Under the Same Sky

by Genevieve Graham

  “Aye,” Iain answered. His huge wrist rotated gently, changing angles to follow the wood. “The weans an’ I will go wi’ ye.”

  The little carving in Iain’s hand was taking on the shape of a pony, its head and mane clearly defined. Andrew gestured at it with his chin. Iain shrugged.

  “For the lass. She’s taken a likin’ to the beasts.” He chuckled. “Sweet lassie, that one.”

  Andrew watched Iain’s expression, then asked a question he couldn’t hold back. “How old were yer bairns when ye went to war?”

  The knife hand paused, hovering over its work. A shadow crossed Iain’s face, and the gentle smile faded.

  “About the same as these two.” He lifted one corner of his mouth in a bitter smile and turned his face toward Andrew. “I couldna believe it when we found them there at the cottage, with their red hair and blue eyes. ’Twas like my own weans sent me for these two, God bless their wee souls.”

  He trapped his lower lip in his teeth for a moment before his eyes returned to his hands. The knife cut a careful curve in the wooden haunches, revealing a tail that waved with a flourish.

  The connection between the giant and the red-headed pixies was as invisible, and yet as real, as the bond Andrew shared with the girl from his dreams. Andrew nodded, then hesitated, wanting to somehow comfort the big man, wanting to tell him he understood. Instead, he stood up and turned toward the house.

  “Would ye think to travel to the colonies?” Iain said unexpectedly.

  Andrew stopped, considering. “The colonies? Aye, well, it’s certainly a good distance from here.” He frowned at Iain. “What about the weans? Could they survive a voyage such as that?”

  “They’d be fine wi’ me,” Iain assured him.

  “The colonies,” Andrew mused, then pictured the girl in her soft brown tunic, its beaded design like tiny flowers around her neck. “Aye. The colonies,” he said with a smile. “I’d like that fine.”

  “Good then,” Iain grunted, and returned to his carving.

  “I’m off to speak wi’ Hector,” Andrew called over his shoulder. “I’ll see ye at supper, shall I?”

  There was no response from Iain. He had disappeared, melting back into his quiet world.

  Andrew peered through the open door of the cottage and saw Janet, stirring the stew that bubbled in a black cauldron over the fire. The aroma rose through the room and caught Andrew as he entered, reminding him he had missed his midday meal.

  Janet was frowning, her lips pursed together, having just sampled the hot stew.

  “That smells fine,” Andrew said as he walked toward her father’s room.

  Hector was sitting up in bed, reading, when Andrew came into the room. He didn’t object when Andrew lifted the corner of the bandage on his arm, peered under it, then sat on a stool by the bed.

  “It’s lookin’ well.”

  Hector smiled back. “Aye, it is, though ’tis fair to say I’d no’ be here now if it wasna for you.” He put his book facedown on the bed and frowned at Andrew. “I mus’ tell ye, lad, I’ve ne’er been so pleased to see a fellow than when you an’ the others came screamin’ through the bush. What brought ye to us?” he asked, raising one eyebrow. “Ye couldna have heard the stramash from yon cottage.”

  Andrew didn’t know how to answer. He never did.

  “I just knew,” Andrew said with a shrug. He cleared his throat. “I’ve come to tell ye I’ll be leavin’ soon. Iain and the weans are comin’ wi’ me.”

  Hector raised both brows this time. “Leave a man abed for two days and everything changes, aye?”

  The afternoon sun arced just low enough to blaze through the window, momentarily blinding Andrew. He averted his gaze and turned so the sunlight warmed his back.

  “Well, so.” Hector tilted his head slightly. “What is it ye plan to do then, lad?”

  “I’m tired o’ this land. There are too many ghosts on it,” Andrew said, looking at his feet.

  Hector nodded. “An’ ye’ve seen more than yer fair share.” From the big room came the sound of Janet’s voice, talking with her mother. Hector’s expression looked sad as he gazed at the open door toward his women. “It’s a hard life for us all,” Hector said. “I understand. I’ll miss ye, lad, but I do understand.”

  Andrew rose and turned toward the door. Voicing his plans to Hector eased Andrew’s mind somewhat. For the first time he began to get excited about his imminent departure.

  “Get ye up for supper then, auld man,” he said, teasing Hector. “Else Iain will empty yer plate for ye this eve.”

  “Get on wi’ ye. I’ll be in presently.” Hector paused. “Andrew?”

  “Aye?”

  “Ye’re a good man. Your da’d be proud.”

  Andrew was in the doorway, but stopped where he was at Hector’s words. He cleared his throat, but couldn’t find words. His hand rested on the doorframe for a moment longer than it needed.

  Hector watched him go. His smile of regret faded just as the sun’s rays slipped beneath the window, leaving him alone in the quiet grayness of the room.

  Chapter 21

  Another Traveler

  Andrew walked from Hector’s room, through the kitchen, past Janet and Sorcha. The cooking fire sputtered under a drip from a roasting pheasant, which was flavouring the air and taking on a fine shade of deep gold. Janet stopped rolling out dough and cleared her throat when Andrew came out. She wiped her hands on her apron.

  “Andrew, could I maybe speak wi’ ye?”

  “O’ course,” he said. “Will ye walk outside?”

  He waited while she untied her apron and hung it over a chair. She cast her mother an apologetic glance, but Sorcha smiled and gestured for her to go.

  Outside the cottage the air was crisp, the grass crunchy under their feet. They walked toward the firepit, where Iain had left a small heap of wood shavings lying in the ashes. Andrew sat in the spot Iain had left, and Janet sat beside him. She seemed agitated, frowning and plucking at her skirt, so he didn’t rush her.

  This was Andrew’s favourite time of day, when day softened into night. He leaned back and closed his eyes, then yawned, filling his lungs with dusk.

  “When do ye leave?” Janet asked. She picked up one of the wood shavings and stroked the edges with her thumbs.

  “In the morn.”

  She nodded. They sat in silence for a moment, then she turned to face him.

  “I want to go wi’ ye,” she said, daring him with a flash of green eyes.

  “Oh, Janet. We’ve been over that,” he said. “I tol’ ye I’m not—”

  She shook her head, biting her lower lip. “Nay, Andrew. I’m askin’ if you and Iain are takin’ the weans wi’ ye, then can ye please take me as well. I’d be a help. I’d mind the weans, an’ cook, an’ whatever else needs doin’.”

  “And your parents?” he asked, returning her gaze. “Have ye spoken wi’ them about this?”

  She dropped her gaze to her skirt, where her fingers folded and refolded the material. She shook her head. “No’ yet. I wanted to be sure ye’d say it was all right afore I asked them.”

  She waited and he saw the desperate hope in her expression.

  “I dinna ken, lass,” he said, and shook his head. “We’ve decided to go to the colonies, aye? ’Tis a savage land for a young woman.”

  “Andrew,” she stated calmly, “I canna stay here. If I do, I’ll die. The most excitin’ thing I’ll see here is the calving next spring. I’ve told ye afore, I mus’ get out. If that means sailin’ to America, I’m ready for it,” she said. She reached for his hand. “Please, Andrew. Dinna leave me here. I promise I’ll no’ come after ye like I did.” Her cheeks flushed again. “Ye can help me find a fine, rich husband where’er it is we end up.”

  Andrew laughed and gave her hand an affectionate squeeze.

  “Whoe’er he is, he’ll be a lucky man.” He shook his head. “Janet, yer da will ne’er let ye go. He’ll need ye here. He’ll say ye’re too young.”<
br />
  “Too young! Andrew, I’m no’ much younger than you! And I could cook and take care of ye all. Please, Andrew!”

  “I must say no unless he says it’s all right.”

  She nodded, but her face turned a deep shade of red, her lips tightened in a straight line. He wasn’t sure if she was going to scream or cry. He felt ashamed, and sorry he couldn’t grant her wish.

  Janet stood, feeling betrayed. She stared at Andrew, then turned and went to find her parents. They would be even more of a challenge, but she had to try. This was her only chance. She forced herself to calm down before she entered the cottage. Her father always said she had a wicked temper. It would do no good to lose control when she needed it the most. She took a deep breath and stepped through the outer door, into the cottage.

  The air was scented with the spices of the supper she had helped prepare. It smelled delicious, but at that moment it seemed almost suffocating for her. She walked through the main room and past the kitchen, then knocked on her parents’ door.

  “Aye?” came her father’s voice.

  “ ’Tis only me, Da,” she said. “I’ve something I must ask ye, if ye’ve time.”

  “O’ course. Come in, Janet,” he said.

  She lifted the latch on their door and stepped into the bedroom. Her parents were sitting together on the side of their bed, talking. Her father was dressed in a clean white shirt and wrapped in a dark kilt for dinner. Sorcha was laughing.

  “Come in, mo nighean,” Hector said, smiling up at her. “What do ye need?”

  Janet sat on the bed beside them. A cold weight landed in her stomach, and she realised she was too afraid to ask. They waited. She took a deep breath. No. She had to do it.

  “I mean to go wi’ Andrew and Iain when they leave.”

  There was an uncomfortable silence in the room. Everyone’s smile faltered. Her father cleared his throat.

  “What are ye sayin’, daughter?” His voice was uneven with shock. He frowned as if she were telling a joke. “Ye’ll no’ be travelin’ wi’ those men. They’ve a great distance to go, and every mile of it dangerous. Yer mam and I need ye here.”

  Janet looked at her mother, then her father. Her eyes filled with tears, but she refused to shed even one. It would be a sign of weakness. She needed her parents to think she was strong enough to handle anything. She kept her voice level.

  “I’m grown, Da. I’m seventeen. I’ve a life to discover, and I’ll no’ find it here. Ye know that as well as I. There’s nothing for me here. The men were all killed last spring fightin’ for bloody Prince Charles, so there’s no one left for me to marry. Besides, I want more, Da. I want to see what I’ve read about in books. I want to learn things an’ meet people. If I stay here, I’ll never be happy. Ye know it, Da. Ye know it! I canna stay here.”

  Hector’s lips tightened. “That’s enough, Janet. Go now and forget this nonsense,” he said and dismissed her with a jerk of his chin toward the door.

  She hesitated, wanting to plead her case further, but his expression was set. Her mother’s face showed little emotion, though her eyes looked sad. Janet backed away, looking at them in turn, searching for a crack in their wall. When she reached the door, she turned and walked out of the room, finally and quietly surrendering to tears.

  Hector looked at his wife with his eyebrows raised in disbelief. He shook his head.

  “Can ye believe that, Sorcha? Wantin’ to leave like that? Leave us and go God knows where with those men we hardly know? Foolishness,” he grumbled.

  “Do ye think so, mo dhuine?” Sorcha asked.

  He blinked. “What, do you not?”

  “I think, my husband, that it is something we should talk about.”

  “How can ye say such a thing?” he blurted.

  “How can ye refuse your daughter’s wish wi’out stopping to think?” Sorcha touched her husband’s face, cupping his rough cheek in her palm. “Ye ken she’s no’ happy here. She’s bored, and she’s lonely. Ye can see she wants more than this.”

  Hector stared at his wife as if she had lost her mind. Sorcha reached for his hand.

  “Come now, Hector. What I mean is we shouldna forbid her wi’out thinkin’ on it first. She deserves to be heard. If she feels so strongly, we owe her that.”

  Hector puffed air through his lips. “Ye canna be serious, Sorcha. Send her away? Put her on one o’ them godforsaken ships and hope she makes it across to some piece o’ rock somewhere? She just waltzes in here and says she’s off? How can I condone that? What should I do, say, ‘Ooh aye, Janet, lass. Have a lovely trip’? She said it herself, Sorcha, she’s only seventeen.”

  “Older than I was when I married you, Hector MacLeod,” she reminded him. “I was old enough then to be your wife, to bear yer babes. She’s a woman, mo dhuine, no’ a wee lassie anymore.” She paused. “Just think on it, Hector.”

  She kissed him lightly, then stood, dropping his hand. A calm smile still played across her lips and he saw, as he always did, how beautiful she was. They had lived a lifetime together, and she was every bit as lovely as when they had first met. And she had grown so much wiser over the years. She walked to the door and looked back, leaning against the frame.

  “What am I to do, Sorcha?” he asked.

  “Think on it,” she repeated quietly. “I’m of a mind to let her go. But I’ll say nothing wi’out yer blessing. Ye reacted quickly, and understandably. Now ye’ve had time to consider it. If ye say no, well, then I’ll say no as well. But think o’ Janet. Think o’ what she’ll do here. There’s no’ much future for her here. And out there,” she said, gesturing vaguely toward the window, “she could find more. She could discover whate’er it is makes her happy.” She sighed. “God knows I wish I knew what she wanted. I just know, Hector, you and I both know it’s not here.”

  After Sorcha left, Hector sat for a long time, arguing with himself. His heart couldn’t fathom losing Janet. His head couldn’t imagine forcing her to stay. He walked to the window and looked out at his sons. They were talking with each other while they mucked out the stable and forked in clean hay. Hector tried to remember them as they had been ten years before. Young pups, laughing and pushing each other until they collapsed into a wriggling heap. Watching them now, he noticed things he hadn’t admitted to himself before: their broad shoulders, the new suggestion of authority in their deeper voices, the shadow of beards on their faces.

  They seemed happy. Hector didn’t think they would leave. Not yet, anyway. They were Highlanders, content to be what they were.

  But Janet—

  He leaned his forehead on his hand, running his fingers under his hair. Aye, he’d think on it. His memory showed him a long-forgotten image of Sorcha on the day they had wed: her trusting eyes, her soft young body. Sixteen. Sweet Sorcha. How could it be his own daughter had passed that same age already?

  When the meal was about to be served, Hector made his way to the table, heavily bandaged and bracing himself on his wife’s shoulder. Janet was there, trying to hide her reddened eyes. She stared at her lap without saying a word.

  The pheasant was delicious, and the pot of cock-a-leekie soup bottomless. Whisky and ale flowed easily throughout supper. Iain and the children carried on their own conversation, serious and laughing in turn. Spirits were high around the table. Nevertheless, tension hung in the air. After the meal, the women cleaned up and the men went outside to enjoy the evening. When the others gathered around the firepit, Hector pulled Andrew aside and led him along a line of trees that flickered with the firelight.

  “She’s only seventeen, Andrew,” Hector said. He looked at his feet, not ready to meet Andrew’s eyes. “She’s headstrong and she’s difficult at times, but she’s my lass. I can see why it is ye’re so drawn to each other, lad, it’s just—”

  Andrew frowned. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Hector, but what is it she said to ye?”

  Hector raised his eyebrows. “She said she’s leavin’ wi’ ye on the morn. Did ye no speak wi
’ her about that?”

  “Och, aye, we spoke,” Andrew confirmed with a wry smile that sparkled in his eyes. “I told her she couldna come.”

  “Ye told her no?”

  “I did.”

  Hector thought this over. “And why is it ye said no?”

  “I’m no’ sure,” Andrew said with a shrug. “I didna think ye’d agree to it, I suppose. We’re headed to America, aye? A long journey, that.”

  “Aye, aye,” Hector murmured, absorbed in his thoughts. They walked a little farther and Hector stopped, blocking Andrew’s path.

  “She’ll never speak to me again if I dinna let her go,” Hector said. “And I’ll never see her again if she goes. It seems I canna win.”

  Andrew clamped his hand on Hector’s good shoulder and smiled. “If ye trust Iain and myself to it, we’d care for her as if she were our own sister. I give ye my word she will come to nae harm.”

  “As yer sister, aye?” Hector asked, raising one eyebrow.

  “Aye, Hector.” Andrew grinned. “As my sister. Janet’s lovely, and I’d be a lucky man, but it’s not to be. I’ve another, aye? That I’m sworn to.”

  Hector’s white linen bandage glowed in the night. The men stood in silence, digesting each other’s words. Finally Hector sighed.

  “ ’Tis a shame, that, Andrew. Ye’re a man of honour. She’d do well to marry ye.” There was another pause. “I’ll tell her yes, then, if it’s fine with you, and wi’ Iain.”

  Andrew smiled. “O’ course, Hector. We’d be glad of her.”

  They walked a few more steps. The going was easier now the decision had been made.

  “So, ye’ll go to the colonies? Yer mind’s set against Europe?” Hector asked.

  “Aye. There’s plenty o’ land in the New World for men willing to work it. It’s no’ an easy way, but it feels right to me.”

  Hector looked dubious. He now had a personal interest in the direction Andrew took.

  “They do say as there be great beasts and savages there, what eat men like you for breakfast. At least ye’d be safe in the streets of Paris.”

  “I think not.” Andrew grinned. “Paris has its own predators, aye? Nay, I’ll no’ fool myself that life will be easy, but I dinna think it’ll be as terrible as all that.”