“We’ll manage the field, I think,” Sheila said, a determined note creeping into her obsequious tone.
“Well, but don’t forget you need to ask the Laird if he’ll even let you pay. It may be he needs the grazing for other reasons. It’s happened that way in other places, and he may be no different. But I’ve done my duty,” he finished, and stood, ignoring the still-steaming tea that Muirne had placed in front of him.
After the door closed behind him, mother and daughters looked at each other. Sheena sniffled back tears, and Alisdair seemed in danger of catching the impulse, so Sheila redirected their attention.
“We must trust to God, my pets. He has sent me silver through the woolen market,” she said as she poured out the coins from her blanket sack. “And He must have had a good reason for doing so.” Muirne had the sudden thought that they might be needing it for finding a new home, but she kept quiet. Sheila saw the thought cross her face.
“Whatever it is we need it for, we will know when the time comes,” she said.
“Shall I write to Father and Neil then? What shall we say?” asked Muirne.
“Here, Sheena,” said Sheila, handing her an old piece of paper. “Make the whitewash paste to cover the old writing.” Muirne got out the pen and bottle of ink stowed carefully underneath the airing cupboard, and sat down to compose the letter her mother dictated.
CHAPTER TEN
It took several days for the letter to reach Glasgow, during which Gillan and Neil had stayed to make sure there were not other opportunities to be had that would suit either of them better. They looked in at the taverns, at the factories supplying the new-fangled steam engines with crossbar tracks, and at the docks on the River Clyde where men stood loading and unloading freight.
“Now that’s something I could do,” said Neil, brightening at the thought of work out in the open, with other men.
Gillan nodded, and sought the dock for the man who looked like a boss. There was a small structure with one window back of the paths down to the river that looked promising. They went and knocked, and were met a moment later by a man who looked as if he’d just woken up. His clothes were in some disarray, and there was an odd smell about him.
“Good afternoon, sir. We were wondering—”
“Wondering about a job then?” The man’s eyes narrowed as he glanced at Neil and Gillan. Neil avoided his gaze, which is why he caught sight of the ribbon on the floor, and the ladies’ shoes peeking from behind a curtain at the back. Before his mind could process what that could mean, the man replied.
“I could take this lad on, as I can build him up to the work, but not you, you’re not big enough for it,” he said. The impersonal tone of this cut allowed Gillan to absorb it with a slow blink, as he took in that he and this man were the same height.
“And is it different owners up and down the river, or all one?” he asked.
“All different, but they’ll tell you all the same thing. Got to be tall and strong, not bent over from farming work.”
Gillan hung his head, appearing more bent over than ever. Neil felt ashamed for him.
“Thank you, sir.” They turned away. Gillan’s slight limp seemed even more pronounced for the short walk.
In a few paces, Neil had put together the pieces of the story, and wanted to tell Gillan that they did not want to work for this man anyway. “Father, did you notice—”
But Gillan did not want to talk. “Not now, Neil. Let’s away home.” And they walked home with a bit of cloud over their heads.
That night they said their goodbyes and gave their excuses as to why they had to go home: harvest, no need for a move right away, a daughter to see married. Jenny, and Charlie when he came home, accepted this reasoning with no qualms, and it made for a happy party around the table for tea that night, as the sun stretched long into the evening.
The next morning the pair set out early, laden with food and little presents of ointments and hankies for the women at home, and wooden carvings for Alisdair. They had sat down for their own solitary noon meal in the moor east of the city when Gillan finally spoke of the attitude of the navvy down on the banks.
“Ye mind, I know that I am not a great big honk of a man, but I’m enough to do for a family, the fishing, the farming. I served my king and am no longer in my best form, it’s true, but there’s no shame in that.” He paused to consider, or perhaps convince himself. “I’m glad we’re going back, Neil, since I don’t think we’re either of us suited to the factory or the dock work or whatever else in the city.”
“Did you see, Father, that the man at the docks was hiding a woman?”
A tiny smile appeared on Gillan’s face. “Didja see ‘er then?”
“No, just some ribbon and her shoes under the curtain.”
“Ach, well, just as well, since there is another reason: your mother would have my hide if she knew you were consortin’ with the likes o’ him!” And they had a good laugh, happy to be returning home where folk knew how to behave.
However they’d not gone far after that when they heard a rider galloping along the road, hallo-ing as he went. Neil and Gillan stopped to watch; they were astonished to see it was their Charlie, on a borrowed horse, come to seek them. Gillan’s heart immediately dropped to his feet.
“It’s not Sheila or the children, is it?” he asked before Charlie had stopped the horse. He was anxious to discover the news that had had his brother-in-law ride after them at such a pace.
“Whoa, whoa. I don’t know, she’s sent a note, your Sheila, by the express.”
“The express!” said Neil, astonished. That would have taken money. She must really have wanted, or needed, to catch them before they left Aunt Jenny’s. Neil read the words aloud, seeing his sister’s handwriting but hearing his mother’s tone in the careful restraint.
“Dear Gillan,
We have just had the news from the Rev. Mr. McManus that we are meant to move as well. A tacksman must have refused to deliver the notices back a month ago. Anyway, Mr. McManus does not know if it would be possible to stay even if we manage to pay the rents, so I am going tomorrow morning to ask the Laird about it.
I will send another letter then, not express, to tell you the answer. Meanwhile, you may as well stay in Glasgow with Jenny, as it may turn out better for us to stay split up. Muirne and Sheena and I will do for the harvest, if need be.
Your loving Sheila
There was a stunned, disbelieving pause after Neil finished. The hard blowing of the horse was the only sound.
“It looks as if we are to stay a bit longer at your table, Charlie, if it’d be no trouble,” said Gillan.
Charlie looked from Gillan to Neil and back. “Aye, it’s nae trouble. But what does it mean? Can ye no—”
“No, it does sound very bad. We may yet lose the croft. I may yet be working at yon mill with ye, Charlie,” he said with an attempt to make light of the risk.
“Well,” said Charlie, not sure how to comfort someone after such inconclusive news. “I’m sure Jenny’ll be happy to have ye back for another while, and we shall pray for good news to come next.”
Neil was hardly listening to them. His heart broke at the thought of his mother and sisters, even wee Sheena, out in the fields at the barley. They would have to be working longer than the men, as it would be smaller loads and more trips to the hay loft to bring in the stacks. Dawn till dusk, he thought. And here I am complaining about a nine-hour day with a bit of noise.
They turned back, Charlie leading the horse, and the two older men chatting about the factory work Gillan would try for. Along the way, Gillan spoke to Neil, “If you prefer the river log job, you can try your hand at that. We can at least see what the pay is at a different operation.”
Neil knew he was trying to be very fair to him, and ducked his head. “Aye, I’ll look to it tomorrow.”
After another few miles, Neil asked, “How long do you think it will take for Mother’s next letter? She must have been to see the Laird already.”
> “True,” said Gillan. “I think the regular post takes three or four days, lad, so we shouldna have long to wait.”
Suddenly, August stretched like a prison sentence in front of Neil. He wished to be able to step back and have this one last summer month on the island. If indeed they were to be tossed aside no matter the rents they could pay, then they would likely move here, to the city. His heart yearned to be back by the sea to help his mother and sisters with the harvest, and see the familiar sights one last time.
***
***
But it was not to be. Four days later they received the letter. Sheila used the same restrained, practical tone as before, but they could well imagine what she left out. How humiliating it had been to plead to keep her home, promising to pay to keep what was theirs, with no man to stand for her.
And the denial. Gillan had no doubt there were more details to that which his wife had withheld, but he did not press her in his reply. If the Laird had indeed turned ‘English gentleman,’ and chosen to live on his income in London rather than with his clan on the island, then it was probably best they did clear out before any worse troubles befell them.
As the menfolk were receiving and digesting the news of the letter, Sheila and her three children at Dalcriadh were busy preparing for the mammoth task ahead. In a few days the barley would be thick with spikes, and they were readying the tools, clearing space next to the blackhouse for the stacks to stay dry, and hurrying to neighbors in the dark evenings to ask whether they would have need of their barley come the end of September.
Many were in the same boat, and would need to leave their crops behind. A few said they’d be staying and trusting to their luck and their faith, and these could spare a few coins in exchange for the extra grain. The time came for them to visit the Eglunds, and Muirne was dreading it, but determined to treat it as a challenge to her character that she leave her pride behind as she did what was necessary for her family.
Sheila’s knock was answered by Alex’s young wife, Polly, who registered a slight shock at seeing them, but asked them in politely. She’d come over from the mainland, a Seceder from an Argyll congregation. They went through the niceties and Sheila came round to their point in visiting: the news they’d had from the Laird, and their current plan to move to Glasgow once the harvest was in. As they would not be taking it all with them, would the Eglunds have a need for some extra this winter, and be able to give them something for their journey and their plans to start over in the city?
Polly, Sheila could tell, was about to give some slight excuse to say no, but before she could, her husband spoke up from a dark corner of their house where he’d been listening. “And why isn’t it yer man here to ask, Mrs. MacLean? I should think it’d be his duty.”
Sheila colored; he clearly meant to embarrass her. Muirne responded for her. “My father and brother are already in Glasgow looking for work with some family there, Mr. Eglund. They would be here if they could, but there is little time left for all the journeying, so we will join them there as soon as the harvest is in.”
Polly’s eyes looked at them pityingly, but her husband continued his taunt. “Is that it, then? Well, I shall wish you luck finding a husband after your face and figure have been ruined doing the men’s job for them,” he said.
Muirne stared, her mouth agape. Never would she have expected such unkindness from a neighbor. So much the better she had refused the offer to marry his son. His words hung in the air, stark and inexcusable. Muirne turned abruptly to Polly, thanking her for hearing them out, and she and her mother rose and went out, feeling the man’s daggers at their backs.
“My!” Muirne gasped after they had walked a few steps outside. “If that was not the rudest—”
“Hush, Muirne. It’s no good thinking on it. We’ll just forget them. We’re done visiting tonight, and it’s time to get back to Alisdair and Sheena. She should have the porridge ready by now.”
Muirne nodded, but her breathing came in little gasps as they walked. She resolved to write about it to Neil. He’d know how it felt, and offer sympathy. Besides, he would have all sorts of news from the factory where he was working, meeting new people. Muirne’s heart eased, thinking of him, and she looked forward to writing a letter by rushlight when she got home.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
August, usually the bonniest month of the year, was pale and muggy and oppressive on the island. The MacLean women struggled in the field under the glare of the sun, the drops of rain that thankfully did not gather speed, and the clegs that flew about their faces to torment them as they cut and gathered the barley.
Muirne had read between the lines of Neil’s last letter that he yearned to come home to Mull. She in turn wished to be done with the harvest so they could be together again, and be free of the heavy wooden tools and wire used to bind up the sheaves. Time and again she’d looked out to see her father or Gillan doing these tasks and it had seemed so effortless, but in her arms the bundles were awkward, and oftentimes the sheaves fell out before she could twist the wire around the full circumference. Starting over frustrated her to the point of angry tears.
What was more frustrating, however, was seeing Robbie Eglund, who’d never come around before, pass by their fields, touching his cap as he went. It was clearly meant to taunt her, and she ground her teeth in fury as she swung the scythe, almost taking off her leg in one sweep. After that she reminded herself to be more careful, no matter the taunts she received. I’ll no’ change my mind and accept him, if that’s what he was thinking.
Each evening, all three women collapsed after a porridge supper, tired to their bones from the day’s work. Only Alisdair, at six not able to lift any of the tools, stayed home or ran and fetched for them. He also was now in charge of milking the cow and feeding the hens, after they had left for the field rows.
It was almost three weeks before they saw the end in sight. September loomed close by. They knew from their letters that the men had both started jobs, but in different places: Gillan in the same cotton mill as Charlie, Neil as a freightloader on the Clyde. They were all curious about this, as it seemed very odd and out of form for Neil to choose some place other than beside his stepfather. There must not have been enough spaces or something of that sort. Sheila wanted only that they do a good job, earn a good wage, and find them a solid enough house. She prayed for this each night before bed. Muirne saw that her mother’s dream of paying the rents with her weaving had dissolved and floated away when the Laird said no amount of money would allow them to stay: they must make way for more efficient farming methods and livestock production. He was indeed turning ‘English gentleman.’
As September came and the women worked to deliver the barley stooks to neighbors that could spare some recompense, Robbie no longer appeared at the end of the day, for which Muirne was thankful. They had four more small loads left to deliver, which they had figured to do on the morn, when, returning, they saw men hanging about their front door. Muirne turned her head to see her mother from under the empty creel she carried.
“Inspectors, likely.” Sheila seemed calm, but Muirne’s heartbeat quickened as she thought of Alisdair inside. The three of them tossed aside their empty creels and ran down the hill to the house. As they had feared, they saw one of the men coming out of the house. Where was Alisdair?
“Hallo, gentlemen,” she called from a distance as they caught up to the yard. “We’ve been out all day with the harvesting. Can I help you with anything?”
There were three of them, and they were dressed well in plain dark wool suits. They carried scrolls and sheaves of paper in a case that evidently they had been consulting before the women had arrived. One of them looked up; it was Alex Eglund. Another caught her eye, and Sheila fought down her panic to face him. This man she would treat as the messenger, and not Eglund, the toad.
“We are here inspecting for Laird of Torloisk, Mrs. MacLean. It seems you were meant to leave three days ago, when your harvest was in. Is not that so?
”
“Well, sir, we have been preparing to leave, as demanded.” Her voice took on a hard edge. “But as we are moving to the city, we’ve had to deliver it to neighbors who could purchase the stores from us. We are set to go in two days’ time,” she finished quietly.
“That is not what was specified in the notice of eviction, Mrs. MacLean, though, was it?” His tone was patient, as if he were talking to someone soft in the head.
“Well, what would be the point of stoking up the barley as the Laird allowed, then letting it rot? I’m only—”
The back of his hand connected with her cheek in a loud crack, and she barely stuck out her left hand in time to stop her head hitting the side of the house. Her right hand flew to her jaw, where she felt blood from inside her mouth. She spat it out, looking up to see her Alisdair in the doorway. His eyes were wide and afraid. Sheila coughed to cover the temper that came immediately on the heels of the pain.
Before Alisdair could scream, Muirne darted forward and scooped him up, holding him in her arms as she kept her back facing the house. “Can we leave in the morning then? Would that satisfy you?” she asked brusquely. She was thinking they could notify their closest neighbor to collect their remaining barley stooks on the morrow, as their situation had changed. And instead of the wagon they’d meant to borrow to transport their things, they would need to fit everything in the creels.
The stranger interrupted her thoughts with his reply. “No,” he said loudly. “It would not.”
“You were meant to be out; you shall be out,” he said, and Muirne noticed a frisson of excitement pass through Eglund’s body. The third man she could not make out in the shadow.
“We are here to tear down this structure, and the easiest way to do that is firing it. So if you’ve anything you want of value from it, hurry to it while we prepare our torches.”
The Keening Page 6
