Oatcakes and Courage (11 page)

Margaret's husband, William, was a stocky little fellow with rheumy eyes and a balding head. When Lily informed him that his wife of twenty years had died, he could not seem to grasp the news. He sat on the deck, the heels of his hands pressed against his temples. He shook his head over and over, not saying a word.

The funeral was held at dawn, with a crimson sun spilling over the quiet sea, as if laying a red carpet from the ship to Heaven. Captain Spiers recited the prayers, and John Sutherland, Ian, Alex Cameron, and Master Orr committed the lady's body to the crystal waters. William McLean remained mute in his grief. He did not move from the rail throughout the day, but stared out over the ocean till night shrouded everything in blackness.

Anne observed the bereaved man as she sat by the overturned longboat, gnawing listlessly on her supper of dried meat. Her eyes filled with sympathetic tears. Ian came to sit next to her.

“Is there naught we can do for him?” Anne asked.

Ian looked at poor William McLean then back at Anne. He shrugged and sighed. “I don't know. I think he has to come to terms in his own way.”

Anne passed the dried meat to Ian; she had no appetite. He finished it off in a couple of quick bites.

“Ach,” he said, “my throat is parched all the time.”

Anne swallowed. “Mine too.”

After a moment Ian said, “Do you remember the time we climbed to the top of Beinn Dearg?”

Anne frowned, thinking back. “We had gone fishing, but weren't having any luck. So we decided to follow the river up the mountain.”

“Aye. We climbed right to the top. What a view!”

“It was beautiful. We sat and looked and looked for ages. Didn't get back till well after dark.”

“We hadn't eaten since breakfast. Near starved.”

Anne grimaced. “You and your stomach! Always hungry.”

“You were hungry too, as I recall. Bleating like a lost lamb the last league to home because you were so starved.”

Anne elbowed Ian in the ribs. “I did not! But we were gone a long time. My mother was not well pleased with me that night. She'd sent the boys out to search for me. Was afraid I'd fallen in the River Lael and drowned or something. My backside hurt for days.”

Ian nodded, his mouth curled in a half-smile. “Not near the beating I got, though.”

“My brother Will fell into the river, looking for me. He wasn't half mad about that! Came home dripping and sputtering that if I was a proper girl I'd stay home and bake bread instead of running off fishing and climbing mountains. And I said if he was a proper boy he never would have fallen in. Good thing I am a girl or he would have trounced me that day.”

“And whose idea was it,” Ian asked, “to go climb that mountain?”

“I don't remember,” Anne said. “We probably came to the idea at the same time.”

Ian snorted. He slid an arm over Anne's shoulders and as she rested her tired head on his chest, he murmured, “Another fine scrape you got me into, Anne Grant.”

On the third day of the calm, in the early afternoon, the sails finally quivered and filled and the ship again lulled over the waves. Anne breathed a great sigh of relief as she felt the
Hector
roll under her feet. “Funny what a person can wish for,” she thought.

After the evening meal, a young crewman in the crow's nest called out to the first mate. There was excitement in his voice. He gestured wildly toward the starboard bow.

The crew and passengers rushed to the rails and peered into the setting sun. Nothing but the endless reaches of the ocean spread before them. They looked at one another questioningly.

Captain Spiers stepped to the bow and trained his spyglass upon the western horizon. He nodded to himself, but said nothing. They all waited, watching, wondering.

And then little Christina, perched on Hugh's broad shoulders cried out, “What's that line over there? That brown line?”

The hush was broken. “What does the child see?”

“Is it land? Does she see land?”

“Captain, is it Nova Scotia?” Archibald Chisholm's bass voice boomed.

Captain Spiers turned to face the passengers. “No, not Nova Scotia. But it is land. Newfoundland. We are in sight of the New World!”

Cheers rose up from the
Hector
. Men turned and shook hands. Women hugged, crying tears of relief. Children jumped up and down and danced in circles around the deck, singing, “Land, land, Newfoundland!”

“Mister MacKay,” shouted Alex Cameron to the piper, “I believe this is cause to celebrate. What about a bit of music?”

John MacKay nodded, smiling, and went to fetch his pipes. He took a moment to pass the word to the passengers below, those who were sick and those who were nursing the sick, that land was in sight. He felt it would be the best tonic of all.

John played his pipes well into the night. The Scots danced and sang, sure that their ordeal would soon be ended.

Anne stood next to the starboard rail, next to Ian. The lively music seemed to take possession of her feet. She tapped her toes in time, itching to join the dancers. Anne looked up into Ian's face, imploring him to ask her to dance.

He understood her look but shook his head sadly. “Ach, I have two left feet, lass. I'd have your shins bruised before we got once 'round the deck.”

Anne tried to hide her disappointment by clapping her hands and watching Lily and John Sutherland caper across the floor. She noticed that Katherine and Hugh were dancing
gaily, with Christina and Janet spinning around them like mayflies.

John Stewart strode over to Anne and bowed, flicking his blond forelock from his eyes as he straightened. “May I have the honour of this dance, madam?”

Anne beamed. “A pleasure.”

She gathered her skirt in one hand and stepped out with John Stewart. She laughed as she had not laughed in weeks as her feet flew over the deck in time to the music.

When the dance ended and John Stewart escorted her back to her spot along the rail, Anne found that Ian had disappeared. Anne craned her neck, searching for him, but couldn't spot him amongst the crowd on the deck.

She started to wander aft in search of him. Then John MacKay began another frolicking tune on the pipes and John Sutherland approached Anne. He wiggled his bushy eyebrows at her and asked her to dance, and she was laughing and whirling across the deck once more.

Captain Spiers joined in the festivities for a time. Then he climbed up to the transom deck and stood between the carvings of the man and woman and surveyed the sea. The sunrise these last two mornings had been roseate and this evening's sunset was hazy. Along with the three day calm, it made him uneasy. The captain scanned the star-studded sky and breathed in the air. He watched and waited, and prayed that he waited for naught.

The captain's heart thudded heavily as he observed a dark line begin to spread across the western horizon. The darkness grew rapidly, boiling up from the sea and swallowing the stars like a gigantic maw. The breeze freshened, full of warmth and moisture.

The captain closed his eyes for a moment. Then he took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and surveyed the deck.

“Master Orr!” the captain called to his first mate.

Master Orr crossed the deck and stomped up the ladder to join the captain on the transom. The captain gestured toward the west.

Master Orr peered into the night. His eyes became round and his mouth dropped open. He glanced nervously at the captain.

“Shall I alert…?” Master Orr began.

“Let's not panic the passengers,” Captain Spiers said. His tone was calm, but his face was taut. “Ask the piper to finish the celebration and have the passengers retire to the hold. Make sure none of them remains on deck. Then alert the crew. We haven't much time to secure the ship before it hits.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Master Orr hurried down the ladder to the piper. He whispered in John MacKay's ear.

John gazed at the first mate sidelong, disbelief written all over his face. When he saw the grim set of Master Orr's jaw, he nodded curtly. He called to the passengers, “One more song, and then I must retire for the night, and so must all of you.”

“Nay, nay!” the crowd cried. “Play on, John!”

“Sorry, folks,” John said cheerily, “It's late, and our dear Master Orr here tells me we may have a little wind tonight. So we need to pack up and go below.”

“Nay!”

“Oh, do play on!”

“Come, come,” John said. “One more song and then off to bed.” And he began to play.

By the time he had finished the song and the passengers were drifting off, realizing that they could not convince him to play longer, the wind had risen considerably. Master Orr ordered his lads up onto the masts to secure the rigging. They struggled to contain the huge sheets of canvas.

There was a whistle in the wind that Anne hadn't heard before and it filled her with dread. It sounded wild, like an eagle's hunting call. She glanced about for Ian, but couldn't find him. Then she heard the wail of a frightened infant and she hurried to help Janet and Baby Jane down into the hold.

Within a quarter of an hour, the waves had whipped into froth. Rain pounded down. Anyone still on deck became drenched.

Ian was one of the last passengers to make his way down the ladder to the hold, having helped the crew secure the lines. His hair was plastered against his head. His shirt streamed water.

Anne met him at the foot of the ladder. “Did you see Christina?” she begged, her voice full of fear.

“Nay.”

“Katherine cannot find her. She's nearly frantic. She thought Christina had followed her down here, but once she got the other girls in their bunk…”

“Are you sure she isn't down here somewhere? She could be in someone else's…” Ian clung to the ladder with one hand and grabbed Anne about the waist as the
Hector
rolled upon a wave, tossing them sideways.

As they righted themselves, Anne said, “We have looked and looked. Hugh has gone to search, but…”

“I'll go back up, too, and check,” Ian said, turning to climb the ladder.

Anne followed him. As Ian started through the hatch he asked, “What are you doing? I'll help look for her.”

“We'll both look,” Anne yelled above the screaming of the wind. Her hair escaped from its pins and whipped wildly around her head. She pointed toward the stern. “I'll go aft.”

Ian nodded and bent his head against the gale. He grabbed hold of a safety rope strung from the hatch to the bow and inched his way forward.

Anne planted her feet, bracing herself. Rain pelted down, soaking her in an instant. A wave crashed over the rail and washed her legs out from under her. With a yelp, she skidded across the deck and pounded against one of the doors to the crew's quarters. She rolled onto her hands and knees, sputtering and shaking icy brine from her face.

Above the roar of the waves and the whining of the wind, she thought she heard a sound. She squinted up at the transom deck. She could make out nothing in the darkness.

Anne crawled to the ladder and clung with both hands to the railing. Another frigid wave cascaded onto the deck
and splashed over her. She gasped, shook the water off, and took a step upward. She pressed her body against the ladder as the ship bucked and pounded on the waves. Her fingers ached. Her knees quivered. She took another careful step. And another.

At last she was at the top of the ladder. She peered into the gloom. She could make out a small bundle lying below the carving of the woman. She inched toward it.

Anne stretched one hand out and grabbed a handful of soaked wool. She tugged, trying to pull it toward her. A tiny white face lifted from the bundle of cloth and two huge eyes stared at her. Relief flooded through Anne.

“Christina!” she shouted over the howling of the wind. “It's Anne! Come with me!”

The little girl uncurled from the carving and slid on her belly, like a seal on a slick beach rock, to face Anne.

“Good lass!” Anne cried, reaching out. “Give me your hand!”

Just then, a massive wave hit the
Hector
. The ship reeled and tipped dizzily. Anne felt herself falling backward and desperately gripped the railing with both hands. Little Christina screamed and slid along the transom deck, washed along with the brine.

“No!” Anne cried.

Christina slammed against a railing post and clung to it like a barnacle.

The ship shuddered and righted herself. Anne forced her numb fingers to let go of the railing. She scuttled on hands and knees to the edge of the transom, and grabbed Christina in her arms. The ship dropped into another trough, throwing Anne to the deck. She banged her elbows hard trying to protect Christina's little body as she fell. Anne rolled on her side and lay panting.

“I have you!” Anne yelled into the child's hair. Christina was sobbing.

Cradling Christina under one arm, Anne slithered along the wet, pitching transom deck to the ladder. She turned and
slipped Christina snuggly against the ladder in front of her. They clung to the railing, their hands like claws, easing down a step at a time. Anne attempted to shield the child with her body against the worst of the rain and wind and hammering waves.

As Anne reached the bottom step, she felt strong hands grip her shoulders. She turned her soaked face, and blinking away the rain and salt spray, she recognized Captain Spiers. He did not speak. He tucked Christina securely under his arm, then placed Anne's hands, one at a time, on his waist. Anne curled her fingers around his wide leather belt and held on. Christina clung under his coat like a terrified monkey.

Crouching, fighting against the screaming wind, Captain Spiers slowly moved hand-over-hand along a rope that was strung from his cabin to mid-ship. Anne inched along behind him, clutching him as if to life itself. When the captain reached the hatch he flung it open, then passed Christina to Anne. Anne wedged the child on the ladder in front of her, and they made their way slowly to the hold below. The hatch slammed closed, shutting out some of the fury of the storm.