Chapter 22 #3
Isla’s father slumped forwards in the chair. His pale blue eyes rimmed with red.
“We could go to the mainland,” said Flash. “We could knock some sense into the scoundrel. Make him do right by the girl.”
Innes brushed some crumbs from his father’s lapel. “Aidh—but do you really want a defiler like that married to your niece?”
Reverend Rose unclipped his collar and placed it on his knee. It was so strange to see him without it that he seemed like an entirely different person. He considered Cal a moment and then he said, “Did you know that Sarah’s mother was my wife’s cousin?”
“No.”
“Well, whether it is the gulls or the gossips that whisper your name, the truth is, when I ask about Isla they say that it is you, young John, who is interested in her. And when I ask the other side, they say no, that it is Isla who is interested in you. All this hearsay. All this awful ‘he said, she said’.”
“It’s nothing but gossip.”
“Yes, but as I understand it, there was a time we held great hopes for the pair of you. We all thought you might be married one day, that you might start a family, raise that family in the faith. And yet here we are, left with an unwed mother and a baby with no father – two souls destined for damnation. Tomorrow Isla will have to answer for her sins, but tonight I’m asking you to search yourself, to see if there was any interest, how we might .
. . hurry that interest along.” He paused there and took up a cup of stewed tea.
“I have met with Donnie many times over these past few weeks. We have prayed over it and asked God what could be done. I cannot overlook her transgression. But she has never led us to doubt her love of God. And, discreet as she is, I believe she would say no more about this Glaswegian. We are sure she has none of the romantic sickness that can trouble young women.”
Flash made a strange choking noise, almost as though he were swallowing a sob. The men all turned to look at him.
“This devil has taken advantage of my niece. Perhaps he forced himself upon her.”
“Jesus save us,” gasped Donnie.
“I have to say it. Are we not all thinking it?”
The minister sipped his tea. “A young, sheltered girl like that is so naive to the ways of men. You’ve been in the big city. You’ve seen all manner of wickedness. She has been unrepentant up till now. But when it comes that baby will be a great burden to her.”
“Terrifying,” added Old MacInnes.
“Let’s just say, Isla will be forced to reconsider her options.
” He grew bored of his tea and placed the cup on the table.
He turned his pale eyes to the window and raised up to see the faint line where the land met the sea, where they both met the low sky.
“It’s so peaceful here. A wonderful place to raise a family. ”
It was a sheepdog whistle. He had no choice but to kick or be driven into the fank. So, he kicked. “Isla and I don’t have feelings for each other.” And then in a cowardly deflection, he added, “She doesn’t like me like that.”
“She has a contumacious spirit, but she will grow out of it.” When the minister saw that Cal didn’t understand, he clarified, “Women have a contrary nature, son. They often say the opposite of what they mean. And they rarely know what is best for themselves.” He brushed some fluff from his collar.
“One of the greatest pleasures of my position is visiting all the parishes, seeing friends, sharing in people’s lives.
It’s a wonderful privilege. Truly. But I’ve seen it all before.
Don’t think I have not. The problem with restless young men, is they always think they are the first one to feel a particular way.
Everyone you’ve ever known is glad to have you home.
You. Are. Loved. So what are you still searching for? ”
The room felt airless. He was certain if he opened a window they would all come to their senses.
He could end it now by talking in their language and holding up the searchlight of scripture.
Isla had ruined the purity of the marriage bed.
She was unworthy of the kingdom of God, unworthy of him.
But he saw the fear in Donnie’s eyes and he didn’t possess the cruelty to damn her before her father.
Against all his own good sense, he said, “Can I think about it?”
“No!” cried Donnie. “You’ve had years to think about it. If you’d shown the slightest natural interest then I wouldn’t be sitting here, begging like a ceàrd, in my good Sabbath suit!”
“That’s enough now,” said John quietly. “Do not forget the minister.”
Cal searched the faces for sympathy but there was none to be had.
Isla Macdonald was a lovely thing. Any man who had seen her pass by in her school skirt and her blown-out socks had imagined the ways in which they would like to make her mewl with pleasure, and perhaps a little pain.
Even her uncles had thought it fleetingly and then prayed against the horror of the thought.
He turned to Innes. “And you? What do you think?”
“Oh . . .” Innes raised his eyebrows. “I think we’re heartbroken for the poor girl. And heartbreak is a madness.”
Cal turned to the minister. He shook his head. “I love Isla, but I can’t help her.”
The room fell into silence as it absorbed his refusal.
“Well, there we have it,” said the minister. “Thank you for your candour.”
Donnie shot to his feet. He rounded on the men.
“Is this some joke to you? Look at this poofy wee bastard. He’ll not marry Isla?
” He shoved Cal in the shoulder. Cal was not a small man, but the elder Macdonald could put any man on his arse.
Cal tumbled backwards. He fell off the stool and landed on the tiled hearth.
“A real man wouldn’t have to think twice about marrying a lassie like Isla. You’re not fit to lick her boots!”
Cal picked himself up. He brushed the soot from his palm and suppressed the desire to remind Donnie that Isla’s boots had already been licked.
John moved towards Donnie in a mollifying manner; his eyes were on the carpet, his arms open like an usher not quite pointing the way to the exit, but hinting, suggesting that it might be over there. “You cannot talk to my son like that. None of this is the boy’s fault.”
“I agree,” said the minister. “Apologise to young John for calling him such a foul thing.”
“I’ll apologise to no man, least of all him.
Him, who has strung my daughter along for all these years.
” Donnie, finding himself having to redirect his anger, jerked his thumb at his son.
“You! Shift your useless self!” He slapped Doll round the back of the head, a hard clout that made all the men gasp.
“None of this would have happened if you hadn’t been such a bloody distraction! ”
John followed the Macdonald men outside. The others could hear him try to placate Donnie as they paced upon the shingle.
“See if I find you are laughing at my family?”
“Nobody is laughing at anybody. We’re all trying to help.”
“But see if I find you are, I’ll be back to kick the fuck out of that boy of yours.”
The men got to their feet, a song of knees clicking into joint. Innes put his hands under his father’s arms and helped him up. Shockie redid the button he had loosened on his trousers. Flash ran his hand through his thick red hair. As they gathered up their things, they exchanged black looks.
Cal found himself off to the side, alone with the minister.
The wait for his father to return felt interminable.
“I’ll talk to Donnie about his temper,” said the minister, as he replaced his collar. “But I am grateful for an end to all this prevaricating. Everyone thought the bairn must be yours. You would not believe how forceful the women can be when they take a notion.”
“I have to be honest,” he said. “I feel like I deserve an apology.”
“An apology!” The minister screeched so sharply that the men started.
“Perhaps you mean the apology you owe to God? Or do you forget the Seventh?” He raised his finger.
“You! You who were seen fondling a young girl behind the bins. You are hardly the innocent man. It is you who should apologise to these men and thank them for the discretion they have shown you.” He raised his chin and stiffened a little as he changed to the biblical Gaelic, “If your brother sins against you, go and tell him his fault, between you and him alone. If he listens to you, you have gained a brother.”
Here it was, revealed at last, the unimpeachable hardness. “Yes. Of course. Forgive me.” Cal bowed his head. He was desperate for his father to return.
It was Innes who stepped in and softened the silence. “And so,” he said. “What will happen to Isla now?”
The minister’s eyes were still flashing with anger as he turned. “Donnie has asked that Isla go live with his aunt in Uist. They cannot slacken in their commitment to the Word, it would do great harm to the other girls.”
“Aidh—and what would happen to the baby?”
“Sarah would raise it as her own.”
John came back into the room at last. The front of his shirt wet with rain and his chest-hair curled and stuck to the underside of the cloth. He shared a look with Innes, where Innes seemed to be asking him how bad it was, and John with a faint shake of his head replied, very.
Cal, his eyes on the floor, asked of no one in particular: “So, what would you have done if you were me?”
It was the minister who answered. “Me? Oh, I would never entertain the idea. But then, if I were you, well . . .” He laid his hand on Cal’s shoulder.
There was such lightness to the touch that Cal was not sure if he was touching him at all.
“If you have the heart, reconsider. But don’t think too hard. It’s not a matter for the thinking.”
Cal didn’t watch his father shake the men’s hands, but he heard their calluses rub together like fine grain sandpaper. There was a soft chafing sound as each man put his hand into John’s trusting vice.