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The doctor came back in the evening, and let several pints of blood into the specially cut china bowl. Neil stayed at Gillan’s side to make sure he didn’t move and upset the process, while Sheila watched, her skin ashen and her gaze empty. Dr. Coldwell left a number of bottles with her, the contents of some of which were to be drunk, while others were to be spread across the places where the skin had been sliced open to prevent infection. They had all dropped into deep sleep following the astonishment of Gillan’s dread appearance and the despair following the doctor’s diagnosis.
Sheena was the first to wake the next morning. She rolled over to look at where her stepfather lay to make sure it hadn’t been a dream. His large body was still visible under the blankets, unmoving. Her mother lay curled up on the floor beside, her head resting on the side of the wrapped mattress, an arm outflung toward her charge. Sheena sniffed.
She rose and crept over to them. There was as yet little light from the day, but the coals in the brazier cast a reddish glow over things and made their outlines visible. She looked down on her stepfather, willing him to open his eyes, but he made no move. Sheena felt her breath coming fast, and felt she was about to panic with the sadness that hung over the whole scene, their whole life. She grabbed her thick shawl and quickly retreated to the outside hallway, where she took a few steadying breaths, then descended the stairs.
She collected the refuse that could feed her chicks from the back dooryard, and went to tend them, taking comfort in their simple-minded gratitude. She waited in the cool dawn, breathing in the foggy air. When she saw movement in the upstairs window, she was reluctant to start back to their rooms. It was a cooler morning than they had been used to during their summer trips to the ridge.
Sheila was up and bustling around to rouse everyone for the day’s work. When she came to Sheena’s place and found it empty, she looked sharply round. When she saw her younger daughter creeping back in a few minutes later, she expelled her breath slowly, and called to her with a look and a hand.
“Where’ve you gone, Sheena?”
“I—I was just out for some fresh air, Mother. It’s nice and cool out today, it is.”
Sheena had not thought her mother would notice or worry. She wriggled under her mother’s continuing stern gaze. “I have a small project, Mother, that I’m working on. It needs tending every morning and night, but other than that, it’s a surprise.” She spoke softly, hesitantly.
Sheila grabbed her in a hug. “Oh, my girl, I’m not doubting. Of course it’s fine, my good girl. You’ll let me know when it’s no longer a surprise?” Sheena nodded, relieved.
The others had woken, taken a cup from the water pitcher, and gone out for their own, not-so-secret chores. Sheila remained with her husband to doctor him, accepting that they would not be going back to the ridge for some time.
The family was back together for the noon meal, Gillan still unconscious, but emitting a groan from time to time. They held a family conference over what might have happened.
“Don’t you think that Macrieff man may have had summat to do with it?” Neil asked. “He’s mentioned in Da’s last letter, and we know he was a fair rascal last time they met.”
The younger children looked questioningly at Sheila at this remark, for they did not remember any Mr. Brown of Macrieff. Sheila sighed.
“Aye, well, that Mr. Brown deserved more’n he got, let me tell you. He was certainly a rascal, and it’s no wonder he’s here, as no one on the island would want him. The wonder is that your father would have run into him. It may well be Brown, Neil, taking it out on your father here where there is little law and order.”
Muirne looked at the sleeping form, and whispered, “Could it have been about unions? I know there was talk about them at home, causing mischief when there was a strike on. Do they do that here too, where Father might have been going to get work?”
“Oh, I doubt it,” said Sheila. “Too many people wanting to work, I’d wager.”
They fell silent again.
“What are we to do about him then?” Neil asked. “Are we to stop work on the ridge while the weather is so fine, and find ourselves homeless still at the end of the summer? It’s already close on September, and it gets colder here than at home, and quicker, they say.”
“Or we split up again,” Muirne said. The sadness now fell around them thicker than before. It seemed to fill the air like so much thick cotton, but then there came an insistent knocking from down below to dispel it. Evidently Mrs. Conaghey was out on her rounds again, and someone wanted to be let in. Alisdair jumped up to perform the duty.
He came back trailing a slack-jawed Mr. Turner in his wake. Apparently he had been apprised. As he stood in the doorway, he attempted to make excuses for his appearance. “I am so very sorry to drop in on you without invitation, ma’am. I had thought to accompany you back up the mountain, and so came to seek you in town. I had no idea—”
“My husband’s only just arrived yesterday, Mr. Turner. Although he did encounter Mrs. Conaghey and pass a few words, so the whole town may already know,” said Sheila.
A brief grimace came and went on the man’s face. “Had I known—” his voice ended abruptly. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sure you don’t need me here. I shall go. I wish him a rapid recovery.” Without a glance at Muirne, he turned and left the doorway he had occupied. She felt some urge to go after him, but decided it could wait, if it happened at all. Would Mr. Turner still want her with yet another burden into the bargain?
When there was a change in Gillan’s symptoms later that day, the doctor was called back, and his violent shivering was deemed to be a result of an infection settling into fever. Sheila stayed close to him, mopping his brow, listening for any words from the mouth of her husband, sensing the end was near.
The others came and went, dozed and woke later in the night, and constantly wondered what had happened to bring their father so low. What would happen to them now? During one vigil, Muirne hovered close by her mother’s side. Sheila had remained grim and quiet but Muirne noticed when she started making a small noise. She was trying not to awaken anyone, but she was sobbing. Muirne put her arm around her mother’s waist as they knelt by the bed, and her mother clutched at her head. Muirne could feel the heaving of her chest, but felt only bleakness herself.
“Muirne?” her mother whispered.
“What is it?”
“I’ve been such a bad wife, these past months.” Her eyes were bleak and staring at the unconscious Gillan as she whispered her guilt to Muirne. “I haven’t loved him as I should have done.”
Another grimace of pain on Sheila’s face.
“But, Mother, I’m sure you—”
“No.” It came out grating and low. “I took back my trust from him. And he knew it. It was the last thing he needed.” She turned to her daughter. “When you marry, Muirne, ye mun work through it for yerself, but never desert a man who’s done his best by ye.” Her last syllable curled up into a high-pitched sob, ripped from the mouth of the woman who was trying so hard to keep it in.
––––––––
Past two o’clock it was when Sheila closed his eyes for the last time. Neil was up, saw what she’d done, and came over to put his arm around her. She wept, but quietly. Now, in the dark, she could weep for all the harsh blows Fate had dealt them in the space of a year.
“We’ll pay for his burial on credit,” she choked out. “And go back to the ridge.” Neil smoothed the cloth over her shoulder blades, wondering what would be done about Muirne’s two suitors, but electing not to bring it up until after the burial. He would talk with Muirne when the time came and see what she wanted. For now, it was mourning time. The mourning of more than just a husband and a father, but of their hopes of a new start for the family. It would be a new start, but for rather a broken family.