Read Online Love and Music Will Endure by Liz Macrae Shaw - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Liz Macrae Shaw
Ads: Link
it’s a pity she’s so big and plain.’
‘And brazen too. But her father’s always been full of himself.’
She ran headlong all the way to the shore, heart hammering in her ears and hair streaming behind her. She tossed her thoughts from hand to hand and then skimmed them out to sea. Bending down, she chose a stone, one with a streaked pattern waving across it, blew away the sand clinging to it and traced its sea smoothed surface. But there was no answer from the world around her except the one she didn’t want to hear.
She would have to leave. But where would she go? She didn’t want to go to Glasgow as so many islanders had done. Pappa had told her often enough of the city bleached of live colours, the horses kept in dark stables and slipping on slimy cobblestones, never seeing a blade of grass. Even the mighty Clyde was sick and smelt of decay. The city had sucked out the life of her sister. No, she couldn’t go there.
What about Inverness, smaller and nearer? She broached the idea with Mamma. Màiri had expected a protest but instead her mother considered the question calmly.
‘The air would be fresher right enough but how would you get there? There’s no regular steamer boat and it wouldn’t be rightfor a young woman to travel all that way alone by cart. And what about the expense of it all?’
Màiri though had made up her mind to go and set about finding a way. She spoke to the minister’s wife who listened, hiding her surprise. She couldn’t remember any of that proud family ever asking for help. A few weeks later she called Màiri over after morning service.
‘I’ve the very thing for you. Reverend Carmichael in Carbost has a wife who is awaiting the birth of her first child. She wants to travel to her family home near Inverness. You could accompany her.’
So it was settled. Her father insisted on walking the twenty-five miles with her to the manse.
‘I’m not in my grave yet and I can have a rest before I go back. I can even take a wheelbarrow to push you if you get tired,’ he joked.
She was surprised how he seemed to have recovered his spirits. So they trudged to Sligachan, hugging the coast as the Cuillin loomed ever closer. Then they turned towards Carbost and found the neat, square house overlooking Loch Harport. They were given a grave welcome by the minister, a sharp featured, earnest man and his placid wife. Pappa was anxious to return home and made the return journey after two nights’ rest. It was the first time she had ever travelled so far from her home. Part of her looked back over her shoulder, missing her familiar surroundings, like a puppy sent to a new family.
During the day the minister was either out visiting his flock or writing sermons in the small front parlour. A scrawny wee girl came in to do the rough work while the minister’s wife sat sewing baby clothes. Màiri had her own small room up in the eaves. She enjoyed the novelty of climbing stairs and feeling so high up that she could look the hills in the eye. She had to duckto climb into her small bed but once she was in it that first night she felt a fluttering excitement too, an eagle chick flexing and flapping its wings, lurching on the edge of the nest, looking at the long leap below.
CHAPTER 10
Carbost and beyond, 1844
Her eyes snapped open and she jerked herself upright. The room was full of brooding shadows. She shuddered and clenched her hands on the blanket. There was a sound from below her window, a door being unlatched. She remembered where she was and sighed. Something had woken her, something from outside caught in the net of her dreams, rocking her as it was hauled aboard. She had been dreaming about that night when old Donald MacKinnon was shouting and singing to the bewildered calf.
But there were real voices now coming from inside the house. She could hear Mrs Carmichael summoning her, but Màiri was already stumbling down the stairs. Her employers were looking out of the window, pointing
‘And brazen too. But her father’s always been full of himself.’
She ran headlong all the way to the shore, heart hammering in her ears and hair streaming behind her. She tossed her thoughts from hand to hand and then skimmed them out to sea. Bending down, she chose a stone, one with a streaked pattern waving across it, blew away the sand clinging to it and traced its sea smoothed surface. But there was no answer from the world around her except the one she didn’t want to hear.
She would have to leave. But where would she go? She didn’t want to go to Glasgow as so many islanders had done. Pappa had told her often enough of the city bleached of live colours, the horses kept in dark stables and slipping on slimy cobblestones, never seeing a blade of grass. Even the mighty Clyde was sick and smelt of decay. The city had sucked out the life of her sister. No, she couldn’t go there.
What about Inverness, smaller and nearer? She broached the idea with Mamma. Màiri had expected a protest but instead her mother considered the question calmly.
‘The air would be fresher right enough but how would you get there? There’s no regular steamer boat and it wouldn’t be rightfor a young woman to travel all that way alone by cart. And what about the expense of it all?’
Màiri though had made up her mind to go and set about finding a way. She spoke to the minister’s wife who listened, hiding her surprise. She couldn’t remember any of that proud family ever asking for help. A few weeks later she called Màiri over after morning service.
‘I’ve the very thing for you. Reverend Carmichael in Carbost has a wife who is awaiting the birth of her first child. She wants to travel to her family home near Inverness. You could accompany her.’
So it was settled. Her father insisted on walking the twenty-five miles with her to the manse.
‘I’m not in my grave yet and I can have a rest before I go back. I can even take a wheelbarrow to push you if you get tired,’ he joked.
She was surprised how he seemed to have recovered his spirits. So they trudged to Sligachan, hugging the coast as the Cuillin loomed ever closer. Then they turned towards Carbost and found the neat, square house overlooking Loch Harport. They were given a grave welcome by the minister, a sharp featured, earnest man and his placid wife. Pappa was anxious to return home and made the return journey after two nights’ rest. It was the first time she had ever travelled so far from her home. Part of her looked back over her shoulder, missing her familiar surroundings, like a puppy sent to a new family.
During the day the minister was either out visiting his flock or writing sermons in the small front parlour. A scrawny wee girl came in to do the rough work while the minister’s wife sat sewing baby clothes. Màiri had her own small room up in the eaves. She enjoyed the novelty of climbing stairs and feeling so high up that she could look the hills in the eye. She had to duckto climb into her small bed but once she was in it that first night she felt a fluttering excitement too, an eagle chick flexing and flapping its wings, lurching on the edge of the nest, looking at the long leap below.
CHAPTER 10
Carbost and beyond, 1844
Her eyes snapped open and she jerked herself upright. The room was full of brooding shadows. She shuddered and clenched her hands on the blanket. There was a sound from below her window, a door being unlatched. She remembered where she was and sighed. Something had woken her, something from outside caught in the net of her dreams, rocking her as it was hauled aboard. She had been dreaming about that night when old Donald MacKinnon was shouting and singing to the bewildered calf.
But there were real voices now coming from inside the house. She could hear Mrs Carmichael summoning her, but Màiri was already stumbling down the stairs. Her employers were looking out of the window, pointing
Similar Books
