The Bairn

by Lesley Buchan Donald

It wis the mornin aifter the storm I fund her, lying at the high tide mark, tangled up in  lang tongues o wrack. The wind blew in aff the sea liftin her hair, white as the sand whaur she lay. First I thocht she wis drount, bit whan I pit oot ma haund an touched her face her een flew open an she lookit at me. I’ve nivir seen een the like; grey an green as the watters o the Minch. Barfit she wis an her linen shift naethin bit a tattrel, bit she didna seem feart tae find a tall chiel leanin ower her.

“Lets get ye inside whaur it’s dry an wairm” I said. 

Syne I happit her in ma jaiket an cairried her hame whaur I laid her in the big chair neist the range. 

“I’m awa tae get ma neebor. I’ll nae be lang” I telt her. 
 
Bit she wis awready asleep. 

Mairi wis a distant cousin o ma faither, an kept sheep on her croft. Times she rentit oot her spare room fur a wee bit extra spendin money. She wis pinin oot her washin whaun I arrived: sheets snappin and crackin in the wind. Afore I wis half-wye through ma tale she was in the hoose and scartin aboot in her press. She piled awthin in her laundry basket an gied it tae me. A pint o milk, a loaf an some new-baked scones that were coolin by the windae went intil her shopping bag an the pair o us hurried back tae ma croft.

We sat talkin quate-like, watchin the bairn as she slept. 

“She looks like her” whispert Mairi. 

“Like who?” I askit. 

“Elise of course. D’ye nae see it?”. 

Wi a suddentie the room seemed ower warm an stairnies daunced afore ma een. 

“Here. Drink this” said Mairi pourin me a dram. “Yer an awfa colour”. 

Elise. Elise. Nigh on seven years sin she’d chapped on the door o ma cottage. Near midnicht it wis. There she stood in the simmers dim, her reid curls blawin aboot her like tongues o flame. 

“They telt me at the ferry ye hid a room tae rent” she said. 

“Ah, it’s White Sand Cottage ower there you’ll be needin” I explained pointin tae the buildin at the ither end o the beach. “Bit Mairi’ll hae been abed these last twa hours. Ye’ve surely nae walked a the wye fae the ferry?” 

Tae this day I dinna ken whit happened. Maist folk on the island said I wis an uncoth sort o chiel. Bit I couldna very weel leave her staunin there, syne I maskit a pot o tea an we sat newsin by the range aw nicht. I telt her a aboot ma life an how I wis pairt Norwegian on ma faither’s side. Noo I think back on’t she telt me verra little aboot her kith an kin. Bit we lauched a lot. That wisna something I’d done fur a lang time. I’d shut up ma hert whaun ma mither an faither hid bin lost in a car crash. I cam hame fae the Uni fur the funeral an nivver gaed back, instead takin ower the faimly croft. Workin masel tae numb exhaustion maist days helpit me tae sleep. Weeks would gang by wi oot me seein onybody ither than Mairi or Andra the postie. 

By breakfast time I wis heid ower heels in luv.
 
Elise nivver went tae lodge at White Sands Cottage. We workit the land the gither, gaitherin seaweed an diggin it intil the sile. We plantit tatties, neeps an kale an took the wee boatie oot tae fish. Aw the while she would sing; strange wordless sangs like the wind in the machair. Oot on the rocks in the bay the seals seemed tae lift their heids an listen. 

She sewed a quilt for the big box bed whaur we slept curtained aff fae the rest o the warld. Somewye she hid captured the sea in the greys, greens and blues she’d used. On cauld  mornins I’d jump oot o bed, kittle up the range an pit the kettle on, afore divin back aneath the covers wi her. She’d surface whan the kettle stairtit tae whustle, gie me a last kiss syne slip on her goonie an swing her lang legs ower the side o the bed. She was fair skinned like maist reid heids wi a scatterin o freckles on her face. An how I lo’ed her. 
Aftimes I felt ma heart would burst wi it. Ae nicht, late December, we were cooried doon the gither whan she whispered in ma lug that she wis late. The baby was due in June, almaist a year since she’d chapped ma door in the middle o the nicht. We hid sich plans. Lyin the gither at nicht we’d talk aboot names for the bairn an I’d lay ma haund on her belly tae feel it turnin ower. 

I bocht her a siller luckenbooth oan a chain an she wore it every day. She wis wearin it the last time I saw her. We were oot fishing near the rocks where the seals lay. It hid been a glorious spring day. The sun wis glistenin aff the waves an Elise was leanin ower the side haulin in her line. A freak wave claucht the boatie an whaun I lookit she wis gaun. Nae splash or soond at aw. I cried her name; rowed back an forart frantic like. The seals watched me wi their roon black een. The lifeboat turned oot bit she wis nivver seen again. 

The first week I walkit the beach morn til nicht. Times I jist stood an screamed oot the pain intil the wind. Why hid God taken awbody I lo’ed? Doun-sinking cam ower me like a fug. Neebors cairied the boat up ayont the reach o the sea whaur it lay, pent peelin in the simmer sun. I stopit warkin on the croft; hardly ate onything; didna shave or wash ma claes. Aftimes I didna rise til the aifterneen. 

Ae morn in September Mairi came ower. She needed help wi the hairst. I tellt her I wisnae fit tae dae it. I turned fae the door, bit she followed me intil the hoose. She threw open the windae an pit the kettle on the range. 

“Awa an get washed an shaved “ she ordered. “ I canna manage the sheep on ma ain. An Dougie is comin wi the float this aifterneen”. 

That nicht for the first time sin I’d lost Elise I slept in the box bed. Bittie by bittie I got masel the gither. I stairtit tae gaither findins fae the beach; sea-scoured driftwid, bits o auld fish boxes, sea-glass an shells. In the evenin I pit them the gither tae mak wind-chimes thit glinkit an tingelt in the sea breezes. The sound brocht tae mind  her singin. 

Mairi jossled me oot o ma dwam. The bairn wis awake an reachin oot  tae me.  She uncurled her fingers like an anemone an there wis the luckenbooth. For a mintie I couldna breath. She slippit it intil ma haund. Ma heid wis filled wi the roar o the ocean,  an then I heard her. As clear as if she stood aside me. I heard Elise. 

“Ah ma luv, I’m heart sorry fur aw the pain I’ve gien ye. I tried sae mony times tae warn ye I wis leavin. I hid tae gang back tae ma ain folks tae birth oor child. An noo I maun bide here, in this form. Bit oor dochter should hae a better life on the land. I gied her the name Mara fur she is of the sea; half selkie, half human”