They kept to the pavement, Neil following Gillan, who seemed to know the general direction for his sister’s address. However, when they reached the first clump of houses south of the city proper, Gillan said, “We’ll have to stop someone and ask for a direction, since I’m not familiar with the names Jenny gave.”
Neil nodded; as he did so, his eye caught at a still figure in the doorway across the street. It was a man who stood there, shielded from the light rain, watching them. When his gaze met Neil’s, Neil felt a shiver down his spine, though outwardly he kept still.
He had long silvery hair, a tad matted, and long sinewy legs, visible between his ragged and weathered kilt and his sturdy leather boots. “Hallo there,” he said after a moment. He moved to stretch his back, puffing out his chest in his dirty linen shirt. He looked, thought Neil, as if he’d been out tramping the hills.
“Hallo there,” replied Gillan, in a wary but polite tone. He called across, “Can we help you?”
“I think it is I that can help you,” said the man with a curl of his lip, adjusting his stance yet again. “Do ye know where ye are going?”
“Aye, just not sure where it is,” Gillan attempted to respond with humor. “Hurley Crescent, that mean anything to ye?”
“Hurley… I think that’s a ways further south. Take that road behind ye, and ask at the next crossing, they should give you better from there.”
“Thank you, sir, much obliged,” said Gillan, inclining his head.
“Thank you, sir,” Neil added before turning and hurrying after his stepfather, trying to shake off the chill that seemed to have wrapped a hand around his lower spine.
They asked directions a few more times, choosing more conventional passersby to approach, and soon found Hurley Crescent. Jenny threw open the door to bid them come in and warm themselves by her fire. After several rounds of “My, how you’ve grown” and “What a fine man you are,” names were exchanged all around, and Neil helped himself to some of the scones cooling beside the griddle.
Inside by the fireplace, a new-fashioned one at the side of the house instead of in the middle, Neil finally shook the feeling of being watched. He pulled off his boots, feeling as weary as a grown man with responsibilities. He was very content to leave that weight with his stepfather for the moment. He listened as Jenny and Gillan exchanged old and new news, then accepted with gratitude the bowl of rich meaty broth as Jenny told them of her husband’s experience with Garrigan’s cotton mill.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Aye, clear hours posted, and Charlie doesn’t work beyond them,” Jenny was saying. “He’s settled in good and proper in the last coupla weeks, and though there is no union—it’s against the law of course—there is the Christian Men’s Association in Bockham town, just one over from the mill, and they sort of take charge of when the men have any issues with the bosses. It’s been very courteous and civilized so far.”
“Well, and glad to hear it, for Charlie’s sake, and for the family’s. How did he hear of it, anyway? Was there someone recruiting up in the islands, so?”
“No, no, that wasn’t the way of it. His cousin that lives in Glasgow knows the foreman, and they were looking for a machinist, so this cousin thinks of Charlie, his being so handy with repairing the pumps and building that oven there, and other such things.” Jenny motioned to the oven, which had made the journey with them.
It sat lumpily in the center of the wall, with a drawer for coals and a door for the food, and the surface on top to be heated as well. Neil, who hadn’t seen such a one before, was curious about it. The scones he nibbled had been done on the griddle above the fire, or so he thought, but perhaps the heating surface would do just as well.
“And the schools for the children, are they like at home? Paid through the church rates, and all?”
“Aye, same as home, and there are better parish schools around, so it may be they’ll get a better chance,” she said with a little note of wistfulness, as she glanced at her youngest, standing in the crib, watching them. Neil remembered their youngest was named Katie; at one and a half she was very quiet. He imagined her four older siblings did plenty to keep her occupied.
“And the minister at the kirk, he’s a tolerable religious man?”
“Oh, well, he could do with a bit of cheer, for the two times we’ve seen him, it was after a funeral, and he could barely talk to us. I don’t know if that means he’s very close to his parishioners or just a melancholy sort. I did not want to ask him, and the only gossip going round about him is why he’s not married, young and handsome as one might call him.”
“Hmph,” said Gillan. “I’ll not be worrying about that particular piece then,” he said to tease his sister. “It would be nice to be closer to you, so, as I would not even recognize these children, so fast as they grow, and how little I’ve gotten to see ‘em.”
“Aye, well, they’d like well enough to have another uncle and cousins about. Charlie’s brother and his wife are over in Preston, and met us when we arrived, but they’ve only the one child. I don’t doubt that she’s had some birthing problems; they’ve not been able to have any more,” she finished in a low voice.
“It makes them a bit stern with the children. Their own Martin will be going to the university this year, just as soon as harvest is over. He’s been accepted on scholarship, and they’re quite pleased about it.”
“With only the one, I’m sure young Martin has been pounded on well enough with his sums and Latin,” Gillan said. Jenny nodded.
“There is a fair bit of family down here, you know. I’m not sure about your Sheila’s folk, but Uncle Darren’s two daughters are settled west of the city, and Pa’s cousin Davey, his lot as well came to call last Sunday, although they do live a ways down. Seems we’re all getting pulled into the lowlands,” she said with a sigh.
The conversation petered off, as the two siblings reflected more on the past and their present difficulties, the door opening and closing with the arrival of each child, and finally ushering in Charlie. Jenny had dinner on the table the minute after he sat down. Neil and Gillan were peppered with questions. Further reminiscences were kept hidden for another occasion.
***
***
In Dalcriadh, Sheila and Muirne were sitting together at the table, hoping first that word had reached Jenny and then that Neil and Gillan had reached her as well. There’d been no word back yet, but they knew not to expect any for a few more days. However, in the week since the men had been gone, there had been another announcement at kirk, and the date of removal had been changed. The Laird of Torloisk had allowed that people could stay until they got their harvests in, but then those that had received notice must quit the land as soon as the crops were in. Inspections would begin in September.
This gave the remaining MacLeans in their blackhouse a little comfort, since they had still received no notice. Ever wary of trusting the gentry, Sheila was still resolved to go to the fair in Tobermory and see what she could get for her loom work. She’d shared her plan with Muirne, and they agreed she should go.
The day after next was the first of August, and with the men gone, Sheila had asked that their neighbor John, a fellow fisherman with Gillan, would share supper with her family in her absence. It was also to check that her children were safe, since the times now seemed so uncertain and chaotic. He’d agreed, and the next day, her worry assuaged but her conscience still needling her, she started her journey skirting the hills and lochs to reach Tobermory.
That night, she stayed with cousins on the east coast of Mull. They admired the high stack of woolens in her large creel, assuring her they’d fetch a fair price at the festival market.
“Everywhere, there’s always someone willing to spend money on beautiful things, Sheila, don’t you worry,” one of them said.
But she did worry. About her children, managing three days without her. About her son and husband, gone off to seek employment in some industrial concern or other. About her family, and w
hether they would yet be torn from the land of her ancestors, and the dear small house where her mother and grandfather had been born. About her brother in the Carolinas, who seemed to be coping with the changes, but only just. She listened to the good-natured chatter around her, and after it died down, she turned her head to the wall on her pallet and prayed for all those she loved.
CHAPTER NINE
Gillan and Neil went up with Charlie to the mill, stopping only to post a message home about their safe arrival. Charlie thought there would certainly be places for two able-bodied men, and his quick stop in the office of the foreman confirmed it. The boss came out to look them over, and seeing no immediate evidence of drunkenness or stubbornness, gave the nod to Charlie to show them around.
Charlie demonstrated his job, at the end of a line of shuttling machine parts, where he checked the speed and lubrication for the moving arms of the looms. Neil’s impression was of overwhelming noise, metal arms of perpetual motion, and shadowy figures darting amongst the clouds of white fuzz floating through the air.
Skylights high above the floor let in natural light, but it was badly obscured by the clouds of fluff floating about. To Neil, it sounded like the clanging of Hell’s minions he’d always heard about from the Reverend Lachlan McManus.
“Yes, sirs, they tell me this is low speed, that the mill hasn’t fully recovered from the war years, but that in the next months, now that duties are being repealed, we’ll have a chance to get back to full capacity, and even expand,” Charlie shouted over the din, grinning. “I expect that’s why you’re asked on so easy.”
“That is good news,” Gillan shouted back.
Charlie took them outside where they saw the factory yard with its wagons. Some were full of raw cotton to be unloaded, some were taking on the finished bales to cart away. Beyond the wagons was the river, tinged an unnatural greenish-blue. Gillan asked about it.
“That’s from the bleaching. The cotton’s got a lot of debris in it when it comes in, so the bits we can’t remove in the tumbling get broken down and bleached so that they form part of the material anyway.”
Neil felt sorry for the river. He looked and saw past the place where the waste water splashed in. Several fish floated there, pinned to the side by the currents, their bellies to the sky. His nose started to run.
“Well, and what’ll ye do?” Charlie asked. “Start now and send for your family, or head back and help them to move?”
“Haven’t decided yet,” said Gillan. “But I reckon we should do some more poking about the neighborhood, see where we might find a house and all that, to make sure we can afford it. What did you say the starting wage was here?”
“Nine shilling a day for a nine-hour day, and that’s six days a week. The boss had it going on Sundays, twenty year ago before the war, but hasn’t had it since then. Although, if it picks up like he says…” Charlie trailed off suggestively.
“All right, I see the way of it. Sounds very good for you, Charlie, I’m glad. Now Neil and I will be off and check around some today, if that’s all right.”
“Course, o’course,” Charlie said. “Now I’m off to work, so ye’ll find yer own way back,” He grinned and waved them off as he headed back inside.
Neil’s ears had still not stopped ringing from the time inside the mill, and Gillan had to repeat his question before Neil was able to answer.
“I said, what do you think, Neil?”
“Oh, it’s quite loud in there,” he said, shaking a finger in his ear.
“That’s true,” said Gillan, looking at him speculatively. “Let’s walk.”
They walked back home to Jenny, only asking directions twice when they turned down the wrong alley. Other than that, Gillan seemed quiet, considering something. Before they went in the door to Jenny’s wee house, Gillan turned to face Neil.
“Neil, I’m thinking we should not take this step until we have to. There’s the harvest to take in, the chance we’ll make our rent another year, and it looks as though this place will have enough room to take in newcomers for quite a while yet. I say we shouldn’t leave until we must. What do you think?”
Neil shifted his feet, stunned at being asked this question by his stepfather. “I think,” he paused. “I think that while we have a chance to stay with our home, we should. It’s what we’re used to, and we have friends there. Perhaps Aunt Jenny did not like her home as much as her parents, and so could leave more easily, but we all like our home in Dalcriadh. Could the price of the kelp-ash change back again, do you think, Father?”
“Ach, no, put no more faith in that, boy. The politicians in London got the Laird into that fix, and then dropped him. Now the Laird’s dropping us. Maybe. We shall wait and see.” He smiled at Neil, another surprise, as Gillan was not generally of a sunny disposition.
“Right,” replied Neil. They would stay another night to see more of the neighborhood so that they’d be familiar if they had to come back, but both men put their hopes in not having to do that. It was not the life for them.
***
***
The market day had been exhausting for Sheila, but she had made more money than she’d hoped. Enough for the rents, but not enough to replenish the fund for Neil’s schooling. She hurried home with her earnings, taking the back roads and silent paths, even though she’d well hidden the money in the folds of the only blanket not to be sold, and no clinking could be heard as she walked.
As soon as she came into view of the house, Sheena ran out to meet her with the news that they had received the notice from Neil about their safe arrival. It did not say much else, only that they’d had no ill luck on their journey south, and were fair happy to see Jenny and would send word of any decisions just as soon as they could.
The letter had come in the post the day of the market, so Sheila considered it a doubly lucky day. She asked Muirne about how they’d gotten on with John, and Muirne blushed a bit in recollection. “We had a very pleasant supper with him, Mama.”
Faced with this tight-lipped response, Sheila turned to Sheena. “And what did ye talk about then, ma wee hen?”
“We talked about the village festival, and the baking contest, and who might win. And Muirne made a pan of flapjack for us.” Sheena turned to smile at Muirne at that, but then turned back to Sheila.
“We also talked of ways to get money for the rents. John was set on poaching from the loch back up by the pit, where he says there’s fine trout to be had. He said he could sell it at the market where no one would ask a word.”
“Oh? Well, that’s sure to land him in trouble. Nothing else then?”
“Oh, and John did happen to mention that some ‘lucky young buck’ would be asking for Muirne’s hand soon.”
Muirne glared at her younger sister and turned a few shades more scarlet. Little Alisdair looked up in confusion.
“Is Muirne going to move? Or are we?” he asked.
“Nobody is moving right now,” Muirne said firmly.
Sheila allowed herself a small smile at her daughter’s embarrassment. She must think of a proper match for the girl then, if people were starting to talk.
***
***
As the family was sitting down to enjoy Muirne’s whelk stew, there was another knock on the door. Sheila left the children sitting in front of their steaming bowls as she went to open the door slightly. “Who is it?” she asked of the hazy figure in the late dusk.
“Lachlan McManus, ma’am. I’m sorry to disturb you at the dinner hour…”
Alisdair grinned at his use of the word dinner. Sheena shushed him with a look, not wanting to explain why some called dinner ‘luncheon’ and supper ‘dinner.’ She liked their minister with his old-fashioned puffy wig and fine clothes. She often wondered about the other side of life in the manse house. But why would he come knocking now?
“Only it’s that I’m here already and did not want to make the journey down again,” the clergyman started.
“Most welcome, sir.”
She ushered him in and bade him sit. “Did you need to stay the night? It’s a fine evening for walking, but if you’d rather—”
“No, no, I’ll be walking back, but I had a message for you.” Sheila and Muirne exchanged glances: a third message?
“The Laird was visiting again, and it seems something was got wrong. Many people who were supposed to get notices did not. More’n likely it was the mercy of one of his tacksmen, gone awry, for what good could it do when you’ll still need to clear out? Any road, that is the sad news I have to deliver to several of the families hereabout.” He waved a small piece of paper. “This area is reckoned to be a grand one for winter grazing, and so I’m to be sure to tell the families who got no notice, that they are indeed required to move out by the end of harvest.”
Sheila was shocked. She’d been expecting good news, as the first two messages had been good, and everyone knew, good or bad, it came in threes.
“Even if we pay the rents same as before, sir, the Laird is set on us losing our land?”
The man tucked in his chin with a jerk. “Well, I’ll no say that’s a surprise if ye do have it, as I figured everyone around here got their siller from the ash, but then I don’t know. You will have to take that up with the Laird himself. I won’t ask how you come by the siller, only,” and here he raised his eyebrows, “don’t be breakin’ the Sabbath, woman. No good will come o’ that.”
“No, sir. Only my husband and son have left to see about a job, so it may be they’ll work it until the rents are due, then return home. I must write to them right away to suggest it.”
“And who will stay then to bring in your harvest? You’ve only girls left, and this wee tyke, who’ll be no good wavin’ a scythe.” He motioned toward Alisdair.
The Keening Page 5