Chapter One
'You can't get
married to the minister.' A horrified Annie Reid faced her mother.
Isa wiped
rough, red hands on her apron. 'Why not?’ Her brown eyes, so like Annie’s own,
grew darker as she stared at her daughter.
Annie knew that
look, the look that said no amount of argument would change Isa’s mind. That
knowledge, however, did nothing to deter Annie. ‘How could you put another man
in Dad’s place?’
‘I’ll never
forget your father, but he’s gone. I’ve been lonely. In any case it’s hard enough
for Bel to feed herself let alone us as well.’
'So we’re
leaving Scartongarth? Dad might have been heir to the farm. Why should Bel have
it?' Annie set her hand against the lime-washed wall which held the faded
framed photograph of her grandparents on their wedding day.
Isa gave a
pained sigh. ‘Look, Annie, there was no will. I imagine it should have been your
cousin Jimmy’s, but he doesn’t want it. His sister does.’
‘But you said we
might have a claim…’
Isa held up her
hand. ‘I said it was a possibility only. I didn’t know then how Bel felt about
the place and I won’t fight her for it. She's worked hard to keep it going with
the war and all.'
‘Then why did we come back? Was it
for him, the Reverend Charleston?’
‘Of course not. There was nothing
left for us in Canada. You know that.’
The arguments
died on Annie’s lips. She, too, had been captivated by Bel’s gentle charm and
had no real desire to take the croft from her. However, as far as her mother’s
plans were concerned, she had to use all the ammunition she could think of. 'So
we'll be moving into the manse? You who never had time for religion.’
Isa sighed. ‘It’s
a fine big house and Donald has his stipend. We’ll be comfortable.’
‘Is that why you’re getting wed, so
we won’t starve?’
‘No. I like Donald a lot and he’s a
good man. You’ll be welcome until you decide your future. You’re clever, Annie,
you could go back to school, maybe get a job in an office.'
Annie
considered this for a minute. Perhaps her mother marrying the minister wasn’t
such a bad idea after all. ‘Would he pay for me to go to college?'
‘You’re my daughter. I wouldn’t expect him to
even if he could afford it.’ Two pink dots appeared on Isa’s cheeks, a sign
that her patience was wearing thin.
Annie cocked
her head. ‘Then how will I ever get a better education?’
Isa took an
inward rush of breath. ‘It’ll not be with Donald’s money, I’ll tell you that
now.’ She turned her back and, grabbing a duster from the rod across the
mantelpiece, began to rub at the range with small, quick movements.
Annie pursed
her mouth and stared at the floor where the flagstones shone with Isa's regular
polishing.
'Maybe, maybe
if I had a word with Mr Dick...' Isa twisted around to face her daughter.
‘Mr Dick – the schoolteacher?'
‘He could give
you some learning at nights. I could do a bit of washing, a bit of cleaning for
him. If you want an education we'll find a way to make it happen.' Isa spoke
with the grim determination that had taken them through all the hardships of
their lives.
Annie’s mood
lifted. Perhaps, after all, there was a chance of her doing better than ending
up a herring gutter or a servant or worse still, having to marry to keep food
on the table and become like the island women she saw around her, producing
bairns and slaving from dawn to dusk in order to live another week.
‘I still won’t
live with you and the minister,’ she
muttered.
‘Bel would
never turn you out, but see how you get on with Mr Dick. Right now I want
you to go to Lottie’s shop. I need to make some bere scones for tea.’
Annie snorted.
‘I’d best go get my coat then.’ She moved sideways around the table in the
middle of the floor. To go anywhere in this room she had to move sideways. Against
one wall sat a pinewood dresser which held the crockery, on another was a bed
in a recess with a door on either side, one leading to the passageway, the
other to a steep staircase. On the third wall was the window with a sideboard
in front, on the fourth was an iron stove and a mantelpiece with a rod for
drying clothes. It was all so different from the roomy space where they had
lived in Canada until a few weeks ago.
Annie climbed
up to her room beneath the rafters, sat down on her makeshift bed with the
large sack of chaff for a mattress that Bel called a caff seck and put her head
in her hands. In spite of her words, she liked Donald Charleston and he would
be good to her mother. She had seen how quickly the rounded curves of Isa’s
body had turned to angles and the strands of white had streaked her coal-black
hair after the Great War took her husband. Then the drought had devastated the
land. Over the years, Annie watched her mother’s beauty fade as they struggled
against poverty. Annie Reid hungered for more. She had thought something better
would be waiting for them in the place her parents referred to as ‘home,’ but
the war had devastated Britain, nowhere more than the islands. Without an
education, a woman had few options.
From beneath
her pillow she pulled out the magazines she had bought to pass the long hours on
the journey to Scotland. In the meagre slice of day entering through the
skylight, she studied the photos of grand ladies, fine carriages and city
streets. ‘One day,’ she said, and slapped the magazine closed.
Annie knew she
was beautiful. Even if the pock-marked mirror on the passage wall hadn't told
her, the way men's eyes followed her did. No, she was not going to settle for
becoming a mere crofter-fisherman's wife or a skivvy for some rich family.
She didn't want
lessons from Mr Dick with his big belly and bulbous nose and the veins that
stood out on the backs of his hands like fat worms. The young teacher,
the one who taught the first year pupils, he was a different matter. Even his
name had an exotic ring to it. Alexander Garcia’s black hair was short and he
shaved most days, not like the young men of the island who, it appeared, only shaved once a week. But it was his eyes that really got her: dark, intense,
burning with a fire that matched her own. From the first time she’d seen him,
she’d been wondering how to get his attention. Unwittingly, her mother had
given her the excuse.
‘Where are you, lass?’ Isa’s voice
came from below.
‘Coming, Ma.’ Annie stood up and
lifted the coat which doubled as a blanket. She was taller than the average
woman and could only stand upright where the beams met in the middle to form
the roof.
Downstairs her eyes fell on the big
pot on the range. Her stomach clawed for a good feed. She lifted the lid. ‘Is
there anything to eat other than porridge?’ She had never been fond of the
grey, gooey sludge and since it had become their staple diet she detested it.
‘There’s a crust of bread in the
larder and some cheese.’ Isa went to the jar on the mantel and took out some
copper coins. ‘See if Lottie’s got any flour, then go and collect the eggs.’
Outside, a sharp breeze blew in
from the Pentland Firth lifting the strands of hair that flew round her face.
She never tied her hair in a knot or plaited it the way the local women did.
Sucking in the sea-salt air, she
looked around. After the big, bright skies and miles of prairie she had grown
up with, it would take time to get used to the flat expanse of Raumsey with its
one-storied stone-built cottages, miles of ocean beyond, and a sky that was seldom
free of clouds.
Sloping down from the shingle path,
behind the hummocks of waving grass, the pebbles on the beach rattled as angry
breakers smashed over them. For seventeen years she had grown up
in Alberta and had never seen the ocean. Now she embraced its wildness; it was
the one thing that fascinated her about this island. If only her dad
were with them now, he would have built a boat for the fishing and turned
Scartongarth back into the success it once was. Her brother Dan, who had
remained in Canada, would come to help them run it, she would go to university,
and her mam would not be marrying the minister.
Little
flashes of memory forever ingrained on the mind.
