Oatcakes and Courage

by Grant-Smith, Joyce

  “I do not think she has the smallpox,” Captain Spiers stated after his examination. “Although it may be too soon to tell.”

  Katherine folded her hands as if in silent prayer.

  “Perhaps the fright and soaking she got in the storm has brought this on.” The captain shook his head. “Cover her well. I will send down a tisane that may help.”

  The captain left. Katherine held little Christina’s limp hand and shed silent tears. Anne stood next to her, not knowing what to say or do.

  A deckhand appeared later with a cup of warm liquid. “The cap’n sent this,” he said.

  Anne took the cup and the lad hurried away. She held it out to Katherine.

  Katherine took a steadying breath. She took the cup. “Would you,” she whispered, “hold her head up for me?”

  Anne slid onto the edge of the bunk by Christina’s head. She eased the child’s shoulders forward, allowing her tiny weight to lean against her chest.

  Katherine carefully tipped the tea to Christina’s lips. When the child did not respond, Katherine coaxed, “Come on, lass. This is from the captain. You need to drink it. Just a sip. That’s it.”

  Anne and Katherine managed to get most of the liquid into the child before she fell into a feverish slumber. They covered her with blankets and cloaks.

  “I’ll watch her if you want to check on Janet and Alexa,” Anne offered.

  Katherine shook her head. “This is where I need to be.”

  Anne nodded.

  Katherine reached out a hand and patted Anne on the shoulder. “Thank you for being here to help.”

  Anne said, “You know I’ll do what I can.”

  Ian came below later to check on them.

  “Hugh and the girls are fine,” he told Katherine. “Elspie is helping.”

  “Thank you,” Katherine said wearily.

  “Why don’t you get a little sleep?” Anne asked Katherine. “I’ll stay up and watch.”

  Ian said, “You do look tired, Katherine. You can use our bunk if you like. I am sleeping on deck tonight.”

  Katherine regarded her daughter. Christina’s small face was beaded with sweat; her skin appeared translucent. Katherine said, “I should stay here.”

  Ian shrugged and headed up the ladder.

  “I really don’t mind sitting with her,” Anne said.

  “I know. I know. But I’m afraid… I’m afraid if I don’t watch her… I need to be with her… I can’t explain.”

  Anne searched her friend’s anguished face. The deep love and heart-wrenching worry were right on the surface. Of course Katherine could not leave her child’s side. What if Death crept up in the night and touched Christina while Katherine was not on guard? She would never forgive herself for not being here, for not doing all that she could to fight against him, to beat him back.

  “All right. I’m going to bed. In the morning, I will take a watch, if you like. Call me if you need me.” Anne crawled into her bunk and slipped into a fitful sleep.

  When she woke in the morning, she found Katherine as she had left her, sitting by Christina’s bunk, holding her small, frail fingers.

  Anne whispered, “Any change?”

  Katherine blinked red-rimmed, bleary eyes. “Nay.”

  Anne smoothed the auburn tendrils of damp hair from Christina’s brow. The child’s forehead was still hot. Anne sat on the edge of the bunk across the narrow aisle.

  Captain Spiers arrived to check on Christina. He only said, “I’ll send down another tisane.”

  Anne stood. “I’ll go get our breakfasts and bring them down.”

  “I’m not hungry,” Katherine murmured.

  “Hungry or no,” Anne said in a Lily Sutherland voice, “you need to eat and keep your strength up. For Christina.”

  Anne went off in search of food. When she returned, Katherine had the tisane. They sat Christina up between them and dribbled some of it into her mouth.

  Then they ate their pitiful breakfast.

  Katherine’s face held more life once she had eaten. “I guess I did need that,” she said.

  “Oh, aye,” Anne answered. “You also need a bit of sleep. Your eyes look like black pits.”

  Katherine looked down at her daughter’s face.

  “I will let you know if there is any change at all. Why don’t we try to get a wee bit more tisane in her, and then you have a nap?”

  Katherine gave a grudging nod.

  Anne kept vigil beside the child during the morning. When Katherine woke, Anne went up on deck for a breath of fresh air and her midday meal. She joined Hugh, Alexander, Elspie and all the children.

  “Christina is the same,” she reported. “No change.”

  Lily approached Anne as she finished her dry and tasteless oatcake. Lily said, “I was busy with Janet Fraser last night, or I would have been down to help you and Katherine.”

  “Baby Jane isn’t sick, is she?” Anne asked anxiously.

  “Colic. She’s fine now. I’ll go help Katherine this afternoon. You rest. Maybe you can help tonight?”

  Anne nodded, relieved to have Lily with Katherine.

  Anne found where Ian had slept the night before, in the lee of the longboat. She curled up on the pile of canvas and cloaks and closed her eyes.

  She felt Ian sit down next to her. He put his hand on her shoulder, and with that bit of comfort, she drifted into sleep.

  Anne made her way to the musty hold. The air was as fetid as ever. She braced herself against the putrid smells and took her place next to Christina’s bunk. The little girl lay still and pale under the covers.

  Katherine was bathing her forehead with a damp rag and softly humming a hymn. She looked up as Anne approached.

  “Is she no better?” Anne asked.

  Katherine shook her head. “The fever eats at her. She has no strength. She does not even whimper in her sleep now.”

  Katherine had aged ten years. Deep lines creased her face. Her eyes were dull and sunken. Her cheeks, which had been round and soft at the beginning of the voyage, were sunken so the bones jutted out sharply.

  “Have you eaten?” Anne queried.

  Katherine nodded. “Lily brought me a bite. And she sat with Christina for a while this afternoon. But I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Why don’t you go for a wee walk up on deck? Get some fresh air. Janet and Alexa would be glad to see you, too.”

  “All right. Aye. A short walk. I’ll take up the bucket to empty. I will not be long.”

  Anne patted Katherine’s hand. It felt clammy. “Take a cloak,” she suggested.

  Katherine gave Anne a wan smile and slipped off for a brief break.

  Anne touched little Christina’s forehead. It was still raging hot.

  Anne whispered to the child about the New World, about the trees that grew right to the water’s edge, the rivers full of fish, the forests full of animals. She talked of how they would be free to talk as they wished, think as they wished, dress as they wished. After a bit, Anne thought she might be describing Heaven. Was Nova Scotia really a paradise on Earth or was that too good to be true?

  Katherine returned. The brisk evening air had put a little colour in her face. She thanked Anne.

  “Please, Katherine, get some sleep. I will stay.”

  Katherine shook her head. “There is no sleep for me. I am that worried.”

  “Then I’ll sit up with you. Keep you company.”

  “Aye. All right. That would be nice.”

  They spoke very little through the night. The dark hours dragged as the ship creaked and sighed over the waves.

  Christina began to thrash and flail shortly before dawn. Anne and Katherine restrained her so she wouldn’t fling herself from the bunk. She was eerily silent through her convulsions. Her lids fluttered open once, but her eyes rolled up into her head and she saw nothing.

  At last, the fit ended and Christina lay limp and spent on the bunk. Anne hurried to the captain’s cabin. She knocked on the door, then waited, ho
pping from one bare foot to the other, trying to warm herself in the predawn chill. She knocked again, harder this time. The cabin door flew open. The captain stood before her in shirt and breeches, his feet and head bare.

  “I… Excuse me for waking you, sir. But the child, Christina, has had a fit. Could you come?”

  “At once. Let me get my bag.”

  Anne rushed back to the hold. The captain was only moments behind her.

  Katherine sat hugging herself, rocking back and forth. Her teeth were chattering.

  Anne feared that Christina was not breathing as she approached the bunk.

  Katherine did not even look up when the captain approached. Captain Spiers took Katherine by the shoulders and gently but firmly moved her to the end of the bunk. Then he sat by Christina’s side and examined her closely.

  “How long did the seizure last?” he asked.

  Anne thought. It seemed to last forever! “It was only a few minutes, I suppose. It seemed a long time.”

  The captain nodded. “Has she been coughing?”

  “Nay.”

  “It is the fever that gave her the fit.” He thought for a long moment. “Let us get her cooled down.”

  “But, Captain!” Katherine exclaimed, shaken from her stupor. “Does she not have to sweat out the disease?”

  “If she has not done so by now, she is not likely to. And she cannot bear the fever much longer.”

  Captain Spiers threw the covers off the sick child and began to remove her clothing.

  Katherine raised a hand to protest. Then looking at Christina’s ravaged face, she shuddered. Silently, she helped to undo the child’s frock.

  Once the girl was stripped down to her petticoat, Captain Spiers took the damp rag and sponged her head, arms and legs. The moisture evaporated off Christina’s hot skin in an instant. He went over her frail body again and again with the cloth.

  Eventually, he passed the rag to Anne, saying, “Keep doing this. I am going to make her a medicine. I will not be long.”

  The captain hurried above deck and returned with a warm, acrid-smelling drink. Anne tilted Christina’s head while he carefully dribbled it into her mouth. Some of it escaped down her chin, but she swallowed a good measure of the concoction.

  “Continue to cool her with the damp cloth,” the captain instructed. “Let me know if there’s a change.”

  “Aye,” Anne murmured.

  Captain Spiers turned to speak to Katherine. She was slumped against the foot of the bunk, her eyes closed.

  At first, Anne thought her friend had slipped into an exhausted sleep. When the captain swore under his breath, Anne sat up and peered through the gloom. Her mouth fell open, horrified. Katherine’s skin shimmered with sweat. Her face was pallid.

  Captain Spiers regained his composure. “You will have to care for the child,” he stated. “Where shall I put Mistress MacLeod? I need to move her away from this bunk.”

  “My bunk,” Anne choked through tears. “You may put her in my bunk, over there.” She pointed.

  Captain Spiers nodded. He gently picked Katherine up in his arms and carried her to Anne’s bunk. He lay her down and covered her with blankets.

  “I will inform her husband,” he said grimly. The captain strode to the ladder.

  “Dear God in Heaven,” Anne prayed, “Not Katherine and little Christina. Please.”

  Lily Sutherland bustled into the hold a short time later, Hugh trailing after her. When Hugh saw Katherine, he snatched off his hat. He gripped it tightly in both hands, crushing the brim. His lips trembled.

  Lily took a deep steadying breath, then sat on the bunk next to Katherine. She picked up the young woman’s hand and said, “Katherine.”

  Katherine’s eyes fluttered open. It took a moment for her to focus in the gloom. Katherine looked from Lily to Hugh. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “Lass, you have naught to be sorry for,” Lily said. “You are worn out from caring for your wee one. You get some rest and you will be right as rain.”

  Katherine said, “Lily, you do not need to put sugar on it. I know I am sick. Just see that my girls are looked after.”

  Lily sighed. “Have you ever had the cowpox, Katherine?”

  “Nay.”

  “I need to get some things. I will be right back.”

  Lily slipped away. Hugh gazed down at his wife, his face contorted in a grimace of worry.

  Katherine held his eyes for a long moment. “Look after our girls, Hugh. No matter what.”

  “I will,” he murmured. “You know I will.”

  Katherine nodded and closed her eyes.

  Lily returned. “Perhaps you should get back to the children,” she suggested to Hugh.

  Hugh gave a curt nod and strode away.

  Anne swallowed the lump that had risen in her throat and continued to bathe little Christina. “Don’t you worry, Katherine,” she whispered, “I’ll care of Christina as if she were my own.”

  During the mid-morning, Christina’s fever broke. Anne covered her over with a light blanket. The child murmured in her sleep, sighed, and lay peacefully.

  Anne sat with Christina till Rebecca Patterson came below. Rebecca folded her willowy form onto a nearby bunk and said, “I’ll stay with her for a bit. Get some air and a bite to eat.”

  Anne nodded her thanks. She stopped to ask Lily how Katherine was. The older woman shook her head and said, “Time will tell.”

  Anne leaned over the bunk and said, “Katherine, Christina’s fever has broken.”

  Katherine’s eyelids flickered, but she made no reply.

  Anne found the captain in his cabin. She reported on Katherine and Christina, then went out on the deck.

  Anne welcomed the cool sea air and bright sunlight. She stood at the starboard rail for a time, gazing off where the pale blue of the sky met the sapphire blue of the sea. Ian found her there.

  “How is she?”

  “Christina’s fever broke. Katherine is very poorly.”

  “And how are you?”

  “Oh, Ian, I am heartsick. So much pain. So much grief. How much more can we bear?” Anne threw her hands over her face and great sobs welled up.

  Ian wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly. He said nothing. He let her cry till the sobbing subsided.

  “I have your noon meal. Will you sit and eat with me before you return to the wee one?” he asked.

  Anne nodded and followed Ian to the space on the deck where he had been sleeping. She sat upon the pile of canvas and blankets and chewed and swallowed the food without really tasting any of it.

  “Elspie is grand with Janet and Alexa,” Ian said. “And her three lads get along well with the girls.”

  “That’s good of Elspie.”

  “Poor Hugh is at a loss. He tries, but with both Christina and Katherine sick…. Well, he has a great deal on his mind.”

  “Aye. I’ll go tell him that Christina seems a bit better before I go below.” Anne touched Ian’s cheek. “Thank you.”

  Ian grinned at her lopsidedly.

  Anne found Hugh at the bow, talking with John Sutherland and Archibald Chisholm. She gave Hugh what news she could. She filled a cup with water, then returned to the hold.

  Rebecca reported, “She didn’t wake.”

  “Thank you, Rebecca.”

  “I’ll be back again later.”

  Anne slid her arm behind Christina’s shoulders to sit her up and held the cup of water to her lips. “Come on, lass. Try to drink. There’s a good girl.”

  When the liquid touched her lips, Christina moved her face away, but as Anne persisted, she finally took a swallow. Anne eased her back onto the bunk.

  The fever returned in the late afternoon, but not so high as before. Anne moistened the child’s skin through the evening and into the night. In the early morning, the fever again broke.

  Anne sat, half dozing, her head propped on her hand. A tiny noise brought her eyes open.

  Christina was looking a
t her. Anne straightened and smiled. “There’s my lass.”

  Christina blinked and rolled her head back and forth. She swallowed loudly and croaked, “Thirsty.”

  Anne grabbed the cup of water and helped Christina sit up to drink. The child could only manage a small sip. Christina slumped back on the bunk.

  “Are you warm enough?” Anne asked.

  Christina frowned. She gave her head a slight nod.

  “Good. I’ll stay here with you. Let me know if you need anything.”

  The frown smoothed from the child’s forehead and she slept. Anne sighed. Maybe, just maybe, they were through the worst.

  Chapter 11

  ANNE FELT A WARM hand on her shoulder. She blinked her gritty eyes open to see Ian looking down at her. She was slumped at the foot of Christina’s bunk, her legs dangling over the edge. Anne sat up slowly and rubbed her shins to bring the blood to her numb limbs.

  Ian held out a cup of steaming liquid.

  Anne took it and inhaled deeply. “Where did you get…?”

  “The captain sent it down.”

  “For Christina?”

  “No, lass, for you. He thought you were that tired, and needed it.”

  Anne breathed in the wonderful tea aroma, then sipped it slowly, savouring. She glanced over to their bunk. Rebecca Patterson sat with Katherine.

  “She is no better?” Anne asked.

  Ian shook his head.

  Anne had trouble swallowing the last of her tea. She passed the cup back to Ian with a quiet, “Thank you.” Then she turned to little Christina and lay a hand on her forehead. The child’s temperature seemed fine.

  “At least she is over the fever,” Anne murmured.

  “Aye. Now, would you like a bit of breakfast? I will stay here with the wee one so you can get some air.”

  “Nay, if you will just bring something down to me, please, I think I’ll stay here. In case she wakes.”

  Ian paused to bend and kiss Anne on the cheek. Then he turned and left.

  In the quiet of the hold, Anne noticed four other women keeping their silent vigil over a sick companion or loved one. She sighed and tugged the blanket about Christina’s small shoulders.

  She stepped over to gaze down upon Katherine. Her friend lay motionless on the bunk, her mahogany hair matted against her sweat-soaked face.