“Tomorrow is November 5, Guy Fawkes Day,” Luke said, rubbing his hands together in front of the stove.
“You celebrate Guy Fawkes Day here?” Thomas asked. This, he had not expected. In England the whole country celebrated the hanging of Guy Fawkes back on November 5, 1605. A group led by Fawkes resented the government persecution of people of the Catholic faith. They hatched the Gunpowder Plot, planning to blow up the English Houses of Parliament when King James I was to be present. They were caught and hanged. Ever since the hanging, an effigy of Guy Fawkes had been burned on November 5th.
“We do. The tailor has spent the week making a figure to be hung outside in the yard for everyone to see. The cook and his helpers are preparing a huge feast, and all the Indians from the village are invited to take part in the festivities in the Bachelor’s Hall.”
Thomas looked over where Richard should have been bundled in his bed. It was late evening, but he was not back from his shift at the cookhouse.
“Is that why Richard is late?”
“Yes. The cook has probably had all his helpers working hard today and he will again tomorrow.”
Just then Richard stumbled in with barely enough energy to reach his bunk. Francis hurried over to help and covered him with his blankets.
“I am going to talk to the cook tomorrow,” Francis said, coming to stand beside Thomas. “Can he not see Richard is in no condition to be working so much?”
Thomas glanced at the inert form. Richard was paler than when he first arrived and he had lost more weight. His skin was stretched over his face, his eyes like dark hollows.
“I would not do it tomorrow,” Luke said.
“Why not?”
“Because the cook will be too busy to listen to you.”
“But tomorrow is going to be hard on him if he has to help with the meals and also with preparations for the feast.”
“And if you bother the cook about him, it might be harder.”
“Has he had any more trouble from the cook?” Thomas asked.
Francis shrugged his shoulders. “He has not said, but then he does not have the energy to speak anymore.”
* * *
The festivities started early in the long, high ceilinged Bachelor’s Hall with the Indians coming for the special meal. The food was set out on long tables and the men, women, and children, helped themselves then found a place to sit along the walls. Thomas was standing against the wall with Francis and Henry when he saw Edward, Spotted Fawn, and Little Bird, arrive. He waved and called out to get their attention but the noise in the hall drowned out his voice. He wondered if he should go over to them or stay with Francis and Henry.
Edward saw him and beckoned him over. When Thomas reached him Edward leaned close to speak. “Little Bird has told me about when she met you. Would you like to sit with us?”
“Yes.” This was just what he had been waiting for, a chance to really meet Little Bird. He smiled at her as he sat down. Again he was startled by her blue eyes.
“You are surprised by my eyes,” Little Bird said.
“Yes,” Thomas admitted.
“Master Givens is my grandfather.” she said, quietly.
“Oh,” Thomas said. He did not know what else to say. Little Bird and Spotted Fawn were part of the family Master Givens had mentioned, the family he had told Martha Kirke about back in Stromness.
“Let us get in line for the food,” Edward said.
As they worked their way up to the table, Thomas saw Richard leaning against the doorway, holding a large platter of meat. His eyes were almost closed and he looked as if he might faint. Thomas rushed over and took the platter from Richard’s hands. He set it on the table then helped Richard over to a chair.
“What happened?” Francis said, kneeling in front of Richard.
“He came close to fainting,” Thomas said.
“I will take him to the quarters.”
Richard’s lips moved, but neither boy could hear what he said. They moved closer. “I have to get back to the cookhouse,” Richard said, his voice just barely above a whisper.
“You cannot work,” Francis said, firmly. “You are going to bed.”
Thomas looked over to where Little Bird was dishing food onto her plate. He wanted to return to her side, but he knew he had to assist Francis.
“I will help you.”
“Where is that lazy whelp?” The cook’s voice could be heard above the din in the room. “Is he lollygagging while I have to do his work for him?”
Thomas saw Richard cringe at the sound.
The cook put a plate of bread on the table and stomped over to where Richard sat. “Why have you not come back for more food?” he demanded.
Francis stood and faced the cook. “Can you not see he is sick?”
“He is always acting like he is sick. All he needs is someone to force him to do his work, someone who does not let him get away with his nonsense.”
“I am taking him to his bed.”
“He has work to do.”
While Francis and the cook glared at each other, Thomas, who was still kneeling beside Richard, caught him just as he fainted and almost toppled off the chair.
“I think he has to go to the quarters,” Thomas said.
He and Francis picked up Richard and carried him out of the hall. It was almost dark as they crossed the yard to the men’s quarters. They laid him on the bunk. Francis sat on the edge of the bed beside his brother.
“I will get the doctor,” Thomas said.
Francis nodded.
Thomas rushed back to the hall. He went up to where Edward, Spotted Fawn, and Little Bird sat.
“I am sorry, but I do not know when I will be back.”
“Yes, we saw,” Edward said.
Thomas smiled at Little Bird then went in search of the doctor.
“What happened to Richard?” Henry asked, coming up to him.
“He fainted. I am looking for the doctor.”
“He is over in the corner. Shall I come, too?”
Thomas shook his head. “We got him to bed. There is nothing else to do.”
Thomas told the doctor about Richard and the two went back to the quarters. After he examined Richard, the doctor looked grave.
“I do not think there is anything we can do for him. He does not seem to want to live.”
“Who can blame him?” Francis said, fiercely. “Look what his life is.”
After the doctor left Thomas sat awkwardly on his bed. He did not know if he should leave or stay. Did Francis want company, or would he rather be alone with Richard?
“You can go back to the party,” Francis said.
“I will stay if you want.”
“No. I would like to be alone with my brother.”
Thomas returned in time to see everyone file out of the hall and over to where an effigy of Guy Fawkes hung by the neck. It was dark and some of the men carried torches to light the way. Thomas stood beside Little Bird in the gathering crowd. Factor Smith, holding a torch, made a speech about the enemies of the country and how they should all be hung. He then held the fire to the feet of the hanging figure. The crowd cheered and clapped as the flames slowly rose up the stuffed body until it was totally engulfed. Once the neck had burned through, the body and separated head fell to the ground. Some of the men ran over and kicked at the blazing shape. When the flames had finally died and the figure was little more than some smoldering rags, everyone trooped back into the hall where the dance began.
It was not until the third dance that Thomas got up enough nerve to ask Little Bird to accompany him onto the crowded floor. They tried a jig, but kept being hit by other dancers. Finally Little Bird pointed to the door. Thomas nodded. She pulled her skins around her shoulders and Thomas put on his coat.
They walked and slowly their conversation grew. Little Bird told Thomas about her grandfather working at the post and taking a country wife. And how he had left for many years, then began returning every year on the ship. Thomas told her about his life on the farm in Stromness and why he left. The moonlight lit their way and soon they were at the Indian village.
Thomas looked at the tall teepees in the moonlight.
“Have you ever been inside a teepee?” Little Bird asked.
Thomas shook his head.
“Would you like to see inside ours?
“Would your mother mind?”
“No.” Little Bird lifted the flap.
Thomas hesitated then stepped inside. A small fire still burned in the center and the Indian teepee was warmer than the buildings at the post. Around the outer edge were mats where everyone slept. A middle aged woman lay on one of the mats. An old woman sat on the ground beside the fire. She held a clay pipe to her chest as she rocked and crooned softly to herself.
“She is my grandmother,” Little Bird whispered. “She mourns the loss of my grandfather.”
“Why? He is not dead.”
“He will not be returning to us,” Little Bird said, with a catch in her voice. “He has a white woman he wishes to marry.”
Thomas knew who she was talking about. He wondered if he should tell Little Bird about John and his mother, and the man who had helped them for many years.
“She is the mother of my friend, John,” Thomas said.
“Grandfather said her son was dead.”
“He is. He died on the supply ship.”
“He was coming here with you?”
“Yes.” Thomas glanced at the old woman, hoping she would listen to his story as he told Little Bird about the voyage. He found it was easier to talk about John. Much of the pain had subsided.
“And you saw the waters take him?”
“Yes,” Thomas said. He had recalled the moment so many times and with so much heartache. This time as he saw the wave crash on the deck and sweep John away there was an emptiness, but also an acceptance. No amount of regret, or anger, or grief, would change the fact that John was gone.
When Thomas returned to the quarters he found Francis still in the same position on the side of Richard’s bed. He crept over to him.
“How is he?” he asked, softly.
“He has not moved,” Francis said.
“Do you want me to watch him while you go to the party?” Thomas could see Richard’s breath was shallow.
“No. I will stay with him.” Francis wiped a tear from his eye. “It is the last thing I will be doing for him.”
Some of the men had begun to return to the room after the party. When they saw Francis sitting on Richard’s bed, they seemed to sense his grief. They quit their talking and laughing and quietly went to their beds.
The next morning, when Thomas awoke, Francis was huddled on the bed beside Richard and Richard was still and cold. A coffin was quickly built and his body wrapped in a blanket and set inside. The coffin was carried to a corner of the post where it would sit over the winter. When the ground thawed in the spring, Richard would be buried.
Two days later, Thomas turned sixteen.