Dawn on a Distant Shore (70 page)

Granny inclined her
head in grudging agreement. "Yer forgettin' the point o' the story. It was
Isabel we were talkin' aboot. Noo." She turned her blank eyes toward Hannah
again. "Ye mun understan' that young Isabel had lost her mither, and she
turned back to Jean wi' aa the unhappiness aboot Ian Hope set aside. And sae
she was nivver tolt aboot Jean and her faither." She paused, her mouth set
in a grim line. "Lookin' back, it's clear that it was a mistake. It wad ha
been far better tae tell her, and tae let her greet and screech tae the
heavens. Better a few tears than what passed later when the truth was
kennt."

"Did she find out
when Jennet was born?" Hannah asked.

Granny Laidlaw seemed
to be studying her hands where they lay on her lap. "Ne," she said thoughtfully.
"Isabel nivver asked aboot Jennet's faither. I've thoucht it through ower
the years and it's come tae me that she didna ask because she didna care tae
see. And what Isabel didna care tae see, she couldna see, and was it richt
before her face.

"And sae they
went alang, and sae wad it ha' stayed, but for Lammas Fair five years syne,
when Isabel met Walter Campbell o' Breadalbane."

The door opened
suddenly, letting in a great rush of wind and Jennet's auntie Kate. Her face
was flushed and she thumped down her basket so forcefully that they all jumped
in their seats.

"The minister is
comin'," she said, pulling her cap from her hair. "I couldna put him
aff, and though I tried ma best."

Gelleys heaved herself
up from the chair with a great groan, clutching the bowl of beans to her
generous middle. "Ye ken I luve ye dearly, Leezie, but I canna take tea
wi' the minister the-day. It wad put me aff ma parridge for a week."

"But what about
the rest of the story?" Hannah asked, looking between them. "What
about the Lammas Fair?"

Granny Laidlaw smiled.
"That I canna tell ye, lass. Onlie Simon and Isabel were there that day,
and Simon was deid a month later. Aa I can say is this: Isabel ran aff wi' a
Breadalbane, and she's nivver been hame agin, nor wad she be welcome were she
tae come. The Campbells ha' nae place at Carryck, nor will they ever."

"No word for her
father?" Hannah asked. "No explanation?"

"She sent Jean a
letter," said Granny Laidlaw. "It came a week after she disappeared.
I recall it weel, for it was the last thing I ever read for masel' before the
blindness came doon hard. She wrote "As ye sow so shall ye reap. Betrayal
begets betrayal.""

"I canna bide,
Guidwife Laidlaw," the minister announced repeatedly as he ate his way
through the ginger nuts. "I've come tae make sure ye'll be at the kirk at
four-- promptly at four, mind--when Gaw'n Hamilton rides the stang."

The minister was as
long and thin as a stickbug, with great red-rimmed pop-eyes and a mouth that
twitched constantly at one corner. Although he looked very different, something
in his expression reminded Hannah of Adam MacKay, and she sat very still in the
corner near the hearth.

Jennet had come to sit
beside her, and she whispered in Hannah's ear whenever the minister's attention
was on the plate before him.

"He's called Holy
Willie," she whispered. "For he likes tae pray as loud as ever he can
whenever anybodie is near tae hear him."

Hannah gave her a
pointed look but Jennet shrugged, unconcerned. "There's naucht tae worra
aboot. He's aye deef."

There was a tight,
irritated expression on Granny Laidlaw's face, but she listened without
interruption as the minister lovingly detailed Mrs. Hamilton's sins: a loud
voice, a forward manner, and an irritating and inappropriate interest in men's
affairs. Mr. Hamilton's inability to exert the proper authority could not be
tolerated; public humiliation was the only solution.

""He that
loveth his son causeth him oft tae feel the rod, that he may ha' joy of him in
the end,"" he intoned, wiping crumbs from the corner of his mouth
with his little finger. "And I depend on your presence, Guidwife Laidlaw--
God-fearin' woman that ye are and aaways ha' been--tae show Guidwife Hamilton
the error o' her ways. Jennet Hope!" He turned toward the corner with a
sudden snapping motion of his head.

Jennet stiffened.
"Aye, Mr. Fisher?"

"You were no' in
kirk the Sunday past. Wheest! Excuses wi' do ye nae guid when ye stand at the
gates tae have judgment passed upon ye. Woman is the weakest vessel, and ye
must be ever vigilant."

Jennet bristled darkly
at this, but she held her tongue, to Hannah's amazement.

"... ye'll come
tae the riding o' the stang this day, and ye'll bring the Indian, for we are aa
God's creatures. It will do her guid." He drew in a deep breath, warming
to his work. "Ye'll bring her alang tae kirk. The laird willna want her in
his pew, but we'll find a spot." His great bulbous eyes were flat gray,
and they fixed on Jennet who looked back at him furiously.

"Aye, sir. But
she's a guest o' the laird's, and she'll sit wi' him."

Hannah might have said
that she had no intention of coming to his kirk at all, but the struggle was
between Jennet and the minister, and she would not get in her friend's way.

Mr. Fisher's nostrils
trembled and his mouth jerked at the corner. "We shall see," he said finally.
"I'll take it up wi' the laird."

"Aye," said
Jennet, ignoring her auntie Kate's distressed look. "That wad be
best."

As soon as the ginger
nuts were gone, the minister put back his head and prayed loudly to the ceiling
for a good five minutes. He was no sooner out the door than Auntie Kate's sober
expression gave way to a grimace. ""And the locusts went up over all
the land of Egypt,"" she quoted. ""And rested in all the
coasts of Egypt: very grievous were they; before them there were no such
locusts as they, neither after them shall be such.""

Granny Laidlaw
snorted. "Why is it that the locusts always ramsh ma ginger nuts? Why canna
they be content wi' guid Scots oat cakes? And Jennet, hen--tell me this, why mun
ye always provoke the mannie? Does he no' glower and fuss enough?"

Jennet wrinkled her
nose. "I canna help masel', Granny. He makes ma tongue gae aa kittlie, and
oot comes what I shouldna say."

"One day that
kittlie tongue o' yours wi' cause ye sair trouble," said Granny, but it seemed
to Hannah that she was more proud than worried.

"Come on,
then." Auntie Kate smiled, helping her mother up from her chair.
"It'll soon be four."

"Aye, perhaps we
can gie puir Marjorie some comfort. But the lasses needna bide, and should it give
Holy Willie the watter brash. Awa' tae Carryckcastle wi' ye baith. Geordie will
be waitin'."

Jennet went up to her
grandmother--the two were exactly the same height--and kissed her on the cheek.

Granny Laidlaw put her
hands on Jennet's shoulders. "Bless ye, ye're sae much like yer mither. As
willfu' as the day is lang. Tell me this, hen--ha' ye shown wee Hannah the
kitchen window?"

Hannah's ears pricked
up at this, but Jennet's whole attention was on her grandmother and she did not
look in her direction.

"Ne."

"Then do it, and
nae delay."

The goats had found
another home, and so Hannah and Jennet sat shoulder to shoulder at the edge of
the cart with their feet trailing in the dust. They were out of the village
before Hannah could think of a way to ask her question.

"Do you miss her?
Isabel?"

Jennet shrugged.
"Aye, at first I did miss her. She used tae let me comb her hair --sic
bonnie dark hair, heavy and sae soft. Naethin' like mine." She shook her
curls to make her point. "I thoucht she looked like an angel. I used tae
dream that she'd come hame agin and we'd sleep in the same room, the twa o' us,
and talk aa the nicht through, as true sisters."

Hannah thought of the
nights she had shared with Many-Doves, who was not her sister but her mother's sister,
and she felt sorry for Jennet.

"Perhaps one day
you'll see Isabel again, when all this trouble is over. Where do the Campbells live?"

"The Earl o'
Breadalbane, ye mean?"

"Is that the one
called Walter who is married to Isabel?"

Jennet produced an
amused grin. "Walter Campbell, the chief o' the Glenorchy line? Aye, weel,
he's slippery enough tae do the job. Ne, Walter is one o' the earl's bastards.
Breadalbane made him curator o' Loudoun. That was before Walter ran aff wi' Isabel."

Hannah had grown up
hearing her mother and grandmother and great-grandmother recite their family history,
but she had to admit that the complexities of the Breadalbane clan were a
challenge. She rubbed a hand over her eyes.

"So Walter
Campbell and Isabel live with the Countess of Loudoun?"

Jennet rewarded her
with a smile. "Aye, Flora by name. At Loudoun Castle, near Galston. That
way--" She pointed west. "But ye willna find Isabel there the
noo."

"I wasn't
planning on going to look for her," said Hannah, and discovered to her
surprise that perhaps her mind had moved a little in that direction.

Jennet tossed her
head. "It wad be a lang journey for naucht. The countess is dwaumie--bad
lungs, ye ken, and they carry her tae the spa at Moffat for the summer. Isabel
and Walter will be there wi' her."

They were silent for a
time. "We passed Moffat on the way here from Dumfries."

"Aye. Sae ye did.
But what guid wad it serve tae talk tae Isabel?"

Hannah shrugged.
"I don't know. I was just wondering." And more quickly: "What
was it your granny said about the kitchen window?"

Jennet had an elaborate
frown that involved her whole face. She said, "I'll ha' naebodie tae play
wi', should ye run aff."

The cart bumped and
swayed over the rocky ground. From the village the faint sound of a crowd and
howling dogs rose up on the breeze. Dame Sanderson was fighting for her life to
please the man who fed her.

"I have a
grandmother, too," Hannah said gently. "And she doesn't know what
happened to me, or where I am, or even if I'm alive."

Jennet looked straight
ahead. "The laird wants yer faither tae stay."

Hannah said nothing.
The question was not what the laird wanted--that was clear--but whether Jennet
was enough of a friend to put Carryck's wants and wishes aside. For five
minutes or more she said nothing, and then Jennet straightened her shoulders resolutely.

"Come on,
then." She gathered her skirts together to hop off the wagon.

"Where are we
going?" Hannah asked.

"Hame by way o'
the kitchen window," Jennet said irritably. "Ye'll see soon enough
for yersel'."

They cut up over the
brae on a faint path that snaked around and between high stands of gorse
covered with tiny yellow flowers. There was a clean, sweet smell about the
hillside in the sun and Hannah was so happy to be walking again--walking
uphill-- that she did not mind the hot prickle of the nettle when it brushed
against her bare skin.

A startled grouse rose
up out of the heather and Jennet stopped to watch it go, shielding her eyes against
the sun. Then she pointed. "Ye see yon rowan tree?"

Hannah did, and said
so.

"There's a path
there that gaes doon tae the north side o' Aidan Rig. It's aye steep and rocky,
and I wadna chance it in the wet."

They walked on in
silence, Hannah working hard to remark the way: a boulder in the shape of a man's
face with moss pushing up through cracks in his cheeks, a stand of three
thistles taller than herself, and just beyond a grouping of young white pines.

In the meager shade of
one of the trees Jennet set herself on a large rock and wiped her face on her
sleeve. They were close enough to the falls to hear the rushing of water.

Hannah climbed up a
boulder to get her bearings. Just over this rise must be the wood that ran down
to Carryckcastle.

"No' that
road," said Jennet, reading her thoughts.

They walked through
the wood for a good ways, Hannah memorizing the trees as she went and marking
the position of the sun. All the time the sound of the waterfalls was getting
louder, and then the forest opened up.

They stood on the
shoulder of the mountain, with the whole valley spread out before them. A hawk circled
on the uplifting wind, a sign too obvious to be overlooked. The skin on Hannah's
back rose in a shimmer of renewed hope, as sweet and cool as the mist of the waterfall
rising up around them.

Jennet put her mouth
to Hannah's ear to be heard over the waterfalls. "There's nae time tae
show ye the way doon tae the vale but ye see there--" She pointed.
"The path. Ye need a guid hour, in the daylight."

They followed a spring
up from the rock face and back into the forest to where it disappeared into the
ground. Jennet turned to look at her, and Hannah saw many things on her face:
sadness and resignation, and through that still a sense of excitement.