The Journey of the Shadow Bairns

by Margaret J. Anderson

  Elspeth watched the receding shore. They couldn’t get Robbie now. She put her arm protectively around his shoulders, pulling him closer to her. If only Mama and Papa could be here too. She tried to shake off the bleak feeling of loneliness that slipped over her when she thought of her parents. She whispered to her little brother. “We’ve done it, Robbie! We ran away and no one stopped us!” But somewhere in her mind came the answering thought—no one really cared. Abruptly, Elspeth turned her back on England and pulled Robbie over to the stairs.

  At the bottom of the first flight they passed a dining room where a steward was setting out a tub of ship biscuits and another of hard-boiled eggs. As soon as his back was turned, Elspeth dashed forward and shoved four eggs into her pockets. She took a biscuit for each of them.

  “Was it all right to take them?” Robbie asked nervously, when Elspeth divided the spoils back in the hold. “Won’t they be angry?”

  “It’s our supper. It’s meant for us,” Elspeth reassured him. “It’s just better to eat it here by ourselves. I’ll take our mugs and fetch tea, but you wait here.”

  The ship biscuit was about six inches across and an inch thick, so it kept Robbie quiet for a long time. For both of them an egg was a rare treat, and they’d never had two each before.

  By evening, Robbie and Elspeth knew their way around the ship. They heard plenty of angry complaints about the crowded holds and makeshift washrooms, but they thought nothing of it because they’d shared a toilet with five other families back in Glasgow.

  Robbie didn’t want to sleep, with all the excitement and noise. On one side of them a baby was crying. On the other, a man and his wife were arguing.

  “I’ll lie right down beside you,” Elspeth said, tucking a blanket around Robbie. “Look, here’s Pig-Bear!”

  The quarreling voices became still, and they could hear the mother singing softly to her crying baby. Tears filled Elspeth’s eyes as she recognized the sweet music of “Bonny Doon,” a song Mama used to sing. Ye mind me o’ departed joys, departed never to return. Elspeth began to cry.

  Robbie reached up and touched Elspeth’s wet cheek. “Don’t cry, Elspeth!” he said softly. “They’ll never find us here. They won’t know where to look.”

  She snuggled closer to him. Was it easier or harder for Robbie, not being burdened with so many memories? she wondered. As time went by, he would forget Mama and Papa. But at least he still had her, and she had him. Comforted by this thought, she finally drifted off to sleep to the soothing music of hymns.

  For the first time since Mama died, Robbie slept through the night. They were awakened by the sounds of the families around them beginning their second day at sea. Leaving Robbie in their secluded corner, Elspeth went to wash a few clothes in a scant bucket of water one of the stewards had provided. When she returned to the hold she was surprised to find he wasn’t alone. Two freckle-faced girls stared up at her. They both had fine, light-red hair, almost orange, twisted into tight braids. They looked to be about eight or nine years old. Elspeth was sure she’d seen them somewhere before.

  “They’re Rachel and Rebecca,” Robbie said eagerly. “They want to be Shadow Bairns,”

  “Shadow Bairns are quiet,” Elspeth said sternly. “How do they know about Shadow Bairns if you were quiet?”

  “Pig-Bear went out and that one—Rachel—found him. I had to go out and get him. Shadow Bairns stick together.”

  Elspeth looked at the girls and wondered how Robbie knew which one was Rachel. They looked exactly alike. Then she remembered where she’d seen them before. At Carlisle Station, with their father and mother, saying good-bye to the old ladies.

  “Please, will you let us be Shadow Bairns?” Rebecca asked.

  ”Let them,” Robbie pleaded.

  Elspeth looked at his eager face. It might help to have friends on the boat, even though they were younger than she was. And playing with them would keep Robbie amused. “All right,” she said.

  “I knew she’d let us! I knew she would!” Rachel said to Robbie.

  “But first you have to show that you know how to be Shadow Bairns. You have to creep through the hold and up to the deck and hide behind the lifeboat near the top of the stairs without your brother seeing you.”

  “How do you know about our brother?” Rebecca asked.

  “Elspeth knows everything,” Robbie answered proudly. “I’ll show you the lifeboat.”

  Elspeth watched them go, looking forward to a few minutes to herself. Robbie and the twins merged with the shadows, passing through the hold with exaggerated caution, but no one paid any attention to them. It was easy to be Shadow Bairns! Easy to go unnoticed, even in a place where there wasn’t enough room for everyone. Elspeth suddenly found she didn’t want to be alone after all. Taking the clothes she had just washed, she followed the children to the deck, giving them time to reach the lifeboat first.

  They had pulled a piece of loose canvas around them to shut out the wind and were sitting together, snug in their shelter.

  “We did it! We did it!” shouted one of the twins.

  “Shadow Bairns are quiet,” Elspeth reminded her.

  “Tell us more about Shadow Bairns.”

  Elspeth sat down beside them and told them about this place called Manitoba where the Shadow Bairns were going. She could see the place clearly just from the sound of its name. It was a small town, with steep mountains behind, close to a huge lake like the picture Miss Johnstone had shown them at school The houses were white, crowded close together, and had steep red roofs and doors of different colors.

  “What color is Uncle Donald’s door?” Robbie asked.

  “Blue,” Elspeth answered. “Blue like the water in the lake. And all around the lake are beaches of silver sand.”

  The story was interrupted by an angry shout. “So that’s where you two brats are hiding! I should throw you overboard, because that’s where Papa and Mama think you are by now and I’m getting the blame! You come back to your bunk and stay there!”

  “We can’t, Matthew! We’re Shadow Bairns,” one of the twins said.

  “We weren’t to tell,” said the other.

  The boy grabbed the girls and pulled them toward the stairs, both of them protesting loudly.

  “Maybe their brother wants to be a Shadow Bairn too,” Robbie suggested when they were gone.

  Elspeth shook her head. Their brother was too old to pretend things like that. Besides, he had taken no notice of her and Robbie.

  “I’m hungry,” Robbie said.

  “Maybe there are still some eggs and biscuits,” Elspeth answered hopefully. “Let’s go down to the dining room.”

  The stewards were bringing in bowls of stew and mashed potatoes. Elspeth and Robbie hesitated in the entryway, drawn by the warm smell of the food, but afraid to go into the crowded dining room.

  “Have your ma and pa lost their appetites already?” a friendly steward asked. “Come on away in and help yourselves.”

  They filled their plates and sat close together at one of the big tables, eating quickly and feeling like uninvited guests at a party. The benches were nailed to the floor, and the tables had raised edges that made it difficult for Robbie to reach his food. They soon understood the reason for the raised edges when plates and mugs slid across the table as the ship rolled.

  “Hold onto your dish, Rob,” Elspeth warned. Too late. Robbie’s plate had shot across the table.

  “One helping of this muck is enough for me!” the man opposite them said, pushing the plate back.

  Robbie laughed and they both began to feel at ease.

  After dinner they went back down to the hold. The mother was singing to her baby, and someone on the other side was snoring. Their dark corner now seemed familiar and welcoming. A feeling of well-being settled over Elspeth. She and Robbie were together, part of this huge family of people, all going to Canada.

  Chapter 5

  “If you are afraid”

  APRIL 4, 1903

 
; Early the following morning, the red-headed twins crawled into Elspeth and Robbie’s corner. “It’s all right!” one of them said. “We can be Shadow Bairns.”

  “And Matthew says he’ll be them and look for us,” the other added.

  “You weren’t to tell anyone!” Elspeth scolded them. “You haven’t even kept the first rule.”

  Before she could say more, Matthew peered through the narrow entrance. “This is a great hiding place,” he said. “Though it’s a bit small. I don’t think I can get in.”

  “Nobody invited you!”

  “What’s this about Shadow Bairns? And getting up to the deck without me spotting you?”

  “It was just something to do,” Elspeth answered guardedly.

  “I bet you couldn’t make it around the boat without me seeing you—not if I was looking for you,” Matthew challenged her.

  “I’m sure I could!”

  From that beginning, Shadow Bairns evolved into a game far more complicated than hide-and-seek. It was played all over the ship, with Matthew usually the seeker. The game went on for days, and the longer they played, the more refined and complex the rules became. For Robbie and the twins, the line between make-believe and reality became blurred. They crept about like Shadow Bairns all the time, hiding and whispering together. For Elspeth, it was just a game, but she had never had the freedom to play like this before, and so she enjoyed it as much as any of them. Playing with Matthew and his sisters drove away the loneliness, the feeling of not belonging. She grew more and more daring, looking for new places to hide. There was hardly an inch of the ship, the children didn’t explore.

  It was on the fifth day of the voyage that Elspeth climbed to the forbidden First Class deck in response to a dare from Matthew. The wind was strong, blowing salt spray that stung her face and hands. On such a wild afternoon the deck was deserted, so she was not particularly careful, and almost bumped into a man standing alone in a corner, somewhat protected from the wind. He looked like one of the crew because he was wearing a white cap, but Elspeth noticed he also had a stiff white minister’s collar. He bowed slightly and introduced himself as Isaac Barr.

  Elspeth stared at him, completely overwhelmed to find herself in the presence of the head of the whole expedition. This was the man they had talked about in Glasgow, the man who had written the pamphlet that Papa had asked her to read.

  “I hope things go well for you and your family in Canada,” he said earnestly.

  Elspeth nodded dumbly.

  “It’s a big responsibility, you know,” he continued. “Taking all you people to the New Land—but you’ll find a better life there.”

  Elspeth looked up at him. He hadn’t even noticed she was too poor and untidy to be on the First Class deck. His thick round glasses hid the expression in his eyes, but she thought he looked sad. How awful to have to worry about all these people. At least she was only responsible for Robbie.

  “It’s people like you we need on this venture,” he said. “Young, willing to adapt.”

  Listening to his mellow voice, Elspeth knew that here was someone who would understand why she and Robbie had come by themselves. They weren’t just running away from the social worker. They were going to make a new life for themselves. They wanted to see the Promised Land. He would know how to find Uncle Donald and Aunt Maud. But before she could say anything a steward appeared on the deck. One glance at his outraged face told her that he could see that she didn’t belong there. She turned and ran.

  On her way down to the hold she met Matthew, who asked where she’d been.

  “Up on the First Class deck,” she answered, trying to sound casual, but unable to keep the triumph out of her voice.

  “You were not!”

  “I’ve been talking to Mr. Barr.”

  “I don’t believe you!”

  “I was so!”

  “I wouldn’t waste my time talking to him,” Matthew said. “Papa says he’s crooked.”

  “He is not! Don’t you know that he’s the one who organized all this?”

  “That’s what I mean! Look how we’re crowded in here. But I didn’t come to argue with you. I’ve been looking for you all afternoon because Robbie’s sick. He needs you.”

  Elspeth didn’t wait to hear more. She stumbled down the steep stairs in her hurry to reach the hold. The air was thick with the smell of smoke and stale food and sickness. Rob lay listless on his blanket, worn out by vomiting. Elspeth tried to reassure herself. Lots of people were seasick, and the boat was pitching more than ever. But as the afternoon wore on, Robbie grew worse. Tears ran down his pale face, and time and again, he called out for Mama.

  “Hush, Robbie,” Elspeth said, looking anxiously out from their corner through the narrow opening. She was afraid that Robbie’s crying would attract attention, but at the same time she wished that someone would come and tell her what to do.

  “Do you want a drink of water?” she asked, holding the mug to his lips.

  The water only made him sick again.

  Night came, and Elspeth crouched bedside Robbie, his head resting on her lap. She listened to the creaking and groaning of the boat as if it protested the wild tossing of the sea. The lamps in the hold had all been extinguished, but here and there people had lit their own candles, which formed small pools of flickering light. Elspeth’s corner was completely dark, so she couldn’t see Robbie. Sometimes he was frighteningly quiet and at other times loud and demanding. He constantly asked if they were near, and mumbled about being a Shadow Bairn. Elspeth wished she’d never invented the game, yet she found herself reminding him that Shadow Bairns were quiet when he called out too loudly.

  The boat rolled more violently. A suitcase crashed from an upper bunk and the baby was crying again; nearby, someone was moaning. Elspeth’s head ached from lack of air and lack of sleep. Her leg was numb, but she didn’t want to move in case she disturbed Robbie. She stroked his damp, sticky forehead and wished Mama was with them. She would know what to do for him. “Take care of wee Rob. Don’t let them take him. You are to stay together,” Mama had said. But this wasn’t what Mama had meant. She wouldn’t have wanted them to run away. Elspeth felt cut off from the past, cut off from the future. She tried to imagine them arriving at Uncle Donald’s and Aunt Maud’s house, the cousins running out to meet them. But the crying baby and groaning passengers drove such comforting thoughts from her mind.

  Morning brought little change. The storm still raged and the hold was dark. Robbie was quieter now, but Elspeth knew that she must get help. She thought about going to see Mrs. Galbraith, the twins’ mother, but she’d been seasick ever since the boat left England. Elspeth didn’t think the doctor would have time to listen to her with so many people ill, but she would have to try.

  She made Robbie as comfortable as she could, then she walked slowly through the hold, wondering whom she could ask for help. Perhaps it was a trick of the shadows, perhaps it was fear of the storm, but every face stared back at her with forbidding looks of bitterness or anger. Near the doorway, she saw Mrs. Beattie, the woman who had shared their compartment on the train. She was sitting on a wooden crate beside her bunk, staring straight ahead. There was certainly nothing in her hard, carved features that made her face any less intimidating that the others. But at least she was familiar.

  “Please, ma’am” Elspeth said, pausing beside her. “My wee brother’s awful sick and I need help.”

  The woman turned slowly and looked at Elspeth, her expression not changing at all.

  “Where do you think I’ll find the doctor, ma’am?” Elspeth asked.

  “Bring the lad here,” Mrs. Beattie answered in a flat voice. “There’s more air here near the door.”

  “I don’t think I can carry him, ma’am. He can’t walk. He’s awful bad.”

  “Jim!” the woman said, raising her voice. “Give the girl a hand to fetch her brother here. He’s been sick.”

  Jim Beattie dragged himself slowly from the bunk beside them and follo
wed Elspeth back to her corner. He waited while she helped her brother out. She hoped Robbie wouldn’t shout and struggle, thinking one of them had got him, when Jim Beattie lifted him, but he lay passive in Jim Beattie’s arms.

  “Have you given him anything to drink?” Mrs. Beattie asked when she saw him.

  “It just makes him sick,” Elspeth answered.

  Mrs. Beattie held a cup of water to Robbie’s lips. He would have gulped it down, but she allowed him only a sip and then made him rest.

  “You can leave him here for now,” Mrs. Beattie said. “You need a bit of air. Or maybe a sleep yourself. You look worn out.”

  Reluctantly, Elspeth left Robbie with Mrs. Beattie and climbed the stair to the deserted deck. She squeezed between the lifeboat and the rail, pulling the piece of loose canvas around her to cut off some of the wind. It was lonely without Robbie. That Mrs. Beattie was a strange woman—the way she never asked about them being on their own.

  Later in the afternoon the wind dropped. When Elspeth went back to the hold, she found that the lamps were lit again. People’s faces looked softer now, kinder.

  “How’s Robbie?” she asked Mrs. Beattie.

  “Much better,” the woman answered. “He’s had a cup of tea and a bite of bread and held it down. He’s sleeping quite soundly now, so you’d best leave him here for tonight.”

  Elspeth wished that Mrs. Beattie would ask her to stay too, but she was staring straight ahead again, as if she’d forgotten about Elspeth. Sadly, Elspeth returned to their corner, which seemed very empty without Robbie. She smoothed out her blankets and lay down. Surely she was tired enough to sleep. Someone began to play the melody of the hymn “Lead Kindly Light.” Elspeth listened to the words as people nearby joined in the singing. The night is dark, and I am far from home; lead Thou me on. “Please let Robbie be all right,” she prayed over and over, until she fell asleep.