Page 44 of Laird of Secrets
Returning to her desk, she took up quill and ink to record a few comments in a leather-covered notebook.Duncan MacSimon, 10, Sorcha MacSimon, 8. Cousins of the laird,she wrote;father is the miller at Drumcairn. They speak a little English. Have a long walk to reach the school, accompanied by an older brother. Starting a new line, she noted,Lucy MacGregor needs more challenges to occupy her mind and energy. Should speak to her guardian.
But the teacher was not quite ready to face Lucy’s guardian.
Standing, Fiona folded her hands calmly. “Good work with the vocabulary, students. Now, let us try something new,” she told them in Gaelic.
Soon she would speak English more often, though she was allowing them time to grow more accustomed to lessons. Picking up a sheaf of papers bound in string, she opened the pages, which she had painstakingly copied one night.
“When I was a girl, I loved the Gaelic songs my Highland nurse taught me. I translated some into English for you. Jamie, please hand the pages around.”
The redheaded boy jumped up to pass the handwritten sheaves around the room. The students chatted as he did so, and Fiona raised her hand for silence.
“We will recite the verses. If you cannot read the English, just follow along, and place your finger on each word as we say it, to help you recognize the word again. First in Gaelic, then in English,” she said, and continued:
“Dear Lord, shield the house, the fire, the kine, and everyone who dwells here tonight,” she read, then went on in a soft sing-song.
Shield myself and my dear ones
Preserve us from harm
For the sake of the angels
Who watch over us this night. . .
Mairi MacDonald raised her hand. “Miss MacCarran, my grandmother says this verse every night. She calls it the prayer before resting.”
“My mother says it, too,” Lilias said. Others murmured agreement.
“I know this one,” Lucy said. “My Aunt Jean taught it to me, and now that she is gone, my Uncle Kinloch says it with me at night before I sleep.”
“Very good,” Fiona said, feeling a quick twinge of sympathy to learn that small Lucy had lost her mother and, apparently, an aunt who had cared for her. Fiona felt touched to know that the laird of Kinloch took time to recite a Gaelic prayer with his little niece. “Let us say it in Gaelic and then in English.”
Using a stick, she pointed to each phrase she had chalked on the large slate hung on the wall.
Air an oidhche nochd ’s gach aon oidhche,
On this night and every night
The students recited in Gaelic, then in halting English, the sound rich and soft in the air. Fiona felt the thrill that sometimes came over her when she spoke Gaelic and heard its soft resonance and rhythms, as if magic was woven all through it.
“Excellent,” she said. “Again, please, and follow the words with your finger. Sing if you know the melody.” As a shy harmony swelled in the room, one voice, silver clear, rose above the rest.
Fiona saw Annabel sitting straight, chin lifted as she sang in a voice with astonishing purity and strength despite her youth. As the other students finished, Annabel sang the last note truly.
“That was lovely, Annabel,” Fiona said.
The girl blushed, her silver-blond hair sliding down to hide her face. “Thank you, Miss MacCarran,” she said softly, shoulders hunched. Someone laughed and whispered. Peering through the slanting sunlight coming in the small windows, Fiona frowned in that direction, and the laughter subsided quickly.
She went on with the lesson, reciting in English, the students following. Annabel did not sing this time, though Fiona wanted to hear that clear and haunting voice again.
For the rest of the morning, the students focused on learning English words until Fiona excused them for the midday meal. They ran outside, glad to see that the rain had stopped. While the children sat under trees or on boulders, unwrapping cheese and oatcakes and other foods brought from home, Fiona filled wooden cups with clear water from a nearby burn and handed them around.
Opening the packet of food that Mrs. MacIan had given her, she found barley cakes and cold bacon. She took it inside, thinking to finish a little work, leaving the door open so that she could see the students as she ate and worked at lessons.
“Miss MacCarran,” a voice said. She looked up.
Ranald and Fergus MacGregor stood in the open doorway. Rising, she beckoned them inside and went to greet them. “Mr. MacGregor, and—Mr. MacGregor! How nice to see you. What can I do for you?”
“Please excuse us, Miss,” Ranald said, “but we came to check the roof. With the bairns outside, this might be a good time.”
