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Mrs. Conaghey turned out to be a Scots-Irish widow from Ulster, and a brisk, fastidious soul. Her husband had died the first week after their arrival in Canada in ’15, so she’d had to take care of herself for a good many years. She had work for Gillan and Neil to do that would cover their rent while they looked for paying work, and chores for the women to do that would cover their board. Rooms were paid the week in advance, and board was tallied after each week, so if they felt the inclination to move up the river, they could do so without the loss of much time or money.
The room they took was about twelve foot square, which felt like a luxury after the cramped space between decks they’d just emerged from. There was room for sleeping when their baggage was ranged along one wall. There was one large window across from where they slept, and a little coal brazier stand next to the window. Obviously, it would be very cold during winter here, and the brazier would not be much help. Gillan and Sheila noted this, thinking that it wouldn’t matter, since they would have their own situation come autumn, whether here or farther out.
At tea time that first day, Mrs. Conaghey persuaded them to have a small, dry meal, so that their stomachs wouldn’t rebel against too-rich food so soon after their restricted diet at sea. They’d told her that their circumstances were much reduced, and she understood what they meant: they were near to starving. She knew how to advise them and how to accustom them to normal food so they wouldn’t become ill.
After a few days, they were all feeling much restored on her broths and country bread, and the earth did not seem to roll and pitch under their feet as it first had. Neil and Muirne were very curious to explore Pictou, and one sunny afternoon they set out to do so. Leaving the large wooden multi-story boarding house, they headed back down the road towards the harbor, thinking that the main part of town would be that way.
Instead of shops and homes, the harbor road seemed to house shanties for sailors and warehouses. Muirne didn’t mind the noisy gulls wheeling and diving for fish brought ashore by fishermen, but the shanties seemed to be squatting and listless, indicating lax householding. Women traveled between a few of these, and their clothes were garishly bright, if a bit ragged. Their walk spoke of wanton self-satisfaction. From the viewpoint on the hill, brother and sister looked down.
“Muirne, I think those are—”
“I know, Neil, they’re fancy women, women of easy virtue. Obviously visiting the home of the sailors—or are they fishermen, d’ye think?”
Neil glanced at his sister, stepping a little closer. “Both, most likely. Let’s head back around this way,” he said, pointing inland from the harbor, where a road split off and vanished over a hill. “Perhaps there is more of town that way.”
“All right,” Muirne said, and shivered a little as she turned away. She dared not catch the eye of one of the women, for fear of seeing the reflection of her own thinly disguised desperation. What if her family had had to indenture to make the journey? It had been so close, so very close, but they hadn’t given in.
For his own part, Neil felt as if cold water had been thrown on his sunny day. One of the fancy women had worn a green kerchief ’round her waist, and the image of Letty’s waving hand at the ship had risen in his mind. I was going to write to her, as soon as we arrived. Wasn’t I? Glasgow seemed a long way off from this hill in Pictou.
The road curved over the hill then plunged down into a shallow dell. Behind this lay a front street to their right with fine-looking buildings, and a high street to their left, flanking the larger hills beyond. Most buildings had a layer of whitewash, which needed a new coat following the last year of storms. Other than that, Neil noted well-maintained roofs and well-appointed windows. He and Muirne walked along the front street for a bit, soaking up the afternoon sun still pouring over the brow of the hill.
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The actual town was nowhere near Glasgow’s size, but more orderly than either Hutchesontown or Laurieston had been. Streets and corners formed the familiar blocks of houses and places of businesses. The view was quite nice down the front street and they paused to admire it.
“What would you do, Neil, if you had your choice?” Muirne asked.
Neil’s eyes continued to scan the vista before them. He didn’t need to ask what she meant. “I’d as soon get a plot of land to plow up for a farm as anything. Looks like we’ll be felling trees, though, as they’re everywhere.”
Muirne followed his gaze up over the town to the hills, which indeed showed unbroken expanses of tall trees, a house or two peeking out among them, visible only by their white paint. “But that’s good, no? They don’t seem to have peat here, just the coal from the mines and the charcoal they make from the trees.” This she had gleaned from a conversation with Mrs. Conaghey.
“Mmph,” Neil replied. “No, I dinna mind the trees or having to fell them at all. It’ll be better, I think. And, perhaps—well.”
He blushed and looked sheepish for a moment. Then he turned to Muirne then and gave her a wry smile.
“Maybe when we’ve a steading, or when things are more sure, I can write and ask Letty again. But what about you, Muirne? What would you do, an’ ye had your way?”
He looked at his sister. She returned his slight smile about Letty, then looked away, out to the hills. Her eyes were narrowed against the sun’s glare, and the breeze played with her pale hair, lifting it up and away. She turned to face him and it blew before her, obscuring her face. She smiled faintly, but spoke carefully to give her words weight.
“It seems I have a wind to follow. And it only obliges if I face the one way, Neil.” She raked her hands over her hair, pulling it back and tying it with a leather thong. “There’s no money for more schooling, and I’ve no interest in going to work in a mill, judging from your description of it.”
Neil reached out to touch her elbow, shaking his head.
“So it’s marriage, but where am I to meet a man? We know nobody here, and I’ve no employment. When we go to kirk on Sunday perhaps we’ll find some kin there, but otherwise, I’ll just waste away.”
“Never,” Neil said. “It may be at kirk, or it may be somewhere else, Muirne, but dinna worry over that. The Eglunds were not your only chance. You attract plenty of attention; you’ll find a good man, soon, I bet.” She took his arm, squeezed it, and they continued their walk.
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When they arrived home in time for supper, they had much to relate about the town layout, the businesses where they might look for work, the grand homes and the not-so-grand, where they might live if they did stay. Gillan said no more words on the matter, and the subject was dropped.
The next day, Gillan and Sheila ventured forth, while Muirne stayed at Mrs. Conaghey’s with her chores. Sheena and Alisdair were set to task by Neil and his old school primer. Husband and wife saw some of the same sites, thinking some of the same thoughts, but Gillan had a more specific goal. He visited the house of the Presbyterian minister, and introduced himself and his wife. They talked of the voyage, the ways of the new community, the needs of the different regions.
“You’re saying that all the summer freight will be towed upriver for unloading, and the merchants live in the capital rather than the first port?”
“Aye,” said the minister, a Mr. Brown. “They profit from the tobacco trade with the Glaswegians, so they can afford some muckle houses, but it wouldn’t be at all fashionable for them to reside here, provincial as we are. So they’re in the capital at Quebec, even though their business often brings them downriver to us.”
“I see,” said Gillan. “And what of the land claims, are there more open stakes here or further west?”
“There are still land claims out here, and especially land that’s already had a start but was abandoned. The winters—they are verra hard, it must be said.” He said this with a glance at Sheila. “Does the mistress have a squad of braw children to help ye with the building and planting while we have the good weather?”
“I have four children, sir, but one is not yet grown to do heavy farming work, and two of them should really finish a few more years of school—”
“Of course, of course, there’s the village school just north of Pictou, but you’d do best to have them working during the summer, as the good season is short, as you will see. If you go further north, say around Bras d’Or Lake, the schoolin’ is harder to come by. You’d more likely be getting the books and teachin’ ‘em yerself, in the spare evenings.”
“Hmm,” said Gillan. Sheila looked at him, unable to guess what this particular ‘hmm’ meant.
“Would ye be knowing any other folk in Quebec who might be helpful in arranging employment?” Gillan asked. Sheila held her breath. Back into the city, she thought. That’s not why we came here.
“I can write to a few and give you their names, but I couldn’t promise anything.” Gillan had a few more questions about the farm markets and which crops were grown, but the conversation was winding down. A few more pleasantries and remarks of gratitude, and they were done.
When they were out the door, Sheila managed several steps holding her tongue with difficulty. Then, without turning her head, she asked a question. “How would ye be thinking of going upriver, Gil?”
“How?” he repeated. “By boat, I suppose. And I’d take Neil with me, so we can both make the best wage we can over the summer. Then we’d come back and have a better situation while looking for a piece of land.”
“Oh.” I hadn’t looked at it that way. “And why would we not try for a piece of land now so that we could harvest come summer’s end?”
“Because we haven’t any of the capital needed to buy it, Sheila. They’re not giving it away completely free, ye ken?”
“Oh.” I thought they’d said it was, if you made the improvements on the land. Sheila was quiet on the walk back, while Gillan occasionally threw out ideas about how he and Neil would find work, and how she and the other children would cope with the chores and Mrs. Conaghey in the meantime. Sheila tried to follow his reasoned-out plans, but felt the cold prickle of fear down her back instead. Alone. And vulnerable again.