God's Highlander (11 page)

T
HE ESKAIG SCHOOL was a huge success from the very first day. Children from the village arrived clean and tidy, glowing with excitement at the thought of their great new venture. Those who arrived from the surrounding mountains and glens had no ‘Sunday best', but they, too, were eager to obtain the mystic benefit of ‘an education'. The Highland families were asked to contribute two pence for each child sent to the school. Few possessed even such a trifling sum, but no child was turned away.

Much to Wyatt's relief the teaching arrangement proved highly successful. Within a matter of days the mutual antagonism between Evangeline and Alasdair Burns had changed to a grudging respect. Evangeline was impressed by the red-bearded man's knowledge and she admired his ability to impart it to his pupils. For his part, Alasdair Burns recognised that Evangeline had a natural teaching talent and she worked hard to overcome her lack of teaching experience.

Wyatt was well pleased with this, his first major project on behalf of his parishioners. He led prayers at the school on three mornings a week and on his latest visit had read a letter to the pupils from Lord Kilmalie. The Eskaig landlord promised a bible to each pupil when he, or she, was able to satisfy Wyatt they had reached a satisfactory reading standard. A race to be the first to receive a bible appeared to be developing between Ewan Munro and one of the older girls in Evangeline's class.

Wyatt believed every child in Eskaig was attending school, but one day, as he passed through Eskaig on his way to visit the Munro family, he heard a child's voice on the other side of a garden wall. Peering over the wall, he saw a boy of about the same age as Ewan Munro. Seated on a small patch of grass, the boy was throwing a stick for a small
black and white dog to retrieve and return to him. Both boy and dog were enjoying the game. Each time the boy threw the stick the dog would race off in pursuit, barking in excitement. Snatching up the wood, the dog returned it to the young boy, tail wagging in triumph.

‘That's a fine game you're enjoying there, young man, but wouldn't you rather be at school?'

The boy looked around, startled at the sound of Wyatt's voice. The dog dropped the stick, a growl rumbling at the back of its throat.

The dog rushed towards the garden wall, barking furiously and causing Wyatt to lose the boy's reply. The animal continued its din until a woman came from the house and ordered it inside. The dog obeyed her, but only when a closed door shut off its barking was it possible to hold a conversation. Wyatt repeated his question to the boy's mother.

‘Yes, he'd rather be at school. He'd prefer to be
anywhere
rather than here on his own. Unfortunately, before you can do any of the things other boys take for granted you need to be able to walk – and Jimmy hasn't walked since he was four years old. He has the palsy, Minister. There … do you see?' As she spoke, the woman lifted the child easily from the ground and swung him about to face Wyatt. The child's legs were thin and emaciated, incapable of supporting the weight of the smallest child. ‘
Now
you know why he isn't at school with the other children.'

‘I'm sorry, I didn't know….'

‘That's right, Minister Jamieson. You
don't
know. There are a lot of things you don't know about Eskaig folk, so why go around hurting people with your ignorance? Pack up your things and go back to wherever it is you've come from.'

The bitterness in the woman's voice took Wyatt by surprise. The boy was looking at Wyatt wide-eyed as the woman scooped him up. She was about to carry him indoors when Wyatt called to her again.

‘I hadn't finished talking. I didn't realise Jimmy was a cripple – but that's no reason why he shouldn't attend school.'

The woman stopped and looked back at Wyatt. She seemed to have some difficulty in digesting what Wyatt had just said to her, but Wyatt was looking at the expression on the face of the crippled boy.

Wide-eyed, the boy's glance went from Wyatt to the woman. ‘Can I go, Ma? Can I go to school?'

‘Hush now. That was
cruel
, Minister. You know full well a boy like Jimmy can never attend school. He can't take a step for himself….'

Wyatt's gaze had never left the face of the small boy, and he watched as the hope and joy seeped away.

‘Have you heard of a Bath chair? It's a chair with wheels, and a handle enabling the occupant to steer it while he's being pushed along. If Jimmy had one of those, he'd not only be able to attend school, but also be the envy of every boy there.'

‘A
Bath
chair, you say? I've never heard of such a thing. And where would we be getting one here, in Eskaig?'

Wyatt was remembering how cleverly Alasdair Burns had manufactured his wooden leg. ‘I think I know someone who might be able to make one for him.'

The young boy was squirming in his mother's arms. ‘Does it mean I can go to school, Ma? Please….'

When the woman still looked doubtful, Wyatt said quietly: ‘He'll learn to read. Books will open up a whole new world for him.'

‘I'm a widow-woman. I doubt if I could raise the money for his lessons. Buying books would be quite out of the question.'

‘No child has been turned away from my school because a fee hasn't been paid. As for books … when I think he's able to read and understand them, I'll find him books to read.'

This would pose no problem. The boatman had recently delivered two trunks containing all the books Wyatt had collected during his years at university.

The woman still seemed doubtful, but it would have taken a hardhearted woman to deny the child she held in her arms.

‘All right, Minister. I'll let Jimmy attend your school if you can provide one of these wheeled chairs…. And thank you.'

Alasdair Burns was less enthusiastic about Wyatt's promise that the teacher would be able to make a Bath chair. ‘I've seen one,' he confessed, ‘but it was made from a basketware chair, and it had wheels so small they'd need to be specially made.'

‘The chair poses no problem,' said Evangeline promptly. ‘We have one at home. I'll have it sent down in the pony trap this evening.'

‘The wheels might be more difficult to obtain,' conceded Wyatt. ‘They'd need to be as light as possible, but strong.'

Alasdair Burns snapped his fingers. ‘I've just thought of a man who
has exactly what we want. Kirkpatrick Macmillan is a blacksmith living down Dumfries way. He's been experimenting for years with velocipedes – they're a sort of two-wheeled hobby-horse. When I last met him he showed me one that could be propelled through a series of rods connected to the back wheel while keeping both feet off the ground.

‘With only
two
wheels?' Evangeline looked at Alasdair Burns accusingly, believing him to be making an untimely joke. ‘How could he keep his balance with both feet off the ground?'

‘I don't pretend to understand his ideas,' confessed Alasdair Burns, ‘but when I was in his smithy I saw wheels of all sizes adorning the walls. If I wrote him a letter, do you think the boatman who calls here would see it was delivered?'

Wyatt nodded. ‘Donald McKay works the full length of the west coast. He'll know how to get a letter to this Macmillan.'

 

Donald McKay proved Wyatt's confidence in him was not misplaced. Not only did he deliver the letter in person, but he also brought back three wheels made to the specifications requested by Alasdair Burns.

The one-legged schoolteacher had built a frame, complete with steering mechanism, and attached it to the basket-chair supplied by Evangeline. An hour after the wheels arrived at the manse, the home-made Bath chair was heading for the village, pushed by Alasdair Burns. Wyatt went with him.

By the time they reached the house where Jimmy lived the Bath chair was at the head of a growing procession of villagers. When the excited Jimmy was carried from the house by his mother most of the Eskaig residents were out of doors and a cheer went up as the excited boy was placed in the wheeled chair for the first time.

Ensconced in the chair, Jimmy was delighted with his new-found mobility. Weaving the Bath chair from one side of the narrow village street to the other, he was soon shrieking to be pushed faster.

Eventually Alasdair Burns brought the fun to a halt, fearful that the Bath chair might be smashed before it had a chance to perform its intended purpose. Hot but very, very happy, Jimmy reluctantly steered his new vehicle back to the garden gate, there to be lifted out and hugged by his mother.

Scarcely able to control her emotion, Jimmy's mother choked on her words as she thanked Wyatt.

‘Alasdair Burns is the man you should be thanking. It was his skill that built the chair for Jimmy.'

‘I do thank him, from the bottom of my heart, but it was
you
who made it possible. I won't forget this, Minister. I said some unkind things to you when we first met. I'm sorry. Eskaig is fortunate to have you here.'

Embarrassed by the woman's gratitude, Wyatt made his escape after telling Jimmy he expected to see him at school the following day.

‘Your skills have made one small boy and his mother very happy,' commented Wyatt as he and Alasdair Burns made their way back to the manse.

‘I trust that's
all
that's been done.' There was a concerned frown on the face of the red-bearded teacher as he limped along beside Wyatt. ‘Kirkpatrick Macmillan sent a letter to me with the wheels. It was addressed to Alasdair Burns
Anderson
. When I went to the jetty the letter was in the hands of John Garrett. He
said
nothing to me at the time, but I've an uncomfortable feeling that won't be an end to the matter.'

 

One Sunday, soon after the opening of the school, Wyatt found Mairi waiting for him when he left the Eskaig church at the end of his service. He had seen her inside with Donnie, the youngest of her brothers, but there was no sign of Donnie Ross now.

‘Mairi! I was delighted to see you at my service,' Wyatt greeted the Highland girl warmly. It had been a few weeks since they had last met. ‘Will you come to the manse and have some tea with me? Donnie, too, of course.'

Such an invitation extended to a young girl from an unmarried preacher would have shocked most of Wyatt's Eskaig parishioners. Having her brother along would make it
almost
acceptable.

Wyatt was disappointed when Mairi shook her head. ‘I must catch up with Donnie; he's gone on ahead. I wanted to speak to you. To ask a favour.'

‘If it's within my power, I'll be delighted.'

‘It's to do with your new school. I'd like to come to it.'

Wyatt was taken aback. He
had
toyed with the idea of starting reading classes for the older parishioners, in order that they might learn to read the Bible, but he had intended it to be more in the nature
of a Sunday school. He asked Mairi if perhaps she would not prefer to attend such classes.

Mairi shook her head emphatically. ‘No. I want to learn to read and write. To do sums … and learn about things, and places. Places where Pa and Ma … and you have been.'

‘I only teach twice a week, Mairi, and then it's religious instruction, not geography.'

‘Oh!' She managed to make her disappointment sound like surprise. ‘That doesn't matter. It'll be all right as long as I'm not taught by
her
.'

‘If by “her” you mean Miss Garrett, then I'm afraid it's “her” or nobody. Alasdair Burns won't teach girls of any age, and I find I'm too busy to take all except two classes a week.'

For some moments Mairi fought an inner conflict. Then she shrugged. ‘As long as she teaches me all the things I want to know, it'll be all right, I suppose.'

Wyatt was even less certain about the idea than Mairi herself. She would be far and away the oldest pupil in the school. Almost Evangeline's own age in fact. He was still mulling the matter over in his mind when Alasdair Burns came through the churchyard from the school, heading towards the manse. He and Wyatt made a habit of eating together at Sunday lunchtime.

‘You're just the man I want to see, Alasdair. Mairi has asked if she can attend our school. What do you think?'

‘It's a splendid idea. It might encourage other young men and women to come. I'd like to see the whole Highland community educated. They'd be less open to exploitation by all and sundry….'

Catching Wyatt's warning glance, Alasdair Burns grinned. ‘All right, Wyatt. One sermon in a morning's enough for anyone.' To Mairi he said: ‘Classes begin at nine in the morning – on the dot. The fee is two pence a week for those who can pay. Most can't, so you won't be barred on that count.'

‘No Ross has ever had to rely upon charity,' declared Mairi, head in air. ‘I'll pay my way.'

‘Then, you'll be most welcome at my school. You can begin tomorrow. '

‘Will you be staying in Eskaig during the week?' Wyatt asked the question, aware it took more than two hours of gruelling walking to reach the Ross cottage.

‘Coming to school won't mean I'll be let off my chores. I'll come from home each day.'

‘Then, you'd better bring a change of clothing with you and leave it at the manse. On a wet day you'll get soaked. You can't sit in a classroom all day in wet clothes.'

‘You're very solicitous about that young lady's well-being.' Alasdair Burns looked at Wyatt with a curious expression on his face as Mairi hurried away to catch up with her brother. ‘Is there something I should have been told about her before accepting her in my school so eagerly?'

‘No, but the decision came easy to you. You won't be teaching her. I hope Evangeline accepts her presence in school as readily.'