by Beth Camp
Mac and Dougal went out twice more that first morning, following clouds of sea birds that hovered over the herring. Each time they returned, they dumped the herring near Moira and Susan. Moira's back ached from bending over, yet she kept gutting the fish.
“They say a good packer can pack 10,000 herring in a day,” said Jane. “I’ve already done ten times that, eh? How many barrels? Three? Five?”
“Four,” said Susan. “You've done four barrels.”
“Feels like thousands,” said Moira. “How many times more will they go out?”
“They're done for today. I bet we move down the coast tomorrow.”
“Aye,” said Susan. “Watch the knife, there.”
The herring bellies shone white in the sun and then red as the women sliced each fish open and pulled out its entrails. Moira’s hands burned from the salty water, one finger partly swollen where her knife had nicked it.
Mac and Dougal untangled their nets and checked them for tears to get ready for the next run. Then they rolled into their blankets and stretched out to sleep on the Star, oblivious to the roar of work on the beach.
As the sky darkened, the men awoke and ate their soup. The women hiked their skirts up to push the boats out again, for it was still cold, and the men couldn’t risk wet trousers out on the boats with no way to dry them. The herring rose again to the surface of the sea at night to feed. Dougal said he could see them just under the surface of the water, hundreds and hundreds of herring they’d nicknamed the silver darlings for the money they’d bring.
Now all the work Mac and Dougal had done on the nets paid off as they swung the nets out over the black water, the Star moving up and down on the swells. They waited until the tugging weight nearly tipped the Star and the nets were full before they pulled them in, dumped the fish out onto the bed of the boat, and returned to shore.
And so it went for the next six weeks. At each landing, the men fished, the women made camp and washed their bits of rags, laying them out to dry on small bushes. They rested on the rocks when they could. When the boats came in, the women worked in groups of three to gut, clean and pack the fish, still cold from the sea, until the carters had taken all away, the gulls clamoring around them like angry, hungry children.
Each night, the women built small fires from scavenged driftwood and cooked fish with bartered potatoes into a soup until Moira could hardly drink the broth. When they wanted to sleep, they rolled themselves in blankets along the shore. Some landings had temporary huts to sleep in when it rained. Sometimes they slept on the boats anchored in the cove, if the men came in again at night. At night the women told stories and drank bitter beer. A few women slipped off with the men to walk along the beach. Under the moon, tucked between Jane and Susan, Moira slept deeply, tired to the bone.
At every landing the carters and curers came, sometimes bringing whiskey to sell. One night, as they sat on the Star, Mac brought out a bottle. “We all need a bit of the devil to keep us warm,” he said, spilling out some whisky in the sea before pouring a bit in Moira’s tin cup.
“I’ve never seen you do that,” said Moira.
“You’ve never been fishing, girl.” Mac filled his own cup to the top. “Just as well to keep the old gods sleeping.”
Moira was quiet. Her hands were cracked from the brine, and her clothes smelled of fish, but she didn’t care. She wrapped her fingers in bits of cloth like the other women did, and tied her sharp fish knife to her waist.
The next morning, a cry went out, “They’re moving south. To the boats! To the boats!” The women ran to the boats, their blankets and bags flapping behind them.
The small boats followed the herring past Mull Head, along the Point of Ayre, to Burray, then past South Ronaldsay to Old Head, across the open sea at Pentland Firth to safe landing at Duncansby Head, then along the coast to Wick. Some went further south to the bigger ports of Peterhead and Aberdeen.
Moira never tired of looking at the islands and the sea, even when it rained and the wind blew her face raw. As the boats skirted the mainland proper, she pulled the blanket around her for warmth, and the wind blew rain into the boat. She tied a handkerchief tightly around her head and tried to stay out of Dougal and Mac’s way, admiring again their skill in maneuvering the two sails to catch the wind that kept them apace with the herring fleet.
Each afternoon, the boats landed, and the women went ashore. Throughout the day and at dusk, the men went out and came back in with the bottoms of their boats filled with herring. It was a good run.
Then the six-week season ended, as abruptly as it began. The herring turned east and south to the open North Sea, and the smaller boats held close to Scotland’s shore.
“God willing, they’ll be back next year,” said Mac, shading his eyes as he looked around the port.
They stood on the Star, tied up at Wick’s dock, surrounded by the unrelenting noise of a seaport in high season, the docks crowded with hundreds of small boats like theirs mixed in with several large flat steamers from Holland and Germany. Set with square-shaped sails and dragging nets for trawling, the steamers unloaded their catch by the thousands.
Mac scanned the port and spat, “That is, if we’re lucky, and those Dutch bastards don’t take every last little fish that ever was.”
Mac and Dougal turned to Moira, for the moment of parting had come.
“We’ll settle up now with the curers,” said Mac, “and then we’ll take you back up to Dunsbeath for the harvesting, you and Susan and Jane. We’ll meet you at Kirkwall the week before Lammas, for that’s when you promised to come home.”
Moira nodded. She couldn’t speak now, knowing they were going home without her. She hugged each of her brothers. “At Lammas then.”
CHAPTER 9: DEIDRE
Deidre stood in the entry to Scott’s Mercantile, her two travelling bags heavy in her hands, the familiar smell of burning peat from the central stove mixing with the scent of wet cloth, tobacco and fish.
Her father, deep in conversation with a fisherman, lifted up coiled line and a handful of fish hooks. The store was unchanged, its shelves stocked with tea, meal, barley, salt, eggs, dried peas, and dried fruits. Behind the counter, nets hung near another row of shelves lined with fishing tackle, and on the top shelves, a few bottles of beer and whisky. At the very back of the store, animal hides, seal, otter, and goat, lay stacked on the floor next to bundles of dried fish and burlap bags of bird feathers. Deidre could reach out and touch knitted stockings, caps of several sizes, and several lengths of rough woven cloth.
I shouldn’t have come back. But Da had written her, and she had returned. Perhaps only for a visit. Foulksay Island seemed smaller to Deidre. She took another step inside the store. William glanced up, saw her, and dropped the fish hooks on the wide wooden counter.
“Deidre. Ah, here’s my girl. Home at last.” He gathered her into a great hug. “Are you well?”
Deidre couldn’t speak for a moment. She felt as if she could stay in her father’s arms forever. “Yes, father, I’m fine. I’m not sure about the position you wrote me about, but if they want me,” she glanced upstairs, “I’ll stay.”
“Yes, of course you’ll stay. Who’s to tell you not to stay? Mac, come and say hello to my favorite daughter, home from teaching in Inverness.” William couldn’t let go of Deidre’s arm.
“’Tis a pleasure to welcome you home, miss.” Mac took her hand formally and shook it. “I remember you from school days. You haven't changed.”
“Thank you,” Deidre replied. She could barely take her eyes away from her father.
“Too long it’s been, that’s what,” said William. “What a day for celebration.”
“Da, I'll be upstairs. Are Penelope and Charlotte at home? And Mother?”
“Yes, yes. I’ll finish up here. Go up. They’re all expecting you. We didn’t know exactly when you would arrive. We hoped it would be soon.”
The two men watched Deidre go to the back of the store. “Ah, she really is my favorite daught
er,” William said. “I can’t believe she’s home.”
“She was a pretty girl when she was younger, and she still is," Mac said. "‘Tis glad I am she’s home, William.”
William nodded and began recoiling the wire. “She’s been gone too long. Six years it’s been. You say you want four lengths? And the hooks?” He smiled as the running steps echoed overhead and they heard squeals as his family reunited.
“Aye. And she’s come home to stay?”
“Yes. That’s my hope. Mayhap she’ll teach in the Grammar School.” William looked at Mac. “It’s been breaking my heart she’s so far away. We’ve got a chance to bring her home.”
“I'm wondering is she married now?”
“No. And don’t be getting any ideas.”
“Me? Would I have ideas? I’m just a poor fisherman.”
“Right. And chasing every skirt on the island, you are.”
“I’m an old man now. I don’t chase every skirt. There's no harm in asking.” Mac paused as he took up his parcel. “Put this on account. I’ll settle up at Lammas.”
“Things be changing,” said William. “I was up to Westness. He wanted to go over all my books. He says I can’t carry accounts next year like I have this. Not for anyone who doesn’t pay.”
“We always pay.”
“Aye, but not everyone pays. Some barter.”
“I’ve known you to take an egg or two on account. I’d not like to see that change.”
“’Tis not the only change. He wants the fishermen to rebuild their boats. Close over the tops, like. Says you’ll catch more fish. I’m to order in the lumber from Inverness.”
“I heard,” Mac said. “I don’t know. We’re doing all right as we are.”
“You know about the pier?”
“Aye, and the fees that go along with it. Will you be collecting that as well?”
William nodded. “I’ll have to hire someone to help me, either here or on the pier. I can’t send the girls down to collect the fees.”
Mac grimaced. “He can find ways to kill a dog without choking him with butter.”
Upstairs, Deidre was delighted to see her sisters. “You’ve grown so much. You’re truly young ladies, both of you. Ah, I’ve missed you both.” She twirled Penelope and Charlotte into her arms for another long hug. “Hello, Mother.”
“You look well, Daughter,” said Anne. “Your father arranged an interview with Lady Alice. You're to go up as soon as you're able. He tells me if you get the position, you’ll be staying here with us.”
Deidre glanced up. Her mother’s face in repose was a study in lines: two dissected each side of her mouth, and a third line connected dark eyebrows. “How have you been, Mother.”
“Well enough.” Anne fluttered her hands. “Girls, that will be enough. Go down to your father. Find something to keep you busy in the store, for I wish to speak with your sister.”
“Yes, Mother,” Charlotte replied. She and Penelope raced down the stairs, calling for their father as they went.
“I remember when they were smaller,” said Deidre. “Our house always seemed noisy.”
“The house is still too noisy. They forget themselves at the least provocation.” Anne smoothed her skirt and beckoned to Deidre. “Come sit for a moment.”
Deidre looked around the upstairs kitchen. Not a single napkin or a bowl was out of place. She followed her mother into the tiny front parlor where they sat on facing chairs.
“Your father has prospered. It’s he who wanted you home.”
Deidre raised her head. She should have known her mother would not forgive her.
“If you teach at the Grammar School, you’ll have a room here, but I expect you to be a good model for your sisters. No immoderate laughing. No walking out at night.”
“Mother, you’ve read my letters. I taught girls just like Penelope and Charlotte at Mrs. Neill’s Academy for the last five years. I am a good teacher.”
“I’m not talking about your teaching. It’s grateful I am you have a profession after all that happened. I’m talking about you and your sisters and our standing with the new laird.”
“I’m not sure they’ll offer me the job.” Deidre stared at her mother. “I’m not sure I’ll be staying.”
“Oh, your father, he talked to Lord Gordon. There’s a need for another teacher at the Grammar School. You’ll be staying. There are too many children at that school, and I think too many women like you.”
Deidre felt her face flush. “What do you mean, mother.”
“You know what I mean. There’s no need to discuss it.” Anne stared at her daughter. “You may want to live elsewhere, but your father won’t hear of it. You can pay room and board as long as you’re with us, but I want you keeping proper hours. I want you to be circumspect with the girls. They don’t need you, the prodigal daughter, wrecking their chances.”
“Yes, mother.” Deidre wondered what chances her sisters had on Foulksay Island.
Anne stood. “I expect you will want to freshen up before your interview. Best to go over to Westness sooner rather than later. I’ve put you in Charlotte’s room, that’s your old room. She’ll share with Penelope for now, and then we’ll see.” She rose. “Supper is at six then.”
“Yes, I should like to freshen up.” Deidre wondered again if she was making the right decision.
Her mother nodded and left the parlor. Their talk was over.
Deidre sat on the iron bed in her old room, the door to the rest of the upstairs apartment closed. Like old friends, she recognized the carved cabinet beside the bed and the colorful rag rug on the polished wooden floor. A small mirror had been hung on the whitewashed walls. Someone had placed a small bookcase for her books next to the window, white lace curtains obscuring the view. Father, she thought. He hadn’t forgotten.
How she had loved that window at the front of the store. She used to spend hours looking out over the street and down the cove to the sea. It still hurt to think of the baby she had lost and the man who had made promises so long ago and then left her. She watched the afternoon wind push clouds across the sky. If I get the job, I will stay for my sisters and my father.
It didn’t take her long to finish unpacking, to wash her face and to comb her hair, tucking her long black hair into a serviceable bun. Deidre tied on a sturdy gray woolen hat bedecked with a bit of white lace and two small cloth roses. She took her woolen cloak and looked again around her room. The bookcase now held her precious cache of books. She pinned her spectacles to her waist and put on her gloves. She was ready.
“There you are. You look entirely grown up, my dear,” said William, holding out his arms for another hug. “Already off to Westness? No worries, child. The interview is a formality. Once they meet you, they’ll love you just as I do.”
Deidre thought about her father and mother as she walked up the hill to Westness, the wind billowing in her skirts. Her father still saw everything with a golden glow. He seemed shorter, though, and she could see gray in his hair and more lines on his face. Her mother was ageless, standing straight and proper as any lady she had seen who came visiting Mrs. Neill’s Academy.
How she missed Mrs. Neill, but once the letter came from her father, Mrs. Neill had said, “There’s nothing really here for you, my dear. Too many know of your stay at Magdalene House, before you came here. Best you return to your island and your family.”
Deidre stared at the outside of Westness, so large, its windows from four stories facing the sea. A few old men pushed wheelbarrows of stone to the back of the house, their narrow black coats buttoned against the wind. Somewhere inside that house, she would meet Lady Alice.
The large wooden door opened suddenly. “There you are,” called Mrs. MacNaught. “Come up. Come up. We’ve been waiting for you. Welcome home.”
Tears pricked Deidre’s eyes at the warmth of Mrs. MacNaught’s greeting. “I don’t believe it quite yet,” she replied. “But it’s good to be back. It seems not much has changed.”
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br /> “Don’t you believe it. Everything has changed, and there’s more change coming.” She surveyed Deidre from head to foot. “What a charming hat. Now, give me your cloak. I’ll take care of that. Come along with me.” Mrs. MacNaught’s skirts rustled as they went up the stairs.
“I’m taking you straight up. It’s that busy we are with opening up the whole house. Did you remember Sheila Trimmer and Catriona Brodie?” she asked, nodding at two young women scrubbing the wooden floors with flannel cloths. “Extra day help from inland.”
Deidre shook her head. She felt overwhelmed by the number of people she’d seen, faces she could almost recognize, names of people she once knew, and some she did not know at all.
“Never mind, dear. You’ll like Lady Alice. She’s very kind. Not that I should say anything, but she is. And your mother? How is she? No, don’t tell me. I already know, but you’ll be all right.” Mrs. MacNaught patted Deidre’s hand. “And here we are,” she said, showing Deidre into Lady Alice’s upstairs parlour.
“Good morning. Welcome to Westness,” said Alice, rising from her desk. “You must be Miss Scott. Come sit while we talk.”
Deidre murmured a greeting and tried not to stare. Lady Alice looked almost like a schoolteacher herself in her simple gray morning gown. Her dark hair had also been pulled into a bun, with a few tendrils escaping by either ear.
“I understand you once lived on Foulksay?”
“Yes, mum. I grew up here. For the last five years, I taught at Mrs. Neill’s Academy for Girls in Inverness.”
“And you have a letter of reference? May I see it?”
Deidre handed over the letter Mrs. Neill had so carefully prepared. She waited and tried not to fidget. The room was very quiet.
Lady Alice folded the letter. “Mrs. Neill says you have special strengths in teaching reading.”
“Thank you, mum.”
“Pastor McPherson has more than sixty children in the Grammar School. When Lord Gordon and I learned from your father of your teaching background, we thought it a perfect fit. I know you've come all this way, but perhaps only to see your family? Are you interested in staying on Foulksay?”