say.’
‘You did not ask. I thought you understood.’
She sank back on the grass, shaking her head.
Ullapool, 10 June 1813
Dearest Louise,
I feel so lost and confused within myself of late. I hope you won’t show these letters to my brother, even though you’re as life to each other. I don’t understand what’s going on in my head. I haven’t felt easy since the time that I so foolishly —yes, yes, I admit it now — went into the highlands with Duncan MacQuarrie.
He haunts the town of Ullapool and his feelings around here are known, though he does not state them in public, he has too much respect. But people come to sense these things. His love is as great an affliction to him as it is to me who does not care for him in the same way, and of course father is even less inclined to employ him now than before. Although nothing is said to me, I know that there is encouragement in the town to scorn him. He is so poor, such an easy target, and with his game leg there is little he can do, though he labours on with the kelp. I keep referring to this accursed kelp; in case you don’t know of it, it’s a fine seaweed that grows around the shoreline here. When it’s been gathered it gets dried out and burned on the beaches, so that there is a molten mass which is cooled into brittle blue layers, then that gets shipped off to the glass and soap-works in England. That’s why the lairds are so eager for the people to be nice and handy to the icy sea — which is where they’re living, thousands and thousands of them now, huddled near the beaches. A pretty sight? Does it shock you? I cannot bear it.
As for Duncan, I feel to blame for his worsening plight, through bringing ridicule upon him. I see now that it was natural for him to believe that I was pledging myself when I followed him. What elsecould he have thought? I did not understand enough their way of looking at things up here.
You may wonder that he asked me in the first place. Well, he is one of the terrible suffering lettered men, such as Highlanders often are, despite their poverty; placing learning above all things, and believing firmly in the equality of all men (I should like to say, of women too, but of course I refer to mankind, oh you will see what strain I am under at present).
Dear heaven forbid, I often think now, that poor people should be afflicted with knowledge and talent and intellect. Ah, that from me! No, don’t listen, it is the deepest irony of which I am capable. But you see, he thought I was some kindred spirit, it seems, making a spontaneous gesture of my commitment. Perhaps I thought so too at the time, but now I do not know what induced me to go on that rash outing. It was an adventure, and adventuresses are not thought well of in this harsh and bitter land.
As if all that is not enough, and too much, I have had a most disturbing encounter with McLeod. It happened late one spring afternoon, although you would be hard put to think of it as spring for a small blizzard had blown up and died away, leaving in its wake a late fall of snow and the air was still damp and heavy with it. I had a great deal on my mind, on this evening of which I speak. I put on my fur-lined hood, and mittens, and set off. The snow obscured my view. Where there had been black rocks the day before, there was nothing, then the snow died away a little and the rocks began to move, or so it seemed. I cried out, afraid, and then I saw that it was the blackfaces at large upon the moor.
I took a deep breath. When the snow cleared, I saw not only the foolish sheep blundering off at my approach, but also a man standing in my path. It was McLeod.
Sister, I feel that McLeod is part of my fate, that in him rests some overwhelming and mysterious power which will change my life.
My hands shake so much as I write, that I cannot go on …
He stood barring Isabella’s way and this time she realised how tall he was; at least six feet or more. His black hair was worn
‘You did not ask. I thought you understood.’
She sank back on the grass, shaking her head.
Ullapool, 10 June 1813
Dearest Louise,
I feel so lost and confused within myself of late. I hope you won’t show these letters to my brother, even though you’re as life to each other. I don’t understand what’s going on in my head. I haven’t felt easy since the time that I so foolishly —yes, yes, I admit it now — went into the highlands with Duncan MacQuarrie.
He haunts the town of Ullapool and his feelings around here are known, though he does not state them in public, he has too much respect. But people come to sense these things. His love is as great an affliction to him as it is to me who does not care for him in the same way, and of course father is even less inclined to employ him now than before. Although nothing is said to me, I know that there is encouragement in the town to scorn him. He is so poor, such an easy target, and with his game leg there is little he can do, though he labours on with the kelp. I keep referring to this accursed kelp; in case you don’t know of it, it’s a fine seaweed that grows around the shoreline here. When it’s been gathered it gets dried out and burned on the beaches, so that there is a molten mass which is cooled into brittle blue layers, then that gets shipped off to the glass and soap-works in England. That’s why the lairds are so eager for the people to be nice and handy to the icy sea — which is where they’re living, thousands and thousands of them now, huddled near the beaches. A pretty sight? Does it shock you? I cannot bear it.
As for Duncan, I feel to blame for his worsening plight, through bringing ridicule upon him. I see now that it was natural for him to believe that I was pledging myself when I followed him. What elsecould he have thought? I did not understand enough their way of looking at things up here.
You may wonder that he asked me in the first place. Well, he is one of the terrible suffering lettered men, such as Highlanders often are, despite their poverty; placing learning above all things, and believing firmly in the equality of all men (I should like to say, of women too, but of course I refer to mankind, oh you will see what strain I am under at present).
Dear heaven forbid, I often think now, that poor people should be afflicted with knowledge and talent and intellect. Ah, that from me! No, don’t listen, it is the deepest irony of which I am capable. But you see, he thought I was some kindred spirit, it seems, making a spontaneous gesture of my commitment. Perhaps I thought so too at the time, but now I do not know what induced me to go on that rash outing. It was an adventure, and adventuresses are not thought well of in this harsh and bitter land.
As if all that is not enough, and too much, I have had a most disturbing encounter with McLeod. It happened late one spring afternoon, although you would be hard put to think of it as spring for a small blizzard had blown up and died away, leaving in its wake a late fall of snow and the air was still damp and heavy with it. I had a great deal on my mind, on this evening of which I speak. I put on my fur-lined hood, and mittens, and set off. The snow obscured my view. Where there had been black rocks the day before, there was nothing, then the snow died away a little and the rocks began to move, or so it seemed. I cried out, afraid, and then I saw that it was the blackfaces at large upon the moor.
I took a deep breath. When the snow cleared, I saw not only the foolish sheep blundering off at my approach, but also a man standing in my path. It was McLeod.
Sister, I feel that McLeod is part of my fate, that in him rests some overwhelming and mysterious power which will change my life.
My hands shake so much as I write, that I cannot go on …
He stood barring Isabella’s way and this time she realised how tall he was; at least six feet or more. His black hair was worn
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