Northern Lights

The family had been through many storms, and had come into calmer waters . . .

IKILLED my mother.” Maggie’s words made Lilias reel. She remembered this room as it was six years ago after her daughter’s funeral. Vividly she saw a twelve-year-old girl crouched against a wall in the shadows, horror in the staring eyes.

“Your pa shielded ye?” Maggie nodded.

“He made me promise no’ to tell anyone what I’d done.”

Lilias gasped. She had never forgiven her son-inlaw for his wife’s death.

“But he never denied it! He turned me oot and warned me never to return. Now I see – he wanted ye to have peace o’ mind and my presence would be a constant reminder!”

It seemed Walter Cargill had denied her access to her grandchildren for love of his troubled wee lass.

Lilias hirpled across the floor and sank on to the fireside chair, holding cold hands to the heat. Gusts of wind moaned through the cracks in the storm door.

“When Papa died and you came here I could not look ye in the eye.”

“There was bad blood between us,” Lilias agreed. “But your pa’s gone, God rest him. I need tae ken the truth now.”

Maggie sat down on the rug at her grandmother’s feet, staring into the fire.

“Do ye remember there was a glut o’ herring the winter Mama died?”

“Every fishwife remembers that!” Lilias’s eyes gleamed. “Huge shoals abandoned the northern waters for the south. Fisher fleets were oot in force all along the east coast.”

Maggie nodded. “Papa was out day and night in his five-man yawl. Then word came that caller herring were fetching higher prices in Aberdeen.

“We needed the money so Mama urged Papa tae cast his nets further up the coast. He was sweer tae leave because there was illness doing the rounds that winter and Mama had a cough. She just said she was fine, so off he went.”

A log caught and flared, making Maggie jump.

“Soon after Papa left, a storm brought blizzards and gales. He reached Aberdeen and sold his catch, but the ship was stormbound.”

Lilias nodded. “Arbroath aye suffers when strong winds bring freezing air from the far north where the whalers go. Mama and I brought in a large supply o’ fuel from the shed,” Maggie went on. “We tended the fires day and night to keep the house warm. Then snow piled up in drifts, blocking the door, and we couldna get out.” She shivered. “Mama’s illness grew worse. Her chest hurt and soon she could hardly breathe. I gave her a hot drink wi’ honey and she kissed me and seemed better. That evening I fed the young ones and sent them off to bed early, for I knew I must tend the fires.” Maggie breathed deep. “Mama called out. I went through to the bedroom and found her feverish. I didn’t know how to help so I sat holding her hand. It soothed her and after a while her breathing eased.

“She drifted into a peaceful sleep. I’d only meant to sit a few minutes and get on wi’ the work, but I fell asleep. It was the freezing cold that roused me, hours later.”

Maggie turned to Lilias, stricken.

“Grandma, I hadn’t stoked the fires! I ran through the house and found cold ash in every grate and the air like ice. I tried to relight the stove but it wouldna burn for me.

“I ran back to ask Mama what to do, but she lay cold and lifeless. And then I knew I’d killed my mother.”

Maggie buried her face in

her hands.

Lilias leaned forward. “Lassie, listen tae me now! You hardly knew your grandpa Spink. When our lass fell in love wi’ your pa there were arguments and bitter rows till she ran away and married him. We never forgave your pa for stealing her awa’. Now I ken, too late, that he would hae been a true son tae us.”

She wiped her tears away.

“One rainy day your grandpa came home soaking wet after fishing. At first I thought he’d caught the cauld, but the illness grew worse and followed the same course ye just described.

“I, too, sat by my man’s bedside and held his hand tae soothe his struggle. I watched as he settled to sleep wi’ a peaceful sigh. Syne I kissed his dear lips as he drifted gently awa’ to the land o’ the leal.”

Lilias fell silent for a few minutes.

“There’s a nurse in Auchmithie wha’ put a name tae his illness, Maggie. She said it was an ill humour o’ the lungs that surgeons call pneumonia. I’m sure your mama also succumbed tae it.” Maggie lifted her head. “It wasna my fault?” “No. The illness already had the upper hand and nothing could save her. But you sat by your mama’s side wi’ a warm, loving hand clasped in hers. She was not alone as she slipped peacefully awa’ tae join her pa in the land o’ the leal. This should bring peace o’ mind tae both o’ us, Maggie.”

After a tearful silence, Maggie nodded.

“Aye, it does, Grandma.” They hugged, sat in the firelight’s friendly warmth.

Aboard the Floating Light the Bell Rock workforce felt the full fury of the storm at sea. Alec Cargill and his workmates feared for their lives at times but survived, helped by false courage generated by more beer than was good for them.

Next day the wind abated and the seas calmed. The men assembled in sober mood to hear Robert Stevenson announce the Floating Light had broken free from the moorings that morning. Had it happened at the height of the storm the vessel would undoubtedly have foundered upon the rock.

Stevenson intended to move the Floating Light to a safer anchorage. Alec groaned. More than a mile to row to work now!

Even so, they were determined to stay till the onset of winter weather at the end of October made work on the rock too hazardous. The wooden beacon-house must be made ready by then as a refuge when work resumed in the spring of 1808.

Alec waited nervously for Maggie’s letter with her reaction to his delay. When the mail finally arrived he winced at the strength of Maggie’s annoyance.

Even more daunting was word of another lass in the household, already dominated by a surfeit of women.

Alec decided he’d occupy a berth ashore in the workyard barracks to finish his apprenticeship over the winter, before returning to work upon the rocky shoal where his father and crew had perished.

The place had a strange fascination for Alec. He dreamed of a lighthouse standing tall on the summit, rising out of dark depths from the sea bed. He could not rest till the dream became reality.

The reclusive Marion Cameron had been spotted in Cameron’s Grocery store after years of inactivity, arousing much speculation.

Beatrice was disturbed by her mother’s behaviour. She was pondering the situation when she went out one morning to the store room in the close beside the shop to collect a fresh farmhouse cheese. “Beatrice?”

She whirled, to see the man whose heart she had broken years ago. Jeremiah Cuthbert, the blacksmith.

“I told you to forget me.” “As if I could.”

“I begged you to go and marry another.”

“As if I would!”

He came near. She felt the remembered warmth of his arms.

“Do you still love me, Beatrice?”

“Till the end o’ my days,” she admitted sadly. “Have ye come to taunt a sour spinster wi’ what might have been?”

The smith flushed.

“Of course not, dear. I respected the decision to care for your sick mother, but I always hoped for the poor lady’s recovery. She’s been seen in the store in better health, so I have come wi’ a proposition.

“Let us marry and bring your mother to live wi’ us in the smiddy seat. There’s plenty room there for her comfort and care.” Beatrice broke down. “I always knew ye were the kindest o’ men! God knows I long tae marry you, but my father’s will forbids it. If Mother leaves the store it will be sold to ensure her future care.” She sobbed.

“If we take our chance o’ happiness Samuel loses his livelihood. How could we hae that on our conscience?”

He took her hands. “We can contest the will.” She shook her head and gazed up into his eyes.

“I’m destined to be a spinster left upon the grocery shelf, Jeremiah.” “Never!”

He took her in his arms but she broke free.

“Please, my darling, accept it. There is no future for us. Let me go!”

Breaking free, Beatrice ran back into the shop.

The lovers had not noticed that Marion Cameron’s door stood ajar at the top of the stairs. She had heard every word.

The smith stood dejectedly in the close below. There were silver strands in the dark hair of this man who should have been her gude-son.

His expression was anguished. He squared his shoulders and strode off into the street without a backward glance.

Marion closed the upper door and stood looking round her world – a heavily screened window and worn armchair where she had sat since her husband’s death, watching customers enter and leave his store.

Then, one day, another widow had appeared in the street below.

Lilias Spink was tough as old boots, and getting on with life. Marion’s room, once so safe and sound, had suddenly seemed stifling.

By October, Lilias was content to sit back and watch Maggie run their business enterprise. As she’d suspected, her granddaughter was a born businesswoman.

Maggie knew to the last farthing how much was in the deed box under Lilias’s bed, and planned to increase it. This morning she’d set off for Cameron’s Store to talk to the grocer about a range of aprons being sewn by the Nunnery women.

Maggie was showing more interest in Samuel’s affairs recently, Lilias had noticed. Noah Taggart’s nose was out of joint and worryingly, his fancy had turned to Fionah Creagh.

Fortunately the dog Bodach hated Noah, growling with bared teeth at every approach to the young innocent.

As October wore on the women looked forward to Alec’s return. Lilias was supervising Fionah’s knitting when they heard a disturbance outside. Fionah went to the window to investigate.

“It iss a cailleach in a pony cart.”

Lilias now had a few words of the Gaelic. This news of an old woman in a cart sent her to the door.

She found Marion Cameron dismounting from the grocery store’s pony cart, aided by a flustered laddie.

The invalid waved her stick.

“Help me into the hoose, Lilias. Quick!”

Lilias obeyed. The laddie was ordered to wait with the pony in readiness.

Once seated, Marion smiled.

“Beatrice thinks I’m having a nap!”

“She’ll find oot,” Lilias warned.

“No, she’ll no’. I hid under the tarpaulin and paid the laddie tae keep his tongue behind his teeth. Samuel thinks he’s delivering a sack o’ tatties and haunch o’ ham Maggie’s ordered.” Lilias frowned, puzzled. “What in heaven’s name brought ye here?” Marion sighed.

“The pair o’ us were no’ the best o’ mothers and our daughters suffered. Yours broke free, but mine put duty before marriage to the man she loves.”

She went on to tell of Beatrice and the smith’s broken engagement and the meeting observed between the two lovers. Lilias listened.

“He’s offered ye a home in the smiddy?”

“Aye, he’s willing tae suffer me if he can have her.”

“Did ye agree?”

“It’s no’ sae simple. Beatrice is tied to the store because o’ a clause in my late husband’s will. Mind you, I was sweer to move to the smiddy. Then I looked around my lonely wee room and thought, why not?” “Good for you!” “Aye, weel, Beatrice should marry the man she loves and Samuel be free to court a young lass he has his eye upon, and install her upstairs once I’m oot.”

The two exchanged a telling look.

“It will tak’ diplomacy and tact,” Lilias warned.

“It will. Lucky ye have the Highland lass to help ye should Maggie decide tae, um, move on.”

“What aboot the clause in your man’s will?”

“Leave that tae me. I’ll sort it oot.”

The elderly conspirators shared a tight-lipped grin.

“Would ye care to sample a tassie o’ my elderflower cordial afore ye go?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Marion accepted graciously.

In the grocery store that afternoon Maggie had clinched the sale of a batch of linen aprons.

Samuel Cameron eyed them doubtfully.

“Women’s aprons sold in a grocer’s shop?”

“Women buy groceries, Mr Cameron. I can’t think o’ a happier alliance.”

“I can, Miss Cargill.” His smile made Maggie blush. Beatrice took pity on her. “It’s no’ a bad idea, Samuel. The aprons are serviceable. Bonnie, too. Women will welcome something useful and bonnie to wear in wartime.”

Standing close to Maggie set Samuel’s heart hammering. He controlled the emotion with an effort.

“We should put this plan to Mother first, Beatrice. She takes an interest in sales these days.” Beatrice agreed.

“I’ll see if she’s awake.” At that moment some customers crowded into the shop, luckily for Marion, who was sneaking up the outside stair.

Alec was home. He stood outside the house on paving that felt unsteady after weeks at sea. Work on the Bell Rock was over for the season. The men had marked the occasion with three hearty cheers and the obligatory tot of rum.

Alec went inside to the waiting women – Maggie to the fore with a reproachful smile, his grandmother sitting quietly by the stove, and his younger sisters, grown into bonnie adults in the space of a few months. A dog barked and was shushed.

“The prodigal’s feast is prepared, Alec.” Maggie laughed. “I hope you’re hungry!”

Lilias watched,uneasy. This unsmiling, hard- muscled man was not the scared youngster who had left home weeks ago in fear of impressment. She noted Alec’s unfriendly glance rest briefly upon Fionah.

“We have a new helping hand in our house, Alec. Fionah was homeless and has come tae bide wi’ us.”

Alec gave a curt nod and Fionah bobbed a nervous curtsey. Bodach hunkered down, wary of this cold individual who made his mistress’s body tremble. Maggie broke the silence. “Your room’s ready, Alec; bedding’s fresh and aired.”

“I’ll no’ be staying,” he told her brusquely. “A berth’s booked for me in the workyard barracks.”

Alec’s rejection made Maggie miserable all winter. It was as if she had lost both father and a brother upon that hateful rock.

When he commenced work on the lighthouse the following spring Maggie suffered torments of anxiety.

The beacon-house was fitted with living quarters for the workforce and her brother chose to live there. He was rarely seen ashore.

The face of the rocky shoal was transformed over the next two years. Railway tracks carried tubs loaded with stones across its surface. Masons worked day and night at the lighthouse site laying courses of marked stone.

Alec worked with James Dove at the forge on an upper floor of the beaconhouse, safe from danger but often cold, and wet with spray. The lighthouse walls already rose above a high tide’s reach.

The main social event in Arbroath town was the wedding of Beatrice Cameron, spinster, to Jeremiah Cuthbert, blacksmith. It was planned as a quiet affair, but the kirk was crammed.

Marion Cameron, in purple velvet, nearly stole the show, but the elderly recluse faded into insignificance as a radiant Beatrice, in a silvery gown sewn by the Nunnery girls, walked down the aisle on Samuel’s arm to marry the man who had waited for her so long and faithfully.

Lilias squeezed into the pew beside Marion.

“So you’re off tae the smiddy seat!”

“Aye, the lawyer fixed it. The will said the grocery store would be sold if I left, but there’s nothing about leaving the flat above. Legally I’m free tae go.

“Samuel and I are shareholders o’ the store, so technically I’ll never leave it. I hope my dear hubby would approve!” Lilias patted her hand. “Aye, he would, if he were here today tae see his bonnie daughter wed.”

The lighthouse rose high above the sea as the seasons passed. No light shone from it yet, but just its presence served as warning to shipping. The night was lit by lanterns of men working high above the waves.

Robert Stevenson was determined to choose the best stone to finish the upper structure of his masterpiece. He found the ideal material across the Forth at Craigleith quarry.

So-called “liver” stone had proved durable and was of fine appearance, much used in the capital’s towering tenements and the city’s grandest houses.

But, oh, how hazardous was a mason’s life! Women worried for their men working out at sea on the lighthouse. Even masons and stonecutters ashore in the yard were in danger.

Slippage of a large stone could amputate a finger, crush a hand, snap a leg or break a man’s back so that he could never work again.

Towards the end of the lighthouse project, a day dawned that Maggie would never forget. Alec was working on the upper areas of the lighthouse now. Near completion, it stood over 100 feet above sea level.

Maggie set off for church but found a crowd gathered by the kirk door, many women in tears. “What’s happened?” “A death out upon the rock, lass,” a man

said. “A young smith fell from a ladder and was lost in the sea.” Shock hit her like a fist. “My brother!”

She turned and ran blindly, cannoning into someone. She beat his chest with her fists and still he would not budge. At last she collapsed into his arms in an agony of grief.

A gentle voice spoke. “It was not Alec, Maggie,” Samuel said. “An apprentice called Charles Henderson was drowned, God rest his soul.”

She rested against him, suddenly drained.

“Oh, Samuel, some poor mother has lost a son.” “Hush, now, my dearest.” He drew her closer. “You were kind when I wore sackcloth and scrubbed the streets,” she murmured. “I thought I was the lowest o’ the low. But you praised me for cleaning the shop window and your appreciation heartened me.”

“More than appreciation, Maggie, dear. I’ve always loved you.”

“I know. I see the love light in your een.”

“Does it warm ye? Enough to marry me?” Maggie paused. “Dear man, when the lighthouse is built and Alec safe ashore, ask me again.”

Samuel summoned a smile. The wait should not be long, and the love light shining in Maggie’s bonnie brown eyes told him it would be well worth it.

Amy’s merit had been recognised and she was promoted to train young lasses to sew small canvas items. Her pupils admired her looks, wondering amongst themselves why such a bonnie young woman steadfastly rejected approaches from likely lads.

They did not know Amy waited for a young man she had met years ago and hardly knew. She prayed for William’s safety each night.

One day, as Amy sat stitching, she looked up and there he was. Relief overwhelmed her. “You’re home safe. Oh, thank God!”

“Amy!” he said, stunned by the transformation from pretty child to beautiful woman.

Their eyes met and held. He smiled ruefully. “You were right. I was made a powder monkey, racing between decks from the ammunition store wi’ gunpowder for the cannons.

“Our ship was fortunate for years to escape damage in its encounters with the French, till one last battle.

“I was on my way to the ammunition store when word came of a fire in the crew’s quarters. I turned back and ran through the smoke and flames to rescue the ditty bag sewn by a girl I met once and never forgot.” He shook his head.

“Minutes later a cannonball struck the passageway leading to the ammunition store. Had I not turned aside, I would have been killed. Afterwards, I found this in the bag’s charred canvas.”

Amy’s eyes widened as she recognised the scrap of linen and the prayer she’d stitched years ago and hidden within the bag. God bless you and keep you safe.

He smiled.

“You are my miracle, dear Amy!”

She looked at him. “What if God allows us only one miracle? You’ll go back to sea.”

He shook his head. “No. Have you heard tell of iron clads, wooden battleships clad in iron to repel enemy fire?”

She frowned. “Aye.”

William smiled. “Naval designers plan to alter the hull design of armoured battleships to outmanoeuvre a cumbersome enemy. The Navy offers training in ship design at a unit based near Edinburgh. I applied and was accepted.”

“You’ll be safe ashore!” she rejoiced. “Though Edinburgh is so very far away.”

“Not by sea, dear Amy, and soon there will be a powerful light to guide me back to you.”

He took her hand.

“There’s time to spend while I learn my trade, but if you are still of a mind when that is done, will you be mine, Amy?”

“Oh, yes!”

By the time the last stone of the 90th course of the lighthouse was laid and the completed building cleared of the cranes, winches and implements employed in its construction, Alec Cargill had a clear idea of his future.

He’d completed his apprenticeship with Jeremiah Cuthbert and entered the blacksmith’s employment as a journeyman.

Alec discovered he had a talent for wrought-iron work. Already he and Jeremiah had designed and manufactured entrance gates of architectural acclaim for one of the local estates. Orders came flooding in for others.

The Arbroath workyard was no longer so busy, but some stone was still brought from Dundee’s Mylnefield quarry to build a signal tower communicating with the lighthouse and providing accommodation ashore for lightkeepers’ families.

The Aberdeen stonecutters left Lilias’s bothy for home, their work done. Before they left, Noah asked Fionah Creagh to marry him and work on his father’s land.

His taste in women was for a lively, buxom armful rather than the modest Highland lass, but she was wiry and hard working, necessary attributes for hard graft on a bleak Mearns smallholding.

Noah was furious when she turned down the offer.

“I thank you for it, but I will stay with Mistress Lilias,” she said politely.

With great relief Fionah watched the sulky young man stump angrily out of the bothy. Her wistful fancy was set elsewhere – with handsome Alec Cargill, who ignored her presence.

The Nunnery closed. Miss Gray’s cousin had opened a dressmaking establishment in Edinburgh’s New Town and persuaded Miss Gray to join her. Miss Gray offered Cathy Mary the chance to accompany her and the family had decided she should seize the opportunity.

Cathy Mary’s letters home told of her growing success, designing gowns for well-off Edinburgh ladies.

Though they missed her sorely, her sisters and grandmother were reassured their decision had been the best one for talented Cathy Mary.

Lilias had acquired a taste for landlady status, despite the hard work involved. After the stonecutters had left amidst celebrations of feasting and dancing in the workyard, she viewed the empty bothy with Fionah, and plans evolved for its future.

“It could be a hostel for casual workers passing through town in need o’ a night’s lodging and a bite tae eat,” Lilias mused.

“Much needed for travellers,” the Highland lass approved. “An inn is not cheap and thieves rob poor men the worse for drink.”

“There’ll be nae demon drink in here,” Lilias declared. “I was considering takin’ in the teams o’ lasses wha travel frae port tae port gutting herring and tilling the barrels in season.

“I’d gie them a keen rate, o’ course, but make a steady bob or two. They’d welcome a clean bed and some place tae wash awa’ the stink o’ fish.” Fionah nodded. “They will bathe in the wash-house boiler once the fire iss out!”

Lilias chuckled at the prospect. She found the Highland lass a great joy.

It had grieved her that Alec resented Fionah’s presence in the house, but circumstances changed.

Alec had moved back home when the workyard emptied and by chance he and Fionah were partnered together in the reels and dancing during celebrations in the yard.

The young man’s attitude

had changed and now he was smiling upon the lass.

Lilias nurtured hopes that the two might become a couple. In her opinion it would be a match made in heaven, at the same time solving a pending staffing problem.

Maggie was to marry Samuel this autumn and move into the flat above the shop. She had plans to expand the grocery business and could not wait to get started.

The next morning dawned fine and Lilias dressed with unusual care. She did not look upon the excursion arranged for that morning as an assignation, more like a wearing down of resistance after many months of nagging.

She made her way down to the harbour, through streets that had echoed over the years to the beat of Bassey’s massive hooves and the rumble of the sling cart.

In Lilias’s opinion, everyone involved in building the lighthouse that now flashed a warning across dangerous seas was a hero, but James Craw’s horse stood in a heroic class of its own.

Every stone of the finished building had been transported by this one magnificent Clydesdale.

She was pleased the noble beast’s contribution was acknowledged publicly when the last stone was loaded aboard ship at Leith harbour.

James Craw and Bassey, the latter bedecked with ribbons and bows, were received by the Master of Trinity House in Leith with due ceremony and appreciation, surrounded by cheering crowds.

Bassey was then retired to the grassy island of Inchkeith, to graze peacefully in the tender care of the lightkeepers.

Lilias arrived in the harbour and there was the

Boatie, moored at the foot of the steps.

Mungo Mcdougal, proprietor of the Fishery Store, stood waiting on the quay. “You’re late.” “You’re early.” “Time an’ tide wait for nae man – or woman,” he grunted.

He assisted Lilias down the steps, taking her hand to help her into the boat and seating her on the thwart as if she were a lady.

Mungo Mcdougal handled the oars expertly and she settled back to enjoy a nostalgic trip.

“Where are we headed?” she asked as they emerged from the harbour mouth and the broad reaches of seascape glinted before them.

Mungo pulled on the oars, fighting the strong current.

“Tae show ye where the best lobster’s tae be found.”

“The town will talk!” “Let it,” he growled tersely.

She sat savouring the sea breeze. The Boatie rose and dipped to the waves’ lift.

This was how it all began, she thought, recalling how sad it had felt to turn her back upon Auchmithie, though she was a tough old woman in those days. Tragedy and loss had set iron and cold stone in her breast.

Looking out to sea on this clear morning, she could see the new lighthouse, a swirl of frothing white around the base, and she conceded that she had changed during the years of its construction.

The tide was much stronger out here and the old man pulled harder on the oars, breathing fast.

Lilias reached for the spare oars stowed beneath the thwarts and fitted them in the rowlocks. The skin on her palms had grown soft as she started to row, but that would soon harden after a few trips out.

“Whit are ye doing, woman?” the old rascal cried irritably. “You’re aye boasting the Boatie rows easy wi’ just the one set o’ oars.”

Lilias laughed.

“So it does, but I never told ye how fast it will speed wi’ two!”

The End.