16

Christmas approached with little fanfare. Even with the two men’s wages, the rent of the house and food for the table ate up almost all the income for the MacLeans. Their winter store was sadly diminished, as they’d had to leave all the kail and cabbage, and most of the neeps and potatoes in the ground when they left. The salted and smoked food, the fish and pork, was carefully rationed out by Sheila. She did not want to use any of their precious coin savings; she was hoarding it for their passage on the ship.

The poster had not said when the Amidou would sail, but it was likely not before winter storms were past and calm weather was at least a possibility. With this in mind, Sheila had once again taken out her loom, piece by piece, even the singed bits. She gathered what wool she could find, cleaning it as best she was able, and spinning it by the firelight in the evenings, then weaving the threads into sturdy blankets and clothing that she could sell. Muirne joined her sometimes, watching and taking a hand in.

Sheila had not taught her how to set up the warp, but she had picked up the rhythm of passing the shuttle through the shed and pulling the beater down, passing it back, and repeating the process. Sheila had confided in Muirne her first plan to sell, and so she did with this second. Muirne asked what she could do to contribute, beyond working the weft. Sheila taught her how to make decorative baskets from rushes. They collected the rushes in the mornings after breakfast by the small burn that was untouched by the mill waste, and plaited them in the evenings after supper.

When Sheena was let off from day school a few days before Christmas, the three of them made a round of the houses by the grand park just south of the city. They called from the street like fishwives, proclaiming their baskets and woven cloth the best this side of the Tyne. It was almost like play-acting, and they enjoyed the activity together. Sheila was disappointed by how little they made Christmas week, perhaps because the cloth was not properly waulked. If she’d been at home on Mull, no doubt she could have gotten together a group of her women friends for a waulking, where the cloth was pulled and stretched while wet to make it tighter. There would have been a dozen or so friends around a table, and the singing of special songs.

But no matter, Sheila was determined to keep going. They had enough for three people’s passage: £15, the result of their savings after a year of ups and downs. “If it is not this ship, it will be the next,” Sheila vowed to Muirne.

Gillan took no notice of their activities, or at least did not let on. He returned from the mill, and Neil returned from the docks at about the same time. If one was early at the crossroads before their little street, he waited for the other. There were a few moments then, to communicate any large or small thing that had happened at work that was not to be discussed in front of the women. So far, it was merely an opportunity for Gillan to chuck Neil in the shoulder and tease him about the man he’d become.

A few times now, Neil had been a quarter of an hour late, and he had begged Gillan’s pardon, he’d made a brief visit to Miss Letty. That just gave Gillan more ammunition for teasing, but he didn’t do it in front of everyone, knowing that the boy would come to it, telling the family his intentions in his own time.

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The day before Christmas, Neil’s head was swarming. He’d heard from Muirne about the selling of the blankets and the baskets, and his mother’s hopes to leave Scotland. He was getting on fine with the men at the dockyard, and felt well enough suited to the hard work, but he wondered how they were to ever settle in, if they were only just scraping by. Would they ever build a new house of their own? Not if they didn’t own the land. Maybe settling in the Americas would be worth it, if they got to start over.

The option of further schooling was no longer on the table. They would have to hope that Sheena and Alisdair got even as much education as he had. He would teach them to read himself if he had to, but when? He left before sunrise and came home in time for supper, then had a few minutes to relax before falling asleep.

School, his siblings, land, time. The routine of his new life and its worries buzzed around his head until he had to shake himself. He stopped in the street, and looked up to find the Dog and Duck Pub. At this hour, there were plenty of customers dropping by for their drop of ale after work, or workers coming to order their supper if they did not have a wife at home. Neil stood and watched the flow of people for a minute before he saw Letty through the front window. She was setting down a wooden trencher with a large piece of roast meat before two gentlemen. They were a tad overdressed for the quality of the establishment, Neil thought. Letty’s usual serving apron covered a dark green dress with white trim at the neck. Her hair was held back with a green kerchief.

As she turned, the gentleman on the left caught her arm. He said something to her, and Neil felt his fists clench and his blood race. She deftly removed her arm from his grip and threw him a sardonic glance, before looking up and seeing Neil outside.

Letty’s face blanched. She hurried away, and the gentleman turned to see what had caused her about-face. He took in Neil standing in the street, glaring at him through the window, tossed off a comment that made his companion laugh, then turned back to his meal.

Neil continued glaring at them until Letty came through the side door, wrapping a shawl around herself. She was upset, if her jerky movements and frustrated puffs of air were any indication. He stepped out of the street to where she stood near the door.

“Letty, are you well? What was—?”

“What was what, Neil?” She raised a hard pair of eyes to his. “Me doing my job and humoring the customers? What do you think?”

“It looked like that man was being too forward, that’s all. I wouldn’t allow someone to be rude to you like that.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t, eh?” She said it with a dry, disbelieving humor, and Neil felt the cold mask of her city manners fall between them.

“Letty, please. I want to—that is, I’d like to—” He stopped and cleared his throat. “Letty, I wonder if you would—”

“Oh!” she cried out, and flung herself at him. This was no chaste kiss like the ones he’d been leaving her with. Letty had her arms round his neck, one hand in his hair and the other pulling him down to her mouth. She kissed him passionately, and he responded. Her breasts pushed against his chest, and he reached around to pull her closer. His loins responded as well, and he felt himself swelling, aching to push farther into her.

He gasped at this thought and broke contact, stepping back and almost tripping over the barrels lined up outside the tavern. He put a hand back to stop himself and straightened. Letty gaped, waiting for him to explain his sudden breaking away.

“Letty,” he said softly. She came to him more calmly then, and he rubbed his right hand over her back. “I’m sorry. I should never have—”

“I don’t care. Neil, what were you going to say?” He saw the hope in her eyes then, a hint of a smile. He felt emboldened again, but tried to hold his body firmly in check.

“Letty, would you come to America if I were to go?”

“I—what?” Her hopeful face had transformed into creases of worry and open-mouthed fear. “America?”

“Aye—or Canada. My family have been thinking—”

“Canada? Sail off? But, Neil—” She reined in her discomposure, smoothing her forehead and pressing her lips together. Her voice dropped to a low growl and her gaze remained downcast as well. “I thought you were going to ask for permission to go courting.”

“Well, of course, there’s that as well,” Neil said, laughing. He grasped her left arm and dipped his head down to put himself in her line of vision. Reluctantly she met his gaze. His confidence pushed him to bubble over. “But Letty, there’s a chance we could—”

“I can’t leave. I don’t want to hear about it. You can’t ask it of me! Don’t—don’t come here anymore, Neil.” She shook herself and his hands lifted in shock. She walked resolutely back into the tavern, and Neil was left standing in the cold, his hands outstretched and his face registering just how lost he felt.

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Neil was several minutes late meeting his stepfather at the crossroads. Gillan was not surprised, and waited composedly on one of the white-painted rocks, watching the people scurry along. A large carriage trundled by with two long buckboards on each side of the driver, open instead of a proper roof. It was pulled by a pair of sweaty draft horses, and the party of people on top looked as if they were having a gay time of it. Happy chatter, with the slow cadence of a day well spent in energetic pursuits, reached Gillan’s ear as he sat on his rock at the side of the road.

“...Greenock never looked so well...”

“...shall always be in my memory...”

“...the best holiday...”

After the omnibus roared past, it stopped for a passenger to alight and return to her home nearby. Gillan pondered the episode. Some of the men at work had talked of these holiday omnibuses, that take you away for the day and bring you back for a fee lower than a hired cab, since it was a shared conveyance. It seemed a popular pursuit here, no doubt because people liked to get away from their work and forget their misery. Gillan’s heart constricted a bit as he thought that. Oh, for my work at home, he pined. Of course, Sheila’d been right when she talked of him not being made to work in the guts of a machine. But what could he do? He needed to support his family.

At last, the tread of Neil’s well-worn shoes interrupted his reverie. Neil looked up from his feet to Gillan’s waiting gaze, but his expression was inscrutable.

“Not had a good session with Letty, then?”

“No, I was not with her this time. She was busy.”

“Well, then—”

“I cannot say, Father. I have been walking. That—is all I can say for now.”

Gillan scanned Neil’s face for signs of trouble. Had he taken drink? Had a shock? Been thrown out of the tavern by Letty’s father? He saw evidence of none of these things, only Neil’s effort to keep his face neutral, while a vast mountain of sadness ate at his heart. Gillan’s own mountain threatened to bury him when he saw that. Without speaking, they both turned toward home.

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While Christmas fell in the middle of the week that year, the managers at the mill had done them the great favor of closing for the day, and so the next morning, the family went off to kirk together. Gillan noticed Neil’s continued downcast face, but waited to question him. If it was a lovers’ quarrel, he’d explain as soon as his gloom was shaken off.

The service was not a long one, and many people were in a good mood, having had a special meal the night before, and seeing the prospect of another one before them. For the MacLeans, it was a time for giving thanks that they survived. Indeed, Gillan had not got all the news of his family’s journey out of Sheila, and he suspected there was something she did not share, that Neil had seen or been part of. It had marked them. Gillan saw it especially in the way that Muirne looked at Neil like he was her savior, the way Sheila proudly gazed on her son.

For the first time in a long while, Gillan felt left out of the family circle, the way he had when he and Sheila had first married, and he’d had to prove himself a father to the three small children from her first marriage. He shook those thoughts out of his head and concentrated on the final benediction. All of a sudden, he knew what would fix it: I’ll take them on one of those omnibus holidays!

It was too late to do today, but he marked the spot where he’d seen the passenger alight and had vaguely recognized the lady; he would find her and ask how to request a place. As soon as he’d thought of it, he stood a little taller, and reached for his wife’s hand. She looked up at him from the side, surprised. He merely smiled and looked back to the front. She looked back toward the minister as well, wondering what had come over her husband, but giving thanks that it was lifting his melancholy.

After the service, Sheila had planned to take the step of appealing to the parish authorities for food, as she knew she only had the bit of barley harvested and few of their smoked fish to last them through another month. The loss of their vegetable store was a blow from which they could not recover this season. She sought out one of the church board members’ wives and explained her need.

If she had expected kindness on this day of Christ’s birth, she would have to keep looking, as the lady’s expression changed to one of repugnance as she realized what Sheila was asking for. “Yes, yes, we can put your name on the rolls. Another MacLean, is it?” she said idly, marking it down with her fountain pen on a ready piece of paper in her reticule.

“It’s bread and a strong broth we provide, and ye can pick it up yoursel’s every Monday and Friday.”

“Thank you, ma’am, and best wishes for Christmas, ma’am.”

She ducked her head and headed back to her family, her cheeks stinging a little, but the weight on her chest lessened a bit. When she reached Gillan and saw how nicely turned out her family was, what good manners her children had, her spirits rose even higher. She combed her fingers through Alisdair’s lank hair, looking up to find Gillan’s gaze.

“Shall we go?”