The woods around the farm were filled with timber, and the land needed to be cleared. There were lots of material for building. As soon as the corn, barley, and vegetables were planted, they began to work on building homes. Working in teams, they managed to raise humble cabins at a rate of one per week. After everyone had a rudimentary shelter, the men started on barns, leaving the women to tend the crops and animals while they worked.
Duncan’s house was the very last to be worked on, owing to the fact that, with three rooms (counting the bedroom, loft and great room) he already had the grandest cabin in Staunton! They refilled the grooves between the logs with heavy, watertight clay, and then they replaced the roof. Finally, the men put on a covered porch, and then helped to dig a cellar, which Duncan and the boys finished up themselves, laying a plank floor overtop, and then adding another room to serve for storage, and where one of the boys could sleep.
By the time the building was finished, it was time to bring the harvest in.
Duncan hadn’t been raised for farming. Despite having entered the trade when he first crossed the ocean, he was still a little bit amazed at all the work to do.
Duncan and the older boys picked the crops and cut the hay.
Ciaran set aside some of the harvest for seeds, and set about preserving the rest for winter, not expecting anything to trade that year.
She refilled the jars that had been emptied on the journey, and then set about salting and drying meat from the game that Duncan and Avery (who, under the Scotsman’s tutelage, had become an excellent shot) brought home.
October brought falling leaves, crisp nights, and an unexpected surprise - the arrival of another wagon train of settlers. It was so late in the year they were quickly dissuaded from moving on. She was bemused, but hardly surprised, when Duncan took on another large group of tenants-and grateful for the infusion of supplies.
Ciaran had been a settler for all of three months longer than the new arrivals, but it didn’t stop her from feeling smug and superior when she saw some of the items that Duncan brought home. He traded some of their extra harvest with the newcomers, and collected advances on the rent, in the form of more chickens, ammunition, a bolt of calico, more jars for canning, and a few boxes of assorted odds and ends: Buttons, scraps of paper, a few wooden toys.
“This is special for you,” Duncan said to Ciaran as he passed out presents around the fire.
Ciaran bit her lip uncertainly when he handed her a slim paper pamphlet.
“What is it?” she asked, recognizing the fact that there were letters on the cover but, obviously, having no idea what they said.
“A New England Primer,” Duncan said slowly, carefully gauging her reaction. “I thought that, seeing as we’ll have some free time in the winter, I’d teach the boys how to read - and anyone else who might like to learn it,” he said with careful emphasis, “It will give them a head start come spring. I’ve heard Mrs. Cameron, my cousin Frasure’s wife, means to start a school come spring. We’ll want to send all the bairns if she does. They’ll have a head start.”
“I don’t want to go to school!” Avery declared firmly. “School’s for babies!” he sneered.
“I don’t want to go either!” Ryan declared, copying his brother, and very soon all of the boys were of the same mind.
Duncan let them vent their fury for a couple of minutes, but then he raised his voice to be heard above the general outcry.
“I’m sorry to say it lads, but going to school is not open to debate.”
There were whines of protest from the younger boys, but it was Avery who decided to argue his point further. He was glaring at Duncan angrily.
“I’m not going!” he shouted, jumping to his feet. “And you can’t make me!” he declared.
“Avery,” Duncan frowned, adopting a sterner tone of voice. “Listen to me, you’re my responsibility and-”
“No! I don’t have to listen to you! And I don’t have to do what you say! You’re not my father!” he yelled furiously, and before Duncan could react he turned around and escaped up into the loft.
Avery’s angry words seemed to echo around the great room. Duncan heard them ringing in his head over and over again as he tried not to let it show how much they had hurt him. It was Ciaran who first dared to break the fragile silence.
“He didn’t mean it,” she said timidly. “He’s just a child.”
“Aye, I know,” Duncan said stiltedly.
“I’m sorry,” she continued, anxiously. “He had no right to talk to you like that.”
“Stop apologizing for him, Ciaran.”
Ciaran shifted nervously, however she carried on speaking. “But maybe, if he’s so set against the idea, maybe he shouldn’t have to go to school. He is nearly twelve now and…” her voice trailed off when she caught sight of the look on Duncan’s face. It was almost the sort of look that Sean had worn before he delivered a beating.
“So you agree with Avery? You don’t think he should go to school? Christ Ciaran, why would you deny your son the chance of an education?”
Ciaran sucked in her breath in shock. She almost felt it would have been better if Duncan had hit her. He had never spoken to her in such a dismissive tone of voice before! However, instead of being cowed, she bristled with anger and betrayal.
“Oh I see how it is!” she snapped.
“You see how what is, Ciaran?” Duncan sighed. He didn’t want to be having this fight any more than she did, it was the first time they’d had a real disagreement, but he wasn’t prepared to back down over the children going to school either.
“All the things you told me, about it not mattering who I was and where I came from, they were all lies!”
“No! Of course not, but that has nothing to do with-”
“Yes it does! You don’t think we’re good enough for you, so you’re trying to change us!” Ciaran shouted. The children drew back in a little huddle, and Duncan’s expression turned black.
“I’m not going to stay here and listen to this rubbish,” Duncan growled, grabbing his hat and striding towards the door.
It wasn’t until the door had slammed shut behind him that panic gripped Ciaran’s heart and overturned the anger that had unexpectedly exploded there. What if Duncan didn’t come back?
Duncan stormed across the lawn, not knowing where he was heading. It was stupid to have left, but he didn’t want to risk really losing his temper in front of Ciaran and the children, and he didn’t want the boys to see how badly their words had stung him.
He was almost to the barn when he felt a hand on the back of his shoulder.
“Duncan! Duncan, PLEASE!”
Duncan spun around, eyes flashing, and immediately wished his expression had shown more restraint, Ciaran automatically stumbled back and braced herself as if she expected to be hit.
Even though he knew it was nothing that he had done to make her so fearful, Duncan felt his heart breaking inside his chest. He wished, somehow, that he’d been able to save Ciaran sooner, that there was some way to go back in time and undo all the hurt that Sean had caused. The slow, unsteady progress he was making nearly drove him mad.
Chastened, the anger had drained out of Duncan’s face. Very slowly, he stepped toward Ciaran and held out his hand in a gesture of peace.
“What is it, lass?” he asked calmly.
“I’m sorry!” Ciaran blurted with a flood of tears. “I’m sorry! Please don’t go! The boys can go to school! They’ll do whatever you want, I-!”
Duncan laid his finger across her lips, silencing her.
“Whatever you want,” he corrected. “You’re the lads’ mother after all. I just….Ciaran, it isn’t that I want to change you, I just want to help you, and the boys.” He waved his hands helplessly, unsure how to impart what he meant. Luckily, the will to fight him seemed to have left Ciaran completely. She had wound her arms around his waist and burrowed her head against his chest, submitting completely. While Duncan felt bad for taking advantage of
her docility, he was grateful all the same.
“You’re tired, love,” he said gently, nudging her toward the house. It was the truth. Duncan hadn’t noticed before how worn and exhausted Ciaran was looking. For days now she’d seemed to be dragging, and he’d heard her be ill once or twice in the early morning - although, whenever he asked about it, she told him there was nothing to worry about. He hated the thought that Ciaran might be sickening. His concern grew when she didn’t deny the charge.
“Aye, well. That’s to be expected…” she said in an odd tone and rubbed her stomach thoughtfully. She was silent for a moment, but then perked up, sounding determined when she turned back to the house and announced, “And there’s plenty of work left to do before bed, so I reckon I’d better get on with it. I’m sorry again, Duncan…”
“Nothing to be sorry for,” he assured her, and then followed her back to the house.
They didn’t speak of the Primer again for several days, but then something amazing happened. Monsieur Belitran, one of the traders, rode up to the farm and asked for Duncan.
“What is it?” Ciaran asked, her heart clutching at the prospect of news from the outside. Invariably, it would be bad news: skirmishes with Indians, or talk about trouble between England and France. However, her fears proved unfounded, or at least incorrect in their basis. Upon being told that Duncan and the older boys were in the field, planting the winter wheat, he produced a letter from his pouch.
“This just came to the post,” Belitran said, “One of the boys brought it back from New Bern. I reckoned he’d want it straight away-nearly two years old, but then, it’s not every day you get mail from a Duchess!”
The Frenchman pressed the envelope into Ciaran’s hands, tipped his hat and rode away, leaving Ciaran to stare in wonder at the strange delivery.
Ciaran had to take the man’s word for the fact it was from a Duchess. She couldn’t make sense of the faded writing on the outside of the parchment and, even if she could have, it had been smeared and corrupted almost to the point of illegibility by the number of times it was written over, each time the letter was redirected. Still, even without knowing her letters, Ciaran could tell the importance of the sender by the quality of the parchment and the intricate seal that was on the back. She ran her finger over the raised wax, which seemed to be in the shape of a boar’s head, mad with curiosity and wondering when Duncan would be back.
It was a few hours until Duncan and the boys came back from the fields. Ciaran had placed the letter on the table for Duncan to see when he came into the house, but she couldn’t resist wandering over to it every now and then to take another curious peek. What would it say? What news would it bring - happy or sad? And what would Duncan’s reaction be when he read it?
When Ciaran heard Duncan and the boys return she almost rushed out to them with the letter, but she managed to hold herself back. Still, when they wandered off into the barn instead of coming straight into the house Ciaran sent Aidan out to fetch Duncan. The Scot appeared a few minutes later, carrying little Aidan on his shoulders.
“What is it, Ciaran?” he asked, looking concerned. “Is something wrong?”
“Mr. Belitran came with a letter for you,” Ciaran said, nodding towards the table. She wiped her floury hands on a cloth and watched Duncan’s expression as he spied the letter. He picked it up, still frowning, and then he let out a laugh and grinned.
“It’s from Maisie!” he cried happily, breaking open the seal.
“Maisie?” Ciaran echoed the name, alarmed by the stab of jealously she felt on hearing Duncan sound so ecstatic to hear from another woman.
“Aye, my sister,” he nodded. His eyes were hungrily devouring the letter, growing steadily wider as he read on.
His sister… Ciaran let out a shakily, relieved little breath and laughed at herself for being so silly.
“What does she have to say?” she asked curiously.
“Well,” Duncan murmured, he checked the date on the letter again. “Apparently my other sister, Cora, the tomboy, wasn’t too happy that I left her behind in Scotland when I sailed over to America, so she-she followed me!”
“She did what?” Ciaran gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth. “But that letter was sent two years ago! Where is she now?”
“Jamaica, apparently. Where she’s married to a… James Beaufort,” Duncan said, he frowned and looked somewhat displeased as he read the name. “Good God Cora! I knew you were a wild one, but this was crazy even for you,” he muttered to himself. “I should write back to Maisie, she must be pretty worried if she sent this two years ago!”
“Maisie’s a-a Duchess, isn’t she?” Ciaran asked.
“Aye,” Duncan nodded. “The Duchess of Argyll,” he said, with a dismissive roll of his eyes.
“And Cora is your other sister?” Ciaran pressed, trying to piece some loose fragments of the puzzle of life Duncan together. He really didn’t talk about himself very much, so Ciaran had been carefully storing up the little crumbs he dropped for her to find. “And-and you left a brother in New Bern I think?”
“Aye,” Duncan nodded. “And I’ve got another brother Cam-Cameron, who was living in London two years ago, according to this letter from Maisie at any rate,” he murmured, rereading it slowly.
“And you’re the oldest?” Ciaran asked, smiling.
Duncan’s smile faltered slightly. “No, actually Maisie’s the oldest, and then-well it used to be Thomas, and then me, Ewan, Cam and Cora.”
Ciaran nodded. Thomas. Now that he mentioned it, she thought she had heard him mention an older brother before. Clearly it wasn’t something he felt comfortable talking about though, so she let it pass. He would, hopefully, confide in her one day.
“It must be nice to hear from your family,” Ciaran said quietly, eyeing the letter with just a little touch of envy.
“Aye,” Duncan said slowly, looking up, and seeming to sense the conflict in Ciaran. “Is there anyone you would like to get a letter from?” he asked gently.
Ciaran bit her lip. “Well, my-my sister, and my family back in Ireland. Do you think-I mean-maybe you could write a letter for me?” she asked shyly.
“Aye, I could do that,” Duncan nodded carefully. “Or I could help you to write one yourself?”
He held his breath, waiting to see how the idea would be received, pleased when it wasn’t automatically rejected. Eventually, however, Ciaran shook her head, “Ach-no. None of them would know how to read it if I did…”
“But maybe someone could help them?” Duncan asked, deciding to press his luck a tiny bit. Surprisingly, it held.
“Well…maybe,” Ciaran said, hesitating. She reached out to touch the letter Duncan had just finished reading, brushing her finger over the small, neat script. It looked so complicated! What would happen if she failed? Would Duncan be disgusted with her? Would he be ashamed? Ciaran couldn’t stop her worries - but she could see the benefits too. If she did learn to read, Duncan would be proud of her, and it would be wonderful to hear from Caitorina or one of her other sisters and brothers back home.
“Well, we could try?” Duncan said slowly, not wanting to force her. “Maybe we could look at it after dinner. It’s a long winter, after all…” They wouldn’t be idle, by any stretch, but there would be more time than usual for leisure doing the coldest months.
After supper that evening, Duncan sat down to write. The paper he had with him wasn’t anything nearly so fine as his sister had used, and the bottle of ink he’d brought from New Bern had dried up, so that it had to be scraped out of the bottle, added to water, and then put in a pot to boil before it was fit to be used, but he finally managed to sort it out. Then, he stood behind the counter and began to write.
Ciaran was sitting at a stool by the fire, teaching Aidan and Liam how to card the bags of wool they’d been saving since the spring. She put down her brushes and left them to it so she could wander over and peek at what he was doing.
It was hypnotizing. Ciaran watched wit
h fascination as he dipped the nib into the ink pot, tapped it against the bottle to get rid of extra ink, and then pressed it against the paper, his hand moving in confident, easy slashes across the page as he filled it with his own neat script.
“What are you saying?” Ciaran asked eagerly.
Duncan frowned. She had picked an inopportune time to ask. He was just telling his sister about Aileen’s passing and his decision to head west.
“About why I’m not in New Bern anymore,” he fudged quickly and flashed a smile, “And why her letter took so long to get here.” He pushed the letter aside, finding it uncomfortable to write about his former wife with his new one watching. “Are you ready for your first lesson?” he asked.
Ciaran hesitated, but wasn’t quick enough to tell him no. He went to rummage in the box of items he’d taken off the settlers and retrieved a slate and a chunk of chalk.
“Here now,” he said, opening up the Primer. “We’ll start with just the letters….” He drew the first one. “That’s an A….It’s the first letter in Apple.” He wrote it out, and then handed Ciaran the chalk and asked her to copy.
She took the chalk sheepishly and tried to make the same marks herself, but she was amazed at how difficult it was. Her lines wanted to come off wobbly.
“And here’s a small ‘a’” he said and explained the difference between small letters and large ones before moving on to B and C.
Ciaran’s head was spinning even from the small amount of information.
“I don’t know if I can do this!” she said anxiously, but Duncan shook his head.
“Of course you can!” he told her. “All it will take is practice!”
“I suppose so…” Ciaran conceded.
She diligently practiced the beginnings of her alphabet until it was time to put the boys to bed. She didn’t really know if she was improving at all, but Duncan was patient and encouraging, and he didn’t make her feel like a complete idiot when she wrote a whole slate full of a’s back to front.
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