Muirne felt a scream die in her throat. Her mother rushed in, grabbing their pile of blankets by the bed and dumping it outside in the yard, a small distance from the door. “I’ll get the hens in their cage,” whispered Sheena, her eyes limpid and wide, obviously in shock.
Muirne set Alisdair down, telling him to stay with their pile of goods, away from the house, and away from those men. He nodded and she rushed in, looking wildly about. Her eyes blurred with tears as she tried to consider what was most important in this dear, old house. She wiped them away and made a grab for the iron pot over the fire.
The bedding was out, the cooking utensils were out, the hens and milk cow were caged and tethered by the smoke house. The smokehouse! thought Muirne, but she looked to see Sheena dash in and wrap their bounty of fish in a small apron, adding it to the pile of belongings. Muirne went in herself, grabbing the heavier salted mutton and bacon, deep under the chest.
Muirne skittered back into the house again and helped Sheila to lug out the wooden chest. They placed it farthest from the house as their eyes darted over to where the men stood. They had soaked rags in some sort of rancid fat and were now making a show of looking for their matches. Muirne choked back a sob as she ran back in, grabbing the few pictures off the wall, the rags from the holes in the walls, the spoons and the basin and her father’s spare plaid.
As she passed through the doorway, she smelled the first whiffs of smoke. They had started from the back of the house, where it sat against the hill. She sought her mother’s eyes. The loom, she mouthed. Her mother nodded, and they dove in once more, rushing to the left corner of the house where the loom stood.
“Should we break it down, or—”
“Nae time, let’s just pull it through. It’ll fit yet.”
They struggled, pushing and pulling the large awkward wooden frame forward to the door. It bunched and creaked, not liking the sideways movement. Muirne took the front side and pulled it backwards through the door, but suddenly tripped and fell on her rump. She looked up to see one of the men laughing at her. She swiped away the tears of frustration and screamed, “Mama!”
For it looked as if the flames were inside the house now, and her mother trapped behind the loom, which took up the doorway. She scrambled to her feet, grabbed hold, and pulled to. She felt her mother twist one of the legs so it would fit through on the diagonal, and changed her grip to match its weight. Pulled again, and finally it was free of the doorway.
Sheila stumbled out, and they managed to get the loom out of the reach of the fire. Alisdair held onto the rope, but the milk cow, frightened by the noise and heat, was pulling him away into the darkness. Muirne quickly covered its head with a cloth and led it back with shushing sounds. Sheena kept the overturned creel pressed to the earth so that none of the hens could escape. The four of them bowed their heads together briefly, holding hands while Sheila gave a broken prayer of thanks. The fire crackled away, smothering her words.
When they looked up, the men were gone.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Muirne felt Sheila make a motion toward their nearest neighbors, the Taylors to the east. But as she headed over their way, she stopped. She saw little flickering lights where the Taylors’ house stood. They would find no shelter with the neighbors this night. Those men were visiting everybody they knew.
“All right,” Sheila said. Then again: “All right, everyone?” Nods and gulps around their small huddle. “Let’s all do something so that we can batten down for the night, then. Sheena, you go and fetch our creels that we dropped up the hill, fetch them back here. Muirne, could you go quickly to the Taylors to see if they’re out as well? Mind ye, be careful, I can see the f-flames from here.” Another breath of horror troubled her tongue.
“Alisdair, you stand guard over that cow and these hens, now, y’hear? And I’ll be going over to Serena McCall’s to pass on the word about the last deliveries tomorrow. They can’t have fired her.” As Muirne turned to strike out down the hill, she heard her mother mutter: “Although if they’ve thrown out women and children, they’ll have no fear to do the same with the widow-witch.”
“The smoke shed is still there, Mama,” Sheena volunteered. “If the wind picks up, we can all fit in there to stay warm the night.” Sheila’s quick thought was that their house on fire would probably keep them plenty warm, but again Muirne caught her look and understood it. They kept their eyes averted from the sight, a crackling mass some thirty feet away.
“Good girl, then that’s what we’ll do. All right.” And they split up to do their tasks and deliver their messages, all studiously avoiding looking at the mass of flame beyond their pile of worldly goods.
***
***
The weeks that the women had spent gathering in the harvest had seen the men learning their new rules quickly and settling into their own routines. It was the first of September when Neil thought he had finally earned his place in the Franklin Freight Company. Although the teasing about his youth and his highland ways continued, Neil chose to take it in good humor, and tentatively ribbed some of the men about their own misfortunes.
Instead of the routine making it easier, however, he found it more and more difficult to rouse himself at four to make his way to the docks. His limbs felt weary and leaden each night at the supper table, and though Gillan and Charlie and others saw his pallor and sluggishness, they told him he’d soon toughen up to where he wouldn’t mind the pace. Neil was not so sure.
But at least he was not in the mill. He thanked God for that every night as he said his prayers, and prayed for his stepfather, who looked beaten down by the hauling job he was doing. Gillan spoke not a word of complaint, and smiled more often than he had on the island, which told Neil more than any other sign that his spirit was flagging.
Being Charlie’s brother-in-law helped, however. Gillan was friendly with some of the other men in the line with him, which was something Neil did not have. No, Neil spent the day escaping into his mind, silent to those around him unless advice or instruction was needed. He imagined his mother and sisters cutting the barley and digging up the spuds, packing up a borrowed wagon, traveling with all their goods down here alone. He saw in his mind’s eye the bracken red on the hills behind them as they left, the moss being gathered for use on the way out.
The one new delight he had in Hutchesontown was his return home each day. The half-hour’s walk took him past many taverns and workshops, but there was one in particular he had noticed for weeks. His notice had first been caught by the curving figure of a young woman as she set down a large creel in the alley by the Dog and Duck Pub. She moved awkwardly with its weight, but then turned and saw him after setting it down. She looked him up and down with an appraising gaze, then flounced back into the tavern. He’d barked a short laugh after the door shut, amused at such cool possession.
After that, Neil kept an eye out, but she didn’t come out again while he passed. Instead, he saw her in the second-story window, watching for him. Her attention always took the tiredness out of him for a few moments. He walked past and sneaked a glance up. Each time he glimpsed fair skin and long dark hair before the figure stepped back into the shadow. She wore her hair straight instead of curled like so many of the town ladies. He pictured her cool smirk as she dropped the curtain on him, and a small smile crossed his face.
He said nothing of this exchange at the supper table with his stepfather and Aunt Jenny’s family, but it was something he thought of idly at night after his prayers were said before he drifted off to sleep. Perhaps, he thought, I could find a reason to go into the tavern.
When the news reached them, Gillan had just worked his sixth day and was relaxing on a chair after dinner as he talked to Jenny in the kitchen. She was making the porridge for the morning’s breakfast. The children were in bed or practicing their letters in the sitting room and Charlie and Neil were talking in low voices by the fire, when a knock came at the door.
It was late for the postmen to be on th
eir rounds, but Neil, who answered the door, saw that it was no postman, but a poorly young man who looked like an islander. His clothes were homespun, and his shoes were of the hard-to-turn cured leather that they made on Mull. Neil looked at him with curiosity. “Yes?”
“I was coming faster to the city, and asked to bring this message from yer family. Ye are the MacLeans of Dalcriadh?” he asked.
“Aye.”
“Then I am sorry, and here is the letter. Good night to ye,” he said and turned on his heel.
“What could that mean?” said Gillan behind him. “Open the letter, Neil. Read us what it says.”
Neil lifted the flap free of the plant tar they used to seal envelopes, and unfolded his mother’s letter. “Dearest Gillan and Neil,” he read.
Dearest Gillan and Neil,
We are on the road to join you in Glasgow, and I have entreated this gentleman with a horse and cart to deliver the news before we arrive so that ye may be prepared. We meant to take two more days before leaving, but were visited by the inspectors, including one Alex Eglund, and they have burned the house down. We got most everything with us, but are passing slow with all the baggage and no cart. We tried to go first to my cousins in Corran, but they have an attack of the typhus, and we canna stay here. All told, we expect to arrive no sooner than Michaelmas.
The children are all fine, but all our neighbors suffered the same, so we could not sell as much barley as might be. Our store of money is less than hoped for, but still something better than nothing, to find a house near Jenny. I hope I have done as you might, had you been here, mo cridhe. We will be with you soon.
Your loving Sheila
Neil’s voice had started out normal, then gone to a whisper. He couldn’t believe what he was reading. Burned down? Had they been in it? Had they been given notice? Why had Eglund been there? Neil’s gut burned with anger and powerlessness at the news of his family’s desperate flight.
Gillan, listening, could not take it in either. He snapped the letter from Neil’s hands as soon as he said “Your loving” and stared at the signature. Jenny went to his side and gripped his hand. “I know there were things said of the northeast evictions forty years ago, and those we heard about in Argyll twenty years past, but—”
Jenny interrupted. “But the children are all well. We must give thanks for that.”
“And Mama?” Neil rasped.
“She must be all right, sure she wrote her own letter?”
“No, it’s Muirne wrote this letter for her. Her hand is better,” Neil supplied. He cleared his throat. “But she would have said something.”
God, if she’d been hurt—
“I wonder where they are now. Bad about the typhus. Waste of three days’ journey, that. The ten days to Michaelmas will be a long slog, with all that baggage and the wee one. So she wrote from Corran, Neil?” Jenny asked.
“Aye.”
“Top of Loch Linnhe. They’ve still a long way ahead. Do ye want us to send one of our older ones on the road to meet them? We can go at least as far as Goolrick on a horse, nae problem.”
Gillan spoke. “You say Corran is on the far side of Loch Linnhe, and it took four days for that man to reach us from there. And he had a cart, which means they’ll only be about halfway, if even that.” He looked to Charlie to confirm his distance calculations.
“Aye, if they’re moving like we think they are, but really there’s no telling,” Charlie warned. “I don’t think ye can safely leave the mill yet, ye’re still learning, and the boss would look on it as shirking. Send someone,” he urged.
“My family is defenseless on the road, in the hills, with all our household on their backs—” Gillan’s voice shook.
“I’ll go, Father. I’ll go as far as the meeting of the highland roads at Crianlarich, and wait for them there, for it’s sure they’ve no passed that far yet.” He turned to Charlie. “Could you borrow that horse for me this night? And leave a message Monday at the dock?”
“Aye.”
“Then I’ll go get my plaid and be off, as soon as I can.” His eyes shone; his body vibrated. He saw that Gillan was torn between wanting to go with him and not wanting to face the possibility of losing his family.
“Aye, Neil,” Gillan’s voice was rough. “I’ll send the message. You be careful now, you’ll be no good to your mother if that horse runs itself ragged or ye get thrown, ye mind? God’s luck go with ye now.” He turned to walk out the back door to the small yard where the privy stood.
“I’ll take ye to Carson’s now, Neil, if you’re ready.”
Neil dashed over to the corner where he slept, scooped up his plaid, made sure he had his clothes all sorted, then followed Charlie out into the night.
***
***
Neil rode the shaggy, grey highland pony slowly through the eastern outskirts of the city. He accustomed himself to the feel of the hard wooden slats of the pack saddle that could be felt even under a thick horsehair blanket. He was careful to avoid the men who were leaving the taverns early, so drunk they were falling over and clutching anything to hand. He minded his stepfather’s warning, and guarded the beast carefully. First, however, he had a destination in town.
He stopped below the window of the Dog and Duck, and dismounted to grab a few pebbles from the road. He threw them up at the window pane, where they made a small ping. A face appeared at the window, and though it was dark, she held a rushlight in her hand. He saw her face well: it was beautiful bathed in the soft yellow light of the lantern.
After seeing who it was, and that he had a horse with him, she gave a wave and left the window. The side door to the tavern was unbarred a few moments later, and she peered out. “It’s you,” she said. “What is it ye want?” She spoke practically, ignoring any question of whether or not they should be talking.
Her manner, though, betrayed some hesitancy, and Neil knew he’d been bold to come here. He reassured himself: it was on his way, and he needed food. Also, he wanted a thought to cheer him, to replace the horrors he imagined for his family. He kept a respectful distance from her.
“I am on an urgent errand this night. My father has sent me to collect my family, as they are unchaperoned on the road from Fort William. I hoped you might help me with a meal for the road, if you could spare it.”
Her look of wariness fell away. “Your mother?”
He nodded. “And two younger sisters and one wee little brother.”
“A’right,” she said, a look of pain and sympathy crossing her face. “But what is your name?”
“Neil. Neil MacLean.”
“Mine is Pleasance Cameron, but everybody calls me Letty.” There was a pause as they each took a deep breath. The chasm has been crossed! thought Neil. Then Letty spoke again. “I’ll away for your supper then.” She gave him a slight smile before closing the door.
Neil turned his attention to the horse, who was lipping the weeds at the edge of the road. His vision was filled with his first close view of Letty: a turned-up nose, freckles, a high forehead, and an expressive mouth. Her looks pleased him, and he wondered what she thought of him. Well, she is giving me a free meal, he thought with a grin. He scanned the road and straightened, bringing his attention back to the potential dangers of the city at this time of evening. He thought then of the wickedness to be found even on his island, and started humming a tune to keep his sense of betrayal at bay.
Letty was back before long, and handed him a low basket wrapped and tied with a cloth. It was warm, and he looked up to thank her. Her cornflower blue eyes sparkled in the light from the lamp at the front door. Her gaze wavered then dropped to his chest. “I do hope your urgent errand goes well,” she said.
“Thank you.” He drew her gaze upward by waiting. “Thank you, Letty. God will it be so. Good night then.”
“Good night. Safe journey,” she called to him as he settled himself back upon the horse and slipped into the darkness.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
It was ea
sy for Neil to navigate by city’s lights for the first twenty miles. Then, he trusted the horse to continue on the broad path that made up the road north to Loch Lomond. As long as he did not veer too far right, he was not worried about going astray in the night.
However, he was feeling his tiredness creep up over him, now that the urgent shock of feeling from the news and the warm glow from meeting Letty had both left him. He debated briefly whether to simply tie himself to the horse and keep going but worried that the animal might stop. He decided to stop and sleep for a nap, then eat something. He reasoned that the meal would waken him up better than anything else.
Ten more miles up the road he stopped and pulled the horse aside, hobbling two of its legs with the bit of rope he’d brought. It immediately started chomping on the grass. Neil wrapped himself up in the plaid, curled up, and thought to himself, Only an hour, only an hour. He fell into sleep like someone walking off a cliff.
It was hours later that he woke. It was still dark, but Neil could feel the change in the air around and the chatter of birds that were getting ready for the day. He judged it to be about three o’clock. The basket was no longer warm, of course, but he delighted in the slices of roast meat and two small salted potatoes Letty’d packed. He whistled once, low and long, and heard the sputter of his horse blowing through her lips, as if she were laughing at him. Well, he thought, if that’s how you express gratitude, I’ll no be stopping to let you eat any more grass, ye wee rascal. He smiled to himself, then whistled again, two short, low blasts. He heard the plodding hooves and met the mare halfway, speaking low and holding his hands out to the grey apparition.
He set out again, and by the time the first lightness in the east could be detected, he’d arrived at the west shore of Loch Lomond. Here, for the first time since he’d seen the lights of Glasgow, there were other travelers. He judged it too soon for his mother to have reached there yet, so did not bother asking if anyone had seen his family. They looked like they were going about local business.
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