Sheena had taken to searching the fields several miles south of town for kindling and turf-pieces so they would not have to use their money for coal or turf. Alisdair went with her to help carry. It seemed everyone had a function, and was pulling hard for those five weeks. They must have seemed either quite the industrious family, or quite the avaricious one, to any neighbors who cared to look. But as evidenced by the first footing, it seemed none did.
They took this in stride, instead joining in the rowdy ceilidhs at Jenny’s house many Saturday nights, when other friends dropped in. Gillan would greet them, and Jenny would introduce him and his family. On one of these occasions, it was Letty’s father who came by.
He had the unfortunate name, in that neighborhood, of George, for it was the name of the former king gone mad and the current Prince Regent, a generally despised fop. The man did not let on that he knew it was unpopular, seeming unaware of the tiny damper in energy that went round when he’d been introduced.
“George Cameron, aye, pleased to make yer acquaintance. Now, have ye heard that song of Jenny’s porter, yet? That is one of my favorites.” And so saying, he launched into a sprightly tune. Gillan wondered how he had been able to get away from his Saturday custom duties at the tavern, and Neil wondered if he knew of his visits to Letty.
That question was well settled, as, during the song, Mr. Cameron sang a verse about the porter being brewed by the barman’s daughter, and stared straight at Neil as he did so. Then it was hup to the next verse, and the thinly-veiled malice dissipated. Was it malice? Neil wondered. Or simply spite and possession? He could not be sure, but he had not been by the tavern for several weeks, and did not plan to return by that way again, now that they had made the decision to sail and he was occupied by all the messenger runs in the evenings.
Mr. Cameron made no other move toward him, but got up to sing another song later in the night, which concerned a lass wasting away for her love. It was a sad ballad, and his voice was a decent one, so the company listened attentively. Neil watched to see if his eye would be turned on him again. Sure enough, for the last verse, George Cameron turned on him, and hurled out the words with feeling.
He has gain away, gain away
Never to be seen more
And I shall ne’ever be the same
Lass as before
Neil shifted uncomfortably. Was the man implying he’d made Letty unhappy by stopping his visits? She’d been the one to say no, so he didn’t think it his place to insist. He’d been taught by his father, and then by Gillan, that an honorable man did not insist once a lady had declared her intent. And then the treatment at Hogmanay, where the man had turned his back on well-wishing guests!
Neil kept his head down as the others clapped for Mr. Cameron’s song. The man left soon after, and Neil felt a pang of guilt, or regret; he was not sure. All he knew was though he was committed to emigrating with his family, some part of him wished he could bring Letty along, too.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“How much is it, then?”
Sheena had the task of counting all the silver and copper coins amassed in the family treasury this time, and she was apparently taking too long for everyone else.
“Stop interrupting, you’re making me lose count!” she cried, frustrated. She went back to the neat piles of each pound. There were twenty-four piles, spread out all across the uneven table, and the leftover pile sat in front of her. “Twenty-four pounds, eight shillings, and sixpence,” she pronounced.
It was a lot, more than any of them had ever seen together at once. It was also the reason that the blankets had been commandeered to cover the windows while it was counted, for to do otherwise would have invited trouble.
“That still leaves more than five pounds,” Muirne said softly. It was March twenty-first, and it seemed impossible that they would have done all this work to still not make enough for those six fares.
“Now wait, just wait,” said Neil, as he rooted around in his pockets. Finally his face lighted up when his hand was in his jacket pocket, and he produced from its depths with great flourish several five-shilling notes and two half-crowns.
“Neil!” Sheila exclaimed. “Where did you get that?”
“Well, you’ve already had my pay from the messengering. This was something extra I got from side work off of that. Don’t worry; I didna break any laws,” he said, smiling at his mother. She asked no more, but pushed the other coins out of the way to make room for the pile of papers.
“Four pounds left then,” she sighed. It still felt unconquerable after their last efforts.
“Now wait then,” Gillan said. “It seems Neil stole my idea for a grand finale, but I will not be trumped. I’ve got final rights to contribute.” Saying this, he laid two pound notes on top of Neil’s pile.
“And that,” he said, pre-empting his wife’s question, “is from my extra hours for the past two weeks at the mill.” He gave a great smile at this, but was suddenly seized by a fit of coughing. This had become a common occurrence, and Muirne was ready with a cup of water from the well bucket before he had brought his head up to ask for it.
“Now, now, it’ll do ye nae good to earn all this money if ye can’t keep yer health,” Sheila told him, wagging her finger at him. He nodded, trying to soothe his throat by clutching at it with his hand and making smoothing down motions.
“So. Two pounds. Twelve days. Or no—Two pounds minus two shillings and sixpence, which makes—”
Sheena looked up. “One pound, seventeen shillings, and sixpence!”
Muirne nodded her head. “Very good, Sheena.”
Sheila shook her head in wonder at them all. “You have all done so well. God’s grace is upon us, I feel it, and He will help us in this final wee while, too.” She smiled at each of her children, last at Gillan. “Just keep your chin up and those ideas coming. And remember, you’ll get to sleep however long ye like on the ship,” she said with a glance at Neil. It was a tease, but she had started to worry over how exhausted he was these past few weeks.
Muirne squeezed his shoulder, and murmured in his ear. “So how did you get that money, anyway?”
“I won a bet,” was all he would say, with a tired smile.
His mother gave him a stern look, and started to transfer all the little piles of coins into their hiding place, the large tray hidden at the bottom of their trunk. It was not very large, but full of their clothes and linens, fitted with iron fastenings, it had been an awful burden for any of them to carry down the glens. Sheila had settled for tying a rope from its handle to her waist and dragging it behind her. She was glad they still had it now, though. And she was glad that it would be Gillan carrying it on their next journey.
***
***
The time had come, Sheila knew. There were only a few more days. She took her knitted bag over to the pawn shop on a Monday afternoon. First she drew out the jewelry, the jet brooch from Gillan, her mother’s gold ring, which had been hers at her first marriage, and the tiny silver locket given to her by her Alec, her first husband.
The shop owner nodded to her as she came in, then watched as she laid out her jewelry on the counter. “I can gi’e ye four and six for all of ‘em,” he said, as impartially as one could.
It had been a rapid calculation, and Sheila was surprised. “So—” but she did not finish her thought. So little? “All right then. And what about this?”
She took out the wooden pieces slowly, placing them carefully on the table in front of the shop owner. After four of the legs, he still had not realized what it was. Next was the long arm that held the hooks for the harnesses, and finally, understanding dawned on his face.
“Well, isn’t that handy, a loom ye can break down to travel with.” His glance traveled up to meet hers briefly before returning to the goods on the table. “So ye’re no travelin’ yerself then?”
“No, I am, but we’re short of the fare. I thought this might make up the difference. One can always build a new one, eve
n if it takes a while.”
“Aye, well. This is a first-rate model, I can see. I could gi’e ye a guinea fer dat,” he said, a little less impartially.
That meant only thirteen shillings to go, and Neil and Gillan would likely have that from their side work in the last week. “Done,” she pronounced.
The shop owner handed over the money. Sheila bent over quickly to retrieve the purse under her skirts, and stuffed the money into it. She let it drop back to where it hung by the string around her waist. She glanced up at the owner, who had watched as she did all this. She blushed a little.
“You can never be too careful.”
“Aye, you’re right there, mistress. Good luck to ye then, and Godspeed.”
***
***
“Absolutely not. You have to pay for one of them things, and I’ll not part with any of this money until I convert it into six bleeding tickets for that ship!” Sheila shrieked.
“Sheila, mo nighean,” Gillan said quietly. “What if something happens to us on the ship, and there’s no one to hand to take care of the children? We need to leave behind a will.”
Sheila’s breath caught. She closed her eyes into a squint. “But we are so close,” she moaned. She opened her eyes. Gillan stood in front of her, his look one of understanding. “A’right,” she said. “Jus’ promise me we’ll still make it.”
His eyes tugged down at the corners; she knew he could promise no such thing.
He left to go with Charlie to see the man who took care of the regulations at the mill. He was a lawyer, and they hoped he would not charge them too much to perform the duties of a notary on a will. Sheila spent the time at home grinding their dearly bought supply of oats into meal, a task she had switched over to as soon as she’d sold her loom. It was a good task for when there was the worry upon you. Like churning butter, you either exorcised the demon, or ended up too exhausted to care.
When Gillan returned, it was with his last wages as well as the copy of the will.
“He dinna charge me a penny,” Gillan said.
“Good man, that Robertson,” Charlie added.
Sheila felt her shoulders descend several inches as she breathed out. “And did ye sight Neil as ye came back?”
“No, but he’ll likely be a few more days at the docks, as he can hide his intentions longer.”
“Hm,” Sheila replied, absently nodding her head as she watched Gillan lay out the coins onto the table. Her eyes did a quick count. “Nine shillings more. We are so close.”
Gillan came around to put his arm around her. “We shall make it, dinna worry. Now,” he said, his tone straightening and putting on its martial clothes, “what of our other tasks? How is the meal coming?”
“It is coming,” Sheila replied. “There’s plenty of time to keep doing it just in the evenings.”
“All right, and what about the list. Was Muirne able to find out any other families who’ll be on the Amidou?”
“None of them have come back yet today from their errands. But they should be along soon, it is just the hour for—”
The door opened, and Muirne strode in. She had a healthy glow, her cheeks pink from the cold but her eyes dancing. “You’ll never guess who’s on the list, Mama!”
“If I’ll never guess, ye may as well tell me then, silly goose. Come on, out with it,” Sheila teased. Muirne came to the table and spied the coins laid out. She stopped and looked up at Gillan. “Are we there yet, Father?”
Gillan shook his head. “No, but very close. Sit down, we’ll hear your news all together.” No sooner had they sat than Alisdair came in, back from morning lessons at kirk. He was settled on the bench with Gillan, and Muirne finally said what news was fresh on her mind.
“The Wilsons from Kilninian are coming! Not just Orly and Robert, but their relations too from across the bay on Gometra, and the parents. I did not see their address or I would have paid them a call on the way home, but that means at least they are well and fit to travel. Isn’t it wonderful?”
Sheila stilled her first reactions to the name, which brought back the image of the fire sighted away off in the darkness, the realization that they would find no shelter with neighbors, that they were all being chased away and burnt out. Gillan, who sat to one side of her on the bench, felt her sudden stillness. “What is it, mo gràdh?” he whispered.
“Nothing,” she said, willing herself to picture the Wilsons she knew well. They were all right then, and had found their way through the autumn and winter to the same boat as they had. Orly had been pregnant in the summer, she wondered if the child had come through all right. She met Muirne’s eyes. “Was there a sixth child listed for Orly and Robert?”
Muirne shook her head sadly.
“She lost the baby, then. That is some sad news among the good news that they are still alive and together as a family.”
“Anyone else we know, lass?” Gillan asked.
“I think so. There were several Alexander MacLeans listed, but they were—they were listed solely, so I’m not sure if they are the MacLeans we know from Achnacraig…” her voice drifted off. It was a common enough name, but if it was unaccompanied by the wife and daughters they knew, it was ill news indeed.
“And then there was also listed an Elizabeth Stewart, no other name, and no address.”
“That’s also a common name, but you’re thinking it might be your Lizzie from kirk?” Sheila asked.
Muirne nodded. “Just a feeling.”
“Mm,” Sheila replied. “Well, that is some interesting news to consider. I will be glad to meet up with the Wilsons again. They are a large merry band, that’s for sure.”
Gillan concurred. “Well done, Muirne. Glad you could do that errand for us. Still a few last tasks left to do.” Saying that, he rose from the bench, putting Alisdair to the side. “When’ll dinner be ready, Sheila?”
“Och, I’ve been grinding the meal, it’ll take me a few minutes for the tattie scones and a few more for the soup broth. Give me half an hour then.”
“Alright, I’m going out for a bit.”
Muirne helped with the soup and it was bubbling as they discussed the news, themselves bubbling over with nervous enthusiasm for the journey to be taken in seven days.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“I wish we could have visited the family graves one last time,” Gillan said.
“Aye, or my family’s,” Sheila agreed.
It was the third of April, and they had just bought their tickets. Neil’s side work from the Saturday half-day was enough for them to come on Monday, carefully carrying all those pound notes and coins, to turn them into six very valuable pieces of paper. Their names were also written down in the manifest. Others would be able to see them as passengers, just as they had looked for acquaintances and friends earlier. They gave Jenny’s address for their last six days in Scotland.
They had received a little more information about the sea voyage upon buying their tickets. Sheila and Gillan returned home and sat in Jenny’s sitting room, relaying the details as she readied the supper for them all.
“Six weeks’ provision is needed,” Gillan said, ticking off the points on his fingers. “Meal as well as citrus, so we don’t fall sick of the scurvy.”
“Citrus? What’s that?” Sheena asked.
“Lemons and oranges and quince. Something for the scurvy.”
Sheila let out a bark of a laugh. “And where do they expect us to get these in January in Scotland, or afford them, any road?”
“Well, the officer did recommend dried pieces to chew on. I think I know a place where they put up the marmalade, and we can take a few jars of it, courtesy of that Robertson from the mill.”
“Oh, right. Good, then. What else?”
“They take on the water for all passengers, but it may be good to keep a store if you think you may need more. They do not provide water for washing, only drinking. And—no privy, just chamber pots ye throw into the ocean. So, no washing that, at least.”
/>
“Euch,” Sheena exclaimed.
“Surely ye can use the sea-water for washing a pot though,” Sheila said.
“Ah, probably right there.” Gillan smiled at her. “Let’s see, anything else—”
“How much room for our bags? And where are we to sleep?” Muirne asked. Even though they did not have much left, it was a concern.
“They did not say there was a limit, but they’ll no’ be carrying it on for ye, so I guess that’s the self-enforced limit. And as for sleeping, each family will have a marked-off piece of floor, to prevent crowding. They’re each divided off by a railing, the man said. You get what you pay for, so I’m thinking it’ll only be a bare space. If I knew anyone with a hammock I would try to buy it, but they may have them on board.”
“At some expense though, I’ll bet,” Muirne said, rolling her eyes.
“Well,” Sheila said, when it looked as though Gillan had finished. “Five days.”
There was quiet around the table. The noise of spoons on plates clinked from the kitchen. Neil, who so far had added nothing to the discussion, spoke up.
“Aye, five days. Sail on Friday. It is hard to believe, no?”
“Many are the blessings,” Gillan started.
Neil coughed loudly, interrupting the flow of words. “I had rather say, Father, that we’ve done well, with the Lord’s help, helping ourselves.” This was a breach of manners, but Sheila looked at her son, so stretched past his limits, and let it pass.
The Keening Page 12
