning of the funeral she looked around the house for the last time.

‘What have you done with the mirror?’ Her father’s voice echoed behind her. She almost expected to see him reach out to turn the old mirror’s speckled face outwards.

When they all lived in the old house he would duck down in front of it to make sure his cap was on straight before rushing to the door, flinging it open and rubbing his hands together, ready for the day ahead. Now she plodded to the door, her head drooping, but as she eased it open she straightened her shoulders and strode out towards the church. When she arrived she was greeted by kind looks, firm handgrips and soft voices, but something was askew, out of kilter. Sitting down on the hard bench she closed her eyes
for an instant while she wondered what was amiss. The thought struck her, a chill gust that seeped into her bones. She had become a guest, a visitor in her native place, when she left tomorrow the door would close, sealing her on the outside.

Reverend MacLeod conducted the service. He was old now, his face swathed in a cloud of snowy hair but his voice was still powerful. But to Màiri his words were sounds without meaning, beating waves and howling winds. She was an orphan now. The frayed rope anchoring her to home had ripped free and the storms were hurling her out to sea. Listing and low in the water she kept herself afloat for the rest of the day until she could sink exhausted into bed.

To her surprise she awoke the next morning to find the storm within her abated, but she had a terrible thirst that could only be quenched by a drink from the well by the old house. As she plodded up to it she could feel the spate of words from the wake still swirling through her, surging down the waterfall and pouring out to the sea. They formed rows of waves, pulling out into the ocean, urging her to plunge into their songs as she had done in her youth.

The old house was deceptive. From a distance it looked unscathed, but as she came closer she could see that the thatch was mangy. She put her shoulder to the swollen wood of the door until it lolled open. In the corpse chill within she found the dark part of the floor where the hearth had been. As she kicked the blackened petals of ashes they released the smells buried deep in the stones; the reek of drying fish, the damp hay breath of cattle and the sharp red burst of rowans bubbling into jam.

Sobbing, she ran out, not stopping until she was up in the hill pastures. She knelt down to ease her racing heart and noticed a scrap of cloth snagged on thistles. It fluttered, a frail tattered flag, and for a wild moment she wondered if it was a fragment from her own torn shift all those years ago. She shook her head at her silliness. No, it must belong to a present day child, escaped with her friends to play among the silent houses. Would this child, like her young self, have gone back home tired but exultant to be scolded about her rough, boyish antics?

And all too soon it was time to return to Inverness. Her memories of her return to Skye had to be tucked away while she dragged her thoughts towards what would await her at home. The girls would have coped well she was sure but no doubt the
cailleach
, that bed-bound brooding presence, would punish Màiri for daring to escape.

‘What a wonder she is, almost one hundred now, as old as Methusalah,’ Màiri’s neighbour would declare, shaking her head in amazement while Màiri grimaced, thinking her great age more a curse than a wonder. Although the old woman was
slowly sinking she still seemed to be immortal. No matter how much her body weakened, that complaining voice never lost its strength, resounding through the house and throbbing in her ears. How unjust it seemed that this old hag was called Flòraidh, the same given name as Mamma, dead now for some years, such an anxious soul who had tried to tread carefully through life. Now that she was older herself, Màiri could understand how trampled Mamma had been both by herself and Pappa, big heedless beasts who churned up her hopes and plans. Now, mother-in-law Flòraidh was a different matter. She caused trouble deliberately, using her tongue as a bludgeoning sword. When Isaac had first introduced them she had snorted, ‘So this is the lassie from Skye who thought herself above calling on us when she arrived.’

‘Well Mother, there’s no harm done. We met each other in our own time.’

But the harridan wouldn’t be silenced. ‘She’s no beauty and she’ll need to be broken to the bridle. Still she looks as strong as a mare. She should breed healthy children.’

When Màiri felt her first child quicken within her she knew that she could not endure having this woman near her when her time came.

‘I know you want to go back to Skye to have the first baby,’ Isaac said, ‘but it’s too far. You can’t travel on your own when you’re near your time and I can’t afford to lose you. Surely my mother will be enough help for you. She’s had plenty children and knows what it’s about.’

How like a man to imagine that any woman would do as a support, as if helping with a birth was only about knowledge rather than trust and affection. Her fears had swelled alongside the growing baby and in the end she confided in Morag, who listened quietly and then asked, ‘Would your mother be able to come down if you got word to her?’

‘I’m sure she would but how can I get a message to her? I would need Isaac to write it and give it to someone travelling to Skye. I don’t think he would be willing to do that. He would be afraid of what the old witch his mother would say.’ Màiri felt disheartened.

‘So we’ll have to get someone else to write it.’

‘But who can we get to do that?’

Morag smiled shyly, ‘I could write it for you.’

‘You can write, and read too?’ Màiri gawped as her friend nodded.

‘I’m rusty but I’ve never forgotten. My parents sent me to the church school. I was the only one of their children left alive and they wanted me to have more chances than they did. I learnt to read Gaelic first so that I could read the Bible to them. Then I started to learn English too.’

‘So why are you just a washerwoman? I’m as ignorant of learning as a bird on the wing but you …’

‘It all came to an end when my Pappa died suddenly. I was ten years old and my mother had no money. She sent me to my aunt in the town to earn my living. How I railed against my poor mother. I’d loved the school and I didn’t notice how thin my mother was getting. She died within a year, poor soul, and by then I was a kitchen skivvy.’

‘Did anyone know that you could read and write?’

‘No. I kept it secret. Masters don’t like servants who know too much.’

The message was safely delivered and so was she. Her mother had coaxed and cajoled her through the ordeal of Flora’s birth.

‘How did you know when to come for Màiri’s lying-in?’ Isaac asked her.

‘Now you’re descended from Skye folk. You shouldn’t need to ask that question.’

‘Second sight?’

‘Of course,’ she had replied with a twinkle in her eye.

And what a blessing it was that Mamma and mother-in-law shared their Christian name. Isaac’s ferocious old mother thought that the baby was named after her and not after her other gentler grandmother. But who would have thought that the
cailleach
would live for ever?

‘Thank goodness you’re back. My mother’s been asking for you all the time.’

Looking at his gaunt face, Màiri thought how he seemed to have aged ten years while she had been gone. Well, maybe he would understand better what she had to endure with the old woman. She braced herself to go in to see her. Now that she had lost both her parents she couldn’t stop herself from loathing this woman who lived on while they had died. She eased the door open to find Flòraidh asleep. Only her head was visible. Her shrivelled body barely disturbed the bed clothes and the flesh had been scraped from her skull. She clearly had only a thin-shelled hold on life. Màiri was shocked by the speed of her decline but she could also sense the familiar anger, padding beside her like a wolf on a leash. She sat down on the chair beside the bed, looking with a horrified curiosity at the bluish, crinkled eyelids which were as transparent as the skin of a newly hatched bird. She steeled herself to grasp her hand. It was as clammy as a frog’s skin.

The eyes snapped open, revealing accusing blue shards.

‘You’ve come back at last,’ Floraidh sneered.

Màiri heard the rumble of the wolf’s growl. She pulled the rope tighter. ‘I came back as soon as I could.’

‘You shouldn’t have left me.’

The wolf lay down, submissive but poised to spring.

‘I didn’t know you were getting worse.’

A dismissive snort came from the bed. Màiri felt her throat tighten and stayed silent. The wolf slumped down and closed its eyes.

‘I’m sorry I’ve been such a burden.’

The wolf’s ears twitched at the unexpected words. Its suspicious lips curled back on glistening teeth as it prepared to snarl. She gently pressed the animal’s head down.

‘I know you are. Don’t let it concern you,’ she whispered, gently opening up the clawed fingers as they scrabbled on the sheet. The old woman closed her eyes again. The wolf whimpered and curled up like a cub.