Bright Shining Woman

Orkney 1696

“Ye are all sinners,” ranted the meenister, “fornicators and drunkards. The lord will see retribution on ye. Noo, let us remember Willie Inkster lost last Thursday off the Bay O’Waals. We grieve fur his widow an bairns - there will be a retiring collection fur her.”

The meenister left the pulpit and clutching his bible he stationed himself by the door near the collecting boxes. Under his scrutiny even the meanest gave to widow Inkster who was now facing destitution unless fortune smiled upon her. She was a pale wee woman a little way back in the pews with her children; Hugh the eldest at seventeen, Gillian twelve, Thomas ten, Helga nine.

The meenister bagged the takings and handed it over.

“Margaret, it’s no much and ye’ll need mair help soon.”

Widow Inkster took the bag and curtsied.

“Thank ye Mister Logie. We hiv the croft and Erlend is strong noo.”

“Ah’ll no tak a fee fur the funeral - yir husband was a guid fisherman. Ah aye got a fish from him.”

“God rest his soul,” said Jean.

The meenister watched the family as they quitted the kirkyard and set off to walk to Quoylanks.

It was a poor place, next to the croft of Jacky Linklater and his wife Jean.

That reminded him; he must go and see her. She had been ill for several weeks now, bedridden.

She had four bairns all packed into that wee but and ben. Just one sitting room that doubled as a bedroom at night, a kitchen room with an open fire and one other lean to bedroom at the back where Jean was now lying under the covers.

Her best friend Lizzie visited nearly every day to care and comfort her.

He had heard rumours that Jacky was growing fond of Lizzie… o’er fond. It was not seemly with the wife not dead yet.

As he approached the Linklater croft he met Erlend, the oldest making ready the horse harrow to comb the inby field.

“Good day Erlend.”

“Whit’s good aboot it?”

“Why the Lord gave us this day whether it is rain or shine.”

“Will the Lord tak me mither?”

“The lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.”

Erlend turned away thinking,

“Hids always this way, pat answers.”

Just then Lizzie Foubister came out of the door of the croft, her face flushed.

She smiled at the meenister.

“How is Jean?” Said Reverend Logie.

“Nane better, nane better. Ah mak her as comfortable as possible.”

“And what of Jacky?”

“He is hale and hearty Mr Logie, hale and hearty.”

“Not too hearty, I hope.”

“He bears his burden well and he has a large burden wi fower children and the croft.”

Reverend Logie knocked and entered.

In a darkened room Jean lay, the covers up to her chin, the face dark the eyes sunken.

Jacky sat opposite.

“She is asleep Mr Logie. She sleeps a lot.”

“Aye ye hiv a lot on yir plate wi this and the children.”

“Lizzie helps a lot. She does the washing and helps oot wi the bairns. She is a comfort.”

“An whit’s yir relationship wi Lizzie?”

“Relationship?” Exploded Jacky. “She is Jean’s best friend, kent her from school.”

The minister said a prayer and left. The patient was sin free, her soul would ascend without trouble. And he had fired a warning shot across Jacky’s bow.

Outside he watched the youngest ones collecting eggs from the hens’ nests in the corn ricks.

He walked out over the hill to Heddle’s croft. It was much bigger.

Frederick Heddle had some acreage – nearly a hundred acres if you included some heathery hill. His wife Henrietta had brought some of it with her dowry.

But Fred was hard on his family, especially his son Donald. Always chiding him for poor work at school, for slowness in his duties round the farm. Donald was ages with Erlend Linklater.

As Mr Logie approached Donald was getting another bawling out.

“Donald, whit dey ye think ye are daying wi that harness.”

His father, lifting the reins struck Donald on the legs. Two weals appeared on the boys bare legs, but he did not cry out, sensing his father wanting him to.

“Fred whit are ye doin, cut that out,” cried the meenister, “this is yir first born son man.”

“He’s sullen an o’er lippy; he his tae learn,”

“Ah don’t think ye treat yer horses like that.”

“They do an honest day’s wark that’s why.”

“Let the boy go a meenit, Ah want tae talk to ye – it’s about Jean Linklater.

Ah saw Lizzie Foubister comin out the hoose. Whit’s the relationship atween Jack and Lizzie?”

“Why meenister yir minds fu o’ sins. Lizzie wis a school freend o’ Jeans an she’s helpin in her hour o’need, naething more that Ah kin see.”

“But she is an attractive wumman,” continued the meenister.

“She is that,” said Fred, “so you noticed too; a fine figure of a wumman. But that’s to be celebrated not condemned.”

Mr Logie, still unsatisfied turned on his heel and strode back to the manse.

Meanwhile at the Linklater croft, Lizzie Foubister had returned with a big pot of soup; she helped Jean to sip a little.

In the kitchen she brushed past Jacky. He put out his arm and pulled her to him, kissing her on the mouth.

“Jacky we mustn’a with Jean lying there.”

But she did not pull away.

At that moment Erlend opened the outside door and saw the pair in passionate embrace.

He stood stunned, then closed the door and ran…ran over the harrowed field, his footprints pressed into the newly raked earth.

His father, how could he, with his mum lying ill?

Erlend himself had grown fond of Lizzie secretly admiring her curvaceous body.

He cursed and

Impressum

Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG

Texte: alastair macleod
Bildmaterialien: alastair macleod; map and cover drawing purchased from Dreamstime Royalty free photos, acknowledgements to the artist Rainbowchaser.
Lektorat: alastair macleod
Übersetzung: cover titles in effloresce
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 23.04.2017
ISBN: 978-3-7438-0917-8

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Widmung:
To the Métis, and the Cree, the Inuit, and other Native American Nations. Disclaimer: The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.