Far Horizons (28 page)

Sandy took the letter, unfolded it and scanned its contents quickly. When he looked up, tears sparkled in his eyes and his voice was quiet with sadness. “It's as much as any of us can ask for, to grasp what happiness we find. We've had precious little happiness for ourselves, these last few months.”

Harriet felt a sudden chill of foreboding at Sandy's words. Was there something he wasn't telling her? “And how is Betty?” she asked when she found her voice. “And Archie? And... Allan, of course. No one knows I'm coming. The time was too short...”

“We're pleased to have you here, lass, of course we are. It was I who urged Allan to write. But...”

“What? What is it?” Harriet's fists were tightly clenched, her nails biting into her palms. Had Allan married another since she'd released him?

“There's been news, terrible news,” Sandy said, his voice choking, and he reached out to clasp Harriet's shoulder in a gesture of comfort. “Nearly two months ago now, it was.”

Harriet felt a buzzing in her ears, even as a curious numbness came over. “What--what happened two months ago?”

“There was a storm... the mail packet went down halfway between her and Charlottetown. It was a terrible thing, so many people lost, and not one survivor.” Sandy shook his head, his eyes now bright with unshed tears, and Harriet felt dizziness sweep over in a sickening wave.

“What... what are you saying?” she asked, her voice seeming to come from far away.

“They're gone, Harriet, Rupert. My two boys are gone. Allan and Archie both drowned when the mail packet sank.”

The dizziness came again, stronger this time, and the buzzing turned to a roaring in Harriet's ears. Then the world went dark.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

It had taken Allan two months by pony and then birch bark canoe to reach York Factory on the lower end of Hudson's Bay. It was hard work, paddling twelve hours a day, eating little more than pemmican, a form of dried deer or buffalo, and what berries, nuts and other fruits of the forest he could scavenge.

After he'd left Archie, Allan had met George Simpson at the boarding house and signed up as a fur trader, or
voyageur
as the French traders of the old Northwest Company called themselves.

He enjoyed the work, being alone in God's creation, seeing the landscape change from the rolling hills and forests of the coast to the dense and uninhabited forests of Upper Canada and then Rupert's Land where the mink, bear, and beaver all still roamed free and wild--and easy to be trapped.

There was plenty of time to be alone with his thoughts, and he often found himself thinking of Harriet. Was she happy in her new life? Did she love her husband? He thought of Archie, back in Three Rivers living the life of a soldier, and his parents at Mingarry Farm. He wondered if they had been disappointed when Archie told them he was not coming back. He hoped, somehow, they'd understood.

In his darker moments, alone in the night, the sounds of the forest around him, he wondered what future he could have. There could be no more dreams of Harriet, of the life they would build together and the family they would have. There seemed little point in returning to Prince Edward Island, toiling by his father’s side and for what?

Sometimes he entertained thoughts of going home, marrying a girl like Elizabeth Campbell, rebuilding his life from the ashes.Yet he could not face the bleak prospect, not yet. Perhaps not ever.

Perhaps he would stay a fur trader, a lone traveller going from outpost to outpost. Despite the adventure, it too was a bleak thought.

He was relieved to arrive at York Factory, trade in his furs, and be among other people for awhile, to distract him from the restless circle of his own thoughts.

York Factory was one of the Company's larger outposts, and many of the traders gathered there to get supplies before heading West or North to the more distant outposts where the animals were still plentiful.

When Allan arrived, it was deep summer, and the outpost was hot, humid, and buzzing with mosquitoes. York Factory was built on little more than a bog, and Allan couldn't help but think it a rather unpleasant place to stay.

Many of other voyageurs must have agreed, for tempers were running high and more than one fist fight broke out between traders in the evening.

“There's going to be trouble,” one trader, a Nor'wester, growled ominously. “And I'll be the one to start it.”

A group of voyageurs were sitting around a campfire one evening, chewing tobacco and talking in a way that Allan didn't like. He knew there was much dissension between the Hudson's Bay Company and its recently acquired Northwest Company, comprised mostly of French and Métis, or half Indian, half French, traders.

“What can you do, alone?” another trader scoffed. “There are hundreds at Fort Douglas, and I've heard that more are coming. They're like rats! Besides, the governor stands behind all they do at the Red River settlement.”

The first trader spat in the ground. “Yes, he makes new laws to help them, and never mind the Métis and the voyageurs who were here long before. What does he expect? For us to bow and scrape and say 'oh, yes, thank you, sir'? He's asking for trouble. It's happened before... it can happen again.” There was a murmur, almost a growl, of agreement, and Allan felt the back of his neck prickle with alarm.

He turned to a trader next to him, a Frenchman from Lower Canada whom he knew slightly. “Pierre, what are they talking about there?”

“Haven't you heard?” Pierre smiled wryly, but his eyes were dark and serious. “The governor of Rupert's Land passed a new law. No one can take food out of the colony, not even pemmican.”

“But why would he do that?” Allan asked in bewilderment.

“He says to help the settlers at Red River. Food's been short, and they need the food more than we do, I suppose.”

“Is that why there is this talk of trouble?”

Pierre shrugged. “It was a foolish idea, building a settlement this far out West. This land isn't meant for farmers, it's for the voyageurs. These farmers don't even know what they're doing. In the first year alone they had to leave the settlement and chase the buffalo to keep from starving.” He paused meaningfully. “Our buffalo.”

“But it's only one settlement... surely the traders can't expect the West to remain wild forever? The more settlers that come...”

“There's plenty of land for them in the East! They've scared most of the game away from Rupert's Land. They're saying you must travel another week by canoe to get anything now. And when more settlers arrive...” Pierre shrugged again. “Why shouldn't there be trouble? All we want is what is fair.”

Allan gripped Pierre's arm. “What kind of trouble?”

“I don't know, my friend. The Métis have burned Fort Douglas once already. The settlers fled, but they came back. They're worse than the mosquitoes! Who says it won't happen again?”

Allan was chilled. Fort Douglas was the centre of the Red River settlement, bought by Lord Selkirk from the Company several years ago. He knew it was meant to be a settlement for displaced Scottish immigrants, families who'd lost their homes in the clearances. He felt sick at the thought of all those people who had lost their livelihoods once already being turned out yet again, this time with perhaps even worse violence.

“Surely an agreement can be reached. If the voyageurs can be made to see sense...”

“See sense? Why are they the ones who must see?” Pierre shook his head. He was smiling, but Allan heard the warning in his voice. “Don't get involved, my friend. This does not concern you. You are new, you are from the old world, the old order. You don't know about these things. If there is going to be trouble, then there simply is, and there is nothing you can do about it. Stay away.”

The murmur of voices around the campfire had turned even more surly, and Allan saw the anger and restlessness on many of the voyageurs' faces. He knew this was their land, they had possessed it in the name of the Company, they roamed it, and for all intents and purposes they felt they owned it as well.

Yet he could not help but fear for the settlers who were trying to carve a life for themselves in this harsh land, and who might yet again be torn cruelly from their homes and families.

Pierre was right... what could he, one man, one lone voice of peace among the angry tide of traders, do? Yet Allan knew if it came to the trouble the murmuring voices talked about now, he would have to do something. He would have to try.

Harriet felt a cool cloth on her forehead and cheeks, and her eyes fluttered open. She was lying down on some sort of bed, in an unfamiliar room. A woman hovered above her anxiously. “There, dear, you're coming round now. You've had a shock.”

Shock...? Then it all came back to her. Allan was dead. Harriet closed her eyes again, trying to block out the memory of Sandy's words, his grief-stricken face.

“It'll be all right now,” the woman continued soothingly. “Let me get Mr. MacDougall for you.”

“It will never be all right,” Harriet whispered. She heard the door open and close, and struggled to a sitting position. She still felt dizzy, and there was a strange, metallic taste in her mouth. She realised it was blood. She must have knocked her mouth or bitten her tongue when she fell.

“Harriet, thank Providence.” Sandy came in and looked down at her, his eyes shadowed with concern. “I shouldn't have told you in such a fashion, I ken. It's still a shock to us, and what with your travel...”

“How else were you to tell me?” Harriet took a deep breath. “Can you tell me what happened... exactly?”

Sombrely Sandy nodded and sat on a stool next to the bed, his work-roughened hands lying flat on his thighs. “Archie was on leave from the Army. He'd just received his commission, but I expect Allan told you that in his letters. Allan met him in Pictou and they were to travel across together. They took the mail packet, it's a safer craft, God help us. There was a storm... often there is in April, the ice has just broken up and the weather can turn foul in an instant.” Sandy spread his hands helplessly. “The boat went down just a mile offshore. There was nothing anyone could do, and not one survivor, not in that icy water. They haven't even be able to recover the bodies, so we're denied the right to bury our dead.”

Harriet grasped his hand, her thin fingers curling around his. “I'm so sorry.”

“Their mother and I have been fair torn apart by the grief. To lose both! Good sons, each in their own way, like my own right hand, and my left as well.” Sandy shook his head. “And now you, coming all this way, thinking yourself a bride...”

Harriet closed her eyes briefly. In all her imaginings of her reception in the new world, she'd never envisioned this, or the horror and grief which now swamped her soul. “Let's not talk of it. Not now.” It was too fresh, too painful, and Harriet wanted to be alone when she finally gave vent to the grief inside her. “We must find Rupert...”

“He's being taken care of by the innkeeper's wife. Lord help him, poor boy, to lose half his family in one blow! And him not even seeing them close on two years.” Sandy held out his hand to help Harriet from the bed. “Can you travel, lass? Betty's waiting for us back at Mingarry. We can talk more then.”

Harriet barely remembered the trip to Prince Edward Island. Normally she would have been dazzled by the new sights and sounds, but her entire world seemed muted by grief. Rupert was also silent, and she could see the confusion on his face. Two years was a long time in a young boy's life, she knew, and the memory of Archie and Allan would've grown a bit faint. But there could be no denying the loss that each of them felt as they travelled on the mail packet, like the one Archie and Allan had been on, underneath a leaden sky.

Mingarry Farm looked to be a prosperous place, and Harriet admired the spacious log cabin, so different from the stone and thatch crofts back in Scotland. Betty met them on the porch, and Harriet saw the change in her as well. Her hair had gone white, and there were new lines on her forehead, lines made by grief and sorrow.

“Harriet! Lass!” Betty enveloped her in a hug even before the necessary questions were asked. “You've heard, then. I'm so sorry.”

“I'm sorry, too.” Harriet's voice came out choked.

They went inside, and Sandy and Harriet explained why Margaret had not come. Betty nodded, understanding yet clearly disappointed to not see her daughter as expected.

“Will she marry this sea captain, then?” Betty asked. “What do you think of it, Harriet?”

“I've never met him, but Margaret has every faith in him. She truly loves him, I believe.”

“Well, I'm glad for that.” Betty shook her head. “It's a strange world now, to be sure, what with families scattered across the earth. My own daughter alone across the sea, marrying a man I've never seen! I don't know.”

“If she's happy, that's what lasts, in the end,” Sandy said. “God knows, I've learned that much when it comes to children.” Harriet heard the regret in his voice, but did not want to question its root.

Sandy turned to her, and must have seen the unspoken questions in her eyes. “Allan wasn't happy here, lass, not like he should've been. How I hoped him to be. He came to this world with dreams of his own, and if I'd had any sense, I would've let him follow them.”

“What kind of dreams?” Harriet thought of Allan's letters. His description of life at Mingarry Farm had been full and yet, she realised, sometimes without his usual vigour and enthusiasm. Had there been something he'd not wanted to tell her?

“I couldn't even tell you,” Sandy said. “I wasn't really willing to listen.” He smiled sadly. “He wanted to make his own way, out of my reach. To build a life for the two of you.”

Tears stung Harriet's eyes as she remembered the promise Allan had given her two years ago, before he'd left. It had been just that... to create a life and home for themselves. Now it would never be.

“We'll always have regrets,” Betty said. She put her hand on Rupert's shoulder. “But we must look to the living now, to the future we can still have.” She turned to Harriet, smiling in spite of her sadness. “You must stay with us, Harriet. You're like a daughter to us, and you would have been one in truth had Allan lived. Your home is here, with us, as long as you want it.”