Chapter 1. pages 1 –14
The (fictitious) Island of Beula, Outer Hebrides, Scotland. (location for Beula is Barra)
The wind was as she liked it most, gentle, warm and friendly. It playfully ruffled her hair as she sat on the hillside absorbing the sights and sounds of Beula - a beautiful, remote island in the Outer Hebrides. The air was thick with the smells typical of an early summer’s evening, pungent heather, wild thyme, and the briny smell of the sea.
Maggie always found peace on the hill, it was like an old friend to whom she’d vent her anguish - it neither judged nor patronised, just listened. Now, after weeks of uncertainty and soul searching, she was leaving it behind. As dawn broke tomorrow the ferry would take her to the mainland.
And she no idea when she would return.
Beula had been her home for all her twenty-five years. It’s rocky coastline and windswept landscape had raised her. She had witnessed terrifying storms, so violent the thick walls of the crofter’s cottage seemed to tremble. But when it calmed, when the grey clouds raced away to impose their menacing impact elsewhere, the contrast was striking. The sky could turn an unbelievable blue, the livestock would revel in their freedom to roam again, and sea birds would crawl from their rock crevices to soar and rejoice.
There was little evidence of last night’s storm which had denied her sleep until the small hours. But, in the lull which follows such a downpour, the soporific drip, drip, dripping from the eaves had lulled her into dreamless slumber. Now the sky was clear and the sea calm, its surface broken only by the trawlers’ bows as they chugged home from the high seas. The incessant, frenetic screeching of gulls, guillemots and kittiwakes pierced the air as they reeled and dived, mobbing the boats for scraps thrown overboard. From the nearby fields came the dull clunking of cow bells, heralding the bovine meander away from the milking parlour.
There was never total silence on Beula but despite this, or maybe because of it, a serenity she had not felt in a long time swept over her. This peace, however, was destined to be brief, in the middle distance came the sound of dogs barking and her brother’s voice carrying on the breeze. "Maggie, Maggie!" She waved and watched him scramble up, with the farm dogs racing ahead. It was her job to feed them and they were quite sure it was way past their supper time. They obediently settled at her feet, their wall eyes alert to her every movement, in case she had a notion to disappear on them again.
"I thought you’d be here,” said Callum as he threw himself down on the machair, “Ma sent me out as a search party, you’ve been gone a fair while."
She glanced at her watch, and was surprised to see she’d been sitting there for well over an hour.
“Goodness, is it that time already? I only came for a few minutes, to say goodbye.”
“Goodbye? Och you’re so dramatic! Mind you, Ma is just as bad, she’s convinced you’ll never set foot on Beula ever again.”
“Aye bless her, she’s no’ taking my leaving too well.“ agreed Maggie as she gazed at the views again. “She needn’t worry, I’ll miss home too much to stay away for long”.
“I’m sure you won’t miss fetching water from the well, or visiting the privy on a wet evening! You’ll be wallowing in the luxury of hot running water in an indoor bathroom!” laughed Callum.
Her eyes lit up, “Yes, I’m relishing the thought of that.” She thought back to last night’s tepid bath in a tub on the parlour floor. “But I’ll miss the family, and this.“ She spread her arms wide and looked around wistfully. “This must be the most beautiful place in the world."
"Aye, it’s no bad," Callum followed her gaze, "But Maggie there are other bonny places waiting for your compliments. Go and find them, have an adventure.”
“Adventure is the last thing on my mind just now,” Maggie said frowning, “ In the short space of five weeks I need to find work, and somewhere to live – I can’t wait to get started.”
Callum heard the longing in her voice, heaven knows he’d felt it often enough himself to recognise it in others. During the bleakest of times his sister had confided in him and, just as before, it was his job to listen and advise - when asked. No platitudes and no kitchen sink sympathy, and this day he didn’t spare his words.
“Well your run of exceedingly bad luck has to end soon. Most people just about cope with one tragedy, but you lost your husband, your home and your job, one on top of the other. Unbelievable.” He shook his head slowly. “Honestly Maggie, if anyone needs a new start in life - you do.”
“I know. A year ago, I was complete. Being married to Angus did that, it made us one. I was half of a whole, and overnight I was half of nothing.”
“Aye, you were that close we could barely tell where one ended and t’other began.” Callum agreed. “Ma said you were inseparable, even as wee bairns. Not everyone finds their soul mate at such a young age, some never do.” His voice didn’t betray the bitterness he felt, this wasn’t about him. “But you survived.”
“Thanks to you, Ma and Pa.” said Maggie emotionally, “It doesn’t seem right to repay you all by leaving, but everywhere I turn there are memories preventing me from moving on. It would be so easy to stay here, and fulfil the role of a tragic young widow, but I want to grow Cal. My wings are still damp, I want to dry them in the sun and see how far I can fly.”
He immediately knew what she meant, as children they’d marvelled as they watched a butterfly or moth emerge from pupae, dry and pump its wings before launching into the unknown. No lessons, no instruction manual, pure instinct and a freedom of spirit. How they’d envied those insects.
“Aye, I’d give anything to be going in your place.” Callum sighed heavily. His chance to leave the island had come and gone and he had no one to blame but himself. He’d been a carefree young man working on the farm and saving every penny of his paltry earnings to get away, his eyes fixed on a bright horizon. Now his young shoulders bore the burden of a new wife and a bairn on the way. He was condemned to work at the small farm to provide a home that was how he saw his life, condemned, a life sentence.
Maggie didn’t sympathise, she wasn’t heartless but her brother was a ‘cup half empty’ these days, and frankly she considered him very fortunate indeed to have both a partner and a bairn on the way.
“You’ll be grand Mags,” Callum continued. “You’re feisty and nobody’s fool. And though it pains me to say it”, he said, playfully digging her in the ribs, “You’re no’ too painful to look at either.”
He ducked as his sister aimed a playful slap. She’d be alright, he thought, despite the bad time she’d had of it. Inside she was the same Maggie, just a little sadder round the edges. And anyway, Oban was not so far away, and if she didn’t like it, she’d come home. Simple.
He stood and outstretched his hand, “Come on Mags, there’s water to fetch for Ma, and if we don’t hurry we’ll be on the receiving end of one of her tongue lashings."
The knot in her stomach had long since destroyed any appetite for the meal cooking in the range at home; she could happily sit there till darkness fell. But as to Ma's tongue lashing, ah well, that was another matter entirely.
Callum pulled her to her feet and, laughing like the carefree children they once were, they hurried down the hillside; the dogs racing ahead of them with renewed optimism for their dinners.
The circumstances that had led to that day were not of Maggie’s making and were a testimony to how cruel fate could be. Her husband’s sudden death a year earlier had left Maggie grieving so intensely that many feared for her sanity.
At her parent’s insistence she left the pretty cottage she and Angus had lovingly restored, and returned to her childhood home to mourn and recover under their watchful eye. When she felt strong enough, she returned to work. The comforting daily routine, as a teaching assistant at the small island school, gave her a reason to get out of bed each day. Since the fateful, hateful day that robbed her of her childhood sweetheart her devotion was directed to a handful of pupils, they became substitutes for the children they would never have. She immersed herself in work, but fate hadn’t finished with Maggie yet. On the last day of Spring term the headmaster, also her uncle, received a letter from the mainland Education Authorities. He was given the unenviable task of informing Maggie that her post would cease at the end of the current school year. Within months of becoming a widow, she was also made redundant.
The news spread across the island fast, as news does in small communities.
Her uncle faced an irate crowd and the offending letter was read out, the island’s falling birth rate and reduced school attendance meant they could no longer justify Maggie’s small salary. Bad enough bairns over the age of eleven were obliged to attend mainland boarding school, but now the primary school could be under threat. It was a great fear amongst the islanders that their way of life was unsustainable, there was no economy. Young people were leaving, drawn to the mainland by employment and modern comforts. It would come as no surprise to many if the government were to order an evacuation, to save financing the school, a doctor, and priest. The island was dying and in Maggie’s lifetime this harsh, proud way of life might cease altogether.
The support for Maggie was overwhelming and whilst everyone knew it wasn’t his fault really, they felt justified in blaming the headmaster for the decision. He was snubbed by the women folk and, worse still, ostracised by the men in the bar of the island’s only inn. His punishment was short lived however, good domino players were always in demand and he was one of the best.
Maggie knew she couldn’t remain at the farmstead long term, the family barely scraped a living as it was. Their meagre income was subsidised by the island’s hidden economy, for longer than anyone could remember they had bartered amongst themselves, eggs for milk, bread for vegetables, butter for fish. Money rarely exchanged hands, and whilst there were few luxuries, they got by well enough.
Since Maggie’s redundancy she had been helping her mother, the real head of the household. Sheena was a shrewd woman, ruling the roost with a sharp tongue and a heart of pure gold. Her flock of Hebridean and Cheviot sheep, produced lanolin-rich fleeces, ewe’s butter and cheese. She also grew herbs in pots and cold frames, using the leaves and petals in potions for minor ailments, and skin creams to combat the harsh biting winds. This was where Maggie’s heart lay, she loved working with the herbs and recipes from generations ago. She’d urged Sheena to grow larger quantities, and increase production, but the strong sea winds had a high in salt content, conditions were totally unsuitable.
Maggie’s father, Padruig, admired her ambition to find work but was loath to see his daughter leave the island. He was a gentle giant with a bushy red beard and broad shoulders, which bore testament to his Nordic ancestry. He was the fourth generation of Mackenzie’s to occupy the farmstead, but he’d inherited a much greater love of the sea, from his seafaring ancestors. He worked on the farm and went fishing, as often as he could. It was a constant source of conjecture whether Padruig was a farmer who went fishing, or a fisherman who farmed now and then. But one thing was certain; of the two he was happiest at sea where he found peace, and the occasional wild salmon.
Callum didn’t particularly want to lose his sister to the mainland, and would have been happy to help expand the herb growing. He had some free time when not looking after his small herd of highland cattle, which supplied milk and butter to the island shop and the Inn.
His wife Jenny was a bright, college educated girl from the mainland with an artistic flair. She had worked in her mother’s guest house in Oban. Her sole aim in life was marriage; fitted carpets and wall-to-wall bairns completed her aspiration. Callum had stayed at her mother’s guest house when storms at sea kept ferries firmly anchored in the harbour, or when Callum chose to ‘miss’ it. The frequency of missed ferries increased as the young couple’s romance blossomed, and one tempestuous night too many resulted in a hasty wedding, and their lives changed forever.
Apart from those Mackenzie’s who lived and worked on the farm, there was Dougal, the eldest son who lived in Oban. Dougal was a newly qualified medical practitioner and the object of not inconsiderable motherly pride. Dougal returned home when he could, his suitcase bulging with small gifts. As a qualified professional, he was considered a man of the world and his advice was sought on legal or financial issues, invariably extracted over a wee dram at the island’s only inn. Medical advice was never sought, however, in deference to the island’s ageing Doctor Stewart, who was deemed to be a ‘real’ doctor, and visited the island twice a month.
Dougal rarely stayed more than a night or two, the small cottage was never intended to be home to a large family. It had been extended to provide a bedroom for the child Maggie, and a boathouse for Padruig adjacent to the kitchen, with a loft above. Heated by the massive chimney from the parlour range, the loft was a perfect place for the young brothers to create their own world, filling it with treasures from the beach, driftwood, discarded fishing net, crab shells, old fishing floats. It was currently Maggie’s sanctuary, a place of emotional healing, and where she dreamt of running her own small business. Her dreams required funding, and the only way to accumulate that was to find paid work.
The MacKenzies were a close family, and they frequently sat round a crackling log fire to share a wee dram after supper, mulling over concerns within the family, the farmstead and the island in general. One evening Maggie called such a family gathering, the topic was herself and her status as an unemployed widow, with no income and few prospects. Maggie insisted she could no longer sit around the farm like an emotional invalid, she needed a fresh start, which would begin with a new job. And there was nothing suitable on Beula, she had little choice but to look to the mainland.
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