The Keening

by Margaret Pinard

  “A’right.” Reluctantly Neil followed her back down, holding his breath at the smell that still overwhelmed his senses. He told his family what had been sighted. They all grew excited, restless to hear instructions from the crew, if they were really that close to their destination port.

  Neil wondered if anyone would meet them. He thought of the letters his parents had written, the people their minister had known, those of Charlie’s relatives that had been consulted. They had received no reply from any of them, throughout the long autumn, winter, and spring in Glasgow. If they had, they might have a better idea of where to stay or how to settle on a piece of available land.

  But no, no answers had he seen. And no decision would Gillan commit to before he had laid eyes on Pictou.

  ***

  ***

  Eventually the crowd of people lost the singular tension that held it together and dispersed to different parts of the deck and quarters, waiting for the announcement from the captain. The older MacLeans stayed below with their belongings, but Neil came back up with Muirne and Alisdair to show them the sight. Finally the captain went down below to announce the arrival time in three quarters of an hour, and the process for the customs house and all. Everyone readied themselves and their belongings, but prepared for a long wait anyway, by now used to the delays of the sea.

  “Just think of all that meal we no longer have to carry, Alisdair, since we ate it all up!” Muirne said. Neil met her eyes, looking disapproving, or troubled. Muirne’s gaiety subsided. Their thoughts both turned to where their next meal would come from, with the oats completely gone. They’d nearly finished up the last of the potatoes and bartered ship biscuit, and were almost out of provisions. Others who’d run out already had been forced to accept ship provisions on loan conditions. No doubt the shipping company had figured how to make the most out of each passenger.

  “Do you suppose anyone will be there to meet us?” Muirne asked, voicing Neil’s earlier thought. They turned back to help with the packing and loading of bags and creels below deck.

  “I don’t know. I hope so. Otherwise,” and his voice lowered for her ears alone, “we’ll be starting out here hat in hand at the kirk.”

  Muirne bit her lip; she knew. She’d hoped for a new start here, but it might very well be a new start with nothing at all and no help. That had been the risk. It had been better than Gillan coughing to death in the mill, however, and the children getting sent straight there with no schooling.

  “Well, I’ll still pray for someone to be there meeting us,” she said. Little Alisdair was watching the exchange and took her hand, tugging it.

  “I will too,” he said.

  ***

  ***

  The unloading commenced very slowly, and by the time the dinghy came back for a second party to be processed, it was dark, so they were forced to wait until the next day to resume. A frustrated, strangled sigh went round the parties waiting on deck, but at least they could stay above deck that night, as it was unseasonably warm, not even freezing temperature. May, Muirne thought, and it’s warm if we’re not freezing. How on earth will we manage?

  The MacLeans passed the night huddled in a pile on the deck. The few friends they’d made on the voyage had come round in the night or as the sun was rising to say their goodbyes. One or two pressed addresses on slips of paper into their hands. When the sun came out, things started to move quickly. Several dinghies were sent out in order to load more people.

  By the time they arrived at the customs house, their bellies were protesting loudly. Gillan gnawed on an old crust of barley cake, and they tried to wait in line in silence, but Alisdair was restless and Sheena felt faint. When Gillan finally went to the front of the line at quarter to eleven, they were ushered into a side office with an employee.

  There were two chairs in front of the desk. Gillan and Sheila sat down in them, Alisdair leaned against his mother’s side, and the other children stood behind. The employee, who introduced himself as Mr. Balwhidder, sat on the other side of the desk. He opened a drawer and pulled out candies wrapped in wax paper, setting a handful on the desk.

  “Is that tablet?” Alisdair asked.

  “No, it’s called taffy. Here, have a taste, and wait a bit before chewing it.”

  Alisdair looked to his mother for confirmation before saying thank you and unwrapping one. He popped it into his mouth, and immediately his whole mouth filled with saliva at its sweetness. His little jaw moved up and down slowly, his eyes registering surprise at the slow stickiness.

  He tried to say “Thank you, it’s very good” to show his good manners, but it came out, “Rakey, shferra coo.”

  Mr. Balwhidder smiled tolerantly. Evidently this was how he put people at ease. “Please, everyone try one. Welcome to Pictou and Nova Scotia. We hope you’ll become valued citizens of our country in time. And now for business,” he said as everyone but Gillan took one and nodded their thanks.

  “Is anyone here to meet you and stand witness for your settlement?”

  Sheila looked at Gillan, who coughed. He was actually covering a laugh at the look of her, since she had stuck her ball of taffy in one cheek. She spoke for them, her speech only mildly garbled. “We have written multiple letters to relatives and acquaintances, Mr. Balwhidder, but we had no reply before we left Glasgow. They might be here in fact, but us not able to recognize them, even if we could see through the gates with all the crowds of people out there.”

  “I see. And is your plan to stay here then, or continue west with another ship up the St. Lawrence?”

  Here was the moment. Sheila looked back to Gillan, who had composed his features by now. “We plan to stay here for the moment, and look into the land market, afore deciding anything more permanent.”

  “I see,” Mr. Balwhidder said again. “And what line of work are you in, sir?”

  “At our home I was fisherman, farmer, and we burned the kelp as well.” There was a brief flicker of movement in Mr. Balwhidder’s posture at the mention of the kelp. I wonder what he’s got against kelp-burners, Neil thought, and shifted his own stance. “When we moved into the city for the past half a year, I did loading and pulling work at a cotton mill and Neil here loaded freight from the ships on the docks. He was also starting to learn the shipbuilding craft.”

  There was pride in the last remark, and Mr. Balwhidder responded to it. “Well, we don’t have much of a shipbuilding industry here, as there is ice so much of the year, but that might be something to see about upriver. Further south and inland, they may have better drydock situations.” He said this to Neil, who merely nodded in return. I’d rather stay and farm the land, he was thinking, but gave no indication in his expression.

  “And excuse the delicate question, but if you’ve no certain relatives or friends with whom you can stay, have you brought enough silver to establish yourselves? It is May, but we will still have some mighty bad storms to get through, and ye’ll need shelter and fuel sure enough.” Before they could muster a reply, he added, “Fuel is easy enough here, much better than in Scotland, but the shelter must be very hardy if ye are to survive.”

  Gillan replied after a pause. “We’ve almost no money left, as we used it all for passage. But we’ve all that’s necessary for a household, and could work for another if it means we have that shelter for the first wee while.”

  Mr. Balwhidder inclined his head, then sat thinking. “To which kirk do ye belong?”

  “Church of Scotland,” said Gillan.

  There was another brief flicker in his eyes. The family were all aware from the man’s speech that Mr. Balwhidder was from a much higher station than they were, and their safety might depend on his mercy. Was he not Church of Scotland as well? They held their collective breath, until Alisdair starting choking on the taffy.

  “Well, I can give you direction to apply for work with the Presbyterian minister, but they have been overset of late with incomers, especially former kelp processors. Ye may have to travel before finding a s
atisfactory situation.” He paused, then raised his eyes to Gillan’s. “Would you work with Catholics, or would that be a problem?”

  “No, sir, no problem. I’ve worked with mony a type of man,” Gillan replied.

  “Well then, maybe you’ll be able to find a more permanent situation over in Antigonish. It is about 60 miles east of Pictou, and has a good scattering of houses congregated together. Up to you, of course, but there are still a good many chances for summer work up Antigonish way. They’re all Scots up there as well, mainly from Moidart and Morar. Now, if you find ye’ve no place to stay once you exit the gates, here is a boarding house that takes in new folks just off the boat. Ye can work out some sort of deal with Mrs. Conaghey to work for your room, but I’ll leave that to you. She’s worked with many a new arrival.”

  Mr. Balwhidder then brought them all the papers they would have to fill out and sign in order to stay in the town. As he was talking them over with Gillan, the children were each taken out, one at a time, for a brief health inspection. When they were all done, it was Sheila’s and then Gillan’s turn, and they all came back with a clean bill except Gillian, who was recorded as having “fluid in the lungs due to catarrh.” It would not stop him entering the colony, thankfully.

  Indeed, it was so much pleasanter an experience than they were expecting, that when they walked out of the gates, they were all a bit dazed. The lack of water and food contributed to their light-headedness, but so did the relief of being off the ship and away with their goods, together.

  “Now,” said Sheila, with a light tone. “Where to?” They stood against a stone wall bordering the harbor, beyond the crowds pressing against the opening gate for a glimpse of loved ones. Muirne was looking over the crowd of hundreds, dressed in warm, dark clothes. “I’m trying to see if there’s anyone we know,” she said. “But it’s quite impossible the way everyone is moving and blocking each other.”

  “Perhaps we should find the boarding house first,” Sheila said.

  “All right, everyone. Up we go, and stay close.” Gillan said. “It’s off in search of Mrs. Conaghey. We’ll ask first in town,” and he pointed down the street where a sign stood crookedly, declaring “TOWN” to be to the right. They hoisted their creels and the chest for the umpteenth time, and set out. Before they reached the sign, Sheena had dropped behind and set down her creel. She cried, “Wait!” and they all stopped and turned back to look at her. “What is it, Sheena?”

  She dropped to her knees, and placed her arms on the ground where it was soft and grassy. She raised her head. “We should give thanks,” she said.

  “Aye,” said Gillan, smiling. He set the chest down, walked to where she knelt, and lowered himself down beside her. The others ranged themselves around in a circle. Their eyes walked around, meeting and grinning, still giddy from the arrival, the easy processing, the bit of sugar on an empty stomach.

  “You go ahead, Sheena. Say our prayer for us,” said her mother.

  And they bent, praying to the earth with the words of an eleven-year-old girl, thanking the good Lord for their safe crossing, their good health, and the nice man who had welcomed them. Before standing, they all joined hands. Sheila teared up, and she sniffed; they laughed, and the spell of seriousness was broken. They were in the new land, and would find what they would.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Mrs. Conaghey turned out to be a Scots-Irish widow from Ulster, and a brisk, fastidious soul. Her husband had died the first week after their arrival in Canada in ’15, so she’d had to take care of herself for a good many years. She had work for Gillan and Neil to do that would cover their rent while they looked for paying work, and chores for the women to do that would cover their board. Rooms were paid the week in advance, and board was tallied after each week, so if they felt the inclination to move up the river, they could do so without the loss of much time or money.

  The room they took was about twelve foot square, which felt like a luxury after the cramped space between decks they’d just emerged from. There was room for sleeping when their baggage was ranged along one wall. There was one large window across from where they slept, and a little coal brazier stand next to the window. Obviously, it would be very cold during winter here, and the brazier would not be much help. Gillan and Sheila noted this, thinking that it wouldn’t matter, since they would have their own situation come autumn, whether here or farther out.

  At tea time that first day, Mrs. Conaghey persuaded them to have a small, dry meal, so that their stomachs wouldn’t rebel against too-rich food so soon after their restricted diet at sea. They’d told her that their circumstances were much reduced, and she understood what they meant: they were near to starving. She knew how to advise them and how to accustom them to normal food so they wouldn’t become ill.

  After a few days, they were all feeling much restored on her broths and country bread, and the earth did not seem to roll and pitch under their feet as it first had. Neil and Muirne were very curious to explore Pictou, and one sunny afternoon they set out to do so. Leaving the large wooden multi-story boarding house, they headed back down the road towards the harbor, thinking that the main part of town would be that way.

  Instead of shops and homes, the harbor road seemed to house shanties for sailors and warehouses. Muirne didn’t mind the noisy gulls wheeling and diving for fish brought ashore by fishermen, but the shanties seemed to be squatting and listless, indicating a lax householder. Women traveled between a few of these, and their clothes were garishly bright, if a bit ragged. Their walk spoke of wanton self-satisfaction. From the viewpoint on the hill, brother and sister looked down.

  “Muirne, I think those are—”

  “I know, Neil, they’re fancy women, women of easy virtue. Obviously visiting the home of the sailors—or are they fishermen, d’ye think?”

  Neil glanced at his sister, stepping a little closer. “Both, most likely. Let’s head back around this way,” he said, pointing inland from the harbor, where a road split off and vanished over a hill. “Perhaps there is more of town that way.”

  “All right,” Muirne said, and shivered a little as she turned away. She dared not catch the eye of one of the women, for fear of seeing the reflection of her own thinly disguised desperation. What if her family had had to indenture to make the journey? It had been so close, so very close, but they hadn’t given in.

  For his own part, Neil felt as if cold water had been thrown on his sunny day. One of the fancy women had worn a green kerchief ’round her waist, and the image of Letty’s waving hand at the ship had risen in his mind. I was going to write to her, as soon as we arrived. Wasn’t I? Glasgow seemed a long way off from this hill in Pictou.

  The road curved over the hill then plunged down into a shallow dell. Behind this lay a front street to their right with fine-looking buildings, and a high street to their left, flanking the larger hills beyond. Most buildings had a layer of whitewash, which needed a new coat following the last year of storms. Other than that, Neil noted well-maintained roofs and well-appointed windows. He and Muirne walked along the front street for a bit, soaking up the afternoon sun still pouring over the brow of the hill.

  ***

  ***

  The actual town was nowhere near Glasgow’s size, but more orderly than either Hutchesontown or Laurieston had been. Streets and corners formed the familiar blocks of houses and places of businesses. The view was quite nice down the front street and they paused to admire it.

  “What would you do, Neil, if you had your choice?” Muirne asked.

  Neil’s eyes continued to scan the vista before them. He didn’t need to ask what she meant. “I’d as soon get a plot of land to plow up for a farm as anything. Looks like we’ll be felling trees, though, as they’re everywhere.”

  Muirne followed his gaze up over the town to the hills, which indeed showed unbroken expanses of tall trees, a house or two peeking out among them, visible only by their white paint. “But that’s good, no? They don’t seem to have
peat here, just the coal from the mines and the charcoal they make from the trees.” This she had gleaned from a conversation with Mrs. Conaghey.

  “Mmph,” Neil replied. “No, I dinna mind the trees or having to fell them at all. It’ll be better, I think. And, perhaps—well.”

  He blushed and looked sheepish for a moment. Then he turned to Muirne then and gave her a wry smile.

  “Maybe when we’ve a steading, or when things are more sure, I can write and ask Letty again. But what about you, Muirne? What would you do, an’ ye had your way?”

  He looked at his sister as she gazed out to the hills. She returned his slight smile about Letty, then looked away. Her eyes were narrowed against the sun’s glare, and the breeze played with her pale hair, lifting it up and away. She turned to face him and it blew before her, obscuring her face. She smiled faintly, but spoke carefully to give her words weight.

  “It seems I have a wind to follow. And it only obliges if I face the one way, Neil.” She raked her hands over her hair, pulling it back and tying it with a leather thong. “There’s no money for more schooling, and I’ve no interest in going to work in a mill, judging from your description of it.”

  Neil reached out to touch her elbow, shaking his head.

  “So it’s marriage, but where am I to meet a man? We know nobody here, and I’ve no employment. When we go to kirk on Sunday perhaps we’ll find some kin there, but otherwise, I’ll just waste away.”

  “Never,” Neil said. “It may be at kirk, or it may be somewhere else, Muirne, but dinna worry over that. The Eglunds were not your only chance. You attract plenty of attention; you’ll find a good man, soon, I bet.” She took his arm, squeezed it.