The Exile of Sara Stevenson

by Darci Hannah

  “Forever …” I repeated softly as my mind turned to the notion of eternity and God living beyond the reach of a lens. The watchmaker, with keen eyes on me, let my little chronometer slip from his hand, where it dangled and twirled at the end of a long silver chain. It was a marvelous thing—a mesmerizing thing—and I believed it was the perfect gift for Thomas. After a long moment, the old man flicked the shiny object back into the palm of his hand. He then opened the front, revealing two little hands beneath a piece of polished glass; they moved smoothly across the white face, denoting the hour and minute. Their movement, unbelievably, was dictated by an intricate array of tight springs and oiled gears. A soft, melodious chime sounded at the top of every hour, while a window displayed the phases of the moon, somehow also calculated through the ingenious mechanism. I knew, for a certainty, that it was an instrument designed to measure the elusiveness of forever. “How much?” I asked cautiously.

  “Twenty guineas, six shillings” was his reply.

  It was a good deal of money. It was the kind of money one spent on a very, very fine gown, and I had to think for a moment if it was worth it. But then the clever man put the little pocket watch in the palm of my hand, and once again I felt that strange, enlivening tingle travel the length of my body. At the same time the tingling came, heightening my sense of touch, I was struck by the feel of the little timepiece—by the solid weight of it, and of a presence it seemed to have, as if it were a living thing. Its little mechanical heartbeat pulsed in the palm of my hand with an implacable rhythm that sent tiny ripples traveling in the opposite direction as the tingles; and if that weren’t enough, the silver housing grew warm and alive … as if it were Thomas’ skin. Perhaps I was dreaming, but I ached—physically ached—to give the frivolous little gift to the man I loved. I looked up and saw reflected in the eyes of the old watchmaker that he knew, just as I knew, I would pay whatever price he asked.

  “Very well,” I said, reluctantly handing over the watch. “I’ll take it. But for twenty guineas six shillings, do you think, good sir, you could contrive to engrave a message on the back for me?”

  “But of course, my dear lady,” he said with a twinkle. “That would be my greatest pleasure.”

  • • •

  For once, it was I who got to our secret place first, waiting patiently on the little stool. I had no lantern with me, never thought to bring such a thing, and so I sat in the dark barn waiting. A barn at night is not a silent place, I learned. The horses could be heard shifting in their stalls down the breezeway, making soft snorting noises every now and then. Little shuffling noises and the scurrying of tiny feet denoted that there were plenty of creatures about, no doubt being stalked by the two cats that patrolled the barn. I pulled my feet off the ground and hugged my legs close to my chest, balancing my body on the tiny little circle of wood. I was growing uncomfortable and thinking of leaving, thinking that Thomas was detained, when a loud screech rang out from the hayloft overhead. The sound startled me, throwing me off balance. The door creaked open at the same instant I tumbled off the stool. The barn owl swooped low, aiming for the opening and nearly grazing the top of Thomas’ head.

  “Sara?” he uttered in surprise and helped me to my feet, dusting the hay from my shift. The soft glow from his lantern showed me he was startled to see me already there. “The auld owl makes a habit of clouting my head whenever I come. ’Tis his wee game,” he explained with a soft smile. “Are ye all right, lass?”

  “I am now that you’re here,” I said, and took him in my arms. But when he kissed me I tasted the sweet tang of rum. “Thomas, have you been drinking?”

  “Aye, ’tis why I’m a wee bit late,” and he kissed me once more.

  “Well, are you drunk, then?” I asked, slightly piqued when at last I had the will to push him away.

  “Nay, I dinna think that I am. But if I am, would it make any difference?” he asked with a disarming grin, and made another grab for me. This I averted and stood with arms crossed, waiting for an explanation.

  “Weel, if ye must know,” he drawled, his speech growing thick with passion and drink, “I was takin’ a wee nip at the request of Captain MacCrea. I talked to him, Sara. Told him about my intention to work on an Indiaman.”

  “Did you?” I said, uncrossing my arms. And then, alarmed by his silence, I took an anxious step forward. “Well? What did he say?”

  Amused at my change of heart, he leaned his long body gracefully against the post before he laconically replied. “He asked me a few questions, poured me a few drinks, then asked if this notion dinna spring from my dealings with a certain young lady. When I hinted that it very well might, he was all in favor of me jumpin’ ship. For auld Captain MacCrea, hard tartar that he is, admitted that he liked me and hated to see me make a mess of my life over a pretty face in a skirt.” Here he gave me a mischievous grin. “The good captain was under the impression that I’m runnin’ awa’ from a lass, not with a lass. And by the by, ’tis all settled.”

  “What’s all settled?”

  “I’m comin’ tae take ye away tae Gretna Green!”

  “Gretna Green?” I questioned, recalling the place Mr. Scott had told us about where young lovers often went to elope. “But that’s awfully far away, Thomas. How are we to get there?”

  “I shall come for ye with a horse.”

  “A horse?” I questioned, then giggled, for the image of my brave mariner on the back of such a beast was mightily amusing.

  “Aye, ye giggle? Do ye no’ think I can manage?”

  “Thomas, can you even ride a horse?” I challenged, still giggling.

  “No, I never have,” he admitted quite frankly, shifting his weight against the beam while crossing his arms. “But how hard can it be? I can sail any ship known tae man, and a wee barmy horse willna lay Thomas Crichton by the lee!”

  He was being cocky. He had little notion what he was about, but I loved him all the more for it. Besides, if worse came to worst, I could always take over, whisking him away to Gretna Green. And after another hearty, heady kiss, I decided it was time to give him my gift.

  I watched as he untied the little box and then pulled from it the little wad of jeweler’s cotton. And when he unwrapped the chronometer, and beheld it with awe and wonder as it rested in the palm of his hand, I saw that tears had welled up in his magnificent blue eyes. “Oh … Oh lass …” he uttered. “Oh Sara, my love, what have ye done?”

  “Turn it over,” I instructed, and watched again as he read the tiny inscription. “To my beloved Thomas, eternally yours, Sara 1814.” He looked at me. “Eternally yours,” he whispered, still too choked up to say much else. “For all eternity. I like the sound of that.” And he pulled me to him again.

  We stayed in the hayloft, entwined in each other, until nearly dawn, neither of us willing to relinquish the other to the separate lives we lived. “Soon,” he whispered in my ear, “very soon we shall be together as man and wife under God. Remember, Thursday, one o’clock, the observatory on Calton Hill. I shall be there, waiting with my trusty steed.”

  Filled with excitement and a terrified thrill, I nodded, promising I wouldn’t be late, and to pack very light, as Thomas so sagely advised. We parted with a kiss at the foot of the garden. I watched as he slipped back into the darkness, his golden locks melding with the gray as he walked with the silence of a man used to living in the shadows. I would pull him from the shadows, I vowed, and then I too turned, and headed for my own door, my heart still thumping with the exertions of our love-making.

  I went to slip inside as I had done for the past few months, but the door was locked. I tried it again, unable to believe that someone had locked it after I had left. I twisted the brass knob again unproductively. I stopped, afraid I’d wake Flora. “Damn!” I uttered, at a complete loss for what to do. I was not good at situations like this. I was a mess, all tussled and rumpled, with bits of hay clinging to my shift and unbound hair. I smelled too, not badly, but I smelled of him. His scent lin
gered around me, and until I had a good wash in my basin with a dash of lavender sprinkled on my linens, what I had been up to was a dead giveaway. What was I to do? Sit on the stoop until one of the servants came to open the door for me, looking upon my figure with the suspicion I deserved? And then, in a moment of loss, I thought of Kate. The room she shared with Robbie was across the hallway from the kitchen. It was on the first floor. I could rouse her out of bed, confide to her my secret and swear her to secrecy! She of all people understood love. She knew how it took hold and possessed a person. Was she not herself a slave to it? I would go to Kate and tell her to let me in, make her understand, and then swear to any god she wished that I would not do it again. For I wouldn’t, I would never again be sneaking to the Fergusons’ barn in the dead of night. I was beyond that now, but this I would never tell.

  I stood on my tiptoes and rapped on the window. “Kate,” I hissed under my breath, praying she would hear me. “Kate, open up.” A few moments later the curtain fluttered back and a face appeared in the window. It was not Kate’s face; it was Robbie’s. The look he gave me, the puzzlement in his eyes at seeing me there, was enough to sink my heart.

  “What in the name of God?” he uttered, quite stupefied and aghast at my untimely appearance.

  “Robbie, get Kate to open the back door. I’ve been locked out.”

  I spent the next hour in my room attempting to explain to Kate just what I was doing out-of-doors at four in the morning. “By God, Sara, it’s unseemly! I’ve never heard the like. Sneaking out of bed to consort with the devil’s bucky! He’s evil, is that one! All smiles and charm on the surface—it’s how he snags his victims.”

  “Mr. Crichton is an honorable man!” I countered in a heated whisper, afraid of waking the house.

  “Does an honorable man coax an innocent maid to a barn in the dead of night so he can have his way with her? He ought to be hung for such base debauchery!”

  “It was nothing like that! I love him! I’ve loved him ever since the first day I laid eyes on him! You of all people should understand.”

  “Mr. MacKinnon would never dream of luring me out into the dark night to take advantage of my innocence. He’s a gentleman—a respectable man—unlike that randy sailor who’s taken you into his net.” She paused to let her venom sink in, and then, looking me up and down, she decried, “He’s had you, hasn’t he?” She sniffed at my rumpled chemise and jumped back. “Holy mother of God, what have you done, Sara?”

  “I’ve done nothing I’m ashamed of!” I defended. “I’ve loved a man who loves me in return. How can that be wrong? Why can’t you see it?”

  “Because he doesn’t love you!” she uttered, truly believing her own words. “He’s only using you because you’re your father’s daughter! He’s a man looking for a way up in the world and he’s landed on the magical rung. A young woman filled with such romantic notions is an easy target for one such as yon Mr. Crichton.”

  “How dare you speak of him so? You don’t even know him! He is an honorable man, Kate!”

  “Then how come he’s never come forward with his notions?”

  “Because my father has already made it clear he wouldn’t approve.”

  “He won’t approve because he’s a wise man.”

  “Kate,” I said, grabbing her wrists, forcing her to hear me. “I swear to you, I will make it right and prove to you once and for all that Mr. Crichton, though of humble birth and station, is an honorable man. But you must swear to me that you will never, ever mention any of this to my father! Swear it, Kate, as my friend. Swear it, for you know I would do so for you.”

  It took her a moment. I could see the struggle play out behind her brown eyes as she fought the temptation to divulge so juicy a morsel as she had just stumbled across.

  “Very well,” she finally agreed. “If you are truly convinced that this sailor is honorable, then so be it. But don’t come crying to me when you find out he only used you, used you like a whore he didn’t even need to pay for!”

  Her words cut deeply. Yet I would gladly accept them in exchange for her silence; for I knew that very shortly I would be proving her wrong. I would be free of them all, gone, whisked away on the wind to a life of my own choosing. And that thought alone made me smile.

  • • •

  On Thursday at one o’clock I made my way to the observatory on Calton Hill as planned. I had with me a little bag stuffed with the few things I thought to take. I didn’t want much. I didn’t want the reminders of what I had once been. And so I chose mundane things like a comb and brush, a mirror, a change of clothes, some money, and my little painting of Thomas of course. And that was all. I walked the pathways, climbing the hill, marveling at the spectacular view of the Firth of Forth on one side, the Palace of Holyrood to another, with the many spires and rooftops, cathedrals and castles that made Auld Reekie look more magnificent than ever before. The air was full of autumn splendor, with a crispness that enlivened the senses making every leaf and flower pop with color and purpose. My heart lifted at the sight of it all, and at the thought of Thomas. I walked around a great deal, searching through the couples that wandered the pathways with me, always on the lookout for a sailor with a horse. But none was to be seen. I sat on a bench beneath the observatory building waiting for Thomas to come, and after an hour of this waiting, I thought perhaps I had missed him, and continued to walk the paths again. Another hour passed and I decided to wait on the bench, certain he would eventually come by.

  I waited and waited.

  Soon dusk came, and with it a soft maudlin rain; and still I waited. I sat there on the bench, clutching my little bag of belongings tightly to my shivering chest as the chilly water drenched every fiber of my being. I was certain he would appear. I had dreamed it. I had willed it. Yet still there was no sign of Thomas.

  It was well after dark when a man came by, holding a lantern to my face, the flame hissing in the damp.

  “’Tis dangerous for a young lass tae be out so late on a night, unescorted.”

  “I’m waiting,” I told him curtly, and continued hugging my bag for warmth.

  “Aye, I see,” he said gently, and took a seat beside me.

  I ignored him, unwilling to look at him, and started to harbor the notion of running away, until his words stopped me.

  “Your name wouldn’t happen to be Sara Stevenson, by any chance, would it?”

  “It is,” I said, and turned to look at him. He was middle-aged and dressed in a dark blue uniform. He was one of the magistrate’s men charged with keeping the streets of Edinburgh safe. I had seen this man before, and this recognition made my heart sink. “I believe it is time to go home now, Miss Stevenson. Your parents are worried sick about ye.” And without any consent from me, he took my hand and led me home.

  They were all there, gathered in the parlor, waiting for me—my father and mother, Kate and Robbie, even my brother Thomas and my sister Jane and her husband. One look at the many pairs of eyes beholding me with expressions ranging from pity to disdain and I knew they knew my secret. While I was gone missing Kate had spilled all, breaking her promise to me and forfeiting our friendship.

  “So, Mr. Crichton has shown his true colors after all,” my father stated coldly, getting to his feet. “Was only a matter of time, really. Ye can put a beggar on a horse and he’ll ride to the devil. Mr. Crichton has proven himself to be exactly what I thought him to be, a poor, uneducated, debased reprobate.”

  “He’s nothing of the kind!” I cried in my lover’s defense. “How dare you sully his name! You don’t even know him! Thomas Crichton is a good, honest man!”

  “Does a good, honest man take another man’s daughter and treat her like a common whore, coaxing her out after dark to consort in amoral behavior? And you,” he said, pointing a shaky finger at me, unable to quell his rage. “How could ye bring such shame upon your family. You’re too old to be behaving like a spoiled child.” Here he paused, and then, becoming a bit lachrymose, he stated more sof
tly, “You’re a grown woman; I see that now. And that is why tomorrow, Sara, I will be calling on Mr. Graham to tell him that you will happily accept an offer of marriage.”

  “I will not marry that man, Papa!” I cried, oozing all the rage and frustration I felt. “I will not marry any man but Thomas Crichton!”

  “Are ye so daft that ye cannot even see it!” he cried back as all eyes held to our quarrel. “I would never allow such a marriage! And Mr. Crichton, for all his foolish stupidity, was at least bright enough to know that! But you, my own daughter …? How it shames me. He left ye, Sara, and I doubt that he’ll ever be back again. Mr. Crichton was a common rake and a coward, and I pray that you’ve learned a lesson from it. Now, then, I shall not hear another word from you. You will marry Mr. Graham and we’ll hear no more of this foolishness, this … this disgraceful affair!” He took my mother by the hand and they turned to go, both unwilling to look at me any longer.

  “Mr. Graham?” I said mockingly to their retreating backs. “Dear Mr. Graham? Go ahead, Papa, and ask Mr. Graham if he’ll take for a wife a woman who’s carrying another man’s child.” It was the last card in my hand, and like the fool that I was, I played it.

  The room fell silent as all of them stared at me with mouths agape. And then my mother began to scream.

  It was while I stood there, bravely reveling in the knowledge that I indeed carried the fruit of Thomas Crichton’s love, that the reality of my situation began to sink in: Thomas Crichton had left me, and he had left me in a state where no respectable man could ever want me again.

  SIX

  Inner Demons

  My little foray through the snowstorm to the MacKay croft was not without its price, and that price was extracted in flesh—not exactly lopped from my body as in the proverbial Merchant of Venice pound of flesh, although I’m certain Mr. Campbell was tempted. Instead, and fortunately for me, mine was extracted slowly, melting from my body first in the form of a wracking, bone-shaking chill followed shortly by days of fever and delirium. My body burned so that I believed I was close to conflagrating the very blankets and quilts Kate insisted on piling on me. And while I lay in this vapid, lifeless state, hovering on a thread between consciousness and unconsciousness, unable to talk sensibly or comprehend what was going on around me, the fevered dreams took over. It was in them I first saw his death.