Tiopa Ki Lakota (6 page)

It had been harder since Gram O'Neill had passed away a few months ago. The old woman had been the light of the home, always cheerful, always finding the good in everything. Kathleen had spent more time with her grandmother than any other member of her family. Her lessons with the tin whistle had come to a halt now that her namesake had died. The girl sorely missed her presence, as did the rest of the household.

The sound of a door closing brought the girl back to the present.
Da's home!
Through the window, she could hear her parents speaking.

"Jon! Yer back early. Did ye find anything?" her mother asked.

The sound of wood scraping as a chair was pulled out. Kathleen could almost see her father settling in at the head of the table. "No. No work to be had here. I
did
find somethin' interesting, though."

Her mother's voice had moved away from the window.
Probably sitting by da.
She eyed her little brother who'd gotten tired of the mudpies and was now content to slap the puddle. Dirty water splashed up and he giggled. Kathleen rolled her blue eyes.

"What is it?"

"There's a ship goin' to the New World next week. We could become indentured and start afresh in another land." A silence followed.

Outside the window, the little girl frowned.
What's it mean? 'Indentured'?

Her mother's voice sounded strained. "Jon...."

"Now, Rachel, hear me out, lass." There was a pause as McGlashan gathered his thoughts. "We've got nothin' here, Rach. Haven't for some time. We don't own the land, we don't own this shack. We're workin' our fingers to the bone for somebody else!"

"I know, love...."

"No! You don't! We
could
be doin' the same bloody thing in the Americas, paying off our transport and getting land of our own. We'd be beholdin' to none!" The man's voice became softer. "I've heard the tales, Rachel. 'Tis the land of milk and honey, love, with green acres for as far as the eye can see."

Kathleen could hear her mother's sigh through the window. Meanwhile, Stewart had discovered the joys of tossing his mudpies into the puddle.
Mum's goin' ta kill me
, she thought as she realized just how filthy the little boy was.

McGlashan continued, forcing the issue. "The reason we didn't do it before was yer mum. She didn't want to leave her home. Yer father has no such compunction. We've spoken of it before. He believes as I, that there's nothin' here for our family." A pause. "Besides, yer sister's there. Ye know ye miss her."

The little girl stood up and grabbed hold of her brother's hand, trying to get him to stand as well. Stewart was resistant, wanting to play in the water more than obey her. He whined a bit and strained with his other hand to reach another mudpie to toss on the puddle.

Inside the hovel, her father continued the discussion. "I want our children to live free, Rachel. I want our son to be a man of substance, our daughter to raise her family on her own land."

Stewart began crying as he was pulled unceremoniously away from his point of interest. "No! No! No!" he yelled at his sibling in frustration.

"What the...?"

And then Rachel was in the window, peering out at her children. At first her face was a mask of concern which was immediately followed by a furious look as she took in the state of their clothing.

"Kathleen Sarah McGlashan!"

The little blonde girl winced, releasing her brother's hand.
Double trouble again
, she thought as her brother happily made his way back to the puddle.

Well, one good thing. I don't have ta keep an eye on bratty Stewart today!
Kathleen dodged a pair of legs and continued to traipse along behind her mum and da. She firmly held onto a canvas bag that thumped her shins as she walked. Around her was the smell of the sea and fish and unwashed bodies.

The brat in question was perched on her da's shoulders, his blue eyes wide as he surveyed the crowd of people on the docks. Kathleen wistfully glanced up at him, towering above her, and wished that it was she on her father's shoulders.
But da says I'm gettin' too big
, she mourned.

"Come along, Kath." Rachel reached down and took her daughter's hand. "We're almost to the ship."

Kathleen quickened her step to keep up, excitement building in her heart.

Both the little girl's parents carried a heavy satchel, as did her grandda behind them. Additionally, there was a pack on her father's back that Stewart was perched on. The bags held most of the small family's entire world - clothing, personal items and such to include food to be eaten once on board. There were two trunks that were already in the hold, having been delivered by McGlashan the night before.

I'm goin' to the Americas!
Her da had regaled her with tales all week as they sorted through their belongings and prepared for the trip.
"Land as far as the eye can see, Kath! All free for the taking for whoever can till the soil. Honey flowing in the rivers and milk from the trees."
Kathleen wasn't too sure about this last bit of information. It sounded like poppycock to her but she hadn't denied him, not wanting to hurt his feelings.

And then there was a break in the crowd and she was able to finally see. Her family had stopped and set their bags on the ground of the dock. Her da was talking to a man checking a list of names. A wooden ramp led up towards a huge ship and Kathleen's eyes bugged out at the sheer size of it.

"Grandda! 'Tis
huge
!" she exclaimed, tugging on the older man's trousers.

Franklin O'Neill

chuckled. "Aye, 'tisn't it?" He crouched down to look at the ship from his granddaughter's point of view. "And we'll be on her fer over a month, Kathleen."

Considering it had taken an hour to get to this spot, which was far, far away compared to what she usually travelled, the girl was impressed. "A whole
month
!? The Americas are so far away then?"

"Aye, they are," her mother interjected. Blue eyes that matched the girl's clouded in sadness. "A long way from here."

Sadness for her mother welled up in Kathleen's heart. She flung her arms around her mum's waist and hugged her fiercely. "I'll miss home, too," she said. "But da says there's milk and honey for the takin'."

Rachel smiled at her daughter's attempts to cheer her up. She held her close in a warm embrace. "I know, love. And we'll all get fat and sassy in our new home."

"'Ere! 'oo's next!?" the porter called out.

"Come along, Rach," McGlashan called. "Da, let's go!" He herded his small family towards the ship and their future.

The first night was the best. Once all the passengers had been loaded on, their belongings settled and bedding assigned, the ship left port and headed for open sea. For the rest of the afternoon, the inhabitants became acquainted, fixed their meals and cozied up their tiny portions of the vast hold they had been put in.

Eventually, as the night came on, a few men found common ground. First one pulled out a fiddle. Then another pulled a tin whistle from his baggage. Followed by a third and fourth with a dulcimer and drum respectively. In no time, a lively tune was filling the air and several people had begun to dance.

"Look, da! He's got a tin whistle!" Kathleen announced, her eyes bright with excitement. "D'ye think I can get lessons from him?" She knew that her Gram's whistle was in her bag, one of the few keepsakes she had to remember the old woman by.

McGlashan pursed his lips in thought. "I b'lieve so, Kath. Let me speak to him and see if we can come to an agreement."

The little girl's smile widened and she looked up to her father with adoration. "Oh, da! 'Twould be grand if ye did!" And then she giggled as he swept her up into his arms and began to dance around.

And so, Kathleen Sarah McGlashan spent the remainder of the trip to the Americas in sheer bliss. When she wasn't required to take care of bratty Stewart, she spent all her time with Mr. Gallagher from Dublin who continued her lessons on the tin whistle.

1773

"Kathleen! Where's yer brother?"

The blonde sighed deeply and rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "I dunno, mum!" she called back over her shoulder. "'Twas supposed ta be cuttin' wood for da!" She returned her attention to the peas she was snapping into a bowl for their evening meal. Under her breath, she mumbled, "I don't understand why I'm ta know what he does every wakin' moment."

"Because yer the eldest and the one with the responsibility," her mother reminded, a faint smile on her face. She ignored her daughter's blush, patting her gently on the back as she reached for the bowl of peas. "I'll finish these. Ye go find Stewart and tell him his da wants help with the tilling."

"Aye, mum" Kathleen muttered. She rose from the stump she was using for a chair and stomped off to locate her errant sibling.

The prior year the McGlashans finally paid off their debt and had joined a group of like minded individuals heading west. They'd only just finished work on their new home, a single story cabin with three rooms, and had begun working the land in earnest. Things had been hard this first year, but it had looked up through the summer - the soil was fertile, the land was green and growing, and a natural spring ran near enough that a well wasn't necessary. Their nearest neighbor was the widower Adam Stevens three miles to the north. A bit further away were four or five other homesteads and the closest sign of civilization over six days travel to the east.

The disgruntled teenager made her way around the side of the cabin. Her brother was nowhere near the woodpile, the ax imbedded in an old stump. "That brat!" She stood with her hands on her hips, surveying the wilderness around their home.

A large stand of maple was near, on the northeastern side of the cabin. Kathleen could make out the sight of her father in the field to the west of the homestead, urging their cantankerous mule to pull the plowshare. Her grandfather was in front of the mule, tugging on the bridle and not doing much good.

Grandda's gettin' old
, she mused with a tinge of sadness.
He'll join Gram soon.
She heaved another sigh.
Back to the task at hand.
"Stewart!" she called.

From a distance, she heard his voice. "What?"

Turning towards the small barn, she marched towards it. The door was standing wide and she stepped in, stopping to allow her eyes to adjust to the dimmer lighting. "Stewart?"

"Aye, Kath, I'm right here."

Kathleen could make out a smaller form over by a stall. "Da's lookin' fer ye, Stewart. Wants ye to help with the plowin'." She moved closer to her little brother. "What're ye doin' in here, anyway?"

The eleven year old was hanging on the partition and grinned over his shoulder. "Watchin' Caleb." He waved a hand at the animal in the stall.

The teenager leaned against the railing as well, peering in at the new addition to their farm. Their milk cow had given birth that spring to a calf. It had immediately captured the younger McGlashan's fancy and he spent near as much time with the animal as he did with his family.

"He's growin' like a weed," Kathleen observed.

Stewart's grin widened. "Aye, he is," he answered proudly, as if he'd something to do with the natural growth spurt of a young bull.

Kathleen shook her head in exasperation. "Ye better get out ta the field. Da's lookin' fer ye."

The boy sighed and brushed his unruly blond hair from his eyes. "Guess yer right, sis." He waved at the calf. "See ye tonight, Caleb," he offered before pushing away from the partition and heading for the door.

From outside, their mother's voice could be heard. "Kathleen!"

"Ah, I'm in trouble again," the girl grumbled. Her eyes flashed angrily at her brother's laugh.

Stewart patted her gently on the arm. "When
aren't
ye in trouble, lass?" he asked. "Ye've been on the wrong side of mum's temper so long, I don't think ye'd know what 'twas like ta not be." And then he scampered off before she could smack him.

Growling, Kathleen watched him go and wondered why what he said was so true.

"Kathleen Sarah McGlashan!"

"Aye, mum! I'm comin'!" She lifted the hem of her dress and jogged back around the house.

"I don't understand why I have to get all cleaned up, mum!" Kathleen complained from the wooden tub she currently occupied.

Rachel bustled about the main room of their home, putting the final touches on the cookies before popping them into the small dutch oven in the fireplace. "I've
told
ye, lass. We're havin' comp'ny fer supper."

The blonde frowned. "Does Stewart have to clean up, too?"

"Aye. He'll have ta clean up some as well," was the vague reply.

Somethin's not right here
, Kathleen mused.
Who could be comin'? The only neighbor near is the widower
Stevens

. And I never did this the last time he came ta eat here.
The teenager worried the problem as she finished her bath.

"Here, love, let me help ye wash yer hair," Rachel interrupted her daughter's thoughts.

Now I know somethin's fishy! Mum hasn't helped with my hair in... well, in ferever!

"I've always loved yer hair, lass," Rachel murmured once she'd begun lathering the blonde tresses with soap. "It's so much thicker than my own."

Uncertain, Kathleen murmured, "Thank ye, mum."

"Ye've grown to be such a beautiful young woman, too. Every day ye look more and more like my ma." There was a comfortable silence. "Do ye remember yer Gram?"

"Aye, mum. She had white hair and taught me to play the tin whistle."

Rachel smiled at the memory. "Good. I'm glad ye do. She was a wonderful lady."

Despite herself, Kathleen closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, the strong fingers massaging her scalp feeling so nice. "What's
really
going on, mum?"

The older woman debated with herself for a moment. "Widower Stevens is comin' ta dinner."