Far Horizons (26 page)

Ian stared at him, appalled. So far he'd no reason to climb any of the masts, and the thought of having to perch precariously on the highest point of the ship filled him with numbing fear. “But I could fall!” he exclaimed, almost gabbling. “I could fall right into the sea!”

“You'll find that's unlikely,” Henry replied with a smile. “And we can secure you with a rope, of course. I've no desire to send you to your death.”

Ian nodded and squared his shoulders. He would do his best to face this with courage. Although inside he wondered if he preferred the whip. “Thank you, sir.”

“You're welcome, Mr. Douglas. Dismissed.” Henry watched him go with a half smile. He hoped that the hours spent in the tops would give the boy some much needed spine. And with a job that used his skill, perhaps he could be of some use to the ship... and to himself. Henry hoped he would not regret taking the young boy on.

He turned back to his letter, smiling slightly as the words on the page conjured his beloved's face.
Dearest Margaret, he wrote. We are six days off the shores of America, and yet you are constantly in my mind...

“You can't, Harriet!” Margaret stared at her, appalled. “You can't marry him now, not when he's done this to you.” She glanced at the letters, scattered across the kitchen table. “I knew Allan would stay true.”

“I wish I'd had as much faith,” Harriet replied in a low voice. “I feel I've betrayed him as much as James has me.”

“Now is not the time for self pity,” Margaret replied robustly. “You'd no choice, and how were you to know that Allan had written, when you received no letters?”

“I shouldn't have doubted. You told me as much.”

Margaret held up a hand. “Enough! Regrets are useless now. You must think of your future.” She leaned forward, eyes anxious, her lower lip caught between her teeth. “What are you going to do?”

Harriet shrugged helplessly. “What can I do? I was fortunate when I thought I was marrying a good, honest man. The fact that it has changed...”

“Changes everything!”

Harriet shook her head impatiently. “No, it does not, Margaret. We'd still lose Achlic Farm if I don't marry him. I don’t have the luxury of choice--”

“Or of principles?” Margaret's eyebrows rose.

“My principles are making me save my family and sacrifice myself,” Harriet replied heatedly. “So you can cease with your high minded lectures!” She pushed away from the table, suddenly near tears.

Ever since learning of Andrew’s betrayal, and far more painful, Allan’s faithfulness, Harriet’s mind and heart had been in torment. Her betrayal of Allan--the letter already sent and most likely received--was like a knife wound to the heart, to any last dreams she’d cherished.

She couldn’t marry Andrew, and yet what choice did she truly have? Allan wouldn’t have her now, and there was the family to think about, in as dire straits as ever.

Her shoulders slumped and Margaret came to give her a quick hug.

“Och, Harriet, I don't mean to be lecturing you.” Margaret rested her head briefly on Harriet’s shoulder, her arms around her. “I cannot stand to see you as a martyr, throwing your life away for that conniving scoundrel.”

“Who is a conniving scoundrel?” David Campbell appeared in the kitchen doorway, leaning heavily on a cane. In the last few weeks he'd been able to leave his bed, and Harriet was relieved to see the colour in his cheeks return. “And who might be throwing her life away?” He glanced at Harriet, his eyes shrewd.

“It need not concern you, Father,” Harriet said quickly. “Margaret was speaking out of turn...”

“Was I?” Margaret's dark eyes sparkled with sudden, wry humour. “Very well. I'll leave you to tell your father about your decision.” With a swish of her skirts, she left the room.

Harriet bit her lip, wishing Margaret had not left with so provocative a statement. David sat at the table with her, one eyebrow raised. “Well, lass? Are you going to tell me about it?”

“It's nothing, Father.”

“Your wedding is in three weeks, daughter,” David said quietly. “If something needs knowing, now's the time. There isn't much time left to change your mind.”

“I shan't change my mind.” Harriet began to gather the letters, but David took one before she could sweep them out of view.

“What's this?” He looked at the address at the top of the page,
A. MacDougall, Mingarry Farm, Prince Edward Island
. “I don't know much about affairs of the heart, but should a woman betrothed to one man be reading the letters of another weeks before her wedding?”

“I didn't know about them.” Then, in a rush, the story came out. Harriet was relieved to tell her father, someone impartial whose advice she’d come to see and respect as sound.

David listened quietly, without interrupting, and Harriet was relieved to have told him. She was amazed to be speaking so candidly to her father. It had certainly never happened before.

After she'd finished, David was quiet for a long time. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and even sad. “I had my doubts about you marrying Andrew Reid from the beginning. I certainly didn't want you to marry someone you didn't love. But I hoped in time...”

Impulsively Harriet asked, “Did you love Mam, Father?”

He looked up, his eyes bright. “Of course I did. I haven't been the same since she died twelve years ago.”

Harriet remembered her mother, a quiet, efficient woman whose smile was rare yet precious. She'd loved her, had been Eleanor's age when she died. But the following years of hard work and toil had dulled the memory, made her mother like a ghost who haunted the far reaches of her memory, and nothing more.

“We had a partnership,” David continued quietly, “and that's rare. I'd like the same for all my children.”

“So would I,” Harriet whispered.

David covered her hand with his own. “Then you needn't marry him, lass. What of Allan? I always thought he’d come back to you.“

Harriet smiled wryly. “You had an odd way of showing it.”

“Perhaps I shouldn’t have been so hard, but it was out of wanting more for you. I’ve told you as much. Still, perhaps you would have been happier then, to have gone? And none of this misunderstanding would have happened.”

“I don’t know anything anymore,” Harriet said tiredly. “I cannot think of the what-ifs.’

David spread his hands wide. “If he's stayed true...”

“But I haven't!” Harriet cried, angry desperation edging her voice. “Would he even have me now? I wrote to him last autumn and told him of my decision. He's known for months...”

“Write him again, then, and explain.”

Harriet shook her head. “What of the farm? And of us? If I don't marry Andrew, we'll lose Achlic...”

“There are other ways.” A slight flush bloomed on David's cheeks. “I'll admit I'm sorely grieved to lose this farm. It's been in our family for over a century. But times are changing and I've seen worse. I've seen men torn from their homes without a shilling in their pocket, and all for the sake of sheep.” He shook his head sadly. “We're fortunate in that we may have a place to go, and a comfortable one at that.”

Harriet frowned in confusion. “Where do you mean, then?”

David's blush deepened. “Jane MacCready has offered to share her farm with us. She's a good sized house and acreage, and has been hiring men to sow it. I wouldn't take an offer of charity, of course, but...” David smiled slightly. “The truth is, since Mistress MacCready has come visiting, we've become fond of one another and I'm thinking of asking her to marry me.”

Harriet stared at her father, open mouthed. She could hardly believe this turn of events, and lost in her own thoughts and worries, she'd not even noticed the romance blooming under their roof.

“So you see, lass,” David continued, “you needn't think we'll be turned out on the street. Eleanor can live with us, and enjoy the last of her childhood. Even Ian, should he return home, God willing, is welcome. Our lives will be modest, of course, but we’ll have enough. And we’ll be happy.” He smiled, and it was like a crack spreading across his face.

“I don't know what to say,” Harriet said at last. She didn’t want to admit to a faint resentment that her father had not thought to mention these plans earlier, or that they might be brewing. “It seems as if you've solved everything in one stroke. And yet...”

“You shouldn't feel you have to honour your promise to that Riddell scruff,” David said darkly. “Not after he's tricked you in such a fashion. No one would look askance if you were to walk away.”

Harriet nodded slowly, unable to voice the new fear that stole over her. If she did not marry Andrew, what would she do? Live with her father and Mistress MacCready, as a spinster and beholden to another's charity? She knew Jane MacCready's good will would most likely extend to all of the Campbells, but it still made Harriet uneasy. She had no place, no role.

She saw her life slipping away, in service to others. Harriet closed her eyes. Her father placed his large, rough hand over hers, seeming to understand a small portion of the uncertainty and confusion within her.

“May I come in?”

Harriet’s eyes flew open. Margaret stood in the doorway, her cheeks flushed, her hands twisting her apron. “If you'll pardon my intrusion into family matters, I think I have an idea.”

“You know you're as good as family,” Harriet protested. “And,” she added with a smile, “I've never known you to keep your ideas to yourself!”

Margaret laughed in acknowledgment before pursuing her theme. “You know
The Pride of Scotland
sails in a month's time. Rupert and I are meant to be on it.” She took a deep breath. “I've made up my mind, though, and I shan't be going. I intend to stay here. I’ll board with my Rankin relations and and wait for Henry.”

“Margaret! What will your father say?” Harriet exclaimed, and Margaret raised her chin.

“I’ll write him a letter, of course, but I don’t see how what he say should affect me. I’m seventeen, eighteen come winter, and I’ve met a man I want to marry. Should I travel to the New Scotland, settle there, and hope Henry finds me, simply because my father says? I want to live my life now, not wait like...” She stopped suddenly, biting her lip.

“Like me?” Harriet said softly. Her voice was sad with acknowledgment of the truth. She’d waited so long already... and for what? For naught, it seemed.

“I’m sorry, Harriet,” Margaret whispered.

“I don’t blame you. If you know you want to marry Henry, and he’s asked--”

“He’s asked me to wait,” Margaret said, and thought her voice was firm, doubt lingered in her eyes. “He told me we could marry next spring, when he returns.” She bit her lip. “If he returns.”

“I’m sure he will.” Harriet said. She put a hand on Margaret’s shoulder. “Be happy, Margaret.”

“But I didn’t mean to talk about me!” Margaret shrugged Harriet’s well wishing aside with an impatient gesture. “It’s you we must discuss. Even if I stay here, there's no reason to waste a ship's passage. Rupert needs to be taken to my family. So, Harriet, why don't you go in my place? Take Rupert and find Allan. You can send a letter ahead if you like, or explain everything when you see him face to face. I know Allan, and I know he will love you still. You cannot throw away what you have with him, not for pride or fear.” Margaret let out a breath, seemingly exhausted by this long speech.

Harriet gazed at her in astonishment. The idea had never occurred to her... to go to Canada, on her own, and see Allan! Even as a thrill came over her, she nearly shuddered with fear. Go to Canada... uninvited? Unexpected? To have Allan reject her face to face?

“I couldn’t,” she said after a moment. “Not so quickly. I’d have to write first, explain...” And even then, who knew if Allan would understand... and forgive? If she were in his place, Harriet didn’t know how she would feel, or what she would be willing to accept.

“And if you write a letter, and wait for a response, it could be another year! Another year of waiting.”

“And what if he rejects me utterly?” Harriet cried. “I wouldn’t blame him! And then what would I do?”

“Come back here, or make your way in the new world,” Margaret returned stoutly.

“As a woman alone? That’s hardly possible.”

“Anything is possible--”

“You’re talking dreams!” Harriet turned away, suddenly angry. “Nonsense. It can’t be done.”

There was a moment of silence, and Harriet could feel her father and Margaret’s gazes on her, their silent reproach. Her shoulders shook with repressed tears and misery and she wrapped her arms around herself.

“Are dreams nonsense,
cridhe
?” David asked quietly. He laid a hand on her shoulder. “Believe, Harriet. Believe and go.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“Is this seat taken?”

Allan looked up from his pint of ale to see a small, wiry man smiling at him. He shrugged and moved aside. “No, I'm alone.”

The man sat down across from him and held out a hand. “George Simpson.”

Allan shook his hand, a bit surprised at the man's forthrightness. Most people were friendly in these parts, but he was still surprised to meet a stranger who'd go out of his way to befriend him... especially when Allan knew he didn't look as if he wanted company. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts, and his sorrows over Harriet's letter. “Allan MacDougall.” He paused, frowning. “George Simpson... that name sounds familiar. Do I know you?”

Simpson had a friendly smile, but Allan saw that his eyes remained shrewd and even cold. This was a man to be reckoned with.

“You might've heard of me,” he said. “I'm head of the Hudson's Bay Company, and I'm looking for good men.”

Allan sat back speculatively. So this was the man who'd taken over the Americas' largest business empire, a company started by adventurers that now stretched to the Pacific. He was known as the Little Emperor, and for a good reason.

“What is an important man like you doing here?” Allan asked sceptically. He'd heard in the general store how Simpson travelled with some fanfare, going from outpost to outpost simply in a birch bark canoe, yet greeted in each place with trumpets, flags, and parades.