***
When the family returned, they found her still asleep. They crept quietly ’round so as not to wake her. Muirne made up the dough for bread and Sheena heated the congealed chicken fat over the brazier to start a broth. Neil and Alisdair came home with meat scraps from the butcher and a bag of charcoal from a neighbor.
“It’s a miracle, the people in that kirk,” Neil whispered to Muirne. “Who helped them when they arrived, I wonder?”
Soon enough, the smells of cooking permeated the whole room and down the hall. Sheila stirred in the bed. She woke and rolled over, a smile on her face. “That smells like meat, if I didn’t know better,” she said.
“It is meat, Mam!” said Alisdair, skipping over to her side. “We got scraps from the butcher, and he said to wish ye well.”
“That’s Mr. Robinson, is it?” Her eyes sought Neil’s. “Well, then, we will have to send a hearty thank you tomorrow when his shop is open. He didn’t bring that there meat into the kirk session, did he now?”
“Noooo,” giggled Alisdair. “We walked with him back the way, and he stopped to get the bag from his shop.”
“I see. Much easier that way, I s’pose.” The gentle ribbing continued as chores were done and the meal was cooked. Over their tea, Sheila brought up the subject of her visits that morning.
“And Mr. MacLahlan is likely to return,” she finished. She eyed her daughter for her reaction to this news. Muirne shrugged.
“Very well, Mother. And they were both good company, then?”
“Well, I’d not say they were bad, but there is something queer about that man Turner.” She looked at Muirne again. “You said ye found him in front of the medical school talking about that horse o’ his?”
Muirne nodded.
“And ye did think to send him a note of thanks at the school for his help?”
Muirne nodded again. “Hmph,” was all Sheila’s reply. Then he must indeed go to the school as he says, or the headmaster would’ve written back saying there’s no such man there under his instruction.
Neil observed all this back and forth with some interest. He did not know either of the men well, but if they were both there to try to sway his mother and dance attendance on his sister, then he would damned well find out more about them. Mrs. Conaghey was not an objective source, after all.
He was juggling the times for when he would need to be in town and when he would need to be back on the ridge, figuring whom he could question on the subject, when his mother asked him a question.
“I was just trying to figure that out myself, Mam. As soon as you’re up and about, I’ll go on back to the ridge to finish up sorting those piles, and see what can be done about the foundation still there. Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll keep a long stick and a careful watch.”
“Very funny, boy. You just be careful, a’right? We’ll soon catch ye up.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
That afternoon, as members of the family rested, or read the Bible, Muirne went out on an errand. She took Sheena with her. She was going to see about chickens.
Mrs. Conaghey kept four of them, but did not have any more space in the coop for more. Besides, Muirne was hoping she could keep the earnings a surprise until she had enough money for the loom. Well, that would take a verra long time, she reflected. Maybe I’ll have to combine with Neil to have enough before we move out of town. I wonder how long that will be.
Sheena trailed her quietly, but her eyes were looking everywhere. Muirne had told her they were going to a farmer’s wife who lived on the west edge of town. She had new-hatched chicks to give away, not having solicited the services of the rooster. And Muirne had heard this at kirk that morning, or more accurately, during the little knots of conversation that sprang up upon leaving.
It was a fine day, and a Sunday; everyone was disposed to chat. And so Muirne had found her opportunity. They stopped at Mrs. Thompson’s for a chat, fetched the chicks, and a few boards with which to construct the roost, Mrs. Thompson being charmed by the idea of a secret coop to earn a present for their mother. “But where will you keep it?” she asked.
“I think the next yard over would work fine,” Muirne said. “The man there is a typist or a pressman, and buys all his food. Not married. He may well end up a good customer.” Muirne grinned.
“Aye, well, you just be sensible, girl. You’ll be marrying yourself soon, I s’pect. Have ye yer sights set on anyone?”
Muirne blushed and ducked her head, which made Mrs. Thompson laugh, but made Sheena wide-eyed with curiosity. They both thanked Mrs. Thompson, and left to return home. Sheena broached the subject right away.
“Have you set your cap at someone, Muirne? Is it one o’ those two as visited today?”
“Wheesht, never you mind, Sheena.”
“I dinna even see Mr. Turner yet. D’ye like him?”
“He’s a fine sort of man, and he did us a very good turn, but no, I’m with Mam, there’s something queer about him.”
Sheena thought about that. “It’s odd, no? We know so little about the people here, but they’re so kind.”
“P’raps. Now,” Muirne was prepared to change the subject. “Do you think we can build this roost on our own, or will we have to let Neil in on our secret?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
The next week found the children all back at the ridge, all except Sheena, who’d volunteered to stay to help their mother, as well as secretly feed and water the chickens. The five little chicks were shooting up and popping out quickly on the seed and grubs in the yard, and Sheena was gleeful to have a duty that would result in a secret present.
Neil led the rest of them back with borrowed tools and the packed food they’d managed to get from the butcher and the grocer. They had drawn up a line of credit with both men, and were careful to only take what they needed for the trips to the Sherbrooke plot, since otherwise they could barter with Mrs. Conaghey with their labor. No new word had come from Gillan, and no money either.
Neil reflected on this as he hammered together long poles. A part of him was glad Gillan had not yet found success because he had been so dead set against staying near Pictou. Neil had felt that working on finding a farm as soon as possible was the best way, and his family had been right there with him. His confrontation with Gillan before he left had been awkward, but Neil still thought he’d been right to stand firm. When he came back, he resolved to stand his ground. How could Gillan not agree that they had a good situation here now? Earlier in the summer it had been precarious, sure, but now, it was there, within their grasp. Just like the ship’s passage, he trusted Gillan would eventually come around, with his mother’s help.
While Neil was hammering, Muirne and Alisdair were collecting stones of the same size and shape from down by the creek. Muirne was taking no chances with disturbed wild creatures, whether wasp, spider or snake. She carried a long stick to poke under each rock before they dislodged it from the sandy riverbank dirt. It was slow going because they were being so careful and so picky, but Muirne was taking the opportunity to quiz her little brother about geography and multiplication tables, and was content.
Onto this scene of quiet industry there suddenly came a crashing noise from the trees. Muirne stopped to listen at the creek at the bottom of the hill, while Neil did the same from the top, so loud it was. It swept past Muirne and Alisdair through the forested part of the hill, on the other side of the crest so they could not see it. Neil scanned the horizon, then saw the lines of a man on a dark horse just before they emerged from the shade of the trees.
“Hullo, the house!” Turner cried, smiling under his hat. It was the same mare, Neil saw, but different saddle and bags atop. Decorative metal winked brightly from the back of the saddle, newly polished. The man swung down easily.
“Not much of a house, ye ken,” Neil returned, shaking his hand vigorously. “What brings you up here again, sir?”
“Well,” and here his eyes darted around the ridge site, “I had hop
ed to catch a glimpse of your sister, young man—”
“Don’t try that on with me, now!” Neil cried in mock outrage. “You’re not so much older than me yerself, man.”
“You’re what—nineteen? Twenty?”
“Seventeen.”
“I’m twenty-one.”
“See? A few years. ‘Young man,’ indeed.” Neil saw his eyes go round the place again. “Is it truly Muirne you’re looking for, unchaperoned and—”
“Oh rot, man. I’ve come to help as well. What d’ye think of me?” He went to the saddle packs and took out more tools, the same ones Neil had borrowed, and more: hammer, saw, clamp, level.
“Is that a magic saddle pack, then?” Neil teased. If the man had truly come to help, and had intentions after meeting Muirne, he was certainly acting right smart about it. Maybe even moving a bit too fast and loose. But it was tempting to respond to the man’s friendly advances.
“Nay, I just figured you’d take kindly to some help, and borrowed these myself.”
As he was unloading the tools and looking more closely at what Neil was working on, the trudging steps of Muirne and Alisdair could be heard coming up the path. They both held cloths full of stones. As they crested the hill, they let go the edges and released them with a clatter and a giggle and an exclamation. Neil saw Muirne ruffle Alisdair’s hair from a dozen yards away. He glanced at Turner, who was likewise following their approach with his eyes.
“Mr. Turner!” Muirne sounded surprised. “What a pleasure. Have you come to check on us, that we haven’t had any more accidents?”
“No, Miss MacLean, actually I’ve come to help with the men’s work. I’ve even brought tools, since I thought an extra pair of hands might need an extra pair of tools. Was I right?” He turned to Neil.
“You were,” Neil said gruffly. All this levity. “Now if you’d like to help me securing these poles and skinning some more—”
“Surely. Let me just take off my coat and we shall dive in.” Neil himself wore no coat. Turner took his off and set it aside on a stump. He sported a clean shirt and loose cravat, along with a plain grey waistcoat. Neil noticed Muirne looking at him and tried to glare at her. She didn’t notice.
“Doing well with the stones then, Muirne?” he asked.
“Oh, aye.” She turned toward Neil, correctly reading his face. “We’ll do another go before dinner, right, Alisdair?” They started off down the path again. Neil snuck a look at Turner, and sure enough, he was watching Muirne go, a sort of hunger on his face. Neil resolved to talk to his sister bluntly about this after the man left and Alisdair was asleep. If she did like him, they had better make it formal and announced, before he took advantage, which he looked like he could easily do.
***
***
Neil got his chance later that night, as the fire crackled low and the stars shone above them. Alisdair was snoring very lightly, and Muirne was sitting propped up against a tree, thinking with her eyes closed. It was pleasantly warm for the evening, after the hot, sticky day.
“Muirne,” Neil said softly to catch her attention. He was laying down on his plaid, his head supported by his hands crossed behind it. She opened her eyes and looked over.
“Do ye like Mr. Turner, then? It’s obvious he wants you.”
Muirne looked down quickly. “Is it?” she said.
“Aye. And if there’s to be something between you, it should be honorable and formally expressed so there isn’t any deceit or secrecy. Since Father’s not here—”
“You’ll stand in as watchdog, is that it?” Neil was surprised at the bitterness he heard in her tone, and watched her body hunch forward in the firelight and moonlight. “We’re stuck, Neil. We’ve been wandering for almost a year now, and we’re split up. We’ve no money. No jobs. If it weren’t for the kindness of the people in this parish, we’d have died on the way here.” She let that ugly statement sink in before continuing.
“Father’s left to seek a job with pay. You’ve stayed to try to build a home. Mother is trying to keep us together, but—can’t you feel it? We’ve no place!”
Neil got up to move toward her and sat so their sides touched, both propped up against the tree. “That’s what this is, our place.” He paused. “And that was a very long way about not answering my question, missy.”
A puff of air escaped Muirne’s lips in a short laugh. “Well,” she said languidly, “I think Mr. Turner is an opportunity. I do like him. And I think he’d be able to provide a good home. Student he may be, but he was as able here this afternoon as he was with Mam and her wasp attack.”
“Hmph,” Neil replied. He’d been all right with the saw—because it was also a surgical tool?—but hopeless with the ties to secure the rafters together. Neil had had to do all of them while Turner held them in place. He still wondered about the man’s background, and knew his mother had as well. He’d have to find time to make inquiries, now that he knew Muirne’s mind.
“All right then,” said Neil. “I’ll see what I can find out about him, since we know so little. Ye ken that’s necessary, newcomers as we are? Ye willna find it an interferin’, brotherin’ thing to do?”
Muirne chuckled and lay her head on his shoulder. “No, brother, I’d like that.” After a few moments’ silence, he felt her sigh. She said, “But what will Father think when he comes back?”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” said Neil. The stars gradually winked down on them in the balmy night, and there was nothing preventing them from dreaming easy dreams of what life could be like, here in their own place.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
When the three MacLeans returned to town, they were met in the yard by Sheena, grinning ear to ear.
“You’ll never guess how much I’ve done with the chicks,” she stage-whispered as they walked to the door together. Alisdair looked up at the mention of chicks.
“Have you made the roost all homey for them then?” Neil asked. He’d been let into their secret.
“I have, and more,” replied Sheena.
“Have you plumped them up in the past five days, then?” Muirne asked.
“I have, and more,” Sheena replied with a barely suppressed squeal of delight. “You’ll never guess!”
Older brother and older sister looked at each other, now on the threshold. “What is it, Sheena?” he asked in a whisper. “Tell us before we go in.”
“I’ve already got three customers lined up for when they start laying!” She grinned, evidently pleased at her own business sense and initiative.
“Well, and that’s very well done, Sheena,” Muirne said, putting her arm round her sister. “But that won’t be for a while yet, so be sure not to make rash promises.” Sheena nodded, her smile dimmed only a shade.
Their hands were empty, since they left the tools on the ridge, hidden from sight. They meant only to check on the family, and stock up on oatmeal and potatoes and beans, before returning to their camp.
It was a weekday, and Mrs. Conaghey was at home. Her immediate commencement of patter upon their arrival reminded Neil of his need to find out about Mr. Turner. He wondered when he might steal away to the tavern or the grocer’s to ask around. Thankfully, his mother was up and about and wore only a simple cold cloth draped over her collarbone and her head to stave off the infection. She said she’d be going back with them when they left in a day or two.
“All right then, do we still have credit at the grocer’s?” Neil asked his mother.
“Yes, Neil. Will ye go down this day or wait till tomorrow?”
“Well,” said Neil, ducking his head to glance out the window and assure himself of the time. “There’s plenty of time left in the day; I’ll go now, and be back in time to provide you with supper.” He smiled a secret smile, proud of his subterfuge.
Sheila didn’t notice. “All right, then awa’ with ye. The others might prefer a bit of a scrubbing before launching into more chores, am I right?”
Muirne gave an exagge
rated nod of her head while Alisdair did a fast shake of his. Sheila laughed. “Muirne, you’re first. The fire’s hot, you just need to fetch the water.” She handed her two buckets from the hallway, and Muirne took them down to the pump. Meanwhile, Sheena asked Alisdair about the progress they’d made on the ridge.
“Is there a house yet?”
“No, but there’s a floor,” Alisdair replied.
“Are there any walls?”
“Not a full wall, but Neil’s got frames up for two of them. And we collected all the right size rocks to fill in the wall frames to make it nice and warm, that’s what Muirne said,” he recited.
“Fill in the—” Sheena started, but stopped. “Is that really how you do it?”
Alisdair shrugged. “Maybe it’s how they do it here. It might’ve been Mr. Turner’s idea. He came several times to help.”
Sheila’s ears perked up at this, and she listened more closely to the children’s conversation.
“He did? Does he know how to build houses, then?”
Alisdair laughed. “Nor any better than our Neil! But he was helping all the same. He’s pretty strong, ye ken.”
Now it was Sheena’s turn to shrug. Sheila was wondering how Muirne had received him, whether he had stayed the night—heavens, she hoped not—when her thoughts were interrupted by the clomp of boots on the wood of the porch outside.
She heard the muted tones of Mrs. Conaghey’s greeting. Could it be Mr. McLachlan then? she wondered. It seems he has been o’erleaped in the game, she thought with a stab of pity, for she thought him a decent young man.
The clomping stopped, as did Sheena and Alisdair’s chattering, as they all looked to the door to their room. Its knob turned and the door swung in slowly. Through it stepped a grisly, mangy-looking mountain man. He wore ragged canvas trousers, a linen shirt so dirty as to be actually brown in spots, and a stained leather traveling coat reaching to his knees.
The Keening Page 20
