The Keening

by Margaret Pinard

  They enjoyed the tart very much, and counted the days left until they would need to return to town to replenish the rest of their supplies. They subsisted on the water from the creek on the property, which was swift-running and clear, and they made nightly fires where Sheila cooked the skirlie in the griddle. Each took a turn telling stories to keep the attention off their aches and blisters. They had made a fair bit of headway by the mark of nine days, when they needed to go back.

  Sheila stood back with Neil and surveyed their handiwork. It was soft dirt with plenty of roots scattered about. When the path turned to the right and went out of sight, it was also clear for a good fifty feet.

  “When we come back it will need to be with shovels to dig out those roots,” Sheila said.

  “Aye,” he agreed.

  Sheila and the three children would return to town and the boarding house while Neil chased down more details of the property’s owners and the law concerning possession, improvement, and ownership. They might also be able to return some of the favors done them by the people of Pictou.

  It took them the same two days it had taken Neil and Muirne to return to Pictou on foot. Sheena and Alisdair were growing up, no longer running roughshod all over the place but contributing to the household and learning how to behave in civilized company. On the way back, Sheila looked back to see Neil and Muirne with their heads together, laughing over some tale. She thought about the need to find a good lad for Muirne, but whom? She cast her mind over the people they’d met, all kind, but with a noticeable lack of marriageable sons. She would ask Mrs. Conaghey, who no doubt could hold forth on the subject, and perhaps already had done, in their absence.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  The return to town and Mrs. Conaghey’s boarding house went smoothly. The welcome they received and the curious questions upon their return made Neil and Muirne feel grateful for this resting place, where people seemed to look out for one another. They compared it to Glasgow and their First Footing there, and saw that their mother did not seem as desperately lonely among their neighbors as she had been before.

  They were all keeping so busy that it was easy to forget that Gillan was missing. His second letter came as a surprise the day after they returned. Neil was handed the letter by the town grocer, and he brought it home to read to his mother at supper.

  “Dear Everyone,” Neil read aloud at the table. “I did not find a satisfactory situation at either of the two posts in Tadoussac that I wrote you of. So we are now in Quebec City, and there are many opportunities here, as well as masses of people. I have already run into an acquaintance from home: Mr. Brown of Macrieff.”

  Sheila gave a sharp intake of breath. “Brown?”

  “Who’s that then, Mama?” Muirne asked. Sheila just shook her head, and nodded at Neil to continue.

  “It is turning out to be a simple thing to labor for a day and receive wages for my food and lodging for two days, during which I look for other lines of work. At this rate, I hope to find something substantial before the week is out. I hope to send to you then to follow. All my prayers and thoughts are with you, Gillan.”

  There was a pregnant silence, while each thought about what would happen if he sent for them. Muirne broke it by asking softly, “Who’s Mr. Brown, Mother?”

  “I think I remember,” said Neil. “Isn’t he the man who was hounding you after Father’s disappearance to marry him? He kept coming ’round the house?”

  Sheila turned to look at Neil, her eyes round in surprise. “Aye, I didna think you’d remember all that. You were only Alisdair’s age.”

  “I was not that young, but I remember you did not like him,” Neil said.

  “Well, and it’s a big city, so we will hope that they do not meet again, for Gillan doesnae like him either,” Sheila replied. She rose and took the wooden dishes from supper to the bucket, then handed it to Sheena.

  It was Sheena’s turn to clean the evening dishes. She took the large wooden bucket down to the water pump next to the boarding house. She returned with the extra bucket full of fresh water for the night.

  The MacLeans were quiet that night, and left off the evening routine of gathering ’round the coal brazier to tell stories. The younger children fell asleep early, while the older two listened to Sheila singing softly as she mended some knitting. They were glad to hear from Gillan, relieved he was making some headway on his journey. But they had all come to the point where they thought it best to stay put. Neil wondered if indeed they would go when sent for. He was excited, preparing in his head the steps he would take tomorrow to determine legal possession of land under the law in Nova Scotia.

  ***

  ***

  When Neil headed off to the town attorney’s office, Muirne was already well into her chores for the day: washing the floors of the unoccupied rooms at the top of the house. As she dipped the rag into the bucket and scrubbed at the wood, rubbing off layers of soot and dirt and other stains, her mind wandered again to the comments made by her mother about this Mr. Brown. Do I remember anything of him? she wondered. Neil had not told her more of what he remembered, but his tone hadn’t been pleasant.

  Her reverie was broken by Mrs. Conaghey bursting into the room and exclaiming over the extraordinarily hot weather.

  “Well, it was quite warm while we were working to clear the road, but I didn’t think it particularly hot down here in town. Maybe it was the trees on the main street giving us shade,” Muirne said.

  “Oh my dear, you must have been too tired to notice, for the past few days have been simply awful. I’m afraid what it’ll be like later in the summer this year. How is the clearing coming along?”

  “Oh, fine, fine. We hope to be back at it before the week is out, but Neil’s got to find out some things to make sure we’re not doing it all for nothing. That will make Father happy too; he hasn’t decided on anything yet.”

  “I see. Well, he’s gone down to Archie’s office then? Everyone goes to him for land and property questions.”

  “Aye, Mrs. Conaghey, Archie that you recommended.”

  “Good girl,” said the older woman. “And you’re doing a fine job up here as well. I’ll go see your mother and then have some of last night’s roast ready for lunch, how about that?”

  “That sounds wonderful, Mrs. Conaghey, thank you.” Muirne’s mouth had started watering at the mention of fresh cooked meat. It is that time of year again, she thought, taken aback at how quickly so much had happened between this year and last. As she felt the loss of their chickens for a moment, a lightning bolt struck her brain. Chickens! She could earn money selling eggs and meat that way, perhaps even enough to get the loom for her mother. It might take a while, but it was a start.

  Feeling immensely better, she finished her washing, whistling as she went.

  ***

  ***

  When Neil returned, it was past the dinner hour and well into afternoon. He’d been sent to a number of places along the main streets of the town by the attorney. He’d talked to four business owners about their knowledge of the whereabouts of the family who had first settled the ridge, which Neil had taken to inwardly calling Sealladh Cùil. It meant Looking Back, and made him feel a little more connected to Dalcriadh back home. The view of the old foundation did not make him sad, like it did Muirne. Rather, he thought of the new house they would build there, and how it would become home.

  He sat on the floor of the hallway outside where Muirne was working in one of the upper rooms. He chewed through the slice of meat pie she had saved him from dinner. Muirne was shaking out clothes and linens at the window, preparing to wash laundry down by the pump with Sheena. “What’s on your mind, Neil?”

  He didn’t reply immediately, but looked up and met her eyes. “Oh, this and that. A few more visits and signatures and we’ll have enough evidence of abandonment to properly squat on the ridge, but there will still be a lot of work to do. There isn’t a pump there, and I have no idea how difficult it would be to put one in u
p at the ridge. Do we need an engineer? They’re sure to be expensive. We might just use the spring. But then…so yes, just this and that.” He gave her a quick smile.

  Muirne knew that was not what he’d been thinking about, but let it go. Another clap of thunder came from the large rug as she snapped it outside. She turned her head to avoid the dust, but still coughed. An alarmed “Hey there!” stole her attention and she looked out and down from the balcony to the walk in front of the house. Standing there was a young man, dressed in a clean brown suit, brushing himself off.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, sir! I checked before I started; you must have just come up?”

  “Aye, I’m just arriving, and did not expect to be covered with dust! Och!” He was patting himself down with his handkerchief, but then stopped to look back up. “You wouldn’t happen to be Miss MacLean, would ye?”

  “Yes, that’s me. What is it? Do you have a message for me?”

  “Nay, I—” He stopped himself short and turned and walked quickly away. Muirne was so surprised she didn’t think to call after him. It was either very bad manners or something unexpectedly urgent. Either way, she brushed him out of her thoughts. Until the next day, that is, when the same young man arrived in the morning. He was sporting a different suit, a black one this time, and was announced by Mrs. Conaghey in the house, instead of yelling up from the street.

  The boarding house matron knocked on their door and invited them to the front parlor. She introduced the young man to the MacLeans as her nephew, James McLachlan. He had some information for them about the property they’d spied out. When Neil heard that, his thoughts immediately jumped to the possibility that it was not abandoned, that the family intended to return somehow. Maybe they would need to start over looking for a place to build; he might even have to follow his stepfather into the city.

  But James did not tell them of any further impediments; rather, he told them what he’d found out at the law office where he worked, down in New Glasgow. When his auntie had asked him to check if there were any records on such and such a property, he’d easily found the history of the original settlers.

  They were Scots, as expected, which matched up with the information from all the neighbors Neil had canvassed that day. Campbells from Applecross. They had arrived forty-two years earlier, in 1781. Forty-two years that’s been there! thought Muirne. And nobody coming to claim it? There was a great part of the clan that landed together, near thirty people, and all fleeing because of a violent disagreement with a neighboring clan, which had been adjudicated by English officials from Fort Augustus.

  James didn’t need to explain what that meant. Judgement by an English official meant no mercy and scant justice. Sheila had heard from her own grandmother how English soldiers had pillaged towns and farms, how it was made a crime to wear the kilt or your own tartan. A man wasn’t even allowed to carry a gun to hunt on his own property if he was a Scot. Sheila had told her own children some of the same stories she’d heard, enough to make them thankful those times were over.

  James continued. The Campbells had settled in various places around Pictou, farming land in the lowlands. The plot that the MacLeans had all been working on had come later, after they’d been established a few years. He didn’t have the familiar details about why that spot, why that place, but he did have a year: 1789. There was a remark about the ‘fine, new structure’ planned for the property in the tax accounts.

  “So how did it come to collapse and fade away? Was that more recent?” Neil asked.

  “Aye, it was. They were part of the feud between the MacDonalds and the Campbells back home, see. You’ll know of the Glencoe massacre.”

  A shiver ran down Muirne’s spine as the empty glen flashed in front of her eyes, the sight of it in the gloaming before Neil had ridden up to meet them. “You’re not saying it was burnt down or pulled down, because of the feud back in Scotland?”

  “I am. The fine house on the hill was burnt down three years after it was built, in 1792.” The date sank in. It was one hundred years after the treachery in Glencoe. “And in January,” James added. One hundred years exactly, thought Muirne. What a tragic waste.

  “Some of the local folk want that another family should live there now, since the ones who burnt it down were never found. People say they went down to America, once the colonies had won their independence, as that was no longer British land and they could not be tried for the crime. It is uncertain.”

  “But why hasn’t anyone tried to make a go of it before now?” Muirne asked. “That’s thirty years gone by, with plenty of people coming in, no?”

  “Aye, that’s right.” James seemed reluctant to answer. His aunt stepped in. “It’s the spirits, lass. They that might be hanging around and prevent a new house from flourishing.”

  “Spirits? You mean the family were killed there?” asked Sheila, her breath coming short.

  “Yes,” James returned.

  Sheila cleared her throat. “Were they—in the house when it…?”

  “I’m afraid a good many of them were,” said James. A cry from Muirne. “About a dozen of them perished in the fire; it’s in the news record.”

  “That’s awful,” Muirne murmured. She was remembering the frantic dash to remove all their belongings from their house on the island. She wondered now whether any of the neighbors had not been warned as they had, merely set afire in their beds. She closed her eyes tight. Even here, she thought.

  James cleared his throat but it was Mrs. Conaghey who spoke next. “It was an awful thing,” she clucked. “I arrived years later but they were still speaking of it. The Campbells gone from the whole area afterwards, the ruin sitting there, the rumors of the MacDonalds’ whereabouts a-flying. That’s most of the reason why it’s empty. The rest is just people making up stories of ghosts, I s’pect, to no purpose.”

  There was a silence.

  “Well, does all this mean there are none contesting the possession of the land legally?” Neil asked.

  “It does,” James replied. “So in the end it is good news I’ve brought.” He glanced at Muirne. She wasn’t looking at him, but at the floor, her eyes unfocused, deep in thought. “It’s glad I am to tell you the news, since you can now move forward with your own plans for the place without worry. My thanks, Auntie, for passing on the request.” He lingered for just a moment, and just as Neil was going to ask him to stay, Mrs. Conaghey did it for him.

  “Oh, but Jamie, I can’t let you head on back without a hot meal in ye; your mother’d be after me with a stick for thoughtlessness. Won’t ye stay and sup with us? You’re not needed anywhere else at present?”

  “No, Auntie, and I’d be happy to stay. Thank you.”

  They had a less rowdy and more constrained supper that evening as they felt out this new stranger. The MacLeans also had some things to think about for their building plans based on this new information.

  Mrs. Conaghey’s lamb roast, stewed with vegetables in the heat of the summer, soon relaxed them and they were laughing and teasing with their new acquaintance. Sheila and Mrs. Conaghey exchanged significant looks, while the children entertained each other.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  The last week of July found them all back on the ridge. All the overgrown brush from the path to the clearing was piled high in the forest beside the path, and the remnants of the foundation were being dug out from the debris. Sheila kept them going with a ruthless practicality.

  “That’s tin, that is,” she said, spying a blackened mug in Muirne’s hand. “Aye,” she said when it was handed over for closer inspection. “Put that in the save pile; it’ll be one more for the party when it’s cleaned up.” This brought slight smiles from Muirne and Neil, a broad grin from Alisdair.

  Other items had not survived the thirty year interval, rotted clothes being tossed in a pile for fire tinder, and animal droppings and other leavings being swept off the foundation to a large pile adjacent. Everyone had a job. Sheila talked constantly so they would no
t have one second to consider the fate of the people who had last lived here. She also didn’t want to think about what it meant to be working on one home while her husband was out searching for another.

  Sheila had a snatch of ribald tune humming in her head as she broke the ground at the house’s edge to check whether there had been water damage underneath the foundation over the years. She leaned down to check the base of what remained of the wall and heard a sudden, angry buzzing.

  With a cry, she stumbled back from the spot, landing on her behind. Alisdair was closest and turned to look at her cry of surprise. He saw his mother splayed backward on the ground, one leg kicking up in the air, her hands flailing in front of her face. Then he saw the black cloud swarming. “Neil!” he screamed.

  Neil and Muirne had come around the corner of the house after the first cry went up, and Alisdair rushed to Neil’s side to tug on his arm. They could now see the swarm as well.

  “Stay back,” Neil said, pulling Alisdair behind him. He thought wildly of how to distract wasps, but couldn’t see how to avoid hurting his sister and brother as well if he drew them off his mother, who had now rolled face-down in the dirt. He ran for the pail of water, then grabbed a discarded threadbare shirt, tying it over his face. That was the best he could do. He came back to where his mother now lay motionless and chucked the water at the swarm, downing a handful of wasps and scattering some more. It was all he could do. He picked up his mother and stumbled his way away from the spot to carry her to safety as he felt a few angry stings himself.