Christine: A Fife Fisher Girl

“Weel, weel, you’re nae wiser than the lave o’ men, Neil.”

“I think I am, Christine. At least, I have that reputation.”

“Will you hae a cup o’ tea, Neil?”

It was Christine who asked him, and he answered, “No. I had just finished a good lunch, when I came here, and Reginald said he should wait dinner for me. He orders very liberally, I must say,” and he took out a new gold watch, and looked at the time.

His mother saw it at once, and glanced at Christine, who instantly followed an exclamation of wonder, by asking, “Whoever gave ye the bonnie timepiece, Neil?”

“I gave it to myself, Christine. I have been coaching Reginald, and two or three other students, and it’s rather a paying business. I shall do a great deal in that way after the New Year. Well, I think I must be going.”

“Your feyther will be hame within an hour. He’ll hae our wonderfu’ bairn wi’ him. You will surely stay and see them.”

“You mean Allan’s son?”

“Ay,” answered Christine, “he’s a beauty, and he is sae clever, we’ll be needing a school, and the set o’ teachers in it, to keep the lad within the proper scope o’ knowledge. He’s a maist remarkable boy!”

“I used to fill that position,” said Neil.

“Not you,” said Margot. “You were a puir weakling, every way. It took everyone’s love and labor to bring you through. I’m not sure now, if you were worth it. It was scrimp and toil through long years for a’ the Rulesons.”

“I am not ungrateful, Mother, and I shall no doubt win a high degree.”

“We hae nae doubt you will, Neil. Dinna go as soon as you come. Feyther will be here anon.”

“I cannot keep Reginald waiting. I will try and see father as I return.”

So he went, and mother and sister looked at each other, and were silent. Margot opened and shut a drawer in the dresser, pushed the chair in which Neil had sat violently into its place, and then lifted a broom and flung it down with a force that is best explained by the word ‘temper.’ She felt unable to speak, and finally burst into passionate weeping, mingled with angry words.

“Oh, Mither! Mither! dinna tak’ on that way. It’s nae new thing. It’s just what we expectit. You hae looked it in the face many a time. Oh, I’m sae glad his feyther wasna here!”

“His feyther ought to hae been here.”

“Na! na! We dinna want feyther to think a’ his love and labor was thrown awa’. It wad fairly break his heart. We must just keep the mistake to oursel’s. We can forgie, and still lo’e the puir lad, but feyther wad go to extremes, both wi’ Neil and himsel’. We can thole his selfishness. We aye knew it was there. We hae held our tongues sae far. We must gae on being silent. I wouldna hae feyther know for onything. Let him hae his dream, Mither!”

“My heart feels like to break, lassie.”

“Mine too, Mither. But we needna gie feyther a heart-break. We’ll just keep the visit quiet.”

“Your way be it, Christine.”

Women do such things!

At this moment Ruleson’s voice was heard. He was coming up the hill with Jamie’s hand in his own. “They’ll be inside in a minute, Mither – a smile frae you is worth gold now,” and she stooped and kissed her mother. This unusual token of love and care went to Margot’s heart with a bound.

“You dear lassie,” she said. “I’ll do as you say,” and that moment she was called upon to make good her words. Ruleson was at the hearthstone, and Jamie was at her knees, telling her what a splendid time they had had, and how many big fish they had caught.

“Did you bring ane o’ the haddocks hame with you, James?” she asked, and Ruleson answered, “I found Tamsen’s boy at the pier, waiting to buy all my catch, and I thought ye wad hae something better for us.”

“There’s naething better than a fresh haddock. You canna cook them wrang, if you try; but I’ll find something good for good fishermen like you and Jamie.” And she spread the table with good things, and Ruleson said softly, as if to himself – “Thou satisfieth my mouth with good things, my cup runneth over.” And Christine and her mother had come very close to each other and Margot had forgotten her heart-break in Christine’s kiss, and almost forgotten Neil’s visit. At any rate she was quite happy to hide it from her husband. “He’s like a’ men,” she reflected, “he doesna spit oot his anger like I do, and be rid o’ it. He buries it in his heart, and he buries it alive, and it doesna gie him a moment’s peace. Christine is right, and I’m glad I held my tongue, even frae good words.”

When all the Ballister Christmas presents had been distributed the New Year’s festival was at hand, and the village was all agog about Faith’s marriage. The arrangements had been slightly changed, and after all she was to be married from Ruleson’s house. Early in the morning she came up there with her simple bride garments in a leather trap, which she carried in her hand. She wanted Christine to dress her. She said, Christine had brought her all her good fortune, and she be to send her away, and then good would go with her.

So Christine dressed the timid little woman, and really made her look lovely, and at ten o’clock her Largo lover, called Willie Anderson, came there also. He had a couple of friends with him, and Ruleson himself took the place of Faith’s father, and gave her his arm, as they all walked together, very doucely and religiously, to the Domine’s house.

The Domine had been advised of the visit, and the large Bible lay open on the table. Standing before it the young couple received the Domine’s charge, and then in the presence of their witnesses, pledged themselves to life-long love and devotion. The Domine entered the contract in his Kirk Book, and the witnesses signed it. Then the simple ceremony was over. The Domine blessed the bride, and she turned with a blushing, happy face to her husband.

“My ain! My wife!” he said, and gave her his arm, and Christine with her father and Anderson’s two friends followed. All were very silent. The bride and bridegroom were too happy to talk, and their friends understood and sympathized with the feeling.

The day was fine and clear, and the walk back to Ruleson’s was still and sweet, and in spite of its silence, very pleasant; and they had no sooner opened Ruleson’s door, than their senses were refreshed by the sight of the festal table, and the odor of delicious foods. For Margot had made a wedding dinner after her own heart. One of her precious turkeys had been sacrificed, and there was that wealth of pudding and cakes and pastry which no man loves and appreciates more than the fisherman. It was an excellent dinner, well cooked, and well enjoyed, and happily prolonged with pleasant conversation, until Christine reminded them they were probably keeping the crowd asked to the Fishers’ Hall waiting.

In a pleasant haste they left all in James’ care, and went in a body to the hall. There was quite a large company there, very well employed in practicing the steps of a new strathspey, and others in exhibiting their special bits of splendor. The whole room was flashing with Roman colors, and Judith Macpherson’s Protestantism was angered by it. She said with her usual striking eloquence, that, in her opinion, they were nothing but emblems of popery. They came frae Rome. Why not? If we had elders in the kirk, worth the name o’ elders, they wad ca’ a session anent such a shamefu’ exhibition o’ the pope’s vera signs and symbols. Indeed, she told Ruleson that she would stand up in the kirk on the next Sabbath day, if he, or someone, didna tak’ the proper steps in the matter, and “I’ll tell you, James Ruleson, I’m minded to go my ways to the manse right now, and bring the Domine himsel’ here, to see the wicked testimonies.”

Then the bridal dance began, and Ruleson drew Judith aside, and told her he would himself speak anent the colors, if she thought they were sinfu’.

“Sinfu’!” she screamed. “Why Ruleson, man, they come frae the pope, and thae men they ca’ socialists. I hae heard tell o’ the tricolor, and of a’ the misery and sin that cam’ frae it in France. Isna France i’ the pope’s dominions?”

“Oh no, Judith, they arena the same countries.”

“James Ruleson, they may be different countries, but that tricolor sin is the same everywhere, even if it get into a godly place like Culraine. You must put a stop to our lasses wearing the pope’s colors, James Ruleson. That’s a fact!”

James promised to do so. In reality he would have promised anything she asked, rather than have her go to the manse and disturb the Domine. He was only too grateful to observe that the wearers of the sinful colors were not disturbed by Judith’s suspicions, and that the sailormen and fishermen were apparently most in love with the girls who wore the greatest quantity of the offensive emblems.

At three o’clock the dance was over, the greetings were all said and Willie Anderson anxious to carry off his bride on the tide top. “The waters are fu’ at four o’clock,” he said to Ruleson, “and I want to lift anchor and spread sails at the same moment. Then we’ll hae wind and tide wi’ us, and we’ll win hame on the tide top. That would be a lucky thing, you ken, Ruleson.”

“The ways o’ a good man are a’ lucky, Anderson, for they are ordered of the Lord, but a man must hae his way on his wedding day – maybe he’ll ne’er get it again!”

So Ruleson said a few words to the chattering groups, and they instantly formed into line. The violins went first, then the bride and bridegroom. Then Ruleson and Margot, Christine and her brother Norman, and the rest as fancy led them in the selection of partners.

Willie Anderson’s brand-new boat lay at the pier, and he had rigged up a little gangway trimmed with ivy between it and the shore. Every boat in harbor was flying its flag, except Anderson’s boat – she was waiting for the bride, but as soon as the crowd had settled itself, Anderson went to the gangway, and a little lad waiting there for that purpose handed him a parcel. It contained the new flag for the new boat, and it was blue as the sea, and had three white words in its center, “Mine and Thine.”

And while cheering filled the air, Willie wrapped it round his bride’s slim form, and then lifting her in his strong arms, he leaped into the boat with her. In a few minutes the flag was flying at the masthead, the anchor lifted, and the Mine and Thine began her home journeying.

And as they watched her, the tide turned, the sails filled, and she danced out of harbor, for the tide ran with her, and she was timed to reach home on the tide top.

CHAPTER VII

NEIL AND A LITTLE CHILD

Fearful commenting
Is leaden servitor to dull delay.

How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is
To have a thankless child.

Neil did not find it convenient on his return northward, to call again at the home in Culraine. His mother was disappointed, and fretted to Christine about the neglect. His father was silent, but James Ruleson’s silence often said far more than words. When all hope of a call was over, Christine wrote to her brother, telling him in plain words what desire and hope and disappointment had filled the two days previous to the re-commencement of the Maraschal classes.

Neil, dear lad, you must know that Mither was watching the road up the hill, for the past two or three days, and for the same time feyther didna go near the boats. He was watching the road likewise, for he didna want to miss you again. They were, both o’ them, sairly disappointed, when you neither came, nor sent word as to what was keeping you from sae evident a duty. Ye be to remember that Mither isna as well as she should be; and you must not neglect her now, Neil. You might ne’er be able to make it up to her in the future, if you do. I’m telling you, dear lad, for your ain heart’s ease. Yesterday morning, she put on a clean cap and apron and sat down by the fireside to knit, and watch and listen. By and by, the cat began to wash her face, and Mither was weel pleased wi’ the circumstance, for she said it was a sure sign company was coming. So she went often to the door, and watched and listened, but no company came, till sun down, when the Domine called. Mither was so disappointed she couldna steady her voice, her eyes were full o’ angry tears, and she drove poor old Sandy off the hearth, and into the cold, calling him a “lying prophet,” and ither hard names, to which Sandy is not accustomed. Forbye, she hasna gi’en him a drop o’ milk since. Do write Mither a long letter, full o’ love and hope o’ better days, and make some good excuses to her, for your neglect. Christine can make them out o’ her ain loving heart.