The Skye in June (4 page)

“
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” Granda B said. “Right you are, lassie, no to cry ‘cause of them. You’re a brave one, Annie, you are.”

Annie nodded solemnly. She knew that crying was not encouraged in her Scottish household, whereas bravely defending yourself had a place of honor. 

She continued her ranting against the boys downstairs. “And they said we was stupid papist cows. Them boys are ugly bad proddies. Right, Daddy?”

Before her father could answer, a male voice yelled loudly from downstairs.
“Billy! Hurry up, man!”

“Hold ye
r bloody horses!” came the loud response from the flat upstairs. Billy, in his early twenties, skidded down onto the MacDonalds’ landing. He stopped short when he saw Jimmy and Granda B standing, glaring at him. Billy had known both men for most of his life, but in that moment, he eyed them as though he had happened upon the enemy camp. His bowler hat and orange sash across his chest was the uniform of his Protestant team. The young man quickly ducked his head so as not to look at the two, although he did manage to mumble a greeting. Granda B acknowledged the greeting with a cock of his head.

Billy continued thumping down the stairs, staying close to the stone wall to put as much space as possible between him and the two men. He had gone only a few steps past the landing when Granda B said loud enough for his comment to echo,
“That wee
bauchle
is lucky I’m no longer a young man. He’d be eating that orange sash.” Granda tickled Mary’s plump belly. She laughed and hugged her grandfather tightly.

Jimmy guffawed at G
randa name-calling of Billy who indeed fit the description of a bauchle: short and heavy with a disheveled appearance and awkward gait.

The door opposite the MacDonald
s’ opened. Mrs. MacSwan, a short, round woman in her mid-sixties, came out arranging an orange sash on her shoulder. Satisfied with her uniform, she looked up to see her neighbors staring at her. Her warm, light-brown eyes and ruddy face gave her a merry look.

“
Oh! Hullo there, gentlemen and young ladies,” she sang out in a cheery voice.

The men nodded slightly to her.

“Hullo, Mrs. MacSwan” Annie said, smiling broadly. She liked her kindly neighbor and the homemade treats she baked.

The spry elderly lady didn
’t miss a step on her mission to join the growing noise of the parade. “Cheery-bye! Off I go,” she called out behind her. Mrs. MacSwan was off to the Orange March.

With the day
’s purpose in mind, both men shook their heads at the irony of the woman’s friendliness.

The MacDonald
s’ front door was cracked open wide enough for the delicious smell of baking steak pie to waft through to the landing. The enticing scent––a reminder that good times were still available to the family––drew the four back into the flat.

Granny B was cooking the big Sunday dinner, a family tradition to which everyone looked forward. Cathy sat in the overstuffed chair with three-year-old June on her lap. Mother and daughter looked alike. Both were petite with small, straight noses and large eyes. The most noticeable difference was Cathy’s light blonde hair, which paled in comparison to June’s bright red ringlets.

Maggie, who was strawberry blonde with green eyes, sat on the floor next to the chair listening to the story. Helen lay in her parent
’s alcove bed in the big kitchen, sleeping soundly after a night of difficult breathing. “She has a cold,” the MacDonalds agreed.

In a soft,
lyrical voice, Cathy was telling her daughters a favorite story. It was the same one her mother had told her when she was a little girl. “Green Lady, Green Lady, come down for your tea. Your tea is all ready and waiting for thee.”

Granda B interrupted the story when he came into the kitchen, holding Mary. He put her down and she quickly ran over to her mother.
“What’s wrong, hen?” Cathy asked, cupping her daughter’s tear-stained face in her hands.

As Cathy comforted Mary, June slid off her mother
’s lap and walked over to Helen. She stood on her toes to get a better view of her sister lying on the top cover, apparently asleep. No matter how she struggled to climb up into the bed to be with Helen, she slid back down again. Everyone else in the room was focused on Jimmy’s story about how Annie bravely stood up to a proddy.

At the end of the story, Granda B kept his promise.
“Granny, give Mary a wee sweetie to help her feel better.”

As she reached up to the cupboard, Granny
’s hand froze in midair at the startling sound of June’s wail, “Mammy, Mammy! Ell-ell!” which was how June pronounced Helen’s name.

June
’s yelling was unnerving Jimmy. Gruffly, he told her to be quiet. “Will you no wheest June! Get away from there.”

“I’ll see to it,” Granny said handing a package of biscuits to Annie. Granny tried to shoo June away to no avail. Smoothing back Helen’s dark-brown hair, Granny B’s eyebrows furrowed when she saw her granddaughter flushed with fever. Helen’s health was a constant worry to Granny B. She worried about of how puny her four-year-old granddaughter was in comparison to her other rosy-faced grandchildren. Even June, a year younger than Helen, was already a bit taller than her ailing sister.

She tilted her gray head and put her ear close to Helen
’s mouth. “Mother of God!” she cried out. “I think the wean’s no breathing!”

Cathy quickly joined her mother. Leaning close to Helen
’s face, she heard only a very slight breath. “Oh Mammy, shouldn’t we get her to the hospital?”

“
For God’s sakes girl, you can’t think of going out there now,” Granda B said as he sat down at the kitchen table.

The sound outside grew to a loud drumming. Suddenly, the crashing sound of breaking glass interrupted them.
“Shit,” Jimmy said as he ran out of the room and toward the noise.

His three older girls stood near a broken window. A brick lay near it. Annie picked it up and was ready to throw it back outside. The Irish Twins jumped up and down cheering her on.

Maggie and Mary shouted shrilly, “Throw it back at them!”

The noisy drumming and loud singing was now right outside the window. Adrenalin rushed through Jimmy, his heart beating wildly from the growing tension. He didn
’t want things to get out of his control. Quickly, he grabbed Annie by the back of her blouse to keep her from throwing the brick.

“
Get back to the kitchen!” he yelled.

He led the girls toward the kitchen and away from the broken window.

“Jimmy, Helen’s needing a doctor. Now!” Granny B said forcefully.

The group jumped, startled at her loud pronouncement.

“Are you daft, woman? Did you no hear that crash in there? There’s nothing but trouble out there for us,” Granda B said, opposing her command.

Helen started to gasp loudly. Jimmy looked over at his wife cradling their sick daughter. With troubled eyes she begged softly,
“Please.”

“
Aye, alright.” Turning to his father-in-law, he announced firmly, “The women are right about this, Dad. We have no choice.”

Silence spread across the room as the seriousness of Helen
’s condition sank in. June’s shrieking cries broke the silence as Helen’s body thrust back and became rigid. The indecision was broken.

Granda B picked up his cap and jacket.
“Right you are then. Give me the wean. Jimmy, you stay put.”

“
No, Dad. I’ll take her myself. The rest of you just wait.” Jimmy said.

“
I’m going too. She needs her mother.” Cathy began to wrap the sick girl in a large woolen shawl.

“You’ll need me to help, Jimmy. We’ll go to the corner shop and phone for a taxi. Granny’ll stay with the girls,” Granda B said.

June started to wail and her grandmother picked her up in hopes of stopping the disturbing noise.
“It’s no that bad, henny. See. Helen’s nicely now.”

The wailing girl couldn
’t be comforted. Stretching out her hands to her sick sister, she screamed like a
banshee
, “Ell-ell!”

The high afternoon sun directed its brilliance onto Jimmy’s face as he emerged from the dimness of the building. He put one arm up to his eyes to deflect the sun while the other arm tightened around the blanketed girl. He paused, uncertain of the best way to get around the crowd. Cathy, frantic to keep moving, bumped right into him. Granda B, bringing up the rear, moved the family forward with purpose. 

The marching band passing by brought forth loud singing of a tune well known to the Protestants on the street, which was meant to offend the Catholics. The anxious trio knew they were in a dangerous situation and worried about being stopped. But it wasn
’t easy to move past the exit of the building: It was blocked by a group of young men watching the parade, cheering and yelling as it passed by.

Jimmy tried to push his way through the group by throwing out his arm in a sweeping motion.
“Come now. Out the way,” he yelled.

A young, dark-haired man, who appeared to be drunk, took quick offense at being pushed aside.
“Hey, Mac, where’d yer think yer going?”

Jimmy answered him in an uncharacteristically quiet manner,
“Look man, we’ve a sick wean here. Will you no get out of our way?”

The troublemaker grinned foolishly for a second, then drew his lips into a sneer. A fighter himself, Jimmy knew what could follow a look like that. In a preemptive first strike, Jimmy shoved the hooligan, sending him stumbling backwards. The group of young men, in anticipation of the escalating brawl, tightened the circle around Jimmy
’s family.

Granda B stepped out from behind Cathy to tower above them all. He addressed the dark-haired young man,
“Come on now, Andy.” And to the others he simply said, “All of you move aside. Let the woman come through.” The group parted.

Jimmy stood silently, awed by how his father-in-law seemed to know so many people in Glasgow. Still apprehensive, Jimmy handed Helen to Cathy in order to free both hands in case of further trouble. A broad-shouldered young man pushed Jimmy from behind. The shove felt more like a punch and forced him to stumble forward into the group of Protestants.

An older man put a hand up to the tall bully, stopping his next move. “Easy now, lad.”

But the young Protestant did not back off. His beet-red Scottish face showed hi
s eagerness for a confrontation––a good fight for the cause. He raised his fists and spat out from his snarled lips, “Bloody papists pigs.”

A small, round ball of a woman holding an orange banner on a wood
en stick slapped the aggressor’s arm. Her strong hit was precise and stinging “for such a wee lady,” according to revelers at the pub later that day.

“Glenn Brown
! Don’t you dare hurt that wean,” the round woman said. “Hands down, now!” She turned to Cathy, “Come along, Mrs. MacDonald.”

Everyone stopped, as if frozen in time. The young man
’s fists dropped as he stepped back and carried out Mrs. MacSwan’s instructions. Her many years as a schoolteacher had perfected her ability to stare down the hooligans.

The group stopped bothering Jimmy
’s family and turned away to watch the parade. The three scurried quickly down the street, sticking close to the safety of the buildings and away from the crowd.

The sign hanging lopsided on the door of the corner store stopped them in their tracks. It said in bold capital letters,
“CLOSED FOR ORANGE WALK.”

“
That can’t be. It bloody well can’t be,” Jimmy mumbled.

At first he knocked loudly on the door and then began to pound frantically on it. His voice got louder.
“Open up! It’s Jimmy MacDonald. We need your phone. It’s an emergency. Open up!”

Cupping his eyes to peer into the darkened shop, he could see a telephone but could hear no sounds inside. No one would open up for him.

“Son, it’s no use. Let’s get going,” Granda B said taking hold of his son-in-law’s arm.

“
Where, Daddy?” Cathy anxiously looked up at her father.

He helplessly looked out at the sea of raucous people passing by, waving colorful orange banners held high.

Suddenly Helen’s limp body jerked backward and then slowly went limp. Cathy pushed the shawl aside and looked down at her daughter’s ashen face. Helen’s eyes were wide open in a vacant stare.

“
No. No. Please, Mother of God. Not my wee lassie,” she sobbed, shaking her head in denial. “Helen!” she screamed over and over, desperately calling her daughter back into her world.

Jimmy stepped forward to catch his still daughter as his wife collapsed to the pavement. She refused to give Helen up. The drumming had grown faint as the parade moved farther down the road.

* * * * *

Chapter
5

F
AMILY SORROW