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It took several days for the letter to reach Glasgow, during which Gillan and Neil had stayed to make sure there were not other opportunities to be had that would suit either of them better. They looked in at the taverns, at the factories supplying the new-fangled steam engines with crossbar tracks, and at the docks on the River Clyde where men stood loading and unloading freight.
“Now that’s something I could do,” said Neil, brightening at the thought of work out in the open, with other men.
Gillan nodded, and sought the dock for the man who looked like a boss. There was a small structure with one window back of the paths down to the river that looked promising. They went and knocked, and were met a moment later by a man who looked as if he’d just woken up. His clothes were in some disarray, and there was an odd smell about him.
“Good afternoon, sir. We were wondering—”
“Wondering about a job then?” The man’s eyes narrowed as he glanced at Neil and Gillan. Neil avoided his gaze, which is why he caught sight of the ribbon on the floor, and the ladies’ shoes peeking from behind a curtain at the back. Before his mind could process what that could mean, the man replied.
“I could take this lad on, as I can build him up to the work, but not you, you’re not big enough for it,” he said. The impersonal tone of this cut allowed Gillan to absorb it with a slow blink, as he took in that he and this man were the same height.
“And is it different owners up and down the river, or all one?” he asked.
“All different, but they’ll tell you all the same thing. Got to be tall and strong, not bent over from farming work.”
Gillan hung his head, appearing more bent over than ever. Neil felt ashamed for him.
“Thank you, sir.” They turned away. Gillan’s slight limp seemed even more pronounced for the short walk.
In a few paces, Neil had put together the pieces of what he’d seen, and wanted to tell Gillan that they did not want to work for this man anyway. “Father, did you notice—”
But Gillan did not want to talk. “Not now, Neil. Let’s away home.” And they walked home with a bit of cloud over their heads.
That night they said their goodbyes and gave their excuses as to why they had to go home: harvest, no need for a move right away, a daughter to see married. Jenny, and Charlie when he came home, accepted this reasoning with no qualms, and it made for a happy party around the table for tea that night, as the sun stretched long into the evening.
The next morning the pair set out early, laden with food and little presents of ointments and hankies for the women at home, and wooden carvings for Alisdair. They had sat down for their own solitary noon meal in the moor east of the city when Gillan finally spoke of the attitude of the navvy down on the banks.
“Ye mind, I know that I am not a great big honk of a man, but I’m enough to do for a family, the fishing, the farming. I served my king and am no longer in my best form, it’s true, but there’s no shame in that.” He paused to consider, or perhaps convince himself. “I’m glad we’re going back, Neil, since I don’t think we’re either of us suited to the factory or the dock work or whatever else in the city.”
“Did you see, Father, that the man at the docks was hiding a woman?”
A tiny smile appeared on Gillan’s face. “Didja see ‘er then?”
“No, just some ribbon and her shoes under the curtain.”
“Ach, well, just as well, since there is another reason: your mother would have my hide if she knew you were consortin’ with the likes o’ him!” And they had a good laugh, happy to be returning home where folk knew how to behave.
However they’d not gone far after that when they heard a rider galloping along the road, hallo-ing as he went. Neil and Gillan stopped to watch; they were astonished to see it was their Charlie, on a borrowed horse, come to seek them. Gillan’s heart immediately dropped to his feet.
“It’s not Sheila or the children, is it?” he asked before Charlie had stopped the horse. He was anxious to discover the news that had had his brother-in-law ride after them at such a pace.
“Whoa, whoa. I don’t know, she’s sent a note, your Sheila, by the express.”
“The express!” said Neil, astonished. That would have taken money. She must really have wanted, or needed, to catch them before they left Aunt Jenny’s. Neil read the words aloud, seeing his sister’s handwriting but hearing his mother’s tone in the careful restraint.
“Dear Gillan,
We have just had the news from the Rev. Mr. McManus that we are meant to move as well. A tacksman must have refused to deliver the notices back a month ago. Anyway, Mr. McManus does not know if it would be possible to stay even if we manage to pay the rents, so I am going tomorrow morning to ask the Laird about it.
I will send another letter then, not express, to tell you the answer. Meanwhile, you may as well stay in Glasgow with Jenny, as it may turn out better for us to stay split up. Muirne and Sheena and I will do for the harvest, if need be.
Your loving Sheila
There was a stunned, disbelieving pause after Neil finished. The hard blowing of the horse was the only sound.
“It looks as if we are to stay a bit longer at your table, Charlie, if it’d be no trouble,” said Gillan.
Charlie looked from Gillan to Neil and back. “Aye, it’s nae trouble. But what does it mean? Can ye no—”
“No, it does sound very bad. We may yet lose the croft. I may yet be working at yon mill with ye, Charlie,” he said with an attempt to make light of the risk.
“Well,” said Charlie, not sure how to comfort someone after such inconclusive news. “I’m sure Jenny’ll be happy to have ye back for another while, and we shall pray for good news to come next.”
Neil was hardly listening to them. His heart broke at the thought of his mother and sisters, even wee Sheena, out in the fields at the barley. They would have to be working longer than the men, as it would be smaller loads and more trips to the hay loft to bring in the stacks. Dawn till dusk, he thought. And here I am complaining about a nine-hour day with a bit of noise.
They turned back, Charlie leading the horse, and the two older men chatting about the factory work Gillan would try for. Along the way, Gillan spoke to Neil, “If you prefer the river log job, you can try your hand at that. We can at least see what the pay is at a different operation.”
Neil knew he was trying to be very fair to him, and ducked his head. “Aye, I’ll look to it tomorrow.”
After another few miles, Neil asked, “How long do you think it will take for Mother’s next letter? She must have been to see the Laird already.”
“True,” said Gillan. “I think the regular post takes three or four days, lad, so we shouldna have long to wait.”
Suddenly, August stretched like a prison sentence in front of Neil. He wished to be able to step back and have this one last summer month on the island. If indeed they were to be tossed aside no matter the rents they could pay, then they would likely move here, to the city. His heart yearned to be back by the sea to help his mother and sisters with the harvest, and see the familiar sights one last time.
But it was not to be. Four days later they received the letter. Sheila used the same restrained, practical tone as before, but they could well imagine what she left out. How humiliating it had been to plead to keep her home, promising to pay to keep what was theirs, with no man to stand for her.
And the denial. Gillan had no doubt there were more details to that which his wife had withheld, but he did not press her in his reply. If the Laird had indeed turned ‘English gentleman,’ and chosen to live on his income in London rather than with his clan on the island, then it was probably best they did clear out before any worse troubles befell them.
––––––––
As the menfolk were receiving and digesting the news of the letter, Sheila and her three children at Dalcriadh were busy preparing for the mammoth task ahead. In a few days the barley would be thick with spikes, and they were readying the tools, clearing space next to the blackhouse for the stacks to stay dry, and hurrying to neighbors in the dark evenings to ask whether they would have need of their barley come the end of September.
Many were in the same boat, and would need to leave their crops behind. A few said they’d be staying and trusting to their luck and their faith, and these could spare a few coins in exchange for the extra grain. The time came for them to visit the Eglunds, and Muirne was dreading it, but determined to treat it as a challenge to her character that she leave her pride behind as she did what was necessary for her family.
Sheila’s knock was answered by Alex’s young wife, Polly, who registered a slight shock at seeing them, but asked them in politely. She’d come over from the mainland, a Seceder from an Argyll congregation, after his first wife had died young. They went through the niceties and Sheila came round to their point in visiting: the news they’d had from the Laird, and their current plan to move to Glasgow once the harvest was in. As they would not be taking it all with them, would the Eglunds have a need for some extra this winter, and be able to give them something for their journey and their plans to start over in the city?
Polly, Sheila could tell, was about to give some slight excuse to say no, but before she could, her husband spoke up from a dark corner of their house where he’d been listening. “And why isn’t it yer man here to ask, Mrs. MacLean? I should think it’d be his duty.”
Sheila colored; he clearly meant to embarrass her. Muirne responded for her. “My father and brother are already in Glasgow looking for work with some family there, Mr. Eglund. They would be here if they could, but there is little time left for all the journeying, so we will join them there as soon as the harvest is in.”
Polly’s eyes looked at them pityingly, but her husband continued his taunt. “Is that it, then? Well, I shall wish you luck finding a husband after your face and figure have been ruined doing the men’s job for them,” he said.
Muirne stared, her mouth agape. Never would she have expected such unkindness from a neighbor. So much the better she had refused the offer to marry his son. His words hung in the air, stark and inexcusable. Muirne turned abruptly to Polly, thanking her for hearing them out, and she and her mother rose and went out, feeling the man’s daggers at their backs.
“My!” Muirne gasped after they had walked a few steps outside. “If that was not the rudest—”
“Hush, Muirne. It’s no good thinking on it. We’ll just forget them. We’re done visiting tonight, and it’s time to get back to Alisdair and Sheena. She should have the porridge ready by now.”
Muirne nodded, but her breath continued to come in little gasps as she walked. She resolved to write about it to Neil. He’d know how it felt, and offer sympathy. Besides, he would have all sorts of news from the factory where he was working, meeting new people. Muirne’s heart eased, thinking of him, and she looked forward to writing a letter by rushlight when she got home.