Far Horizons (15 page)

Finally, he turned to Allan and Archie. “He'll live... just. But he's going to lose his toes, if not his feet.”

Archie blanched.For a man to lose his feet in this country was a fate close to death. He would live life as a cripple, with no way to support himself.

“Thanks be,” Allan said in a low voice. “I feared the worst.”

The doctor turned a critical eye on Allan. “You suffered as well. God willing you won’t lose any toes, but let’s have a look at you.”

“I’m fine,” Allan said, but Archie pushed him forward.

“Don’t be a fool. You were out there as long as Douglas. It’s a miracle you’ll still standing.”

Reluctantly Allan let the doctor lead him away, and gritted his teeth against the pain as he took off his boots and cut away his socks.

“Can you feel this?” The doctor asked, and Allan stared at him blankly. The man’s expression tightened. “You’ll as like lose your little toe. It’s frozen through, which is why you can’t feel it.”

Allan swallowed. One toe. It wasn’t ten.

“I’ll come back in the morning.”

Allan nodded, and lifted his gaze from the doctor’s bent head to meet Archie’s anguished eyes. Then he looked away.

Later, numbed with several tumblers’ full of whiskey and a large bowl of venison stew, Allan stretched out his throbbing and bandaged feet towards the fire.

Angus Pheeley had agreed to have them stay in his small cabin, as it wouldn’t be wise to attempt another crossing for a week at least.

“Mother and Father will think we've died,” Allan said in a low voice.

“I know it's my fault,” Archie replied flatly. “You don't need to tell me.”

“I wasn't,” Allan said quietly. “I just...”

“No, don't.” Archie's voice was almost savage. “Mother and Father giving us up for lost is the least of it, since we're safe as it is. Douglas' losing his feet...” Archie shook his head. “What kind of life can there be for him now?”

“It might not be that bad. Perhaps he'll only lose a few toes. There's many a man, and woman as well, who've lost as much if not more.” He thought of his own likely loss and said nothing more.

Archie shook his head. “By God, I won't risk anyone's life but my own again,” he said in a low voice. “It was foolishness, stupid foolishness, all of it!” He stood up and strode away from the fire, tension in every taut line of his body. “I’m finished with all that. I'll be my own man, and that's all.”

Allan was silent. He was grateful that this experience had awakened Archie to his own foolish whims, yet he also felt a pang of unease. He'd wanted to be his own man for a long time now, yet it had been denied him. Looking at Archie's fierce expression, he'd a sudden apprehension that his brother would not be denied so easily.

Harriet gazed out at the steady rain with a sinking heart. If it kept on like this, she'd be soaked to the bone before she made it down the drive. The long walk home from Lanymoor House was a bleak prospect indeed.

“You can't go out in that.”

Harriet turned in surprise at the sight of Andrew Reid. Although she'd joined him and Caroline for tea occasionally, she'd declined today as Caroline had gone off with her nurse. “I can't stay here,” she replied, trying to sound light and failing.

Andrew smiled. “Let me take you in my carriage. It's the least I can do. I'm ashamed to admit I haven't thought of it earlier--you've been walking home all winter, haven't you?”

“Of course I have,” Harriet replied. The Campbells were hardly wealthy enough to afford a carriage for Harriet's personal use, and especially not with the current state of their financial affairs.

“Then surely it's my duty to escort you home.”

Harriet wanted to wave aside such gallantry. She was perfectly capable of walking, she'd been doing so for months. Yet the prospect of getting soaked, especially when she already felt weary and worn down, was hardly desirable.

“What's this about duty?” Riddell strode into the room, smiling. “What are you spouting off about, Andrew?”

“I was offering to escort Miss Campbell home in the carriage, sir.”

“An excellent idea, and one I should've thought of sooner.” Riddell turned to smile at Harriet. “The pianoforte lessons seem to be progressing excellently, according to my nephew's reports. And Caroline speaks highly of you, which is an achievement in any case.”

“Thank you, sir.” Harriet bobbed her head, hating herself for sounding servile.

“Very well.” James nodded in apparent dismissal. “Andrew, why don't you alert the groom? No doubt Miss Campbell wishes to return home.”

Andrew excused himself to do so, and Harriet found herself alone with Sir James. He smiled at her with seeming benevolence, and Harriet forced herself to meet his gaze. She wouldn't be cowed.

“You've given us all a great boon, you know,” he said after moment. “I've no illusions about Caroline's behavior. She is utterly impossible, a complete termagant, and yet I can't help but pet and spoil her.” He smiled ruefully. “The weakness of an old man, perhaps. Under your tutelage, however, she seems to have blossomed. She even--occasionally--obeys! A miracle.”

Harriet smiled in spite of herself. For the first time, Riddell seemed human, even approachable. She wondered if she'd been imagining the threat he presented to her and her family. In this pleasant drawing room, the rain drumming outside, it certainly seemed like a flight of fancy.

“There's the carriage. Let me get your cloak, Miss Campbell, and you can be away.”

Murmuring her thanks, Harriet followed him out of the drawing room.

The carriage was comfortable and sheltered from the rain and wind, and with the groom riding behind, Harriet knew it was perfectly respectable. Yet she still felt a twinge of unease when she saw Andrew glance at her with a teasing grin that seemed too familiar... and knowing.

“Don't scowl at me,” he told her with a little laugh. “You're worse than Caroline's old nursemaid. I haven't done anything wrong, have I?”

“I wasn't scowling!” Harriet glanced away. “At least, I didn't mean to.”

“I know you disapprove of me,” Andrew continued in good humour. “You needn't bother to hide it, although I suppose that would make things more pleasant for us.”

“Why should I disapprove of you?” Harriet countered. “I barely know you, and you mean nothing to me.”

“A direct hit.” Andrew held one hand to his chest, pretending to be wounded. “I'd hoped, in the course of our brief acquaintance, we might've struck up a friendship of sorts.” Harriet flushed. She hadn't meant to sound rude. Andrew glanced at her, eyebrows lifted. “Do you think that's possible?”

“I think, in the current circumstances, that would be quite impossible,” she replied quietly.

Andrew glanced at her thoughtfully. “Is it because of my uncle? I know you dislike him, and I can't say I blame you. He's a wily old de--fellow.” He shook his head. “But he hasn't done any real harm, has he?”

“I suppose it depends upon whom you ask. The farmers whose land he cleared for sheep wouldn't suppose so.”

“Assuredly,” Andrew agreed. “But that's no more than what any laird has done, or has to do, and I know Uncle James has done a great deal less than some.”

Harriet paused. How could she explain her uneasiness when it came to the Riddells? Despite Sir James's overture of friendliness, she still didn't trust him... or his nephew. He’d stolen her letter, and that was not easily forgotten. She did not wish to divulge this to Andrew, however, and so instead she replied, “In normal circumstances, we wouldn't even be acquaintances. Surely you see that? It would hardly be seemly therefore for us to strike up a friendship.”

“What, with me the penniless relation?” Andrew’s voice was teasing, but his expression was sober. “I hardly think there could be anything inappropriate about it. However, I shall acquiesce to my lady's wishes... for the moment.”

The rest of the trip passed mostly in silence, until they came to Craignuire.

“You may leave me here,” Harriet instructed. She'd no desire for her family to see her in the Riddells' carriage. “Many thanks, Mr. Reid.”

I'm obliged for your company.” Andrew gave a slight bow. “And I hope you may oblige me in such a way again.”

Not used to such bantering, Harriet simple bobbed her head and hurried from the carriage, helped by Andrew. She waited till the carriage had rounded the bend in the road before turning for home.

The rain had slowed to a drizzle as she made for Achlic Farm. The road was empty of horse or human, and she was surprised when a voice called from behind. “Harriet Campbell! It's not fit for anyone to be out in this weather, but I'm coming to call on Achlic.”

Harriet turned to see Jane MacCready hurrying towards her with a covered basket. “I should've come sooner, what with your father took ill,” she said by way of apology, “but some folk like to be left alone.”

“Father does,” Harriet admitted with a wry smile. “He's not the most willing patient.”

“I should imagine not.” Mistress MacCready smiled. “You'll remember I nursed my own father for some years, so I know what it's like.”

Harriet nodded. She remembered that Jane had lost her suitor, and her own chance of happiness, because of her duty to her father. With a chill, she wondered yet again if the same fate would befall her.

As if reading her thoughts, Jane lay a hand on her arm. “I know it's not easy,” she said softly, “and as I'm an old woman now with few duties, I'd be happy to help.”

“Thank you kindly, Mistress MacCready, but...”

“Don't waste your youth, my girl,” Jane said quietly. “Not in a sickroom.”

The look in the older woman's eyes was one of compassion, and Harriet found herself suddenly blinking back tears. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you kindly.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

By midsummer the MacDougalls had finished their cabin and planted their first crop of barley, wheat and potatoes. As Sandy stood on the wide front porch, surveying his small kingdom, he felt a deep glow of satisfaction marred only by a slight sense of unease. He'd built this all, he and his sons, with no help and he was proud of that fact.

Now that Betty had her own home, she seemed to blossom and flourish, and the restlessness which had dogged both Allan and Archie had, to Sandy's eye, abated somewhat with the vigorous work in the fields. They were finally all their own men, Sandy thought, and for that he was deeply thankful.

Any unease he felt was on account of his neighbours. The community along Flatt River was Scots, and close knit. Most of the immigrants came from the western Highlands, and could, albeit distantly, be called Sandy's kinsmen. Yet he felt little kinship with them at the moment.

At first, they'd seemed to welcome him unreservedly, and the Dunmores had shown unfailing hospitality. Yet in the last few months, since the MacDougalls had removed to their own property, Sandy had seen looks bordering on suspicion, if not hostility. He wondered at it, and if not for Betty he would've dismissed it as imagination.

The subject had come up between them a few weeks ago, when he'd heard about a meeting of menfolk in the community. Every few months there was a meeting to discuss affairs, and although Sandy knew little about it he intended to go.

“Should be a grand time,” he'd told Betty one evening. “Afterwards there's to be food, as well as music and dancing.”

“I'm looking forward to it,” Betty replied. The long winter months, cooped up indoors for days on end, had been hard on everyone.

“I imagine they'll appreciate a man of experience at these meetings,” Sandy continued. “Some of these families were little more than crofters in the old country. It's time there was someone who could be a leader to them all.”

Betty's eyes widened. “It's true you've the experience,” she said cautiously, “but is that what these men need?”

“Of course it is. They surely know I've the largest landholding along the river. It's only natural that I'd be a leader among them. After all, I was tacksman.”

“There are no tacksmen here,” Betty said quietly, but Sandy shrugged her words aside. Men needed leaders. It was as simple as that.

The community meeting was that evening, and the unease Sandy felt now was a twinge of fear that Betty was right. He was not imagining the hostile looks from his neighbours, veiled as they were. Were they jealous of his property, he wondered, or suspicious of his motives? He didn't know, but he intended for it to be straightened out that evening.

“It only shows they need someone to lead them,” Sandy muttered to himself. Although he was still new to this country, he felt confident in his ability to direct men. It'd been a natural ability, and he felt sure that once the men of Flatt River saw that, they would bow to his leadership with relief and grace.

And he was honest enough to know that was what he wanted, to be a leader among men, for others to look to him for guidance.

He’d been Riddell’s yes-man for too long, taking orders with a bowed head and murmured thanks. He wouldn’t do that again. He’d come to the new world for a different sort of life, and he intended to grasp it with both hands.

Besides, he argued silently, he was good at leading. He led his family, and back home the crofters and servants had taken his instruction with apparent good grace.

There was no shame in admitting it.

The community meeting was held at a neighbouring farm. The barn had been cleared and bales of hay served as benches for the men who gathered. Sandy strode in confidently, flanked by Allan and Archie. He smiled and nodded at his neighbours, and if some of the greetings in reply seemed guarded, he brushed it aside.

Robert MacPherson, Douglas' father, called the meeting to order and the men assembled themselves. The talk was mostly of crops and farming, and whether each family in the community was provided for. There was also talk of the road to Charlottestown, which was little more than a rutted track, and needed improvement. A wolf had been seen near the Campbells' farm, and some of their chickens taken.

Allan listened, interested in the way each man had his say, and everyone heard him out. There was a sense of equality, and warmth, which he had not encountered before. But then, he realised, had he truly been anyone's equal, the tackman's son in his draughty castle? And now, separated from others through the winter, taking orders from his father?