Under the Same Sky (20 page)

“What am I to do, Sorcha?” he asked.

“Think on it,” she repeated quietly. “
I’m
of a mind to let her go. But I’ll say nothing wi’out yer blessing. Ye reacted quickly, and understandably. Now ye’ve had time to consider it. If ye say no, well, then I’ll say no as well. But think o’ Janet. Think o’ what she’ll do here. There’s no’ much future for her here. And out there,” she said, gesturing vaguely toward the window, “she could find
more
. She could discover whate’er it is makes her happy.” She sighed. “God knows I wish I knew what she wanted. I just know, Hector, you and I
both
know it’s not here.”

After Sorcha left, Hector sat for a long time, arguing with himself. His heart couldn’t fathom losing Janet. His head couldn’t imagine forcing her to stay. He walked to the window and looked out at his sons. They were talking with each other while they mucked out the stable and forked in clean hay. Hector tried to remember them as they had been ten years before. Young pups, laughing and pushing each other until they collapsed into a wriggling heap. Watching them now, he noticed things he hadn’t admitted to himself before: their broad shoulders, the new suggestion of authority in their deeper voices, the shadow of beards on their faces.

They seemed happy. Hector didn’t think they would leave. Not yet, anyway. They were Highlanders, content to be what they were.

But Janet—

He leaned his forehead on his hand, running his fingers under his hair. Aye, he’d think on it. His memory showed him a long-forgotten image of Sorcha on the day they had wed: her trusting eyes, her soft young body. Sixteen. Sweet Sorcha. How could it be his own daughter had passed that same age already?

When the meal was about to be served, Hector made his way to the table, heavily bandaged and bracing himself on his wife’s shoulder. Janet was there, trying to hide her reddened eyes. She stared at her lap without saying a word.

The pheasant was delicious, and the pot of cock-a-leekie soup bottomless. Whisky and ale flowed easily throughout supper. Iain and the children carried on their own conversation, serious and laughing in turn. Spirits were high around the table. Nevertheless, tension hung in the air. After the meal, the women cleaned up and the men went outside to enjoy the evening. When the others gathered around the firepit, Hector pulled Andrew aside and led him along a line of trees that flickered with the firelight.

“She’s only seventeen, Andrew,” Hector said. He looked at his feet, not ready to meet Andrew’s eyes. “She’s headstrong and she’s difficult at times, but she’s my lass. I can see why it is ye’re so drawn to each other, lad, it’s just—”

Andrew frowned. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Hector, but what is it she said to ye?”

Hector raised his eyebrows. “She said she’s leavin’ wi’ ye on the morn. Did ye no speak wi’ her about that?”

“Och, aye, we spoke,” Andrew confirmed with a wry smile that sparkled in his eyes. “I told her she couldna come.”

“Ye told her no?”

“I did.”

Hector thought this over. “And why is it ye said no?”

“I’m no’ sure,” Andrew said with a shrug. “I didna think ye’d agree to it, I suppose. We’re headed to America, aye? A long journey, that.”

“Aye, aye,” Hector murmured, absorbed in his thoughts. They walked a little farther and Hector stopped, blocking Andrew’s path.

“She’ll never speak to me again if I dinna let her go,” Hector said. “And I’ll never see her again if she goes. It seems I canna win.”

Andrew clamped his hand on Hector’s good shoulder and smiled. “If ye trust Iain and myself to it, we’d care for her as if she were our own sister. I give ye my word she will come to nae harm.”

“As yer sister, aye?” Hector asked, raising one eyebrow.

“Aye, Hector.” Andrew grinned. “As my sister. Janet’s lovely, and I’d be a lucky man, but it’s not to be. I’ve another, aye? That I’m sworn to.”

Hector’s white linen bandage glowed in the night. The men stood in silence, digesting each other’s words. Finally Hector sighed.

“ ’Tis a shame, that, Andrew. Ye’re a man of honour. She’d do well to marry ye.” There was another pause. “I’ll tell her yes, then, if it’s fine with you, and wi’ Iain.”

Andrew smiled. “O’ course, Hector. We’d be glad of her.”

They walked a few more steps. The going was easier now the decision had been made.

“So, ye’ll go to the colonies? Yer mind’s set against Europe?” Hector asked.

“Aye. There’s plenty o’ land in the New World for men willing to work it. It’s no’ an easy way, but it feels right to me.”

Hector looked dubious. He now had a personal interest in the direction Andrew took.

“They do say as there be great beasts and savages there, what eat men like you for breakfast. At least ye’d be safe in the streets of Paris.”

“I think not.” Andrew grinned. “Paris has its own predators, aye? Nay, I’ll no’ fool myself that life will be easy, but I dinna think it’ll be as terrible as all that.”

“Aye, well,” Hector said softly.

They were across the clearing from where some of the others chatted around the fire. Janet sat off to the side, silently poking the ground with a stick. Andrew smiled. The lass was going to get what she wanted after all.

Iain tucked the children into their box bed and wrapped a blanket around the two small bodies. They fell instantly asleep in a confusing array of skinny white arms and legs. He smoothed the hair over their foreheads with calloused hands that were larger than their faces and brushed his lips over their brows.

He stood for a moment, listening to them breathe. It calmed him to hear the little purring sounds that trembled through their throats, the occasional peep as something secret happened in a dream. He had done this every night with his own children. With them gone, it seemed so important that he stop and listen to these two.

He dropped his chin to his chest and stepped outside, latching the door behind him. Iain joined the others by the fire, where Geoffrey played his fiddle, accompanied by the songs of night creatures.

Andrew sat beside Iain and told him of his separate discussions with Janet and Hector. Iain raised an eyebrow but nodded. He was
surprised she wanted to go with them, but he wasn’t averse to bringing her.

A faint yellow glow spilled from the door of the cottage as it swung open. Hector and Sorcha stepped out, leaning against each other, Sorcha talking and smiling at her husband. He held her, letting her support him. They found a place among their friends, then Hector cleared his throat and began to speak.

“As master of the house,” Hector began formally, letting his eyes meet those of Andrew and Iain, “I thank ye both for everything ye’ve brought to our family. It was a blessin’ that ye came to our home when ye did. Ye brought my family laughter that hadna been wi’ us for some time.”

He glanced at his sons. “Simon and Geoffrey, ye’ve no knowledge of what I’m about to say, and for that I apologise. Things have come about very quickly in the past couple o’ days, and I’ve no’ had a chance to speak wi’ ye proper.”

Something about his sons’ expressions caused a lump to rise in Hector’s throat. When had they become men? He could remember the pull of Sorcha’s apron against her growing belly as it held each babe until its birth. He recalled the days when his children had entered the world and how their tiny naked bottoms had felt as soft as dough, cradled in the palm of his hand. The memories made him feel old, and he found he needed the comfort Sorcha’s hand gave.

“Mr. MacDonnell and Mr. MacKenzie are leavin’ tomorrow. They’re taking ship to—where is it? America?” he asked Andrew, who smiled in response.

Hector continued, his voice growing hoarse with emotion. “What I did no’ find out until this day”—he paused and cleared his throat—“was that our own sweet Janet would like to include hersel’ among the travelers.”

The boys turned to their sister, who blushed and glared into her lap.

“Janet, look at me,” he said, and she frowned at him. “Yer mother and I dinna want to see ye go, lass. I canna imagine bein’ wi’out ye, to tell ye the plain truth of it.”

He shook his head slowly, but kept his eyes on hers. “But ye’re not a wee lassie anymore, as ye’re keen to point out. Ye’ve nae fear, which is no’ necessarily a good thing if ye’re travelin’ into the unknown. But yer mother and I have spoken about what ye said. We trust yer good sense. We shall pray for ye every day, and… and we hope ye find what ye seek.”

There was a stunned moment of silence.

“What?” Janet squawked, bolting to her feet. “Ye’re sayin’ I can go?” She turned to the only one who seemed able to help her understand. “Andrew?”

Andrew grinned. “Aye. Yer da’s lettin’ ye go, and I’m lettin’ ye come.”

She whooped and flew across the clearing toward her parents. She threw herself onto them, thanking them, trying to reassure them through grateful sobs. Simon shook the surprise from his head and went to his family, leaving Geoffrey on his own.

“Who would’ve thought ye’d be the first of us to go?” Simon declared, his voice thicker than usual.

Janet turned from her parents and held Simon, then looked over his shoulder to where Geoffrey sat, elbows braced on his knees, face turned toward the flames. A lock of his golden hair, shining almost white in the firelight, hung over his eyes and hid his expression.

Janet released Simon and stepped toward her fair-haired brother. Geoffrey rose without meeting her eyes and disappeared into the trees. Her father shook his head.

“Leave him be. Give him time to deal wi’ his grief.”

Sorcha gave up trying to hold back tears. She pulled her daughter into her arms and held her tight.

Andrew glanced at Iain, who offered a weak smile and shrugged.

The conversation by the fire dwindled. It seemed there should be much to talk about, but suddenly it was hard to find words.

In the morning Andrew found Janet and her brother Geoffrey sitting under a shared blanket, reunited on a log by the cooled firepit. That was good, Andrew thought. It would have been difficult for Janet to leave without Geoffrey’s blessing.

After breakfast, the group quickly assembled everything they would need for the journey. Clouds hung low over Hector’s farm. Andrew, Iain, Janet, and the children were eager to get as much ground behind them as possible before the storm hit.

They had a long way to go. Iain had made the trip years before, travelling with kin to a Gathering. He would be their guide to the major shipping port of Greenock, eighty difficult miles south of Hector’s home. There they would somehow manage to purchase tickets and board a ship to the New World.

The plan was to hike the treacherous pathways inland, avoiding coastal areas. English dragoons still patrolled those routes in search of Prince Charles and the handsome price on his head. The
soldiers wouldn’t hesitate to confront any other Scots, Jacobite or otherwise.

Before the group set out, Janet turned toward her father and he placed his hands on her cheeks, raising her face to meet his. The knowledge that this would probably be the last time he ever touched his daughter made him feel strangely vulnerable.

“Ye’ve been my sunshine all o’ these years, Janet. I pray ye find what ye seek. Always remember I love ye,
mo nighean
.”

Janet blinked hard. Hector dropped his hands from her face and reached into his sporran, pulling out a small cowhide bag. He placed the bag into her palm, then folded her fingers over the gift.

“For yer journey,” he explained. “Keep the lads well.”

He pulled her to him and hugged her fiercely, then stepped away. Janet tucked the little bag into the depths of her bodice, unable to speak.

“Where’s Geoff, Mam?” Simon’s voice came from behind them.

“I dinna ken,” Sorcha said. “He’ll be here, though. Dinna fash yersel’. He’d no’ miss this.”

A gust blew across the yard, lifting hair and kilts, bending branches and shimmering leaves. As if drawn by the wind, a thin sound pierced the morning, plunging through their ears to grab at their hearts. Geoffrey, the quiet brother and son, the poet, the musician, emerged from the trees, eyes fixed on his sister’s. His arm squeezed the bag against his side, and his fingers flicked over the small holes of the chanter. Even the children sat still, swallowing through their birdlike throats. Andrew’s eyes stung as the pipes sang, wishing them well in their travels, wishing they would never leave.