Far Horizons (19 page)

“About Archie's commission?” Betty shrugged, her eyes shadowed with worry and confusion. “I suppose I did. I knew Archie spoke to your father about going into the Army. He never was meant to be a farmer.”

“And what about me?”

Betty looked surprised. “Allan, you were born to it. You've always loved the land.”

“My own land,” Allan shot back. He took a deep breath and steadied himself. It was true, he'd always had an affinity for working the land, feeling the sun on his back and the wind on his face, growing and tending things with his own hands. “Why wasn't I consulted... if not about Archie's future, then my own?”

“I don't understand.” Betty moved closer to him. “Your dream has always been to farm. You've said it yourself. You wanted to come here as much as your father, for the land. It makes him proud, that you share this. Surely you don't want to go into the Army?”

“No, of course not.” Allan stared out into the night, the sky now indigo deepening to black, the first stars beginning to twinkle in that vast, empty space. “But surely you see how Father acts? I’m a lackey to him. He’s never once asked my opinion on any matter, from where to build to what we plant, to even what damned hoe we buy! I’m tired of it, Mother. I’m tired of being someone’s servant--slave--sweetened with empty promises. I can’t give Harriet this kind of life. I won’t.” The words poured out of him, years of bitterness and resentment now released to bruise and wound.

“A slave?” Betty repeated. “You see yourself as a slave?” She shook her head, one hand clutching her throat. “I was afraid you might be jealous of Archie, for it was dear to purchase a commission. But you can be sure your father will settle on you...”

“Money,” Allan dismissed with a shake of his head. “It’s not about money. It’s about respect. I’m twenty-six years old, and I should be my father’s equal, and treated as such.”

Betty was silent, and Allan could hear the rustling of the animals, the wind in the trees. Sounds he knew and loved, yet now they were felt like the bars of a prison.

Betty gathered her shawl around her shoulders. “What is it you truly want then, Allan?” she asked quietly.

Allan closed his eyes.
Harriet
. He would trade away all his dreams save one. She seemed further away than ever now, with no word from her and no hope of becoming established himself. He knew his mother wanted a practical answer. “A homestead of my own,” he said after a moment, “a place I can bring Harriet to, where we can raise our children, live our lives. I won't bring her back to my father's house, I've told her that. I’ve even told Father, much as he listens. It’s what her father wants, insists even. And I insist as well. She needs her own home, we need our own life.”

“You can’t have that here?”

“I asked Father if we could build across the river. The farm would still be MacDougall land, but he won’t give me even a longer leash! The back bedroom is good enough for us, and taking orders until he--”

“Dies?” Betty finished softly. “Don’t waste your years in bitterness, Allan. Your father at least should have taught you the folly of that.”

“Then what am I to do? I can’t stay here forever, not like this.”

“I thought you were happy.” Betty’s voice was tired and sad. Allan shook his head. He could not bring himself to lie, not now, when honesty was the only weapon he had.

“I’m sorry, Mother. I don’t mean to sound disloyal...”

“Disloyal?” Her eyes flew open. “With every word you’ve spoken, you’ve betrayed us and what we’ve striven to build! This farm--this land--the reason we moved to this forsaken country--do you think it was for us, Allan? For me? It was for you. You and Archie and the others, to have opportunity there never was or will be in Scotland!” Betty ran out of breath, and perhaps will, for her face was red with anger, her chest heaving.

Allan glanced down. “From here, all the opportunity seems to come only to Father.”

Betty sank onto a bale of hay. She looked old and frail, and utterly bereft of hope. “I could speak to him, about a cabin. Across the river.”

Allan knew this cost her, and he crouched down to touch her arm. “I’ll fight my own battles. And I’ll stay. I’m not meaning to betray you, or throw what you’ve worked hard to give us in your faces. I promise you that, Mother. It's... it's more about freedom. To do as I please, make my own way. I sound selfish, don't I?” He sighed, unable to explain his thoughts, the desires of his heart, more easily. “It's as the Bible says... a man shall leave his mother and father and cleave to his wife. I want that. I want to find my way.” Allan heard the vehemence in his voice, and wished he could moderate it. But he'd been feeling imprisoned for so long, he couldn't keep the emotion from rushing into his words.

“Were you going to tell your father this?” Betty asked after a moment.

Allan felt a flash of guilt. “I’ve tried... perhaps not so baldly, but Father hears what he wants to hear. And now that Archie's leaving here, it binds me all the more to this place.”

“And that's so repugnant to you?” Betty's voice was quiet and sad. “To live in the bosom of your family, and work the land with your own father?”

“If it was like that, then no. But this farm doesn’t feel mine, and sometimes I wonder if it truly is. If it ever will be. I wonder if Father will ever change. He’s a stubborn man.” Allan stood up, his expression grave. “I won't be my father's tacksman.”

“Many sons would consider it a privilege,” Betty replied sharply. She sighed, and passed a hand over her eyes. They sat in tense silence, each lost in their own desolate thoughts. Finally, with a shuddering breath, she spoke. “I see you have your father's strength of will, and his independent spirit. For all the pain and sorrow it causes us, I wouldn't have you or your father any differently.”

“I don't want to grieve you, Mother,” Allan said softly. “I know what my duty is, and I'll stay here for as long as I'm needed. I was angry now... I'm sorry. You all took me by surprise.” He put his arms around her, surprised by her frailty. Her bones were as light and thin as a bird's, yet he could still feel the strength in her, running through her centre like a wire. “Forgive me for being an ungrateful son.”

“No,
cridhe
,” Betty lightly stroked his cheek. “Forgive me, for not understanding. No matter what our selfish desires, you must make your own way, wherever it takes you. Remember that.”

She slipped quietly from his side to return to the house. Allan sat in the darkness for a long time, surprised to find a new peace stealing upon him like the twilight. His mother's words gave him hope. Now might not be the time, but it would come. He would find it.

He could almost picture his cabin, see the sunlight glinting on the water, Harriet by his side, a child in her arms. The land would be his, as well as his father’s. Someday he would be his own man. Someday, God willing, soon.

CHAPTER NINE

“I'm sorry, Miss Campbell, but I can't give you good news.”

Harriet's heart sank AS Mr. Franklin, put the contract on his desk and removed his spectacles. “What news can you give me, then?” she asked.

“The contract is binding. Sir James has a good man, a clever man at least, to do his legal work. If Ian had only read it before signing...” he shook his head in mournful regret.

It was the same thought Harriet had had constantly since the news yesterday, but it didn't help to hear it repeated by their man of business. “Surely there's some way,” she protested desperately. “Ian's only fifteen. How can a contract be binding when signed by a mere boy?”

“Your father wrote a letter giving him legal right to sign in his name. If not for that, you might have a case. However...” Another shake of his head, and Harriet bit her lip in frustration. “Since your father gave him authority, Ian was acting within his powers.”

“So the contract can't be rendered invalid.” Harriet spoke mostly to herself. Her mind was racing, searching for answers. There seemed to be none.

“I'm afraid not. You may console yourself that at least you received a respectable sum for the property. I could arrange for you to rent a cottage in town, perhaps. With careful management and some enterprise, you could do reasonably well. Since your father's ill, perhaps the farm is a bit beyond him now, as it is?” Mr. Franklin raised his eyebrows in delicate question.

Harriet swallowed her anger. Live in town in a cramped cottage, counting pennies? They'd been one of the largest landholders on the island, reduced now to near penury! Her bitterness against the Riddells burned like a coal lodged inside her.

“Thank you for that suggestion.” She smiled tightly and began to gather her gloves and reticule.

“I know it isn't easy, Miss Campbell,” Mr. Franklin said gently. “In fact, it's a remarkable piece of ill fortune. But at least there's a bit of money...”

“Even after we pay our debts?” Harriet asked, acid in her tone.

Mr. Franklin sighed. “Admittedly, there'd be much less. But still, with careful management, you could survive. If you became a governess, perhaps, or did some needlework to help matters?” He shrugged. “Without the farm requiring your attention, I'm sure there's some useful labour both you and your brother could find.”

Harriet's gloves dropped from her fingers as she looked carefully at Mr. Franklin. There was a slight flush to his cheeks, a nervous look in his eyes. “Are you saying, Mr. Franklin, that we won't have enough money to live, unless Ian and I both go out to work?”

The flush heightened, and Harriet knew she was right. The pain of losing of Achlic was muted with this new problem.

“Your debts were considerable.” Mr. Franklin's look now was one of unveiled pity. “As I said, there's enough to clear your debts and rent a modest dwelling. After that...” He shrugged, spreading his hands. “You will have to find some useful enterprise.”

Outside in the street, Harriet felt despair wash over her in sickening waves. It was all worse than she thought. Not only would they lose Achlic, but they'd be one step from destitution. And Ian was still nowhere to be found.

“Well?” Andrew appeared at her side, and frowned. “By the expression on your face, it doesn't appear to be good news.”

“No, it doesn't.” She'd allowed Andrew to drive her into town, but drawn the line at his offer to accompany her to Franklin's office. The last thing she wanted was a member of the Riddell family hearing the whole sorry tale of her family's finances. “The contract is binding, and there's nothing we can do. The farm is yours.” She gave a brittle smile, suddenly on the verge of tears.

“Harriet, please. Don't make me the enemy.”

“You are the enemy! Who knows what you told your uncle, what he knows?”

“I told him nothing, and you know that,” Andrew said calmly. He helped her into the carriage, where she sat, trembling as the reality of what Mr. Franklin had said rushed over her once more. “If there was a way I could undo this, I would.” He paused, allowing her a moment to control herself. “What will you do?”

“I don't know.” Her wave of tears had passed, and now she felt cold, lifeless. Her voice sounded distant, as if coming from outside of herself. “You must know as much of the town does that we've debts, plenty of them. The creditors will be crawling all over us once they hear what's happened. We've enough to pay them off now, but little else. I'll have to find work, and Ian as well.” Sudden fire flashed in her eyes. “You needn't worry about us. We'll manage!”

Andrew nodded, seeming to accept this. “And who will look after your father?”

Harriet thought briefly of Jane MacCready's offer. The older woman's suggestion had seemed sincere, yet it stung Harriet's pride to have to ask for help. Even worse was the thought of tying Eleanor to such a job at twelve years old. “We'll find something.”

They rode in silence almost all the way back to the farm, Andrew lost in thought, Harriet adrift in her own misery.

He pulled the carriage up short of the farm, and turned to her, a sudden, serious look on his face. “There is another way, Harriet, if you'll listen. A way for you to save the farm, and your father. But only...” he swallowed, colour staining his cheeks. “Only if you wanted it, at least part of you... if you felt you could... perhaps one day...”

Harriet stared at him in confusion. “What are you saying?”

Andrew clasped her cold hand in his. “I'm asking you to marry me.”

Harriet stared at him in wordless shock. “Marry you?” she finally repeated, her voice little more than a whisper.

“I thought you might have realised I have feelings for you,” Andrew said quietly. “But I see now that I’ve surprised you.”

Harriet stared down at her hands, fists clenched, her gloves damp. “Yes, you’ve surprised me.”

Andrew took her hand in his. Even through her wrinkled glove she could feel the warm strength and gentle pressure of his own larger hand cradling hers. “Harriet, I love you. I love your strength and spirit, and your loyalty to your family... even if part of that is directed against me. I hold no love for my uncle. When you’re not raging against the Riddell family, I think you realise that.”

Harriet nodded. Although it was easy to blame Andrew along with his uncle, she knew the truth of his words. But love...?

“I think we could make a good life together. I don’t have prospects, you know that, but I think I could provide for you, with the farm...”

“Farm?” Harriet’s head jerked up, her eyes narrowing. “You mean Achlic Farm? You want it for yourself!”

“Why must you blacken my motives at every opportunity?” Andrew said tiredly, although he managed a wry smile. “No, not for myself. For us. For your father, and Ian and Eleanor. For you.”

“How could that be?”

“If we were married, I’m sure I could convince Uncle James to allow us to live at Achlic, and work the land. Your family could stay. I know he’s cold-hearted, but he’s not a complete scoundrel, despite what you might think. He wants the land, not to throw you to the wolves.”

“Aren’t they one and the same?” Harriet retorted bitterly. “He doesn’t seem to be bothered!”

“These are hard times.”