Standing Stones

by Beth Camp

  “Can’t catch me. Can’t catch me,” cried Timmy. He ran behind Agnes.

  “That’s it. All of you, away from the fire. Go make yourself useful.” Agnes gave Timmy a shake. “Maggie, where are you?”

  “I’m coming, Mother.” Maggie carried a baby on one hip as she dragged a large pot over.

  “Good, girl. Now, please take these kids elsewhere. Bundle them up and tell them stories or something.”

  “Are you making a soup, Mother?” A smile broke out on her face as Agnes nodded. Maggie called the children together. “Let’s make a tent just for us,” she said, “and I’ll tell you of the smuggling Dons of Westray and the treasures they found.”

  “Where were we?” asked Agnes. “I can’t think with all this racket.” She stooped to pick up an onion and began cutting it up for the pot.

  “The headlands. I was asking about the headlands.” Catherine stripped an onion of its outer skin and threw the parings into the soup. “What is it like out there?"

  “Jack said there’s only a pinch of land for each family, not enough for any farming. I don’t know how we’re going to make a living there. They said we have to fish somehow. How can we fish? We have no boat. We never fished. The house is gone, part burned and part boarded up. Jack, he went over to the Pig’s Head.”

  “I heard some of the families were taken in. Granny Connor's over at the McDonnell’s.”

  “Wish he had a bigger place. We'd be there instead of here.” said Agnes. “I guess I could do laundry, you know. Maybe those pigs who tossed us out need their shirts washed. I could send some of the younger ones to pick up the clothing. Maybe Pastor McPherson will let us use the tubs from the church, or we could walk to the river. They’ve got to let us do something.”

  “Aye. Just don’t go over alone or too late, if you know what I mean. I hear they pay for other things too, if you’re hungry enough.”

  “We’re not that hungry.”

  “Some are. I hate to think what will happen if they’re found out.”

  The two women were silent.

  “Not my daughter,” said Agnes. “She’s too young.”

  “Aye, but she’s a pretty one and sweet,” said Catherine.

  “Too pretty for her own good these days,” said Agnes. “I’ll keep her close.”

  The back door of the manse opened. Pastor McPherson stepped out to survey the group of crofters camped in his back yard.

  “You canna stay here,” Pastor McPherson called out. “Lord Gordon has given you new lands. You’re to settle at Quernshead until the ships come.”

  Agnes and Catherine watched a few men gather by the Pastor. They strained to hear what was being said.

  “Pastor, we no can live there. It's not but rock and grass and the cold wind. There's no place to sleep.”

  Three more men walked over to join the circle that tightened around the Pastor.

  “There’s no food out there,” called Willie, “and the wind blows cold. We just thought we’d stay here for a bit.”

  Pastor McPherson began shaking his head.

  “Aye,” chimed in Thomas. “We’re not going to be any trouble. We’ll just take a bit of shelter, until things settle and we get our lands back. ‘Tis the church, a place of refuge as the Bible says.”

  “Don’t blaspheme,” cried Pastor McPherson. His sonorous voice echoed in the small yard.

  “Have ye no seen what they’ve done? It’s not right, turning us out of our homes like that,” called Thomas.

  “And for what? For sheep?” Ronald shouldered his way forward. “We’re Christians, not animals.”

  “God rot you, Pastor,” cried Bruce. “Look at your people. You should be fighting for us. Not whimpering behind Lord Gordon and hiding in the church. Look around yoursel’. We need shelter. We need food. We’ve got hurt people here. We need help to bind our wounds. We should be planting, not roaming everywhere looking for work that's na there.”

  The crowd shifted. Ronald pushed closer. “Some of us are going over to the mainland, to look for work, but we have to leave our women and children behind. Who’s to care for them?”

  “We’re not the sinners,” cried Thomas. “Tis Lord Gordon who’s sinning against us. All we want is our place back. Where we’ve all lived for as long as we can remember. Can ye help us, or have you abandoned your flock?”

  The men fell silent, daring the Pastor to ignore them. Some of their women drifted over to stand behind their men. They waited, their faces thin with exhaustion, their cloaks and skirts flapping in the cold spring wind.

  “You must know I've spoken to Lord Gordon already.” Pastor McPherson waved his hand at the parish house behind him. “I've never seen so many go hungry. But Lord Gordon is bringing progress to us. God’s will is working through him. You don’t own the land that your homes were on, none of you. Maybe in the past, the old lord overlooked it when times were hard. But ‘tis your duty to pay the rents or to face evictions.”

  “But he raised the rents to where no one can pay. How is that progress?” asked Thomas.

  “It’s his legal right. Ye canna’ stay here. You have to move out on the headlands with the others,” replied the Pastor.

  “Have you even been out to Quernshead? Have you seen the bits of land where he wants us to live? There’s nothin’ there.” Thomas leaned on the man next to him. “You can’t grow anything that close to the sea, not even grass.”

  “What about the beatings? Me granda can’t walk. What about me children? They’re going without food.” cried Catherine. “This can’t be God’s will.”

  Pastor McPherson looked at the churchyard filled with makeshift tents and bedraggled people. “I’ll do what I can,” he said. “I’ll meet with Lord Gordon again. Mayhap he’ll help. I'll try. I have food for you today, but you can’t stay here. You have to move.”

  He didn't have to say another word. The people turned away and began to take down their tents.

  CHAPTER 35: CROFTERS’ PROTEST

  Occasional sparks from two peat fires lit the faces of the men and women crowded into the yard in front of the McDonnell cottage.

  Jamie lay on the roof of dried peat and heather with Luke and John, peering down at the crofters and fishermen who had come from all over the island, now sitting in groups, squeezed into every possible space.

  “Thank you all for coming.” Mac stood up behind the fire and looked at the faces turned toward him. “We couldn’t meet in town, for the guards are everywhere, even at Scott’s Mercantile.”

  “Aye, he knows which side his bread is buttered on,” called out Sean. “He’s put up three of them in his place.”

  “Anyone in town is suspect,” said Mac. “For the day has eyes, and the night has ears. But you know why we’re here tonight. We're here to protest the evictions and the wanton destruction of our homes.”

  A shout went up from the crowd.

  “We’ve got to go directly to Lord Gordon. He’s the magistrate. He’s responsible for keeping the order. If he doesn’t listen, then we’ll go to the Mainland.”

  Mac looked around at men and women he’d known all his life. “It’s your families who’ve been tossed out of their homes. Anyone could be next. You’ve all heard of the people out at Quernshead. Some of you saw the tents behind the church before they were taken down. No one can live like that. I don’t care what Pastor McPherson says. You just can’t put people out like that.”

  “There's no potatoes for seed this spring,” said Robert, a steady mumble of voices adding to his. “They crumble to dust in your hand. We don’t have food, and we can't pay his bloody rents.”

  “The cows are too thin to sell, but not too thin to eat,” said Bruce. His beard gleamed white in the firelight. He spat in the fire. “Perkins and his guards evicted us and ran our cows off. No warning."

  “Lord Gordon wants those who were evicted to fish for their food. How can they fish without boats?” said Dougal. “Even when we rebuild the boats the way he wants them, we can stil
l only put so many men on them.”

  “Aye,” murmured the crowd.

  Mac thought of the men who would drown in the coming weeks as they tried to fish in waters they didn’t know. He looked again around the crowd gathered by the twin fires in front of the cottage. “We’ve got to start somewhere. We canna leave our neighbors to go without food.”

  “They’ll be needing lines and baskets and shovels,” said Dougal. “They can go for crab and clams along the coast. That’s something.”

  Moira stood by her brothers. “Whatever you can spare, bring to Quernshead, or here. We’ll take it out to them. If you have meal, that would be a help.”

  “We’ll bring what we can,” said Kate, a tall older woman with gray streaks in her hair. “I remember yet those who brought food when we needed it.”

  “Aye, and we’ll tend those who are hurt,” said Agnes, standing up beside her.

  “Good,” said Mac. “In the morning I’m going up to Westness. And I’m asking you now if you will come with me.”

  “I’ll come,” said Dylan. A group of men stood up and raised their hands. Bruce raised his hand as well, and the men with him shouted approval.

  “I’ll bring as many as I can from Quernshead,” said Robert.

  “I’ll come,” said Moira.

  A chorus of hisses broke out. "'Tis no place for women,” said a man from the back.

  “We’re going hungry too, us and the children,” cried Agnes. “We should be there.”

  "'Tis time for us all to go before Lord Gordon,” said Mac. “Men and women. Even children. But I’d be lying if I said we face no risk.” He gave a bitter laugh. “He’s got to see that we won’t just go along. We can’t live on nothing. We’ve got to see to our families.”

  The crowd was silent. Mac could see those he’d known all his life now filled with anger and some with despair.

  “Now is the time to speak up. There may be something we haven’t thought about, something that will satisfy Lord Gordon and give us our lands back. Give us work, and we’ll pay his blasted rents.” Mac raised his hands to the crowd. “Meet me tomorrow morning by the path to Westness.”

  “Aye,” the crowd shouted, and they gathered around Mac, their faces hidden and then revealed by the flickering fire.

  Dougal leaned close to Dylan. “I dinna think we’ll see any changes,” he said in a low voice. “But we’ve got to try.”

  Early the next morning, Dougal and Colin hiked down the path and out along the rocky beach to the far side of the cove where they had set traps for crab. The sun broke through the fog, just warming their backs, and the smell of the sea was sharp in their nostrils. Colin pulled five woven traps in, as Dougal opened each one and grabbed the crabs by their two back legs, transferring them to his creel. A few crabs skittered in the bottom of each trap. Not all of them were large enough to eat.

  "'Tis a small catch today,” said Dougal. He tossed a yellow starfish back into the sea.

  “Aye. Too many people setting traps now.”

  “We’ve got enough to make a stew of this,” said Dougal.

  “I’m sick of eating the dregs of the sea.” Colin bent over the crab traps and baited each one with a fish head. “I want to go over to the mainland when the herring runs. I want to work the harvests or go south, somewhere. Can you talk to Mac for me?”

  “You should talk to Mac yourself,” said Dougal.

  “I heard Dylan is going to Inverness or maybe Glasgow,” said Colin. “There’s no work here. Too many men standing about with a ready hand.”

  “You’re right. There’s no enough work.” Dougal stood. “For sure today will show us if we can stay here, in this place, our home, or go.”

  “I hate it here. I hate the guards and the way they look at us, as if we were nothing. I hate not having enough to eat.”

  Dougal looked at his brother and tried to remember how he felt when he was sixteen. “Ah, Colin, you’re like Mac. You know we’re going up to Westness today. Maybe something will come of it. If not, we’ll need to talk. You, me, Dylan and Mac.”

  At that, Colin smiled. “Thanks, Dougal.” They tossed the traps back into the cove and carried their creels up the hill.

  At the McDonnell cottage, gray clouds hung close to the ground. Mac brought peat inside for the fire. “’Tis a raw morning,” he said to Moira.

  “Granny’s not so well last night,” said Moira in a low voice. She poured the last of the broth into a cup.

  “You’ll stay with her then?”

  “How can I not?” Moira turned back to the pallet on the floor where Granny lay.

  Mac nodded to Dougal and Dylan. “Colin,” he called. “Stay here this time.” They left, with Dylan closing the door behind him.

  Colin hissed to Moira, “How can he just do that, pretend I’m still a kid?”

  “Hush, Colin. He does what he thinks is best for everyone. Look around you. Do you think these people knew they’d wind up sleeping on our floor?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m going up to Westness.” Colin slammed out of the cottage.

  Moira settled on the floor where Granny lay, the cottage quiet around her. “Take this, Granny. Mayhap it will ease you.”

  Granny opened her eyes. “Best you drink it for the little one, dearie,” she said raspily. “I won’t be needing such where I’m going.”

  “How did you know?” Moira asked.

  Granny’s hands lay still on the rough blanket. A faint smile edged her thin lips as she opened her eyes again. “How could I not know? I only regret I won’t be here when she’s born. Ah, Moira, I see dark days ahead for all the McDonnells. Dark days.” Her breath rattled in her throat as she struggled to breathe.

  “Try to take a sip, Granny,” said Moira. “Dinna worry about all that. Just rest.”

  “You should tell him now. Tell Dylan. About the baby.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Ah, then, you always were stubborn, the most stubborn of them all.” Granny closed her eyes again, as if they were too heavy to hold open. “Stubborn.”

  “Rest, now, Granny.”

  “I’ll be resting soon enough. Stay with me a bit more.”

  Moira set the cup aside and took Granny’s hands in her own. “I’m here,” she said.

  A light rain fell as the crowd of men and women gathered in the yard at the back of Westness, which loomed grand as ever. Mac jumped atop on a small stone fence near the house, and the men pressed close to hear him.

  “He’ll see me this day, or we’ll set up our tents in his very yard,” Mac shouted.

  A roar went up from the crowd.

  “We don’t have to live like animals in the dirt. He’s going to listen this time.”

  The men pushed closer.

  “Hey now, you can’t come here like this. Be peaceable, man,” called Hargraves from the door. Dorsey stood behind him holding a club.

  Mac glared at Hargraves. “We want to see Lord Gordon.”

  “He’s not seeing the likes of you,” sneered Dorsey.

  Hargraves put his arm out to hold Dorsey back. “Mac, Perkins went to get the guards. You should leave. You know what will happen.”

  “We’re past the time to be quiet,” cried Mac. “He has to know what he’s done to us.”

  “Give it up, Mac,” said Hargraves. “Let your men go back to the headlands afore there’s real troubles.”

  “We’re the ones who’ve lost our homes,” yelled one of the men behind Mac. “Our children are going hungry.” The men began to mutter and move toward the house.

  “He’s thrown us out of our homes.” Gibson slipped a little in the muddy yard. “We want work. We want our homes back.”

  “Tell him we want to see him,” shouted Mac, leaping down onto the ground.

  The men crowded around him, their shoulders bumping. “Now,” they growled. “We want our homes back.”

  Perkins, mounted on horseback, trotted into the yard. A crowd of guards ran behind him and blocked the way out. />
  “Disperse. All of you,” bellowed Perkins.

  The crowd turned to face the guards. They were boxed in, the great mansion towering behind them. Their faces mirrored dismay. The women, who had been at the back of the crowd, scattered to the sides of the yard, pulling their children with them.

  “Not until we've seen Lord Gordon,” cried Mac. “’Tis time he listened to us.”

  “You'll not be seeing him this day.” Perkins signaled the guards to move forward. They paced toward the house in a line against the crofters, their muskets and clubs held ready.

  Mac knew they wouldn't stop.

  “No,” cried Agnes, reaching for Timmy.

  A guard pushed her down. The line of guards rammed against the crofters and fishermen. Men and women shoved and grunted, fighting back and stumbling in the mud. A few children pelted guards with stones, sometimes missing, sometimes hitting their own.

  Mac struggled to get to Dougal. They stood back to back as the yelling guards rushed the men. Mac pushed a heavy-browed guard to the ground and grabbed his musket to use as a club.

  Another guard hit Dougal over the head. Dougal fell to the ground and curled in a ball as guards kicked and hit him over and over again.

  Mac roared and slammed his club right and left as the fight surged across the yard. Every direction Mac turned, more guards came at him. He couldn’t feel his knuckles. A tremendous blow hit his arms and back.

  Perkins held his horse steady at the side of the yard, shouting commands. The crofters and the fishermen, covered with blood and mud, fought back against the guards with their hands.

  A few children fell underfoot, Timmy among them.

  Mac fought his way to the side, shook himself loose, and leaped at Perkins on the edge of the yard. He yanked Perkins down from his horse.

  “We only wanted to talk, you bastard. We only wanted a chance to work.” Mac pummeled Perkins again and again until the guards pulled him off.

  The fight was over. Everywhere Mac looked, crofters and fishermen lay clubbed and beaten. Dylan and Colin had pulled Dougal to the side. Some of the women were crying. Agnes sat bowed over in the mud, keening. Timmy’s body lay on her lap.