by Fiona Kidman
‘Lewis? Our boy? There is a mistake.’
‘No mistake. Murdoch Morrison had money taken this morning. Fraser McIssac saw Lewis pause there on his way to school.’
‘Fraser …? I don’t believe what I’m hearing. Where was Hector …? Does Lewis admit this?’
‘Of course he doesn’t.’
‘Why of course? Lewis doesn’t lie.’
‘That we knew of.’
‘Well, what has he done with this money?’
‘I don’t know. Look don’t you start asking me questions, I’ve had McLeod at me for hours, over and over and over.’
‘It’s a lie.’ Martha was standing at the door in her nightdress.
‘Martha, please, it is a mistake.’ The ringing in her ears threatened to overwhelm her.
‘I tell you, it’s a lie.’ Martha’s voice was rising.
‘Tell her to get out. Has she no modesty?’ Eoghann’s voice was hard and rough.
‘Father, you don’t know.’
‘I will send you myself.’ He was on his feet, his hand raised towards her face. She cowered and disappeared into the shadows.
‘May God forgive you for that,’ said Kate.
‘You too? Have you all turned into madmen and thieves? The evidence is against him. Don’t you see that? You can’t protect your children forever. You have to let them stand on their own feet. Take the consequences, answer for themselves. Face reality.’
‘This is reality?’ Kate asked him.
The silence between them now was one of shock. Eoghann had never questioned their lives at St Ann’s, and Kate, looking at his expression, suspected that he never would. Thinking back to the day of the hanging, she remembered him as he had been before. He had seemed to think for her and the children, made decisions; stood in judgment of those who did not, or who failed in their undertakings. After that day, he had stopped thinking and let McLeod do it for him. Though now she saw that McLeod had simply made decisions which Eoghann followed, while it was she, Kate, who had done the thinking. As Martha was doing too. Well perhaps she should leave it to her. Or someone. She was too tired to keep on doing it for them all.
In the silent house their old clock chimed midnight.
‘What do you think we should do?’ she said at last.
Eoghann sighed with what she could see was relief and she understood what she had never before, that he could not see that she was thinking, or that she would think of doing things other than his way. Even when he had asked her to consider coming to St Ann’s, it had been a kindness extended to a young wife. Really, there had never been any choice.
He was speaking. She had to concentrate to make sense of what he was saying.
‘There’s to be a meeting of the school trustees tomorrow night. Norman will preside as magistrate, to decide what’s to be done. He suggests Lewis should go along.’
That was another thing she thought of, and it increased her anger. McLeod was everything, minister, teacher, magistrate, there was nothing except trading — which he left to John Munro — that he was not in charge of, and every facet of their lives was controlled by him. They could do nothing without first turning to him.
‘You’ll go with the boy?’ she said, containing herself.
‘That’s not necessary.’
‘But Eoghann …’
‘Don’t you understand? What it has been like tonight? The shame? They’ll decide on a punishment that fits, and that will be that. Mine is to live with what he’s done.’
‘Mine too, it seems,’ said Kate.
He turned to go upstairs, waiting for her to follow, but she went back to the fire. ‘I’ll come up later, I’ve some sewing to finish.’
When finally she did go and lie beside him, he put his hand to take hers as he used to do when they were young, but she turned on her side and pretended to fall straight into sleep. So it was they passed the night until towards dawn, when they slept fitfully.
In the evening, Kate spoke to Eoghann. ‘Has Lewis said that he will go?’
‘I am seeing to it that he does. I have told Ewan to accompany him.’
‘And it will be no shame to him?’
‘He will find it educational,’ said Eoghann grimly.
‘What do you think will happen?’
‘Oh a good dressing down I expect. He may have to do some extra work for the Man. You worry too much,’ he relented towards her. In the schoolroom they were gathered, school trustees and elders of St Ann’s. They had come to discuss theological matters and a working party to provide more slates and books in the school. They sat in long rows down the side of the room as the children did. McLeod sat at the desk in front. Well, there was nothing unusual about that, only why was he convening a court at this hour of the night? There was a shuffling amongst them. It was already late. Some of those gathered had not heard that there was trouble in the district, but they had seen Lewis MacKenzie brought in by a side door at the beginning of the meeting.
Now he was ushered forth from the side room where he had been waiting with his brother.
McLeod leaned forward. ‘So tell me, boy. Do you practise self-abuse? Come, speak up?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Have unnatural thoughts?’
‘No, sir.’
‘You are sure now?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘You are not going to cry, are you? Come, you are a man. Aye, that is better. But it is true, is it not, that you stole Mr Morrison’s money? Climbed through the window? Eh, now that is how it happened. Speak up, Lewis.’
At the back of the room Ewan MacKenzie half-rose to his feet and was pulled down by hands on every side. McLeod nodded his approval to those who had restrained him.
‘Speak to me, Lewis. You have not lost your voice have you? You have told me that you are not girlish in your ways. Haven’t you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And you took the money?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Sire, I demand to speak.’ Ewan’s voice rose from the back of the room.
‘Young man, you will be removed from this court if you speak again.’
McLeod tipped himself back in his chair now, closing his eyes in contemplation of the matter before him, while the hush in the room held an air of mystery and excitement. The men leaned towards one another and away again. They had not expected this tonight; blood sang in their ears as they looked at the youth before them.
They watched him and they watched McLeod, perched hawkishly in front of them as he tipped his chair back then forward again to hunch over the desk. His hands were held prayerfully before him.
‘There are kinder punishments than whipping or the stocks,’ he began, ‘both of which would be meted out in Sydney town if he is sent there for further trial. Or they may send him to jail. He is young, and the way things are in the jails there he may perish with the cold at this time of year. I think we can deal mercifully with this matter here amongst ourselves. What do you say, my friends?’
They had drunk warm sweet tea all evening. They had nothing to say to each other as they waited for their sons, this man and wife. Towards eleven, the door opened and Ewan came in. He went straight to Kate without looking at his father and touched her shoulder.
‘Where is he, Ewan?’
‘Outside.’
‘Why doesn’t he come in?’
‘He wants me to tell you, before you see him … that he is hurt.’
Lewis stood at the door. One side of his head was covered with blood and his eyes stared somewhere beyond her. He held his scarf awkwardly near his face.
Eoghann’s face was terrible as he took his son’s hand and drew it away. Where once there had been an ear, now there was only part of it.
‘How?’ he said.
‘With the sword,’ said Ewan, speaking for Lewis.
Eoghann touched his son’s face, then reached out for Kate’s hand but she snatched it away. ‘I am sorry,’ he said.
‘Sorrow will never be goo
d enough for this night’s work,’ she said.
‘I will ride to Sydney tomorrow to see the best lawyer I can find.’
‘Will that restore his ear?’
She placed the shocked youth before the fire, fetching water and a bandage, heating a poker to cauterise the wound. The voice she used to Eoghann was hard, but to Lewis she uttered hushing noises as if he was a bird.
‘I’ll have his innocence defended.’
‘Oh his innocence now, is it? Eoghann, go outside and tell that to the night air. Tell it to the moon and stars. You’re easily bewitched. Or is it that the wizard got your tongue when you had the chance to defend your son before?’
In the morning, when she was sure he had gone, she climbed out of bed and went downstairs to make up the fire. Martha was already there poking around in the cold embers.
‘I hate him,’ said Martha. She was on her knees with her back to Kate.
‘We thought he was like God when we were young,’ said Kate as she poured water into the kettle and scooped out flour to begin the bread. Her back ached, a long score of pain along her spine. So many parts of her hurt, she could think of little except the pleasure of rest.
‘Your father still thinks like that.’
‘It was my father I was speaking of,’ Martha replied. She straightened. ‘How is Lewis?’
‘Still sleeping. I gave him a powder last night, some roots that Isabella McIssac ground up for me in the summer. He should sleep awhile yet.’
‘Isabella McIssac! That woman.’
‘It won’t be her fault. She may be strange, but it is the men in that family who are warped. Or most of them.’
‘It is fair enough to say that.’
They spun round at the sound of Isabella’s voice at the door. She stood waiting to be invited into the room. Martha and Kate wordlessly stood aside.
‘I have some news for you,’ said Isabella as she shed her cloak.
‘What has the boy done now? What is his latest felony?’
‘Wait.’
‘Oh don’t tell me. McLeod is cutting off arms and legs now. We should line our children up outside the door to make it easier for him.’
‘I have come to tell you that it was not Lewis.’
‘I know it was not.’
‘But not everyone had your faith. They weren’t his mother … Well. It was a peddler, Kate. That fool Murdoch Morrison showed him where the money was. Or as good as. The peddler came to Murdoch’s door and he bought something from him. He took his money out from where he keeps it, in full view. In all his excitement, running around telling everybody he had been robbed, he forgot about that.’
‘How has it been found out?’
‘Grey Donald saw the peddler climbing through the window as he was on his way to Boularderie. He stopped there the last three nights and not knowing of Lewis’s trouble did not mention it to anyone until he got back here this morning.’
‘Aren’t you sorry?’ Annie asked Hector.
‘It was only a little bit of ear,’ said her brother. He was staring moodily out of the window, unable to think of anything to do with himself for the day. Nobody spoke much to each other in this house these days, and now even his father was unusually silent.
‘But he didn’t do it.’
‘Well he might have. Just because he did not do it does not mean that he could not do it. It is like a warning. We should all take heed of the warning, Annie.’
‘But I try to be good.’
‘Yes, but you still get into trouble, don’t you,’ he said, in triumphant confirmation.
‘Lewis was your best friend,’ said Annie timidly.
‘Oh that was just a childish thing. I am grown now. He is a sissy.’ He breathed on the pane of glass and watched it mist up, drew his finger across it, then wiped it clear again with his sleeve. Something had caught his eye in the distance outside. ‘Like him,’ he said pointing to Duncan Cave walking across the early snow towards them.
She stood by the window with him and together they watched their half-brother who had not yet seen them, carrying a sheaf of papers under his arm. Hector slouched over on his side and executed a couple of clumsy steps across the room.
‘He will never be a man,’ said Hector. ‘He is his mother’s darling too. Well, isn’t he, Annie? Isn’t that the truth?’
She nodded, dumb. She wanted to cover her ears but he was irresistible. Still watching out the window, she saw not Duncan Cave, for he was part of the landscape, but rather the landscape itself, full of shadows and fallen light, the flounces of snow on the garden, and the immense sky pressing in on them full of heavy banners of cloud rolling towards the house, promising further falls, and the shapes of trees blurred by winter. It occurred to her that she was not a part of it but merely an onlooker who was yet to discover some mysterious place in the scheme of things, and wondered if she might spend the rest of her life standing behind glass.
‘If we’re careful, you and me, we will be all right. It doesn’t have to be like this. People will forget that there was our mother and him.’
She nodded. She did not like to admit to this strange grown-up brother of hers that this thought, or intimations of it, had already visited her many times.
Detecting agreement in her manner, he pressed his advantage. ‘We don’t have to be different,’ he said.
Now that Lewis did not require a defence, the lawyer Eoghann had consulted turned his attention towards the prosecution of McLeod and the school trustees. There were differences of opinion when a sheriff appeared from Sydney to arrest the trustees said to have held Lewis and cut him. They were bound over to appear at the next term of the General Sessions at Sydney.
‘That will fix McLeod,’ said Kate with a mixture of hope and bitterness in her tone. For the moment she had put aside her quarrel with Eoghann.
‘Oh, I’m afraid he will fix them first,’ Isabella said. For already she could see it unfolding. McLeod earnest and unrepentant, defending his actions as having been in the common good.
‘What do you mean?’ Kate snapped. ‘Even McLeod must pay for his folly some time.’
‘It’s not McLeod who’s been arrested, though. Oh Kate.’ Isabella was distressed; Kate looked so drawn and dreadful, her face ash-coloured and deeply lined, as if she had grown old in a matter of weeks. Her mouth trembled and her hands flicked over her knees, picking at invisible threads in her skirt.
‘McLeod’s got out of trouble before,’ said Isabella as gently as she could. ‘I saw him get off a charge brought against him in the courts at Dingwall long ago, when he was a young man.’
‘I have heard of that. But it was different.’
‘And now, it is not even he who has been charged.’
‘Do you want him to get away with it?’ Kate cried. For she could not forget that it had been Fraser McIssac who had begun this appalling chain of events, even though Isabella was her friend. Until now, by tacit agreement, it was understood that Isabella and Fraser’s actions had no common basis.
Now Isabella turned her strange eyes on Kate. ‘I should like …’ She paused. ‘I should like to see a victory,’ she said. ‘But I do not expect it.’
On an evening soon afterwards and muffled up to his neck, his heavy cloak over his shoulders, McLeod came by dark to Kate and Eoghann’s house. At the door, seeing Kate, he asked, ‘Will you allow me to enter, mistress?’ Without his usual presumption that he might come in at once.
‘May we speak alone?’ he asked Eoghann, once he was inside.
Eoghann glanced at his wife.
‘He is my son too,’ she said.
‘Nevertheless, my heart’s as heavy as a dead codfish, and I cannot bring myself to speak to you more than one at a time.’
‘Oh do what you wish,’ she said, without stopping to wonder at herself speaking so carelessly to him.
When McLeod and Eoghann were settled in the parlour, Martha came down to the kitchen from her room to join Kate.
‘He’ll talk fath
er round, won’t he?’
Kate took a stick from the fire and burnt through the thread she was using to darn. ‘It will be to your father’s regret,’ she said.
The room the MacKenzies claimed as the parlour was used more to do accounts than to sit in; or sometimes to discipline children. It was a small, poky room with a fireplace that backed onto the kitchen’s chimney. The fire was rarely lit, for it was prone to smoke, and the room stood dank and cold for months on end. A high-backed wooden chair stood on either side of the hearth. Eoghann and Norman McLeod had taken one each and sat facing each other across an impasse as physical as the stone from which the fireplace was built.
McLeod’s face was sunk low in the tall, white collar he habitually wore, his cloak thrown back at the shoulders, as if presenting a penitential profile to his companion.
Eoghann waited for him to speak.
The minutes wore on. Eoghann looked at McLeod but he was sitting perfectly still, as if he was waiting for Eoghann.
‘What have you to say … Minister?’ said Eoghann at last, unable to bear the silence any longer.
‘Oh … aye. Nothing at all,’ replied McLeod.
Another ten minutes passed.
‘You cannot have come here to say nothing,’ said Eoghann. His hands were sweating and he could feel perspiration accumulating all over his body, yet he was very cold.
‘Hmph. Mmm.’ McLeod made little sucking and drawing noises under his breath.
‘Are you all right, Minister?’ said Eoghann, very frightened now. He wondered if he should call his wife, but McLeod looked perfectly well, and had not altered his position.
‘Do you feel better?’ said McLeod, as if from a long way off.
‘I want.’ Eoghann began to say something, but he could not remember what it was he wanted. When McLeod had walked through the door he had wanted some kind of revenge, but sitting here beside his silent form he could hardly remember why. Now, he wanted to be forgiven. He was sure that was not right, that he did not, for once, need forgiveness, but he felt that it would be easier to ask for it than to sit in silence like this beside McLeod. Reason seemed to be slipping away; there would be others who would not forgive him, but he did not know how to rescue himself.