“Finally,” said George Muggoch, “the elders called together every adult on Erinskil. They asked the assembled men and women if they would choose to stay on Erinskil if the island had a good school, a resident doctor, a reliable supply of fresh water, and steady employment. If they were given a chance to rebuild their homes and maintain them properly, would they remain on the island? If they could live a civilized life on Erinskil, would they still prefer to emigrate?”
“Everyone laughed,” said Pastor Ferguson. “I was a wee lad at the time, but I still remember the grim laughter. No one believed that Erinskil’s problems could be solved. It took some time for the elders to convince them that they were in earnest, but once they had, the show of hands was unanimous—if life on Erinskil became less of a struggle, no one would leave.”
“The elders then laid out their plan of action,” Alasdair Murdoch went on. “They explained that it would come to nothing unless everyone on the island participated in it. Each family had to agree to make subtle, gradual changes in their manner of living, rather than extravagant, sudden changes, or the plan wouldn’t work. Capital improvements, they argued, would be made for the welfare of residents, not transients. The elders weren’t interested in creating a tourist mecca. If outsiders wanted to visit Erinskil, they would have to earn the privilege, because a privilege it would be.”
“If the plan failed,” said George Muggoch, “Erinskil would become another nature preserve, with a few scenic ruins thrown in for tourists to photograph. If the plan succeeded, Erinskil would be reborn as a living community with hope for the future.”
“The people voted to succeed,” Pastor Ferguson concluded simply.
“There was no dissension?” Damian asked.
“Why would there be?” I retorted. “I’d like to live here.”
George Muggoch took Damian’s question seriously. “Agreements are easier to reach when you’re dealing with a small, homogeneous population. Most of us can trace our roots on Erinskil back for hundreds of years. We’ve always had to depend on each other. It was natural for us to go on doing so.”
“We wanted to have a say in our own destiny,” Alasdair Murdoch added. “If my children choose to stay on Erinskil, fine. If not, that’s fine, too. But I want it to be their choice. I don’t want some bureaucrat in Edinburgh or London to make their decisions for them.”
“It was too good a deal to pass up,” said Mick with finality. “Our fathers saw a chance for independence, and they grabbed it.”
“They plundered an archaeological site of great historical value.” Damian spoke with a candor that bordered, in my opinion, on the foolhardy. “They sold off their country’s heritage.”
“Our country drove us off our island,” Cal responded bitterly. “Our country filled our fields with shell holes and unexploded bombs.”
“As for heritage . . .” Neil MacAllen gave a short, mirthless laugh. “Our country has more heritage than it knows what to do with. You can find museums full of heritage all over Scotland. We’re not depriving anyone of anything they can’t find somewhere else.”
“The way we see it,” said Mick Ferguson, “the old laird was too fretted by debt to help us while he lived, but he gave us the means to help ourselves when he died. We think he would’ve been proud of what we’ve done with his gift.”
I recalled the inscription on the old laird’s tomb. “‘The heart benevolent and kind,’” I quoted,
“‘The most resembles God.’”
“Aye,” the men chorused.
They raised their glasses, as if they wished to make a silent toast to their unwitting benefactor, but their wish for silence was foiled. Several glasses were still on their way up when an earsplitting crack of thunder rattled the bottles in the liquor cabinet, and a torrent of rain buffeted the draped windows.
A moment later the lights went out.
“Ah,” said Sir Percy. “My storm has arrived.” He heaved himself up from his chair and bustled from one candelabra to the next, striking matches and lighting candles. “It’s going to be a stinker, I’m afraid. Gentlemen, you are, of course, welcome to stay the night—what remains of it, at any rate—or to use my fleet of cars to wend your way home.”
“I’d rather no one leave just yet,” Damian objected. “There are a few details I’d like to clear up.”
“Still worrying the bone, eh? Good man.” Sir Percy tossed the spent matches into the fire, returned to his chair, and smiled good-naturedly as a blast of thunder shook the windows. “Speak, Damian. We are at your service.”
Damian turned to Pastor Ferguson. “Why is there so much cash in the cavern? Why haven’t you moved it through the tweed mill’s account books?”
“We were saving up for a special purchase,” answered Pastor Ferguson. “We wanted to buy Erinskil. We were extremely disappointed when Sir Percy snatched the island out from under us, but our pockets will never be as deep as his.”
“And he’s not such a bad laird,” Mick allowed, “as lairds go.”
Mick’s comment provoked a ripple of appreciative chuckles, in which Sir Percy joined wholeheartedly. Damian waited for the laughter to die before continuing his interrogation.