“Smoky!” he called.
A faint meow came from one of the suitcases. He noticed it had airholes bored in the sides. He lifted the lid and a small grey-and-white cat blinked up at him. “Come here,” he said in a soft voice. He picked up the cat, which snuggled under his chin, and went slowly downstairs.
Mrs. Anderson screamed when she saw him with the cat and Mr. Anderson began to shout and rave at his daughter. She was a limb of Satan. How could she do this after all they had done for her?
“I wanted something to love that would love me back,” said Morag, now past crying.
“Did you go into Mrs. Gallagher’s house and take the cat?” asked Hamish.
“No,” she said, her voice little above a whisper. “I was walking up by her croft after school and I saw the cat. It came up to me. It likes me. Smoky loves me. I thought I would take Smoky home and play with him for a bit. That’s all. Then I was frightened to take him back.”
Hamish turned to the parents. “Look here. No harm done. I’ve got the cat. Why don’t I just tell Mrs. Gallagher I found it wandering by the road? You don’t want charges against Morag.”
“There will be no lying!” thundered Mr. Anderson. “You will take Morag and that animal to Mrs. Gallagher. It is up to her to punish the girl.”
Hamish looked at him in disgust. “Aye, I’ll do that and then I’ll be back to have a word with you. Get your coat, Morag, and put a scarf on. It’s cold out.”
♦
He walked with the now silent Morag along the waterfront to where the police Land Rover was parked outside the station. “I want you to take Smoky and hold him on your lap, tight,” he ordered. “Cats are sometimes scared if they’re not used to motors.”
Morag gently took the cat from him and climbed into the passenger seat. In a bleak little voice, she asked, “Will I go to hell?”
“Och, no,” said Hamish, letting in the clutch. “Don’t you have the telly?”
She shook her head miserably.
“Well, it was on the news. Hell’s been abolished. Fact. Trust me. You read your Bible, don’t you?”
A nod.
“I mean the New Testament?”
Nod, again.
“Don’t ye know the bit about there being more rejoicing in heaven over the entrance of one sinner than that of an honest man, or something like that?”
Her wide eyes looked up at him, startled.
“I am the law,” said Hamish grandly, “and I wouldnae lie tae ye.”
When they got to Mrs. Gallagher’s croft, he said, “Give me the cat and wait there. No running away.”
Cradling Smoky against his chest, he knocked at the door. Only one lock clicked and the door was opened.
“Oh, God, it’s Smoky,” said Mrs. Gallagher. Tears of relief coursed down her face. Hamish was beginning to feel like Alice in the pool of tears.
“I want to talk to you about it,” said Hamish, following her in.
She looked at him sharply. “Smoky hasn’t been wandering the fields. He’s well fed and clean.”
“Aye. Let me tell you the story.”
He sat down and told her all about Morag, about her strict parents, about how she seemed to have every material comfort but nothing in the way of love. “She said she only wanted something to love that would love her back. Wait!” He held up his hand, seeing the anger on Mrs. Gallagher’s face. “I was going to lie to you. It’s bad enough you bitching to grown-ups, but I didn’t want you taking your spite out on a wee girl. I wanted to tell you I had just found Smoky wandering about, but those parents from hell made me bring the girl up here, and you can press charges if you want and give the poor bairn a criminal record.”
“She’s outside?”
“Yes.”
“Bring her in.”
“All right,” said Hamish wearily. “What a Christmas!”
He went out to the Land Rover and said to Morag, “You’d best come in and apologize.”
Morag climbed down and then stood looking up at him, her eyes wide with fright. “She’s a witch. Everyone says so.”
“She’s only something that rhymes with it. Witches were abolished in the eighteenth century. I am the law and that is the fact, so stop having these stupid ideas.”
They went into the croft house, Hamish gently nudging Morag in front of him.
Morag stood before Mrs. Gallagher. “I am so very sorry,” she whispered.
Mrs. Gallagher looked at Hamish. “Get out of here, Officer, and let me have a word with the girl.” Hamish hesitated. “Go on. I’m not going to eat her.”
Hamish reluctantly went outside and got into the Land Rover. He had given up smoking some years ago and now he was glad there were no shops nearby. He had a sudden sharp craving for a cigarette. He waited and waited. At last he could bear it no longer. He went back to the croft house and walked in.
Mrs. Gallagher and Morag were sitting in front of the television set. Morag had Smoky on her lap. Mrs. Gallagher stood up and said to Hamish, “A word with you outside.”
Hamish walked out with her, and Mrs. Gallagher turned to him. “You can go back to her parents and tell her that Morag’s punishment is that she’s to come up here every afternoon during the school holidays. Tell them it’s a community service.”
Hamish grinned and bent down and kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll pick her up at five o’clock,” he said. He marched off to the Land Rover.
Hamish drove off whistling. Now for those parents.
♦
When he followed Mr. Anderson into the sitting room, the angry words he had rehearsed died on his lips. Mrs. Anderson had been crying. Her eyes were red and swollen. More tears, thought Hamish. What a day for tears!
“It has turned out all right,” he said evenly, “but no thanks to you. Mrs. Gallagher wants Morag to go to her every afternoon during the holidays as a sort of community service. Morag is with her at the moment and will be home at five. Now, she was wrong to take the cat, but it seems to be that a lassie with no friends and grim parents needed something to love.”
“But we do love her. We give her everything!” cried Mrs. Anderson.
“Aye, she’s got her own wee flat where nobody ever comes. She sees the other children getting excited about Santa Claus and knows there is no Christmas for her, no fun. Now I know your minister and he’s a good man, and I don’t think he would like you to be torturing a wee girl by forbidding Christmas. She does well at school and I bet you take it for granted. I bet you think that because she’s got her own flat, she owes you. There’s more to life than material things. To try to get your child sentenced in a criminal court over a damn cat is beyond my comprehension. You could have ruined her life. You had her when you were both on in years, so she doesn’t have young parents to take her on picnics or to the movies.”
“The movies are the work of the devil,” said Mr. Anderson heavily. “Naked lewd women – ”
“Aw, shut your face, you dirty auld man!” Hamish shouted, losing his temper completely. “Haff you neffer heard o‘ Walt Disney? You go on banning everything in her life that’s fun and she’ll run away from ye as soon as she’s old enough. I’ve seen it happen time and again. And parents like you sit there and wonder why and neffer look at their own behavior. If you’re thinking of reporting me to Strathbane, forget it. I’ll deny everything about that cat and so, if I’m not mistaken, will Mrs. Gallagher. Oh, for God’s sake, lighten up. This place is like a morgue. I’m going now, but I’ll be checking on ye. And if you persecute Morag over this, I’ll have the Royal Society for the Protection of Children on your doorstep. Good day to you.”
He marched off. As he drove to the police station, he said, “Movies the work o‘ the devil! Havers!”
♦