The Keening

by Margaret Pinard

  ***

  ***

  When they arrived home in time for supper, they had much to relate about the town layout, the businesses where they might look for work, and the grand homes and the not-so-grand, where they might live if they did stay. Gillan said no more words on the matter, and the subject was dropped.

  The next day, Gillan and Sheila ventured forth, while Muirne stayed at Mrs. Conaghey’s with her chores. Sheena and Alisdair were set to task by Neil and his old school primer. Husband and wife saw some of the same sites, thinking some of the same thoughts, but Gillan had a more specific goal. He visited the house of the Presbyterian minister, and introduced himself and his wife. They talked of the voyage, the ways of the new community, the needs of the different regions.

  “You’re saying that all the summer freight will be towed upriver for unloading, and the merchants live in the capital rather than the first port?”

  “Aye,” said the minister, a Mr. Brown. “They profit from the tobacco trade with the Glaswegians, so they can afford some muckle houses, but it wouldn’t be at all fashionable for them to reside here, provincial as we are. So they’re in the capital at Quebec, even though their business often brings them downriver to us.”

  “I see,” said Gillan. “And what of the land claims, are there more open stakes here or further west?”

  “There are still land claims out here, and especially land that’s already had a start but was abandoned. The winters—they are verra hard, it must be said.” He said this with a glance at Sheila. “Does the mistress have a squad of braw children to help ye with the building and planting while we have the good weather?”

  “I have four children, sir, but one is not yet grown to do heavy farming work, and two of them should really finish a few more years of school—”

  “Of course, of course, there’s the village school just north of Pictou, but you’d do best to have them working during the summer, as the good season is short, as you will see. If you go further north, say around Bras d’Or Lake, the schoolin’ is harder to come by. You’d more likely be getting the books and teachin’ ‘em yerself, in the spare evenings.”

  “Hmm,” said Gillan. Sheila looked at him, unable to guess what this particular ‘hmm’ meant.

  “Would ye be knowing any other folk in Quebec who might be helpful in arranging employment?” Gillan asked. Sheila held her breath. Back into the city, she thought. That’s not why we came here.

  “I can write to a few and give you their names, but I couldn’t promise anything.” Gillan had a few more questions about the farm markets and which crops were grown, but the conversation was winding down. A few more pleasantries and remarks of gratitude, and they were done.

  When they were out the door, Sheila managed several steps holding her tongue with difficulty. Then, without turning her head, she asked a question. “How would ye be thinking of going upriver, Gil?”

  “How?” he repeated. “By boat, I suppose. And I’d take Neil with me, so we can both make the best wage we can over the summer. Then we’d come back and have a better situation while looking for a piece of land.”

  “Oh.” I hadn’t looked at it that way. “And why would we not try for a piece of land now so that we could harvest come summer’s end?”

  “Because we haven’t any capital needed to buy it, Sheila. They’re not giving it away completely free, ye ken?”

  “Oh.” I thought they’d said it was, if you made the improvements on the land. Sheila was quiet on the walk back, while Gillan occasionally threw out ideas about how he and Neil would find work, and how she and the other children would cope with the chores and Mrs. Conaghey in the meantime. Sheila tried to follow his reasoned-out plans, but felt the cold prickle of fear down her back instead. Alone. And vulnerable again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Tension reigned in the second-floor boarding room. Sheena and Alisdair had their lessons to copy on a black slate, but the others held their mouths in grimly set lines. They cleared their throats, attempting to dislodge the words that they swallowed instead of saying. A week had gone by; a routine had taken shape. The first Sunday, they chose the Reverend Maurice Brown’s kirk to attend, and found it to be just like the service back home. That was a comfort.

  Sheila had not told Neil what Gillan was considering, but he knew something was wrong between them, and waited for an opportunity to talk with his mother alone. It came after that first service at kirk, when Gillan was invited out with several other men of the kirk to take a turn and talk with them. As they walked the short distance back to the boarding house, Neil walked with his mother behind the others.

  “What is it, Mother? What’s wrong between you? Has he made a decision?”

  “I think so, but maybe he’s no’ so sure, so he doesna say yet. Don’t worry, Neil, he’ll do what’s best for all of us,” Sheila said. Her eyes followed the road. Neil knew—by her not meeting his gaze or taking his hand—that she was not telling all she knew or guessed.

  “Is he hiding something? Are you hiding it for him? Please, Mama, I can tell something worries ye.”

  She turned to him then, her brow wrinkling and her mouth in a dismayed frown. “We should all of us be happy fer the now, Neil,” she said. “We’ve made it here after many a bad fright we would not make it at all.” She gave a sharp sigh. “And if we have to go into town again to stow away some coin for the land, then that is what we’ll do, or what some of us will do.”

  Neil digested this information with a frozen look on his face. “Ye mean he’s talking of splitting up again? Is he off his head?”

  “Wheesht, don’t talk so of yer father,” she said.

  “I thought we were deciding whether to stay or to go, but some staying and some going, it’s mad—”

  “Wheesht, lad, don’t say that. Have some respect.”

  “Ma, he didna see you on the road on yer own. And I didna see our house go up in the fire,” he said as his eyes went glassy and his voice quivered. “I could no’ leave ye again to face the same situation. I canna let ye alone without one of us, at least.” At her pleading look, he added, “He’s no’ my father, it comes to that, but ye are my family, and I’m old enough to protect ye.”

  “Oh, Neil, don’t—I’m sure we’ll find something safe before ye go. I’m sure Gil will look out something for us, don’t worry yourself.” She tried to appear confident, but Neil knew she was scared. It was the way she looked straight ahead at this moment, her eyes large and her mouth clamped firmly down to keep it from quivering.

  He left off the subject, but was glad to have found out which direction things were tending. It looks like I’ll have to do some looking out on my own.

  ***

  ***

  Their second week they celebrated Alisdair’s birthday, and it was an occasion Mrs. Conaghey involved herself in, to their great relief and delight. She knew everyone, it seemed, and had invited several near neighbors for a great heaping setting of tea. Their friends the Wilsons were still in Pictou awaiting some kin to travel to Quebec with, and they had made food to bring.

  As this was the first community gathering since the Amidou had disembarked, Alisdair’s birthday was really just an excuse to come together. Mrs. Conaghey put everything on the kitchen work-table as people arrived, and it fair groaned with the weight of the scones, tarts, breads, cured meats, soft cheeses, and bottles of local whisky brought as gifts.

  “Ye do know Alisdair’ll not be getting any of these yet?” Gillan asked as the next group entered with another bottle in hand.

  “I’d hope not!” the man exclaimed. “Tha’s good brandy, that is.” He introduced himself as Mr. Farraday and his wife as Sarah. There were many people to meet during the celebration, as it was arranged on a Friday afternoon and the townsfolk would have closed their shops. The farmers from surrounding areas would not be able to make it until later, as they stayed out to work with the sun, but Mrs. Conaghey explained that they would come later.

  “This
is quite a to-do, Mrs. Conaghey, I cannot thank you enough for your help,” Sheila said. “I think Alisdair will be around to thank ye soon as well, soon as his head is done being turned by all this attention.”

  Mrs. Conaghey laughed, and swatted her hand through the air in front of her. “Oh no bother, Mrs. MacLean. These people were itching for an occasion to gather, can ye no’ tell? Our May Day celebration was somewhat lacking, as there was terrible weather the week before yer ship arrived. No, I just gave them the excuse. It’s glad I am ye’re meeting them all. Tell me, you’re looking for a piece of land to farm, isn’t that right?”

  “Well, yes, but I’m not so sure now whether we’ll be able to do it this summer, or have to wait until next. Why, have ye any news?”

  “Why ever would ye be wanting to wait?” Mrs. Conaghey asked, incredulous. “Aye, maybe yer man should be talking to some of the farmers as they come in the evening, for they’d be able to tell him which plots are empty or abandoned. There are a fair number abandoned, with some of the materials still left around and no one to take it up. I’m thinking you could take up one of those as doesn’t have a claim and set to planting right away. But you’d have to get a better feel for where to look with some of the farmers.”

  Sheila nodded. Neil came up beside her, touched her elbow. “Y’see?” he whispered, then stepped away before she could scold him.

  When the crowd had rotated through once and it was getting dark, there came another shift, the farmers and their wives and families. There were about half a dozen that came through after sunset, and they were received readily, their hosts searching for information and advice. Alisdair had in the meanwhile imbibed some of the homemade punch and was sprawled out on the floor on one side of the table, giving everyone a laugh.

  “Why, at seven, I was throwing back tumblers of whisky!” one of the farmers was saying, with good humor. Sheila felt the warm glow of the fiery liquid in her own chest, and the kind regard of the people present. She saw Gillan animatedly discussing something across the kitchen and wondered if what he heard was changing his mind. She met Neil’s gaze where he sat near Muirne, and he gave her an encouraging nod.

  ***

  ***

  Mrs. Conaghey had indeed done a job of inviting the right people. Gillan had talked to some of the farmers about what they were planting. With the shift before, it had been about what trades were needed in the towns, both Pictou and the surrounding ones. He’d gotten a fair picture of where he might try apprenticing Neil, although he knew Neil might have his own ideas.

  He was not ready to reveal it until he was certain of the details, but Gillan was aiming to find a trade for Neil that he could grow in, and earn a good wage at. They’d scatter for the summer when it would not be as hard on the rest of the family, then return for the hard weather. That way, they could learn more and perhaps see different regions around the island before committing money and their labor to a particular plot. He allowed himself a moment to dream of a croft again, picturing the cow and hens; his short respite was interrupted by someone’s loud guffaw at close range.

  The entertainment did not finish until near midnight, but Alisdair by that time had been removed to his own mat in the corner, and showed no signs of waking. Sheila looked around and saw that most everyone was asleep already. She’d been the one to show out the last guests, thanking the couple and promising to come to the next waulking. Now she saw Gillan was waiting for her, his back against the wall, a candle in a holder at his side illuminating his tired face: eyes closed, a slight smile playing across his lips.

  She undressed to her shift by the press, carefully laying out her clothes so they would air in the drawer, then picked her way across to him. She blew out the candle and leaned against him. “What are you so happy about?” she whispered.

  No answer, but his head flopped in her direction. She cupped his cheek with her hand as he slowly slid sideways, his head coming to rest on her lap. She deftly lifted it up and wiggled herself down onto their bed, while he stayed curled up, even with the wall. At least our heads are in the same place, Sheila thought with a giggle. It died inside her as she was reminded of Gillan and Neil and their different ideas. She turned onto her side, facing away from the now-snoring Gillan.

  What to do, not to be torn in two?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  In the event, Gillan and Neil had their own discussion that settled the matter.

  Gillan took Neil aside one day before supper to have a word with him, away from the women. “Neil, I’ve considered our choices. The only way we’ll get enough silver to buy a plot of land is to be laborers during the good-weather season. I’ve written to a friend of the Reverend’s here, and the Reverend is fair sure he’ll take us on at the cargo mill upriver. It’s a big sawmill where—”

  “I don’t care what it is. You think I’m going to leave with you again, after what happened the last time? I’ll not be leaving my family alone again, Uncail. How much worse is it going to be here where we know no one?”

  Gillan’s expression changed with Neil’s use of the term Uncle, which was less respectful than calling him Father or even Stepfather. He blinked, and continued in a hard, desperate voice.

  “The laird meant to burn them all out. There was nothing we could have done. It was bad that it happened after we’d been given assurances, that is true. But we’ve learned the lesson, and will not trust any of the high-class bastards around here.” He darted a quick look toward the brazier and the cooking pot before continuing in a lower voice. “That’s why we’re here, Neil. And we’ll do all right if we gather our resources before jumping into anything before we have a plan.”

  “You may have nae plan,” Neil said testily.

  “Neil,” Gillan’s voice held a warning.

  “Why are you afraid to go out east? They said there were plots a-plenty, half-worked and abandoned. It’s perfect. We jus’ need to go up Antigonish way, talk to more people—”

  “Ye’ll do nae such thing. I’m doing this for you, Neil. For yer mother. D’ye think I want to go sell my health to another filthy, crowded place?” He switched tacks. “And for yourself, can ye not see the opportunity in a trade in a town, more surety than picking a living out of rocky or clay soil, at the mercy of a laird or a government, and the Lord’s weather—”

  Neil eyed him, not wanting to give in at any point but seeing the reasonableness of this argument. “Aye,” he said. “There may be some trades good to enter now, if I’m not past age already, but never, if it is at the expense of my family.” He paused, looking to see if Gillan felt the shame of not wanting to protect them himself. How is it he thinks they’ll be perfectly safe, after what they’ve already been through?

  “They are my family too, ken. And I wilna be without means to ensure they are safe. That was my promise on coming here.”

  So he wants the means to provide for them, while I want to protect them with my own self, thought Neil. Then I guess we can both get what we want. “Then we split ourselves up to make sure we achieve both our aims. You find the money; I’ll be their protection.”

  Gillan grunted at him, not wanting to admit the reason in his son’s plan any more than Neil had his father’s. After a moment spent looking out the window, he sighed, his shoulders shifting cautiously down. “A’right, Neil. We shall split ourselves, to achieve both our ends. It may take longer, and you may come to regret missing your chance, but I’ve said enough. Ye’re yer own man now.”

  ***

  ***

  When Neil told his mother, she couldn’t decide whom to glare at more, her son or her husband. Neil saw the conflicting emotions tearing through her: losing a husband, keeping a son, relief at not being left alone, fear how her husband would deal with all the risk on his own.

  Gillan stayed long enough to hear Neil give the news, then ducked his head and left the room. Sheila pulled Neil close and clutched at him. “Thank you, Neil. For convincing him. It’s glad I am you’ll be here, my son.”

>   Now that the decision had been taken, Gillan had more letters to have sent, people to see, a voyage to plan. Responsibilities shifted for their room fee, and Neil began to make his way overnight to farther and farther destinations, where he would spend the day talking to folk about the available land. Much of it was in the inland hills or forested land, hard to access and hard to tame. When he returned from these forays around the island, he related the important details he’d learned to all the family in front of the fire, then fell asleep instantly. His chores waited for him on his return, and the routine quickly began to wear him down again.

  Gillan removed himself from the chore rotation and went out to do laboring work in order to gain some silver for the journey west. He came in at mealtimes, and talked to everyone sociably except Neil. Neil tried to take this lightly, but it did a job on his spirit, the same as his travels were doing to his body. Muirne often was the one to wake him after a long nap or a short night of sleep, and she did so by laying her cheek against his chest, and digging her hands under him for a hug. She’d give him a lopsided smile and tell him it was ‘time for the day to begin again.’

  In addition to her boarding chores, Muirne took over teaching Sheena and Alisdair, instructing them in reading and writing. They started in Gaelic, using the Bible and the small black slate. Chalk was hard to come by, but Sheena went to the schoolmaster’s house and begged for the small castaway pieces.

  The single men that boarded with Mrs. Conaghey were incessantly polite to Muirne, but when she ventured out, there were glances and shouts. One embarrassing episode had occurred when she looked up at one of the shouts because she’d been crossing the street, and thought it might announce an approaching vehicle. Instead of a carriage or a horseman, she saw two young blond men in workmen’s jumpers. One’s face held a big grin, and he was being shoved in her direction by his friend. Fearing they would consider her attention an acknowledgement, she quickly averted her gaze and crossed the street, almost running into a buggy coming the other way. The driver of the buggy, a sharp-eyed man of middle age with a large bushy mustache, reined the horses in. She was about to apologize when she saw his gaze flicker to the young men not far distant. He nodded at her to pass, keeping his gaze over her shoulder. She reached the other side of the road, flushed and unsettled from the whole encounter.