Standing Stones

by Beth Camp

  “Mayhap that’s what they were trying to do,” said Moira. The hot black tea stung her throat. She wiped her eyes. “There’s so many going without.”

  Pastor McPherson bowed his head. "'Tis sorry I am you’re not working up at Westness. At least you’d have food to eat.”

  “That food is no food for me. Tis tainted with sorrow,” said Moira.

  Pastor McPherson glanced at her slight stomach protruding from her dress. “You sound just like your brother. You cannot question the ways of God, child.”

  Moira wanted to say it wasn’t about God, that the island had changed in the year since Lord Gordon came. That she was a married woman with responsibilities and a child of her own coming.

  “I’m not a child, but I thank you for the tea.” She shrugged. “I canna’ go back to Westness. Perkins fired me. For taking food that was given to me.”

  “I wondered what happened.”

  Moira was silent.

  “I understand the Brodie family’s staying up at your place. If any are hungry, send them to the kitchen in the back. We’ll have something here.”

  “Thank you, Pastor. I’ll stop back later for my shawl.” Moira stood in the small vestibule and knew the day was closer that she would leave the island.

  The sun hurt Moira's eyes as she walked along the cobbled road past the two storied gray stone houses into the center of town. She skirted around strangers who jostled each other as they went in and out of the bright blue door at Mrs. MacLean’s bakery. Two soldiers sat on the ground and tore the loaves into chunks as Moira went around to the back, the smell of the fresh bread hurting her stomach.

  “Good morrow, Mrs. MacLean,” Moira called. “I’ve come to see about any work you might have.”

  A small dark woman with sweat on her forehead and flour on her dress opened the screen door to her stone kitchen.

  “I hear you’ve got people staying at your place now.” Mrs. MacLean wrapped up two loaves of oatmeal bread that had been baked into rounds and handed them to Moira. “Take these.” She nodded her head at the guards outside. “I’m baking every day now.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. MacLean. I’ll bring you some fish from Mac and Dougal later this afternoon.”

  “And grateful I’ll be for it, e’en so. You said you’re looking for work? And with a little one coming? Mayhap I could use some help on Saturday early. Will you come back?”

  “I’ll be back.” Moira tied the bread in her apron; her fingers scraped the rough oats crusted on the top. Moira walked slowly down the street, past the new pier that jutted out into Bottle Bay. A few men unloaded another herd of sheep down by the dock, their staffs kept the sheep bleating and milling forward on the narrow wooden pier. Finally she stood in front of Scott’s Mercantile.

  “Good morning, Moira,” called Mr. Scott. “You’ll find Deidre in the back, in the garden.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Scott. I’m hoping for a letter.”

  “A letter? The packet just came in. Give me a moment.” Mr. Scott finished dickering over the price of a new knife, and turned inside.

  Moira followed him into the store, her eyes blinking in the dark. Every space was taken with stacks of cartons and bales of goods.

  “Mac was here earlier, you know. I’ve had to limit your credit.”

  “We knew it was coming.”

  “I don’t like to do it.” Mr. Scott fussed with a package and spilled letters out on the counter. He went through each one slowly, reading the names written on the front. He peered at Moira over his spectacles. “Best you go see Deidre. There’s nothing here.”

  Moira nodded. She felt her face flame as she left the store and walked the few steps down to the street. She really hadn’t expected a letter.

  “There you are,” said Deidre, standing and brushing the dirt from her hands and skirt. “Come sit with me, and we’ll pull weeds.” The garden filled the back yard, with young carrots and cabbage starts, but no potatoes.

  “You aren’t teaching this morning?” Moira asked as she settled next to Deidre and began weeding.

  “Only Tuesdays and Thursdays now. Not so many come to school these days.” Deidre looked upstairs. She could see her mother through the kitchen window, staring down at her. “You’ve heard from Dylan?”

  “Nothing.” Moira thought of the two bodies she'd found that morning. “Dougal's talking about the Hudson’s Bay Company.”

  “But Mac and Dougal, they’re still fishing, aren’t they?”

  “Aye, but the catch is not enough to feed us. We’ve got a crowd staying with us. All of Catriona’s family and some from up at Quernshead.”

  “Mac didn’t tell me.”

  “Mac doesn’t want you to worry. When did you see him last?”

  “He stopped by last night. Mother was furious.” She looked up again at the window. “Come on, let’s get to the cabbages. Were you at Westness when Lady Alice left?”

  The two women moved further down into the garden where the weeds pushed up around the cabbages. Moira shook her head.

  “I heard she went back to Edinburgh to her family.”

  The two women worked silently for a while, the sun warming their backs and their hands as they pulled weeds.

  “I’m thinking of leaving,” said Moira. “Maybe to Inverness.”

  “Can you do that now?”

  “I’m thinking I have to. There’s no' enough to go around. Maybe I can find Dylan. He said his brother was working on the railroad there.”

  “Have you talked to Mac yet?”

  “No,” Moira replied. She shifted a little on the ground to get closer to the next row.

  “Talk to Mac. Maybe I’ll go with you. I know some people there. Mother doesn't want me here.”

  “But Mac does.”

  Deidre nodded. “I know. That’s why I stay.” Her hands went still for a moment, and then she methodically began to pull the weeds, her face down, until the soil around the cabbages was cleared.

  CHAPTER 39: THE MCDONNELL COTTAGE

  Moira picked her way between the limestone rocks, down the steep path to the cove just below the McDonnell cottage. She was glad for an excuse to get out of the cottage.

  She found Catriona adding driftwood to a fire in front of their temporary hut.

  “‘Tis glad I am you came to keep me company,” said Catriona. “Did you see my Da and the boys at your place?”

  “I saw them. They already started the meeting. The place is full enough without another meeting, mucking up my cooking.”

  The two young women laughed. “And what would you be cooking?” asked Catriona.

  “Same as you, a bit of seaweed stew. Mac won’t hardly eat it any more, he’s so sick of it.”

  “Dougal neither. We’re all bones, all of us.”

  The two young women worked companionably a while. “Shall I gather more driftwood or watch the fire?” asked Moira.

  “You’re not tired?”

  “I feel fine,” said Moira. “This baby’s going to be a strong lad, just like his da.” She smiled, but the small of her back ached. Moira looked at Catriona's smooth face. No worries for her, she thought.

  “You watch the fire, then,” said Catriona. “I’ll bring what driftwood I can, and I’ll check the traps.”

  Moira could feel the wind at her back as she warmed her feet on the stones set close by the fire. She stirred the driftwood fire and watched the pieces of wood break down into smaller red coals. She nudged the fire with her foot and closed her eyes a moment.

  Bruce waved a broadsheet at the men gathered in McDonnell’s cottage. “Mac, we dinna know what to do about this.” Freya lay on a pallet close to the wall, watching the discussion. Jacob sat beside her on the floor, his arm just out of the makeshift sling she had fashioned from one of her kerchiefs.

  “These sheets are posted everywhere,” said Sean. “It’s like he wants us all to leave for America.”

  “But how do we pay passage?” asked Jacob. “None of us has any money.”

/>   Bruce read from the broadsheet in the dim cottage light. “It says here, ‘Farmers, laborers, carpenters, blacksmiths, fishermen, skilled family men encouraged to apply.’ That could be any of us. And then it says, ‘If applicants do not have passage fees, funds advanced will be reimbursed at indenture.’ What does that mean?”

  “It means you hire out as a servant once you’re there,” said Mac. “And he gets his money back right away. It’s done through an agent. Your employer pays your passage, but you have to work for five or seven years. And no telling for who.”

  “Yes, but you’re there, in America” said Jacob.

  Freya grabbed Jacob’s good arm. “You can’t be thinking of going.”

  “Hush, hush. Not without you and not without the children.”

  Bruce frowned. “Maybe we have no choice about going or staying.”

  “And maybe they won’t take us,” Jacob whispered to Freya.

  Mac turned to Dougal. “You’ve been talking with the Hudson’s Bay Company. What do they say?”

  “Aye, they've an agent over at Stromness. I’ve stopped by a few times,” said Dougal. “The Hudson’s Bay want men to clear wilderness, to trap and hunt, to trade with Indians, and to build forts. The work is hard, but they like us Orkneymen.” He turned to the men gathered around him. “It’s good pay and steady work. But they don’t allow wives, so I’m just thinking on it.”

  “Thinking about getting wed, are you?” Jacob cracked a smile.

  “Aye, sir, you know I am.”

  “I’d like to go,” said Colin, his eyes alight. “I could hunt in the wilderness.”

  Dougal and Mac exchanged a glance. “Not now, Colin.”

  “This plan of Lord Gordon’s is different. It says indentured servants wanted for farming in Virginia,’ said Bruce. “That could be any of us crofters. We’re not fishermen, and we have no land here.”

  “Virginia? I’m not ready to leave,” said Sean.

  “That’s because they didn’t come after you. Fishermen is one thing; farmers is another,” said Bruce. “We’ve got all those people up at Quernshead to worry over.”

  The door to the cottage crashed open. Some fifteen guards burst into the room, guns lifted over their heads as they pushed into the cottage.

  Freya screamed.

  “Hey, you can’t come in here,” Mac shouted. “Get out. Get out!” Mac shoved at one of the guards, but a wave of men he didn't know bludgeoned their guns right and left, knocking crofters and fishermen to the floor. One of the guards grabbed Dougal’s fiddle from the wall and smashed it over Mac’s head.

  Mac roared and grabbed a stool; it shattered as he bashed it against a guard.

  Everyone howled and shouted. Freya screamed again and again.

  Colin went down, his head bloodied. Mac stood over him, his legs on either side of Colin’s body. “Ye bastards. Hitting a boy. Hit me. Hit me.”

  Two guards swarmed Mac, their guns raised. "He's the one. Get him."

  Mac scrambled back against the wall and settled to fight stance. Lord Gordon sent these men. We're going to lose. He had no weapon, save his fists. "Come on, then." Mac punched the face of the guard closest to him and swung on the second. He choked the guard's neck, heedless of the blows that fell on his back.

  A guard knocked Jacob into the hearth. He howled as he rolled over the smoldering peat and groaned as his arm hit the floor. They moved to Freya. She threw a basin at them, but they wrestled her to the ground.

  “Help,” screamed Jacob. “Help! They’ve got Freya.”

  Mac could hardly breathe. With a lunge, Mac shook free of the two men who had him pinned down and scrambled to his feet. God help us. They're after the women.

  "Over here. We got him!" shouted the guard, grabbing at Mac's ankle.

  The guards dropped Freya and rushed Mac.

  “Dougal,” yelled Mac. “Get her out.” Mac punched at the guards, but they surrounded him once again. They battered him until he fell, and they kicked him unconscious.

  Dougal picked Freya up, and shoved his way to the door. “Out! Let me out.” He held Freya tight, for she was screaming in his ears, her screams a keening part of the melee.

  “For God's sake, let me out.” With a mighty push, Dougal broke through the crowded cottage and outside. He set Freya down by the stacked peat in the side yard. “Stay here."

  Dougal raced to the front door, now hanging by a hinge. He couldn't get in. He tripped on the bits of furniture that had been thrown out in the yard. Crofters and fishermen spilled into the yard, pushed out by the guards, but Mac and Colin were not among them. The roof of the cottage blazed afire. The noise mounted as guards smashed furniture and tore at the stone walls with pikes.

  “Have you no shame,” shouted Dougal. He ran back and forth in front of the cottage. “Let me back in. I just want to get our things out.”

  “Ye can’t go in there,” cried one of the guards, shoving him back from the door.

  Dougal ducked as sparks flew from the roof.

  Sean and Bruce pulled Colin from the house and laid him on the ground, unconscious, blood seeping from the side of his head. Jacob limped behind them.

  Perkins rode up on a small black mare, surveying the damage, a smirk on his still bruised face.

  “What in God’s name have you done?” cried Dougal.

  “You McDonnells. Always trying to better your betters. We have you now. No more meetings. No more protests.” Smoke swirled up from the roof as Perkins called to his men, “Pull that roof down. I don’t want anything left.” Perkins looked around the yard, a tangled mess of men. “Where’s Mac McDonnell?”

  Two guards kicked and pushed Mac out of the cottage, half conscious, his face bloodied, his right shoulder at an awkward angle.

  Dougal ran at the guards.

  Perkins nudged his protesting horse between the two brothers.

  “Stand back, Dougal, or you’ll have the same. He’s to be arrested,” said Perkins. “You canna live here. This is Lord Gordon’s property now.”

  Perkins waved his arm at the other men. “Disperse and go back to whatever hovel you drug yoursel' out of. There’s to be no more meetings like this, or ye risk arrest.”

  “No,” roared Dougal. “This is our own place, granted from me father to us, and from Grandda to him. You canna’ just take it.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Mister McDonnell,” sneered Perkins, leaning down from his perch on the black mare. “Yer cottage's being confiscated along with yer boat. And yer brother’s being arrested for sedition. That’s a hanging offense.” He fingered his bruised cheek. “For all yer meetings and protests and fighting.”

  Dougal stood silent.

  “What about the rest of us? We dinna have homes any more. We dinna have work,” cried Bruce.

  “Spread the word up at Quernshead,” said Mr. Perkins, moving his horse closer to the men in the yard and raising his voice. “Lord Gordon wants you and your families gone to Virginia, where work is plenty.”

  “The bastard didn’t have to do this,” said Jacob.

  “That bastard’s willing to pay your passage, provided you sign indenture papers.” Perkins grimaced. “You’d be wise to take his offer. I’ve set up an office by Scott’s Mercantile. Tell those who are interested to sign by the end of the week, else you can expect more of this.”

  Perkins wheeled his black mare around as Mac stumbled along the path to Selkirk, a guard at either side.

  The men milled around the small yard. They looked at each other and at the damaged cottage. The roof had fallen in. Peat still smoldered in places. Glass had been shattered out of the two small front windows. The out buildings had been pulled down. Several guards stood in front of the broken door.

  Dougal wiped the blood from Colin’s forehead and felt his chest, a slow heartbeat. Colin shook his head and sat up, his eyes unfocused.

  “Is he all right?” Sean asked.

  Dougal stood. “I think so.”

  “Come to our pl
ace for as long as you need,” said Sean.

  “I don’t know.” Dougal rested his hand on Colin’s head. “I dinna know what to do about the Brodies. There’s some nine of us now.”

  “We’ll find room.”

  “Aye,” said Bruce. “The McDonnells will always have a place wherever we are.” He brushed his singed arm and shook the ash from his pants.

  “I can’t quite take it all in,” said Dougal. He sat suddenly on the ground next to Colin. “My fiddle’s gone. Smashed. He said they took the boat too?”

  “Aye. I guess Lord Gordon’s after the fishermen as well,” said Sean. “Mayhap we’ll all be going to America. But for now, bring your family to my house.”

  “Later. We’ll be there later.” Dougal sat next to Colin, waiting for Moira and Catriona to come up from the cove. The yard was quiet. Two sea birds wheeled around the two brothers and then headed out to sea.

  CHAPTER 40: STANDING STONES

  The sun had dropped down into the sea, and the sky filled with pink and gray clouds. Dougal stood in front of Moira, Colin and Jamie. “I asked you up here because we have to talk, just us.” He looked across the cove at their ruined cottage. “I figured here was as good as any a place to meet.”

  Moira sat on the ground, her back to one of the standing stones. “Where else is home?”

  Jamie sat down close to her, his slight body shivering. They were silent, listening to the waves on the rocks below.

  Colin kicked the base of one of the standing stones. “What’s the point of doing anything if they just come and smash everything again?” Colin’s bruised face twisted in a scowl. “I hate them when they come into the store. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how long Mr. Scott will let me keep working for him.”

  “I’m thinking we cannot stay, not any of us,” said Moira.

  “That’s what I’m thinking too,” said Dougal, hunching down beside her. “Mac’s trial will be sometime in the next week or month, I don’t know. We have to stay close, maybe here or over at the Mainland until that’s over.” He was quiet. “But there’s nothing here for us. We could emigrate. Lord Gordon is calling for people to go to Virginia. It means they have us for seven years, but we’d be together.”