Ramsay wondered a little at the comment. The people of Thorsay lived largely on the sea’s bounty, but cattle also did well on the islands, so beef wasn’t uncommon. Before he could inquire further, the front door opened again and several more people entered.
Excusing himself from his cousin, he approached the newcomers with Signy at his side. She said in a low voice, “This is George and Bess Fielding, farmers from the south end of Mainland. Good folk, and their youngest daughter, Betsy, is the teacher in their village school.”
The elder Fieldings looked as tough and weathered as seasoned oak. George offered his hand, saying gruffly, “I’m sorry for your loss, lad. We’ll not see the like of your grandfather again.”
“I doubt I am his equal, but I will do my best,” Ramsay said quietly.
“Signy, we’ll all miss the old laird, and none more than you will,” Bess said as she clasped Signy’s hand. “I don’t know how we would have managed these last years without him. He was the heart and soul of Thorsay.”
Ramsay turned to their shy young daughter. “Betsy, I’m told you teach in your village school. Do you enjoy it?”
“Oh yes, sir! I love teaching the little ones and watching them grow and learn new things,” she said enthusiastically. “I never dreamed I could be a teacher, but Miss Matheson said I could do it and showed me how.” She gazed at Signy with worshipful eyes. “She’s done so much for Thorsay!”
Looking embarrassed, Signy said, “You were born to teach. You just needed a push in the right direction, like a nervous donkey facing a bridge.”
They all laughed. The door opened again and more people arrived. Some were strangers to Ramsay, others dimly remembered. Using his best diplomatic skills, he spoke with everyone and listened carefully. Signy stayed by his side, offering introductions and occasional suggestions for how some visitors should be treated. She would have done well in the diplomatic service.
When the flow of callers subsided, Ramsay said, “Thank you for saving me from making a fearful muddle of this.”
“You’ve done well,” she said. “Your listening has made a good impression.”
“Many of them mentioned how grateful they were for the old laird’s help,” he said thoughtfully. “It sounded very specific, not just general appreciation.”
Signy hesitated before replying. “As I said yesterday, the last two years have been difficult. Many households were on the verge of starvation. Your grandfather arranged for food supplies and other kinds of aid as needed. It was always done quietly so as not to damage people’s pride.”
“Men can have too much pride. Women are often more practical.” Making an educated guess, Ramsay continued. “Were you his agent for assessing needs and seeing that people received what they needed?”
She made a dismissive gesture. “Yes, but your grandfather was the one who made it all possible.”
“I’m going to continue learning about him for a long time, I see.”
“He was a man of many facets.” She smiled at Ramsay and for a fierce, visceral moment he remembered how it had felt to hold her in his arms. So natural, so right. Was she really planning to leave once she’d trained him in his new duties? Not something he could ask her anytime soon.
Callers thinned out in the late afternoon. Then the door opened to an auburn-haired man with military bearing and a very familiar face. “Broc Mackenzie!” Ramsay exclaimed as he came forward with an outstretched hand. “Damn, but it’s good to see you! Have you said good-bye to the army?”
“Good-bye and good riddance!” his old friend said as he seized Ramsay’s hand and clapped him on the shoulder for good measure. He had a thin white scar arcing down his left cheek and there was ancient weariness in his eye, but his broad smile lit up the room. “I can hardly believe I survived the Peninsula and Waterloo intact.”
“Broc, I didn’t know you were back in Thorsay!” Signy said warmly. “When did you return?”
“Only a week ago, and you’ve been busy. You’re a sight for sore eyes, Signy.” Not content to shake hands, Broc gave her a thorough hug.
The Mackenzie farm was just north of Skellig House, and Ramsay and Broc and the Matheson sisters had played together as children. Broc and Ramsay went on to attend the grammar school in Clanwick, studying and getting into mischief regularly. Then Ramsay had gone off to the University of Edinburgh and Broc to the army. Ramsay said, “My grandfather’s letters included occasional mentions of your progress up through the ranks of the cavalry and your continued survival.”
“And I heard similar reports of you, visiting faraway places with strange sounding names, most of them hot and sunny,” Broc said with a grin. “I envied you when I was camped in muddy fields in Portugal!”
“I don’t envy you that,” Ramsay retorted. “What brings you back now?”
His friend’s face sobered. “My father died last year. My family needed me, so it was time to sell out and come home.”
“I’m so sorry about your father,” Signy said softly. “Your mother has been doing her best, but the farm is more than she and the younger children can manage.”
“When I walked in the door, she gave me one hug, then said the milking needed to be done.” Broc chuckled. “That’s how I knew I was home.”
Though Broc was making light of it, Ramsay was sure that his friend’s adjustment to his childhood home would be as jarring as Ramsay’s. Another group of people were entering, so he said, “After the funeral, we need to sit down with a bottle of Callan’s whisky and catch up.”
“I’d like that.” Broc turned to examine the long table of refreshments that Mrs. Donovan had set out earlier in the day. It was somewhat depleted, but there was enough to feed a hungry young man. Ramsay saw Broc greet Mrs. Donovan, who promptly served him a sizable piece of fish pie while they exchanged news.
Then it was time to turn to the new arrivals, a family of fisherfolk who’d come all the way from Holsay, the most distant inhabited island of Thorsay. Duncan would have been pleased by this outpouring of respect and affection.
