God's Highlander (21 page)

W
HEN THE LITTLE steam-boat with Wyatt and Alasdair Burns on board increased speed to negotiate the narrow entrance to loch Eil, Wyatt could see the whitewashed houses of Eskaig in the distance. He experienced a feeling of coming home. It was very different from the uncertainty of his arrival only six months before. Yet Wyatt's future here was still threatened, but now it was by events that were happening elsewhere in Scotland.

While working to secure Alasdair Burns's release from prison, Wyatt had found time to meet with senior ministers of the Church in Edinburgh, and pay a visit to his former tutors at the university. All were deeply disturbed at the course being pursued by both Church and State. If a collision could not be averted, they agreed that the Church as they knew it could not survive.

On one side the so-called ‘moderates' accepted the State's right to dictate church policy. In opposition were those who declared their consciences would not allow them to accept State interference in religious affairs.

The contentious issues that had been festering for many years were finally coming to a head. The next few months would decide what would happen – and whether Wyatt would remain as Eskaig's minister.

Putting these thoughts behind him, Wyatt looked to see if there was a ‘reception committee' at the jetty. He could see only one man seated on the ground beside the flimsy jetty, and the shrill note of the steam-boat's whistle failed to bring anyone else hurrying from the village.

‘That's strange.' Donald McKay frowned as he pointed the stubby bow of the steamer shorewards. ‘There's usually at least half a dozen villagers to meet me. Something must be wrong.'

‘There aren't even any children. With no school to attend, I'd expect to see them racing each other to meet us.'

‘Who's that at the jetty?' Donald McKay swung the wheel, manoeuvring his boat against the current that was sweeping them too fast towards the low shoreline.

Wyatt shook his head. ‘We're still too far away. I don't recognise him.'

‘I do.' Alasdair's voice was filled with foreboding. ‘It's Hamish Murdoch.'

For a moment the name meant nothing to Wyatt. Then he remembered: Hamish Murdoch was the Edinburgh physician who had come to examine young Jimmy Gordon.

The physician's half-hearted wave when they drew nearer fuelled the fears of the two passengers. They were confirmed when Wyatt stepped ashore and asked about the young patient.

‘There was nothing I could do for him.' Hamish Murdoch's disconsolate shrug was an expression of the helplessness he felt.

‘Is Jimmy … dead?' Alasdair Burns put the question.

The physician nodded a reply.

Alasdair Burns was deeply distressed. He stood with fists tightly clenched for some minutes before he would trust himself to speak. ‘It's my fault. Had I not been arrested….'

Hamish Murdoch shook his head vigorously. ‘It's
nobody's
fault. I could have done nothing for the boy had I arrived weeks – or even
months
– earlier. I made this clear to the child's mother, and his grandfather. I've seen too many children with this particular form of palsy.
Far
too many. We haven't yet found a cure. One day, perhaps….'

‘I'm sorry you've had a wasted journey.' Wyatt could think of nothing else to say.

‘Not
entirely
wasted.' The physician reached in a pocket and pulled out a piece of lead shaped like a tiny musket-ball. ‘I extracted this from the leg of a small boy. It's one you missed, I believe, although you did an excellent job on the others. I examined the boy's father, too. I'm not an expert on tropical diseases, so there was little I could do to prevent his recurrent fevers. However, the man also has a serious chest complaint, and I fear it will grow worse. I told him he should really move to a place with a more congenial climate. I doubt if he'll consider my advice. He's a stubborn Highlander.'

The Edinburgh doctor threw his bag in the boat. ‘I also treated a number of your people who came to me at the manse with their ailments. Some I was able to help, others I could not. One of the latter was a rather forward young lady named Fraser – Seonaid Fraser. I'm inclined to believe she came to the manse seeking your advice, rather than my medical diagnosis. Be that as it may, the girl's pregnant.'

Wyatt called on Janet Gordon before going home to the manse. Angus Cameron and his wife were also in the house, together with a number of villagers who had come to pay their respects to the little boy.

On the voyage from Glasgow, Wyatt had told Alasdair Burns the villagers had been informed of his past. The schoolteacher was nervous of his reception when he returned to Eskaig. He need not have worried.

When he asked hesitantly if he might go to the room where Jimmy lay in order to pay his last respects, the grieving mother agreed immediately.

‘Of course! You did more than anyone in Eskaig to make Jimmy's last months happy. He thought the world of you. You've suffered for him, too. You'd not have been thrown into prison by the factor had you not gone to Edinburgh for a surgeon. You'll always have a place at the table in this house, Mr Burns. In every other house in Eskaig, too, I dare say.'

The nod of agreement from Angus Cameron surprised Wyatt. Highlanders were an unpredictable people. Fiercely independent and frequently scornful of the laws of the land himself, the Highlander was inclined to distrust others who broke the law. Wyatt had anticipated trouble in having Alasdair Burns reinstated as Eskaig's principal teacher. Janet Gordon's words, backed up by Angus Cameron's approval, meant the villagers had accepted Alasdair Burns as one of ‘their own'. He would be free to do as he wished as long as he remained loyal to the closely knit little community.

It was a great relief. Not having to fight for the teacher's future left Wyatt free to tackle the many other problems beginning to press in upon him. He carried a letter for Charlotte Garrett from her daughter, explaining why she had left home so hurriedly and giving the reason for the continuing absence of father and daughter. Evangeline trusted the servants to take care of her mother, but Mrs Garrett was unpredictable.

Wyatt walked to the factor's home the following morning. He had the funeral of Jimmy Gordon later in the day, but Evangeline had been concerned for her mother. Wyatt had promised to deliver the letter personally at the very earliest opportunity.

For once Wyatt walked along the edge of the loch without either noticing the beauty of his surroundings or pausing to admire the soaring eagles crying to each other as they maintained a hunter's vigil above the surrounding mountains.

Wyatt was thinking of the duty he had to perform later in the day. A funeral was always a sad occasion. That of a child such as Jimmy Gordon, who had experienced so few of God's blessings during his young life, particularly so. Doubtless the young boy who had suffered such affliction in this life would reap a just and welcome reward in heaven. Unfortunately, few grieving parents gained immediate comfort from the promise of
heavenly
riches when God had withheld so much from their young child in
this
world. Wyatt admitted
he
did not always understand God's workings, but he had a faith that could accept even those things he found confusing.

The door to the Garrett house was opened to Wyatt by the same dour, heavily built servant who had greeted him on earlier visits. She had never been unduly impressed by the presence of a visiting minister of the Church, and this morning was no different. Before he had time to utter a greeting, she said: ‘The factor's not at home, and if it's Miss Evangeline you're after, then you probably know more of her whereabouts than
we
do.'

The servant's unwelcoming words were accompanied by such a sniff of disapproval that Wyatt was left in no doubt about her opinion of
him
.

‘I'm here to deliver a letter to Mrs Garrett, to tell her about Evangeline and her father.'

‘Who is it, Binnie? Don't stand there with the door open. It's costing a fortune to heat the house as it is. Send them about their business.' The shrill voice of Charlotte Garrett came from the top of the stairs leading from the hall behind the servant.

Rolling her eyes in an exaggerated expression of overstretched patience, the servant's large bosom heaved a great sigh and she turned back into the house.

‘It's the minister from Eskaig. He says he's got news of the master and Miss Evangeline.'

‘Tell him my husband's not in the house at the moment and I don't know when he'll be back. He must try again this evening – and send Evangeline to my room. She's to stop hiding from me. She knows how it upsets me.'

Charlotte Garrett's voice was shrill and complaining. There was something more in the voice, too….

Wyatt stepped past the servant into the hall. Charlotte Garrett stood at the top of the stairs dressed in her nightdress, over which she was wearing an old jacket. Her hair was so untidy it could not have come in contact with a hair-brush for many days.

‘It's me, Mrs Garrett. Minister Jamieson. I've brought you a letter from Evangeline. She asked me to deliver it to you personally. She and her father have gone to London together, from Edinburgh.'

‘Edinburgh? London?' Charlotte Garrett seemed totally bewildered.

‘Will you come down? I'll explain it to you.' Wyatt moved to the foot of the stairs and, still confused, Charlotte Garrett descended very slowly.

The servant had closed the front door. Crossing the hall to stand hardly a pace away from Wyatt, she said: ‘She's worse than ever this time. She shouldn't be left alone. The factor knows well enough what she's like. He should have someone looking after her.'

Charlotte Garrett reached the hall and gave Wyatt a smile as though he was an invited guest and she suitably dressed to receive him. ‘Shall we go to the breakfast room? There's a nice fire there. You must be feeling the cold after your journey. Binnie, we'll have some tea, if you please.'

Scotland was enjoying an unusually warm late summer, but there was a roaring fire in the large grate in the breakfast room.

Charlotte Garrett stood with her back to the fire and beamed at Wyatt. ‘Please take a seat. I'm so sorry John isn't here to greet you. He won't be long, I don't suppose….' Suddenly a worried expression came to the face of the factor's wife. ‘I
do
wish I knew where Evangeline was. She shouldn't be absent when we have guests. That girl worries me, Minister. Do you have any children of your own?'

Wyatt shook his head. ‘No … but I've brought you a letter from Evangeline. She says you're not to worry about her. She's thrilled about going to London and promises to write to you from there.'

‘London? No, you must be mistaken. We were talking together only
this morning….' Breaking off the conversation, Charlotte Garrett put a hand to her head. It's this silly game she's playing with me. Hiding away. Pretending she can't hear when I call. I do wish she wouldn't. She knows how I worry….'

Suddenly Charlotte Garrett looked at the letter in her hand. Casually she turned, and before Wyatt could prevent her she had thrown it into the flames of the fire.

‘If you'll excuse me, Minister.' Charlotte Garrett held a hand to her forehead, her face contorted with pain. ‘Excuse me, please. It's this headache. Stay for tea…. Evangeline will be here in a moment or two, I'm sure….'

Charlotte Garrett crossed the room and hurried out through the doorway, almost colliding with the servant-girl who entered carrying a laden tea-tray.

Clucking her disapproval, the servant put the tray down on a small table.

‘How long has Mrs Garrett been like this?'

‘As long as I've been here – and that's a sight longer than anyone else. Sometimes she's worse than others. She's always at her best when Miss Evangeline's about. I don't think that girl believes me when I tell her what her mother's like sometimes.'

‘Has a doctor seen her?'

The servant gave Wyatt another of her smirks. ‘She's been seen by half the doctors this side of the border – and a great many on the other side, too. None of 'em has done her any good. She's some medicine upstairs, but it's the devil's own job to get her to take it. Not that it helps her. If you ask my opinion, I'd say that more than anything else she needs a husband to care for her –
really
care, I mean.'

‘Does she have a personal maid?'

‘Not any more. Poor Mary was almost as simple as
she
is. Anyway, she left last week.'

‘See if you can find another maid for her from the village. Someone who'll help with her hair and ensure she dresses properly. I'll account for what I've done to Evangeline when she returns.'

‘I don't mind explaining it to
her
myself – but it's that father of hers.
You
explain it to him.'

Wyatt did not relish the thought of telling John Garrett why he was interfering in the domestic affairs of the Garrett household, but he
nodded. ‘I'll take care of it. You find a girl – and be sure she understands she's employed to look after Mrs Garrett. I'll look in tomorrow to see how things are going.'

‘Thank you, ‘Minister.' It was more civil than the servant had been upon his arrival, but as Wyatt turned towards the door she called him back.

‘Minister … if you see that draggletail Fraser girl on the road between here and Eskaig, will you tell her what you know of the whereabouts of the factor?'

‘She's been here seeking him?'

‘If I had a sovereign for every time I've opened the door to her, I wouldn't need to work any more. She's been here three times this past week. She won't believe
me
when I say I don't know when the factor will be back. You tell her; she might take more notice of you.'