Hogmanay started on the Wednesday, so that many of Gillan’s and Neil’s fellow workmen left before the ending bell had been rung. The highlanders that made up the shipbuilding crews, the islanders that made up the weavers and machinists and engineers—they all were going to keep their traditional rite sacred. Neil, having waited for a cue to when he might leave without repercussions, felt a bit of pride swell his chest, as he followed a knot of other men out the large warehouse gate.
His mother had somehow managed a feast, and the sun had only just set. With the darkness coming early, there would be many hours of storytelling, feasting, and singing to go before it was midnight and the new year welcomed in. They had not yet spoken of which houses they would go visit, but it was in Neil’s mind to visit Letty’s house. While she had said no to accompanying him across the sea, it was only common courtesy to wish your acquaintances well in the new year.
They began with A Chaorain, A Chaorain! and joined together, dancing and singing after the meal. It was snug and warm in the house, filled as it was with all the good cheer. Eventually, the time was come to suit up for the first footing. Sheila would stay home with the two younger children, and the older two would go out to hallo their neighbors. Sheena rubbed the fog off the window pane and exclaimed, “It’s snowed!”
The others came rushing over to see, and indeed, a soft white powder was covering everything they could see in the circle of light cast by their door torch, prepared earlier for the visitors who might come. The big white flakes still floated down serenely, and Neil’s stomach clenched before he realized they reminded him of the cotton in the mill. He tried to let go of the tension in his spine. He still felt such fear at the possibility of having to work there, but was not sure why. It was a feeling of premonition perhaps, since it did not attach to Gillan, only himself. God knows he felt sorry for Gillan working there, but there wasn’t the cold fear about it. Neil shrugged again, shaking it off.
They weren’t sure of the etiquette of first footing here in Laurieston, but meant to visit those closest to them first, as Gillan’s setting foot on the threshold would be a sign of good luck to come for the new year for that family. What if they had already been visited? Well then, they could still present the basket of gifts and pass on a dram of the homemade quality whisky bottle Gillan carried.
They decided to first visit the six houses in their own close. They weren’t on social terms with any of these families yet, but they were still surprised to see not a single lit torch at a door, nor a light from inside. The silence in the close disconcerted the little group until Gillan turned to them from the last door at which there was no answer and suggested a visit to Jenny’s street. They knew at least two families there would be celebrating. Spirits lifted, they walked the half-mile and found lights blazing and sounds of merriment.
They knocked at the Atchesons’ door and were pleased to learn they were still the first to come by. It was, after all, only half past twelve. They took their time making toasts and singing songs at each house, inching their way closer to Jenny’s house. Gillan left it for last, since he knew they would stay for a long spell to sing and drink everyone’s better fortune in the new year.
Neil tugged on Gillan’s sleeve, cocking his head to the north. “Could we no’ try Letty’s first before Auntie’s? They’re likely to have visitors already, but it would only be a moment, and she’d get to see you.”
Gillan straightened his shoulders and puffed out his chest, seeing Neil’s intention to show this girl his wealth: his family. He nodded; it would do very well. The tavern was only five minutes’ walk up the road, and the merry band all covered the distance quickly. Gillan had his torch in one hand, whisky in the other, while Neil and Muirne walked with arms linked, suffused with warmth from within against the cold air at their cheeks and snow beneath their feet.
The tavern looked still to be open on this night, with its front room lights ablaze and its chimney smoking away. Neil looked at Gillan and shrugged. “Maybe they’re providing a feast for the neighbors,” he said, although he doubted it, with visions of how curmudgeonly Letty’s father appeared. Still, perhaps for the holiday, Neil allowed.
Neil knocked on the door. In answer, a scowling, wrinkled face appeared at the window briefly before yanking the curtains closed at first one pane, then the other. The silence stretched for a moment, then two, and still no one answered the door. Neil was speechless. Refusing to receive visitors to bless your house—it was just not done. What were they on about? Neil felt a hand on his sleeve: Muirne.
“If they don’t want us, we should leave,” she whispered to Neil. He saw she was scared, put off by the ill treatment. Saints! Neil thought to himself. This isn’t how I thought it would go. And so sighing, he turned away, and they followed, walking slowly back to Jenny’s.
Neil did not look back, but Muirne did, and she saw a pale face peering out from the first-floor window. She didn’t catch more than a flash, but figured it was the girl who Neil had been talking to for these past several months. Why had she not come down? Why was she hiding? I shall pay her a call the first week of the new year, and size her up then, she thought.
The short gloom was dispelled as soon as they reached Jenny’s house, for it was all aglow with torchlight and holly, the windows steamed up with the warmth within. A family from their own island, after all, knew how to welcome a guest who came with blessings and gifts to hand. They finished up their rounds, smiling and carousing a bit with the neighbors already enjoying Jenny and Charlie’s hospitality.
Gillan looked into his bottle. “I see there are about two drops left, so for the sake of all that is good, please tell me you’ve not run out.” His grin was wide and silly, and he wove a bit on the threshold.
Jenny made a sound somewhere between a grunt and a giggle, welcoming her brother first with a dubious glance, then open arms. They embraced, Gillan saying the blessing of the new year to her. They stayed that way a long time, in the way of those who have been overexcited and do well with a moment to calm themselves. Charlie smiled, Muirne’s eyes brimmed with happy tears, and the younger children of the house, who’d either been allowed to stay up, or just woken up with the ruckus, howled with excitement.
There was indeed more whisky. After many rounds of singing and stuffing themselves with almond sweets, they made to go. Jenny waved them off with a last dram. “It’ll keep you warm all the way into your beds,” she said. “Up Helly A! Look!”
And sure enough, down at the end of their street, even in the snow, there was a miniature ship built, ablaze with fire, and several men dancing about it, singing high and loud. This was a tradition from the Shetlands, and it appeared the next close held a fair pack of them. One of the ship-bearers looked their way at Jenny’s shout, and raised his torch to them in silent salute.
The MacLeans were glad to stand witness to the ritual burning, and see the clansmen, honoring their Viking roots, destroying the past and making way for the future. Muirne held Neil’s hand, her one glance confirming that she was yet glad their mother was not here to be so close to the flaming structure. After a few minutes, Gillan spoke. “Clearing away the old to make room for the new. Aye. Well, let’s away home, lads and lasses. There will be work again early tomorrow.”
They made their way home. Gillan extinguished his torch in the light layer of snow piled by their door and set it to the side of their step. The torch in the bracket next to their own door was still burning, if feebly. They toddled in, suddenly yawning and tired, but not too far gone to see their mother. She was seated at the table with a candle. Sheena dozed at her side, her head resting on Sheila’s arm.
“What, are you waiting up for us, lovely wife?” Gillan asked. A note of nervous worry had crept into his chuckle. All four felt the presence of some sadness in the stillness in Sheila’s body.
“Aye, of course,” she replied. “No one’s been to call on us, so I’m still awaiting my tall, dark stranger to come and bless the house.”
�
��Well! It’s a good thing I was first to cross the sill then!” said Gillan, who had dark hair, whereas her first husband’s children all had blonde or reddish-blonde hair. Gillan rushed to her side to kiss her cheek, cupping her face in his hand, feeling the evidence of weeping. They’d been gone almost three hours, and no one had visited for the new year.
Sheena stirred, and Muirne took her hand and squeezed it. Neil’s jaw clenched. Gillan spoke again, “Well, let’s have it then, gather round for the last one.”
He motioned for them to circle Sheila and grasp hands. “Lord, we invite you into this home in the New Year. Let it be a place of joy, of love, and of faith in You. Help us to live good lives following the example of Your Son. And help us when we are in need,” he finished in a garbled voice. He cleared his throat. “Anyone else?”
“We’ve had a wonderful time visiting our neighbors, Mother,” Muirne said quietly. “I wish you could have come.” She leaned across the circle and put her arms around her mother’s shoulders. Sheena hugged her waist, and Neil leaned over them all. Gillan placed a kiss on the top of her head.
“There now,” he said. “That should be able to cure anything.”
Sheila smiled, her head still down. “Aye.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Wintry days piled on after that, with the men’s work pace slowing but little to accommodate the weather patterns and delays of ships on their rounds. Sheila had found every chink in their little cottage by now, plugging the holes with the rags she’d torn from their own blackhouse walls and moss gathered from the small burn by the western road to Paisley. The fire was now always going by nightfall to welcome the men back to the house after their long day, as well as give light for the needlework Muirne had taken on to earn extra money.
She was no expert, but she took the pieces that needed time to sort out, rather than those that needed to be showpieces in a front parlor. She’d met a woman at one of Aunt Jenny’s ceilidhs who did piecework regularly and asked if she could help with any of the more practical bits, and that is how she’d gotten this side work. Muirne felt proud to find another way to contribute, even if she often had to retrace her work and redo stitches in the tablecloths and pillowcases.
By the end of February, their friend Mrs. Murray had again come in with a notice. “Am I first with the news this time?” she asked. Assured that she was, she brimmed with excitement. “The Amidou, it’s set a date for the settlement party. It’s to be early April, the 9th. Look right here at what I found!”
She pulled a wrinkled paper from her reticule. “AMIDOU SAILING FOR NOVA SCOTIA, NEW SETTLEMENTS ARRANGED, APRIL 9th, INQUIRE FOR TICKETS BY APRIL 3rd.” There were other details in smaller type, but Sheila looked up at Mrs. Murray. “That is certainly very useful news, Anna. Thank you for bringing it to us. Did you only just see this paper?”
“Only just. But you’re not the only family I promised news of the sailing, so I’ll have to be off again right away.”
Sheila rose with her, noting that the self-important woman folded the paper back up and tucked it into her bag. “And how shall I find out the other details, Mrs. Murray? Was there somewhere I could find a similar notice?”
“Oh, yes, of course. They’re all along the riverside. Just ask your Neil, he works there, doesn’t he? He should be able to pluck one off a tree.”
With that, she flounced out. Sheila felt the beginning of a headache coming on. Mrs. Murray was more an acquaintance than a friend, and her infrequent visits always tended to have this effect. Maybe it was the way she always thought she was doing you a favor by coming, Sheila thought. Whatever it was, it rubbed her the wrong way. In one way though, she was thankful. April 3rd.
***
***
That gave her almost two months. Sheila now looked at all their possessions, carried with such pain over the long distance from Mull. She decided to confront Gillan about his noncommittal attitude to the idea. She waited for an evening hour when the younger children were abed and he was not instantly asleep. She caught his attention at the table where he was picking out the stones from his shoe soles and beckoned him over to the corner seat where she was sewing. He pulled over one of the stools and sat in front of her, and for a moment Sheila was distracted, seeing the way his eyes lingered on her ears. His next move would be to tuck a stray hair behind her ear. Before his hand got past his thigh however, she spoke directly.
“Gillan, I’ve been wanting to ask you about something.”
“And what is that?”
“Why do you never speak about taking the ship? You seem not to want to leave here, but not to be in love with your job, either.” She looked at him, enquiring. Neil’s ears perked up at this question, as he very much wanted to hear the answer as well. He sat extremely still at his post near the fire, where he was reading a tract borrowed from the parish library.
“I do not love it except that it puts food on the table and a roof over our heads,” he said. “And a ship to the Americas? I am trying not to put hopes into the heads of the children. If this is our lot, then we shouldn’t go filling them up with dreams of faraway places and free land and all the rest of it. ’Twill only make the living here harder.”
“But what if we can do it, what if we managed the money for the fares? Wouldn’t you be happier there, with the forests, and the sea, and the clean air to breathe, a patch of land ours to claim as we would?”
“Maybe. But did ye hear how much it is? Five pounds! And the six of us? We’ll never save that sort of money.”
“I’ve already enough saved for three tickets and more, Gil. From the weaving and the barley before we left.” She said this quietly, but he started, and grabbed hold of her elbows.
“Ye’ve what?”
“Shh, don’t wake them.” Her eyes indicated the sleeping forms of Sheena and Alisdair on the floor of the sitting room. Her eyes skimmed over Neil’s head as she continued, and his ears perked up.
“We had those few pounds saved for Neil’s school, and then I was trying my hardest in the summer to weave for the fair, and that went pretty well, but we had to leave anyway, and—”
Her voice hiccupped and she started shaking. Neil glanced over to see her whole back trembling. His mother was finding it hard to breathe. He looked away, listening intensely to what his stepfather would say.
“Easy now, Sheila, dinna fash yerself so. D’ye mean ye did have the rents all made up, even with the terrible yield from the ash?”
Sheila kept her head bent but nodded. “Oh, mo nighean, what a wonder you are.” He wrapped an arm around her side, his other hand cradling her neck, and he rocked her back and forth. Neil glanced at them again, sensing a private moment, but wanting desperately to hear the outcome of the discussion of leaving Scotland altogether.
“Why did ye never tell me afore?”
Sheila drew in a slow, measured breath that wheezed, and Neil jumped up to dip a cup into the water pail and come to his mother with it. “’Cuz I didna want to get—yer hopes—up. I wanted to wait—until I had it all, or al—almost.” She took a brief sip and closed her eyes.
“You wee rascal. What a hoard!” Neil looked at Gillan’s face but he had eyes only for Sheila. “Do ye want it that much, mo cridhe? Leaving everything behind?”
Neil watched his mother. She handed the cup back to Neil and laid a hand on his. She looked at him, then at Gillan, as she lay her other hand on his. “Aye.”
Gillan finally looked over at Neil, kneeling between and beneath them. He cleared his throat. “Then we’ve the three left to save up for, eh? By April, is it? A little more than six weeks. Mmm…”
Both Neil and Sheila had their gazes trained on Gillan’s, waiting for his judgment.
“We’ll try it. If you’ve the heart to hope for it, I’ll do it for you.” He gathered her up again, and rubbed her back with one hand while she calmed down the agitation of long-suppressed emotion. After a few moments, he pulled away to look her in the eye.
“We shall do it, mo
cridhe. I shall see what I can do for extra time at the mill.”
“And I at the yards,” Neil put in, his voice quiet but firm.
Gil turned slightly to acknowledge him again. “And we’ll move back in with Jenny to save the rent of this place for March. We shall see that money in six weeks.”
Sheila let go a last shaky sigh, and smiled at him. “Six weeks,” she repeated.
***
***
The time sped by. Gillan told Jenny and Charlie of the plan as well, and they agreed to host them for the final month. It was risky, since if the boss learned of his intended departure, Gillan might be forced to give over his post, and they might not make the full thirty pounds in time. But Gillan had committed to believing it would happen. He, too, started passing his eye over all they had. What could fetch a fair price, with everyone around so impoverished? These were cruel decisions.
His father’s tools? No, they’d very likely need those to build with in Canada. His mother’s jet brooch, which he’d given to Sheila when he asked her to marry him? Of course not. Their plates? Aye, they could do without all of them, although they were no so very fine. Sheila’s lace shawl, that she’d had made by an old woman on the island who knew the ways of Belgian lace-makers? Never.
Their few last treasures. He knew Sheila was doing the same, as night after night, he followed her eyes, casting around the little sitting room and coming back to her own plate in defeat. She was still at the loom every night, weaving, and he saw Muirne bent over mending tasks beside her in the firelight. Neil had taken up running messages in the evening for the municipal captain of police, as he’d been turned down for overtime. For a couple hours he earned a few shillings, not bad at all, although he could only burn the candle at both ends for a little longer before his attention at his job failed and he made a careless mistake.
The Keening Page 11
