| |
“I wish we could have visited the family graves one last time,” Gillan said.
“Aye, or my family’s,” Sheila agreed.
It was the third of April, and they had just bought their tickets. Neil’s side work from the Saturday half-day was enough for them to come on Monday, carefully carrying all those pound notes and coins, to turn them into six very valuable pieces of paper. Their names were also written down in the manifest. Others would be able to see them as passengers, just as they had looked for acquaintances and friends earlier. They gave Jenny’s address for their last six days in Scotland.
They had received a little more information about the sea voyage upon buying their tickets. Sheila and Gillan returned home and sat in Jenny’s sitting room, relaying the details as she readied the supper for them all.
“Six weeks’ provision is needed,” Gillan said, ticking off the points on his fingers. “Meal as well as citrus, so we don’t fall sick of the scurvy.”
“Citrus? What’s that?” Sheena asked.
“Lemons and oranges and quince. Something for the scurvy.”
Sheila let out a bark of a laugh. “And where do they expect us to get these in January in Scotland, or afford them, any road?”
“Well, the officer did recommend dried pieces to chew on. I think I know a place where they put up the marmalade, and we can take a few jars of it, courtesy of that Robertson from the mill.”
“Oh, right. Good, then. What else?”
“They take on the water for all passengers, but it may be good to keep a store if you think you may need more. They do not provide water for washing, only drinking. And—no privy, just chamber pots ye throw into the ocean. So, no washing that, at least.”
“Euch,” Sheena exclaimed.
“Surely ye can use the sea-water for washing a pot though,” Sheila said.
“Ah, probably right there.” Gillan smiled at her. “Let’s see, anything else—”
“How much room for our bags? And where are we to sleep?” Muirne asked. Even though they did not have much left, it was a concern.
“They did not say there was a limit, but they’ll no’ be carrying it on for ye, so I guess that’s the self-enforced limit. And as for sleeping, each family will have a marked-off piece of floor, to prevent crowding. They’re each divided off by a railing, the man said. You get what you pay for, so I’m thinking it’ll only be a bare space. If I knew anyone with a hammock I would try to buy it, but they may have them on board.”
“At some expense though, I’ll bet,” Muirne said, rolling her eyes.
“Well,” Sheila said, when it looked as though Gillan had finished. “Five days.”
There was quiet around the table where they sat. The noise of spoons on plates clinked from the kitchen, where Jenny’d set up her children for tonight’s dinner. Neil, who so far had added nothing to the discussion, spoke up.
“Aye, five days. Sail on Friday. It is hard to believe, no?”
“Many are the blessings,” Gillan started.
Neil coughed loudly, interrupting the flow of words. “I had rather say, Father, that we’ve done well, with the Lord’s help, helping ourselves.” This was a breach of manners, but Sheila looked at her son, so stretched past his limits, and let it pass.
“Neil, why don’t you go have a lay down.” In truth, he looked rather ill. His eyes were red-streaked from fatigue, the skin smudged with grey underneath. His pallor alarmed Sheila, who had not really noted it until just then.
“Aye, think I will,” he said.
There was quiet after that. Gillan could see they were still brimming with questions, but decided to wait. He murmured to Sheila. “He should go tell his work he’s leaving tomorrow, so he can rest before departure. We don’t want him to be after catching something, and we’ve got our tickets now, so.”
Sheila nodded. What was there left to do? Sewing their few valuables into the clothes they’d be wearing. Packing their meal and flour. Finding containers for extra water. Saying goodbye.