Little Bird Lands

by Karen McCombie

  “Please…” she begins softly, her dark-rimmed eyes locked on mine, before her voice loudens to a hysterical shriek. “Please get them away from me!”

  Now screaming, she raises a scrawny bare arm to point at us, as if Father and I were a pair of phantoms, or the devil himself and his banshee accomplice.

  I feel Lachlan slip his hand in mine and squeeze it. But I am too shocked to squeeze his fingers in reply.

  “Katherine!” roars Mr Eriksson, his brow furrowed in distress and distaste. “Be quiet!”

  “Get them away from me, I tell you!” the woman repeats, holding her hand to her throat as if she fears one of us will take a running jump at her and bite the life from her. “He – that man tried to murder my father! And he and his family are kidnappers! They stole away a poor young woman from our household!”

  My mind: it roars with a loud, raging, repeating word. No, no, NO! How can this be happening? How can this reminder of our past difficulties in Scotland have come to us now, to ruin our lives all over again?

  “Mrs Eriksson, you are mistaken!” I hear Dr Spicer announce as she hurries forward. “These are my friends, the kind hosts I board with. Please let me help you sit down and—”

  The next moment is a blur that is packed with more than is possible to fit in such a small fragment of time. The young woman staggers back against the table, knocking the towering candelabra centrepiece, and a shrill, desperate scream is wrenched from her throat as a glorious halo of brightness illuminates her. Miss Kitty’s dress, her delicate, fine-spun dress, is on fire, lit by the dainty candles she has tipped over.

  And then instinct takes a hold of me as others stand frozen; I leap towards Kitty and drag her by the hand quick and hard, yelling to someone, anyone – to Easter as it turns out – to pull the front door open.

  And with whatever energy I can muster, I tip us both outside on to the snowy, slushy ground. I hear Miss Kitty’s shocked gasps as I roll her this way and that, dousing the flames. And then we are both wretched and panting though I cannot help but see that her delicate white dress has changed to a robe of charred muslin, mud and steam.

  I may imagine a silence before the world is full of shouts and helping hands, but in that stillness I feel Kitty cling on to me tight and sob as if she will never stop.

  Part of me – the girl who barely escaped my old island home with her life, who watched this person once hit Lachlan about the head – is tempted to peel those thin fingers away now that my duty is done and leave this shocked, pained young woman in the mire.

  But whether I like it or not, I have Mother and Father’s kindness sewn into my soul.

  “Ist, now, Miss Kitty,” I say softly as I hold my arms around her and let her tears soak into my chest…

  Easter suddenly appears on her knees by our side, as fleet and silent as the deer I saw in the woods the day Odayan died.

  “Stay still, Miss Kitty! Bridie saved you and the doctor’s coming,” she entreats her mistress, though she lifts her gaze up long enough to give me a questioning look, clearly struggling to make sense of the shouted accusations she couldn’t have helped but hear, along with every other bystander in the room.

  I stare back at Easter, hoping she remembers what I have already told her – the untrue accusations Father had hurled at him by the Laird of our island, and the unloved, uncared-for woman that myself and my sisters befriended. When I have the chance, I can talk to her again of how we did not kidnap Caroline from Tornish, but instead set her free and that she came very, very gladly.

  And of course I stare at Easter with a questioning look too. How have we not known that we had this young woman in common? I suppose I spoke of the Laird, but not his daughter. And for her part, Easter only ever called her ‘Mrs Eriksson’ in front of me. But if she was so friendly with her mistress, would she not have mentioned us? Would Miss Kitty not have recognised our names? And surely Dr Spicer would have mentioned us too?

  “Hester, how dare you call your mistress such a familiar name!” I suddenly hear Mr Eriksson roar, as if that is the most pressing point in this moment.

  “Your wife needs help, sir!” I shout up at him.

  Mr Eriksson ignores me, as if I am as lowly a being as one of the mine ponies.

  “Katherine! Get up, for God’s sake!” he now shouts at his wife as he runs his hands agitatedly through his white-blond hair, looking quite on the edge of anger. “Hurry and lift my wife up from the ground, Hester! She is covered in mud – she cannot be seen like this!”

  The man is a fool, and a useless one at that. I saw it during the mine explosion and I see it now. And much as I loathe the young woman cradled in my arms, I pity her too, for being married to such a poor excuse for a husband.

  And then our small grouping is surrounded, men folk and their wives pouring from the front door, all shouting, uncertain what to do for the best.

  “Let the doctor through!” I hear Mr Nathaniel’s gruff voice shout, and look up to see him ushering Dr Spicer towards us.

  And there is the doctor beginning to bend down towards us, before snatching herself straight up again and wincing in pain.

  “Are you all right, doc?” asks the storekeeper, taking hold of her elbow.

  As his eyes drop down, the worry that knitted his brow turns to a scowl.

  Dr Spicer – biting her lip – has put a hand on her stomach. A stomach that is clearly rounded and straining against the loose shirt that she wears.

  Wait … can this be true?

  The doctor is expecting a child?

  But the shock of what I clearly see has its benefits – it sharpens my mind. Before I know it, I have calculated that the doctor is many months pregnant. So she must have already been with child when her poor husband died, I think?

  “Can we get Mrs Eriksson to her bedroom, please?” I hear Dr Spicer say, taking a breath and reviving herself. “Lachlan, can you run home and quickly fetch my bag?”

  “He can do that and then he can go!” Mr Eriksson suddenly announces. “I will not have him or his sort of family anywhere near my own!”

  And all of a sudden, hands reach down to drag Miss Kitty from my care, and though she tries to hold tight, though her red-rimmed blue eyes beseech me, she is lifted away and I am left in the soft, snowy mud, feeling peculiarly bereft … till I hear a terrible sound.

  A bear-like roar comes out of the woods and we all turn in terror to see what is hurtling towards us.

  With a muddle of swearing and shouts of “He told me! He told me you made him do it!” Oskar’s father rushes at Mr Nathaniel, fists colliding with his face…

  The storekeeper stumbles to the ground, with Oskar’s father quickly on top of him, pummelling and raging.

  “You bribed my son to do something so dangerous, and look at the mess of him now! Look at the others who were hurt!”

  “Grab him! Pull him back!” the mine manager orders his foreman and clerks, like a general barking at foot soldiers and not getting his own hands dirty.

  I see the men hesitate and glance at each other quickly. I think they are none the wiser about what has provoked this attack, but are a little pleased to see the despised Mr Nathaniel get his comeuppance. Still, Mr Eriksson pays their wages and after a moment they spring into action and do as they are told, tearing Oskar and Henni’s father away from the bleeding-nosed storekeeper.

  “Good God, man!” says one of the mining company gentlemen. “How dare you set upon Mr Nathaniel like this!”

  “You ask how I dare?” the miner answers panting, his arms pinned back. “How does this man dare to pay my son to set an explosion? An explosion that could have killed all of us in the tunnels?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” Mr Eriksson bellows, his eyes quite wild.

  The next person who speaks startles everyone.

  “It’s not ridiculous!” says Lachlan, stepping forward. “The morning of the explosion, Mr Nathaniel made me run an errand and take a package to Oskar. I wasn’t supposed to look inside, but I
did. It was money.”

  And now my shocked and skittish mind darts to confirm the truth of what has gone on… Mr Nathaniel boasted of his former skill working with explosives. And didn’t Easter and I overhear him tell Mr Eriksson on Christmas Day to sort things at the mine, to make it more profitable, or he would? How he’d pay someone off to make it happen? And that foolish person turned out to be Henni’s gullible brother…

  “Rubbish!” Mr Eriksson shouts in my brother’s face.

  “No, it is true.” I jump to my brother’s defence. “Ask Oskar. Ask the Irish miner Seamus – he knows. Mr Nathaniel asked him first, but he turned him down.”

  “Nonsense. Seamus knows nothing. He’s an addle-headed drunk,” mutters the storekeeper as he’s helped to his feet.

  “What the hell is going on here?” the other gentleman from the mining company demands.

  “Lies! That is what is going on here!” Mr Eriksson shouts out. “Someone tie up that thug, and Mr MacKerrie, take your urchins away from here. These accusations against Mr Nathaniel are ridiculous. Why would he do such a thing?”

  “Come away,” says Father, urging my brother and me toward the path. “No one is in a position to listen to reason right now. I’ll come back and talk to Mr Eriksson in the morning and sort things out…”

  But the three of us pause as we hear what is said next.

  “Mr Schwarz, Mr Belfonte, I’m guilty!” Mr Nathaniel suddenly announces.

  Pebbles on the path crunch as Father, Lachlan and I turn around at this strange turn of events.

  “Yes, indeed, I am guilty of paying the lad to lay the extra explosion,” says Mr Nathaniel, looking surprisingly sorrowful. “It was a desperate act to find more copper fast, since the mine was failing.”

  Everyone is standing in a silent tableau in that moment, framed by the soft light from inside the house and the haze of smoke from the fire that must have now been put out in the parlour.

  “But hear this, gentlemen, I am just a humble storekeeper,” Mr Nathaniel continues, wiping the blood from his nose with the back of his hand. “I would never have thought to do something so shocking and dangerous on my own. Mr Eriksson ordered me to make it happen. He is behind the terrible disaster that happened. The burden of guilt is all his!”

  Well, I knew Mr Nathaniel was capable of many things, but being such an actor is quite the surprise. And I can see from the reactions of all around him – folk staring in hatred at the startled mine manager – that his role of humble sidekick has been a great success…

  Father, Lachlan and I leap to our feet as soon as we hear the creaking drag of the latch lift in the parlour’s side door.

  “How is she?” asks Father in concern, rushing to take the heavy leather bag from a clearly exhausted Dr Spicer.

  I glance at him, thinking what a good man he is. Back on the island, Miss Kitty’s father would have happily seen mine flung in prison or hanged, supposing him to have masterminded an attack planned by the desperate young men of the island. And now the very same Laird’s daughter has unlocked our box of secrets in front of everyone, letting them slither and slip from their hiding places for all to gawp at and gossip over, as they no doubt will. And yet Father enquires as to her health.

  If only I could be as good as him. But while we’ve sat here awaiting Dr Spicer’s return, I have remembered Easter telling me that her mistress’s father was dead. And knowing that the Laird – the truly heartless Mr Palmer-Reeves – is no longer of this earth has given me considerable pleasure, I’m not ashamed to say. His death obviously resulted in Miss Kitty and her mother moving to London. But what did it mean for the islanders that remained on Tornish? Are their lives better with the Laird gone? Are any of them, my friend Will’s family included, still there…?

  “When the flames shot upwards, they burnt off some of Mrs Eriksson’s hair at the back, but in general she is not too badly hurt, thanks to Bridie’s quick actions,” says Dr Spicer, letting me take her coat and fur hat from her. “She is more in shock, from the accident and from the arguing and upsets of the evening.”

  “Including seeing us?” I ask, hanging her things on the pegs by the door.

  “Including seeing you,” says Dr Spicer, easing herself gratefully on to the chair by the stove and taking the mug of coffee Lachlan has just poured for her. “I didn’t realise, but she recognised your names when Easter and I had mentioned you all. She hoped never to meet you.”

  “By staying inside her house forever?” asks Lachlan, settling himself at her feet.

  “By staying inside till the first steamship of the spring, when she planned to leave both Hawk’s Point and her husband,” says the doctor, to all our surprise. “Mrs Eriksson admitted that to me just now. She also admitted that she was so terrified of seeing you all at the party that she was quite out of her wits, and panicked. I very quickly set her right about the accusations she made.”

  I see a look pass between Dr Spicer and Father – and that look tells me that he has trusted the doctor with our secrets during their long evening talks this winter.

  “Well, thank you for telling her the truth of our situation,” says Father. “I will try doing the same with her husband tomorrow. But how are you, Stephanie?”

  Now, from that use of her first name and the gentle question he asks, I can tell that Dr Spicer has already shared her own secret with Father.

  “I’m well, thank you,” she says, putting her hand to the dome of her stomach. “Just tired and sometimes uncomfortable, as mothers-to-be often are at this stage.”

  “Why, if I may ask, didn’t you tell us?” I say, talking of myself and Lachlan. “I mean, it is clearly wonderful news that you and your husband are to be parents. I mean, you. I mean— I mean, I’m so very sorry that your husband will not know his own son or daughter…”

  Dr Spicer smiles at me, forgiving my clumsy stutters and stumbles.

  “Well, this might amuse you, Bridie, since I’m medically trained and should know better, but I did not realise till a week or so ago that I was with child!” she admits, appearing a little shamefaced. “I was so very lost in the time after Frank died, and then so very busy in the last few months here, that I did not think clearly. I had no idea of this miracle I’d been blessed with.”

  “You never thought you’d be a mother, did you?” Lachlan asks, gazing up at her.

  For a moment Dr Spicer says nothing, just smiles at my brother, almost as a mother might.

  “No, I did not,” she says finally, patting Lachlan’s arm before she continues. “I did tell your father, however, as I wanted to talk to him about how the townspeople might take the news. They struggled to accept me as a female doctor, and it did make me worry what they’d make of a female doctor who was expecting a child!”

  “Well, as I said, it might take folk by surprise,” Father says, scratching his beard. “But I’m sure in time they’ll be glad for you.”

  “After tonight I have my doubts,” Dr Spicer answers him. “Once I finished treating his wife I was informed by Mr Eriksson that I would not be welcome back in his house. So perhaps I might have to think about returning to Philadelphia…”

  “What?” says Father, his eyebrows bending into a deep frown.

  “But why did he say you would not be welcome?” I ask. “Because you’re to have a baby? Or because of what Miss Kitty – Mrs Eriksson – said about us?”

  “A little of both, I think,” she admits. “All I can be sure of is that Mr Eriksson decided on the spot that a lone woman expecting a child – who lives under the same roof as a would-be murderer and a family of kidnappers – was not someone who should be trusted with his wife’s care.”

  She gives us all a wry smile, as if she – a woman of science and reason – can barely believe the stupidity of what’s happened.

  “I think Mr Eriksson is both furious and frightened that Mr Nathaniel has placed the blame of the mine-tunnel explosion at his feet,” Father suggests. “And so he has taken out his anger on you it see
ms, and us too.”

  “But surely Mr Nathaniel won’t get away with pushing the blame away from himself,” I say angrily at the injustice. “Surely he—”

  My words are interrupted by a soft but insistent tapping at the side door.

  There is a whimpering too.

  We all look at each other but being so close to the door already, I quickly wrestle it open. And there … there in the light that pools from our tiny parlour stands Miss Kitty, wrapped in her black fur cape and with the curls of her once neat hair now wilted and singed about her shoulders. She is held up by a person on either side. One is Easter, the other is – and I can barely breathe for the surprise of it – Jean.

  As for the whimpering? A little of it comes from Miss Kitty to be sure, but the louder whimpers come from the two husky pups peeking out of Jean’s knapsack…

  I look from Miss Kitty to Jean and back again. I would never have expected either of them to be sitting as guests in our parlour tonight, for very different reasons.

  Yet here they are.

  Jean’s reason for returning to Hawk’s Point was that he was paid to drive the sled and the dogs that brought the mine company’s men here. He will be gone in the morning, not to return. As for the two pups he brought with him from his visit to the reservation, he is keeping one, already named Odayan, and gifting the other to Lachlan.

  “What will I call you?” my brother cries and laughs as he holds the deliciously furry, fat, wriggling creature in his hands, ignoring the rest of us in the room.

  “What did you call your last dog?” I hear Jean ask.

  “Patch!” Lachlan laughs, rubbing noses with the pup. “I’ll call you Patch!”

  We leave the gaiety to my brother and the puppies who now all roll and play together on the floor. It is time to turn our attention to Miss Kitty, who has once again been checked over by Dr Spicer in the room we share, and now – sitting in the chair by the stove – seems somewhat revived by a tin mug of sweetened coffee that Father has given her.