“Well, I’ve been told there is more opportunity for the same. I don’t know how you feel on the subject, but I’ve told a few of the families here, the ones that have younger children or those who live on the least land, you know, in case they wanted to consider it.” He looked at Gillan, waiting for some sort of acknowledgement or response.
“Thank you, Mr. McManus, for your pains. I am in fact writing to some family relations to see how it fares with them, but I had hoped Glasgow might be a good choice as well. I am not yet ready to move my family, not until I have heard back.”
“Aye, that’s prudent. Perhaps I will send you the ship dates when I hear them, and any news of the new settlements that comes back to my ears. I think some are fair civilized, successful even, but that’s for you to decide.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, that would be a help.”
They shook hands and Gillan returned to his family, escorting them down the steps and out of the churchyard as the clergyman returned to his position outside the door to bless the last few families. Gillan looked over at Sheila before they moved toward home, and she understood the brief moment of pleading she saw there in his face. His request for peace for the moment granted, the subject that Mr. McManus had brought up was dropped. They trooped home, in much the same state of agitation and uncertainty as before.
CHAPTER FOUR
Tense weeks went by, but the daily chores continued: fish smoked or salted, butter and cheese churned and set, more potatoes sown and barley tended. The situation in the house was not eased by Gillan’s continued enforcement of silence on the subject of eviction or moving. It created new habits in the household: silence at meals, whispered conversations in corners, and the beginning of resentful stares.
During summer it was always the custom to be out of doors when possible, so Muirne made sure to engage different girlfriends so that she was out almost every evening after supper, walking by the loch or sitting on the hill overlooking the sea. Neil did the same, and they discussed their gathered intelligence after dark outside their house. Other households were not stopped from talking about the evictions, and they both hungered for news of what was happening elsewhere on Mull, on the mainland, on the other islands.
Neil usually had more information, as boys had a better chance to be part of the adult conversations. But he had not heard much yet about the people who’d left the area around Torloisk. They would have to wait for replies to Gillan’s letters. As for what was happening elsewhere in Scotland, Neil listened when the gossip was flying, but relayed no stories. Muirne guessed that he held back, which only made her more afraid of what she didn’t know.
Neil kept a watch on his siblings as the days went by. Alisdair continued unaffected, but Sheena started to show strain: she spoke less and glanced around the table more, very cautious. His mother was in no state to notice these things about her children, as she was trying her hardest to shore up any resources they might have, in case all was ripped away from them. This blackhouse had been her family’s for three generations, and it was to here she had returned, when Neil’s father had disappeared on the Canal.
She would fight for it. She would show the Laird that their little plot of land was more than enough to support her family, and they didn’t need the money from the kelp-ash after all. She wouldn’t be able to pay the rent on the land with the produce she was planting, but when the store of coins from the ash and the savings for Neil’s school were combined, it would be nearly enough.
To make the difference, she would sell some of her new weavings at Tobermory at the summer festival. It would have to be in secret, since Gillan didn’t approve of many of the festival-goers, but when she returned with those extra shillings, how happy he would be that they would not have to leave!
That is what Sheila was thinking of when a knock interrupted the stillness of their house. Gillan rose from the table where they were sitting for tea to open it. Framed in their doorway was Alex Eglund, whose son had been at school with Neil. Their family were the only other Seceders on the Treshnish headland, and they kept to themselves in the plain, austere style compliant with the doctrines of that Kirk.
“Good day, Eglund. Welcome to the house, will you come in? Have you had news?”
“Good day, MacLean. Aye, I will come in. I’ve summat to speak to you about.”
His eyes flicked around the house, taking in the well-made table and chairs, the neat pile of blankets by the two beds, the stacks of peat turves at the wall. His gaze settled first on Sheila, who looked tired and strained. His eyes then flicked to Muirne, a picture of blooming womanhood, with her curving figure, fine head of golden hair, dimpled cheeks, and unlined forehead.
“Will you have some tea, sir?” said Sheila, already picking up the hot pitcher and a clay mug.
“Obliged, missus,” he replied.
They waited for the news while Sheila poured, but Eglund waited for her to finish before he said anything, and then it was only a polite comment about the fine weather they were having.
Muirne, seated by the fire, felt the tension at the table. Lord, what is the man on about? she wondered. It’s not as if we’re familiar enough to take tea together for no reason.
Finally there was a direct question, and its abruptness made the room spark with anticipation.
“MacLean, my minister tells me these are hard times. Have you made any plans concerning your family, their safety? Any decisions on your course of action should it come down to it?”
The baldness of the question, from a near stranger, almost made Muirne gasp, but she clenched her ribs, producing a painful hiccup instead. It went unremarked-upon, thankfully. What will Father say?
“Have you come to offer advice, or aid? I am waiting to hear from certain friends and relatives who have moved, to see how they fare. Why, have you decided to go on?”
This was very unlikely, as the Eglunds had many branches of family in the area and on the mainland just across; unless all of them decided to go, they would not emigrate.
“No,” Eglund said quickly. Muirne thought there was some dismissiveness in his tone. But weren’t his family all Seceders, well acquainted with misery and scorn and destitution for decades? He must have some independent income or wealth.
“No,” he said again. “But my Robbie is ready to leave home and start his own.”
“Congratulations,” said Gillan, an annoyed note creeping into his voice. Muirne glanced at Neil across the hearth; he’d heard it, too. For Eglund to speak of his good fortune right after the question of moving—was he trying to embarrass them?
“Well, he is hoping to start his own home, which is why I’ve come to talk to you. He’d be here himself, but he’s away in Greenock fetching some special tools for the new method of threshing, you know?” When Gillan did not jump in to confirm his knowledge of the new method, Eglund dismissed the idea.
“Any road, Robbie did not want to delay, in case you were already set to leave.”
“Ye mean…” Gillan glanced at Muirne. She opened her mouth, understanding now the purpose of the visit. Surely my father won’t make that decision for me without asking me my preference?
“Yes,” Alex said. His self-satisfaction oozed from the single word. “Robbie has an eye out for your Muirne, and wanted that I should speak for her, before you made any hasty decisions. We will be staying, and able to provide for her.”
“Well, I thank you for the visit most sincerely, Eglund. Would it be all right if I call on you tomorrow? There are some things we must discuss as a family before making sure of our answer.”
“Well, yes, that should be fine,” he replied in a voice that expected agreement. “Good day to you then, MacLean, Mrs. MacLean.”
***
***
The sound of the door being pulled to, and the feet whispering away in the lush summer grass, were all that was heard for several moments after Alex Eglund left. Finally, Gillan turned and walked back to the table, sat down. All eyes were on him, and he felt
it.
Neil and Muirne were both remembering how sure they’d been the week before that Gillan would reject any offer from a Seceder, and wondering if he had changed so much in this turmoil that he would consider it. Muirne prayed quickly that he had not. She thought of Robbie but could barely call to mind a round white face and long lashes, since she had been young when he and Neil had gone around together. She knew they hadn’t been close friends, but Neil had been kind, as usual. Perhaps this Robbie was touched in the head, and that was why his father came outside their community to ask them. Ohhh. She moaned inwardly as she flew through the last verse of the Tenth Psalm:
O Lord, of those that humble are
thou the desire didst hear;
Thou wilt prepare their heart, and thou
to hear wilt bend thine ear;
To judge the fatherless, and those
that are oppressed sore;
That man, that is but sprung of earth,
may them oppress no more.
At long last, Gillan looked up at his stepdaughter. “Muirne, ye are fifteen, and it may be ye’ve not had thoughts of marrying yet, but you will nae doubt have offers in the next year—pretty, able thing that ye are.” He smiled, but Muirne had no room for levity in her face, as she pressed her fear of the proposal down into her lungs. Her mother made a movement with her hand, as if to support her daughter, but stood still by Gillan and waited for him to speak.
“Do you have any wish to accept Robbie at this time?”
“No, Father. I do not.”
“Well, then,” he said gustily, “we’ve nothing to worry about then. You don’t want him, I don’t want him. What about you Neil, anything to be said for this young Robbie?”
The air rushed out of her lungs with Muirne’s relief that Gillan’s stubbornness and unwillingness to think about the evictions had, for this decision, paid off. He would not abandon the principles of his kirk so easily. And she would not have to march off to the Eglund household now, when her family needed to be together.
“Not much, Father. He was quick enough at school, nothing wrong with his head or his hands. A good worker, for all I know. We went out on the water a couple of times, but he didna have much to say. He’s got all those brothers, so you’d think he’d be able to tell stories or a bit o’ craic, but he’s a silent one.”
“Hmph,” said Sheila. “He’s the oldest, is he, Neil?”
“Aye, a year older than me, and with four younger ones after him, I think.”
“I bet I know why he’s so silent. Feels for that mother o’ his, dying early from all the work. That Alex don’t lift a finger. Why, I wouldn’t send—”
But Gillan interrupted his wife with a look, and said they were not to worry, he would talk to the man and tell him their plans meant they could not accept the proposal at this time, honorable as it was.
“I only hope I can choose words that will soften the blow to the man’s pride. We don’t need to be making any enemies right now.”
Muirne came over to him, bent and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Father,” she said quietly.
“You don’t suppose you could get the Laird’s son to come over and offer for ye, do ye, Muirne? That would solve all our problems, then, wouldn’t it dear?” he said, laughter in his eyes as he looked at his wife.
“Tush, don’t make it her responsibility, Gillan. We will find out the best course, and we will take it, as a family, when needs must.”
It sounded like the final word; Gillan just nodded. Muirne saw her eleven-year-old sister’s eyes on her, filled with an innocent longing. With a wave of chagrin, she realized that her own time of youthful dreaming was past, and that now she must look out for a situation for herself. Her stepfather might well laugh about the Laird’s son, but she knew the kernel of truth held in the joke: she could be a help and a credit to her family, if only she could marry well.
CHAPTER FIVE
Another week of patchy, warm, and wet July weather passed. Sheila was dedicating hours to her loom weaving, making ready for the festival in Tobermory on the first of August. She’d passed the tasks of hoeing and weeding to Sheena, while Muirne did the daily mending and cooking for the house.
Gillan had managed to have the talk with Alex and came back thinking it had come up well, with no bad feeling. He spent his long evenings repairing nets, while his days were spent checking the lines of small oats and barley and the furrows of potatoes on their ten acres. He talked with other men about the Laird’s announcement and the effect it had so far had. For, aside from Neil and Muirne’s discovery that Willy and Ellen’s family had fled, it did not seem to add up to much. Further up the island, yes, some of their family had already cleared out, but then they had finally had word from Gillan’s sister in Glasgow.
They had moved so quickly because there was a job held for her husband at a cotton mill just south of Glasgow. Unwilling to let such a chance go, they had moved with their two children to the site immediately. She invited them to come visit if Gillan was thinking of moving, but he had only replied that he was glad to know they were safe and comfortably set up. No promises.
To Sheila, Gillan seemed more anxious about the reply from her family in the Carolinas. Finally, at the end of a hard week, just before a storm was about to come up the island’s west side, a messenger arrived with a letter from across the ocean. The wind whistled outside and the sky darkened as Gillan took the letter and the rider rode away on his horse, seeking shelter further from the shore.
Gillan tossed the envelope on the table and went round to close the shutters and stop up the sill-holes with old rags. It was sounding like a proper setting-up out there.
Sheila glanced at the table and saw Kenneth’s hand on the thick envelope. She kept her expression guarded and continued ladling out the leek soup for supper, but she felt a hard bubble press up under her ribs. How fervently she hoped for good news for her brother’s family, yet more still she hoped for Gillan to come round to sharing his mind with her. Sheena took the baps out of the fire with tongs and placed them in a basket for everyone on the table. Alisdair fetched the butter in its ceramic crock from the floor and pushed it to the center of the table as well. His eyes caught on the envelope.
“Mama, can I open it?”
“After supper, child, wait till after supper, then we’ll all hear it.”
Appreciative murmurs went round the table as they tasted the soup.
“It’s extra sweet, what did you add, Mama?” Muirne asked.
“Yon teacher of Neil’s, his wife that lives by the roadside, on the way to Loch Coruisk, she dropped off a load of early parsnips, said they’re good for thickening, and sweet, too. Turns out she was right. I think she was thanking us for the help last winter.”
“Well, it’s very good,” pronounced Gillan. “Do we not have parsnips planted in the garden?”
“Maybe it’s a different variety. Ours aren’t ready until September,” Sheila replied. “I think she got the seeds at the market in Salen. She knows a good seed-seller up there, fair prices, even with—” but she didn’t finish her thought. The meal lapsed into silence again.
After everyone helped themselves to seconds on rolls and soup, Sheena cleared the dishes into the bucket for washing at the well, and everyone’s attention turned to the letter.
“I am surprised that there’s a reply so quick, since I thought it took four weeks at the least for a ship crossing,” Sheila said.
“Aye, but there are those new clipper ships that can make it in twelve days now, Mama,” Neil said. “The tea clippers, made for the war, you remember? I learned about them from Master Wilson at school. They might use those for the post as well.”
“Well, any road, it’s come. Alisdair, you may have the honor. Be careful now,” Sheila said.
The little fingers gingerly slid under the flap, lifted it without tearing, since the glue had been cheap. “Well done,” said his mother, and Alisdair beamed. He stood at the corner of the table between his mother an
d father, waiting to hear the news.
Neil read it aloud for the family, slowly and clearly.
Dear Sheila,
I am much grieved that I could not stay to say goodbye to you. You will have learned by now of my leaving with the family, and if you’ve been dismayed by the silence, I am heartily sorry of it.
We received the notice from the heritor at Duart in early May, and debated what to do. No one else had received such a demand that we knew, but it ordered that we move by the end of the month. Mary and I talked and talked, and finally decided to take up the offer of Mr. Brown, an acquaintance from Fort William, who was arranging voyages to the Americas. It was made on a Monday and we sailed on the Wednesday, so there was hardly time to take our things down to harbor, let alone visit you with the news or send a proper word.
The journey was longer than I expected, four weeks total, which I’m told is normal. All the children survived, although little Nina has been ill since just before we arrived with a sort of chest congestion. We are living in the hills above Wilmington, North Carolina, in a house about the size of our blackhouse back home, but on someone else’s land. I have worked out a deal with the owner, a man named Tom Willis, to work under him for five years and earn a bit of land beside his. It will work for now, although there are many ships of immigrants from the north of Scotland already claiming the forest all around us. I cannot think but that we may have to earn the land only to sell it back and try to buy a plot less crowded, probably further inland, or even further West into the Plains. But there, there is the danger of Indians, and so we must see if there are other possibilities.
I write to you at Dalcriadh in the hope that you have not been forced into a similar situation and will receive this letter. If you are thinking of coming to the Carolinas, I would say look elsewhere, since as I say it is crowded and competitive, and not as open as the dealer made it sound. However, we managed to find employment and some hope for a future holding, so we can’t complain.
The Keening Page 3
