The Runaway's Gold (26 page)

March 24, 1842

Dear C
,

I write in haste
,
as the reverend tells me your life is in danger. You are to wait at the inlet near the cave by the Cliffs of Culswick.
Look for two lights from the sea. This will be your sign that a boat is coming to take you to the packet we both have awaited once before
.

When you lose your way, as I have every reason to believe you will, use my compass. And when you do, I hope you will think of me. But wherever you go, you must remember to never speak of Shetland. Uncle says there are people with connections to this island in every port
.

Although our meeting was ever so brief, it is one I will never forget
.

Yours most sincerely,
M
.

I read it over and over, tracing her letters with me finger across the surface of the paper. She had been careful with her words, no doubt fearing the letter might be intercepted. But her generous heart shone through nonetheless.

From me perch in the broch I spent the day secretly watching the goings-on in the life of which I was suddenly and strangely no longer a part. Daa turning the soil of the arable land. Aunt Alice laying the wash on the rocks behind the croft house. Poor Gutcher, a kishie burdening his decrepit back, slowly trudging across the scattald with a load of the peat. And then there was Catherine, her frail body struggling to haul kishies of sludge from the byre to where we would soon plant. Something John and I were meant to do.

Only wee Victoria was oddly nowhere to be seen.

It was a long day, the longest I can remember, until something
shiny caught me eye. Against the wall at the far end of the broch was the large American coin Reverend Sill had cast away. It was nearly two hundred years old—the date 1652 struck on the back side! For hours I turned it over in me palm, the tarnished silver dull and worn. Was it the unusually grand size or the image of the tree that seemed to link the past to the present? One thing was certain: It had been important enough to Sam Livingston to hide it.

The wind was picking up at dusk when I slipped in the back door of our byre. It was the time me sisters milked the cows, and Catherine gasped when she saw me.

“You shouldn't be here! The sheriff and his men just left!”

I nodded, me finger to me lips. “Where's Vic?”

“Oh, Chris, she's been tossing and turning for two days now. Aunt Alice just canna cool her down.”

The fever! I pictured her nearly emaciated body and pale face. “She needs care!”

“Aye. But mostly bread and broth, only we've no way to pay for it. Daa's beside himself with worry.”

“Daa?” Did he suddenly care that his own hoarding of those coins had kept her too long from a proper meal? That if the fever didn't break soon she'd have no strength left to fight?

Without a thought, I plunged me fingers into me pocket. “Take these and bury them,” I whispered, pressing the remaining two ducats into her tiny palm. “And if the fever's not passed by morning, dig them up and bring them to Reverend Sill. He will get you what you need.” I had meant to give her one of the
ducats and keep the other for me journey, but suddenly me own needs seemed pointless.

She stared wide-eyed and nodded.

“And you mustn't tell a soul other than the reverend that you have them,” I cautioned. “No one! Especially Daa. For if they see them, they will come after you for stealing.”

“Did
you
steal them, Chris?”

“Och, no! They were left many years before by someone who meant for me to find them.”

“I don't understand.”

“And I don't have time to explain.”

“You're leaving again,” she said, looking away.

I felt a lump in me throat as I turned to her. “Aye. There's no helping it, Cath.”

“And John?”

“You'll not see him again. Not for a very long time. He left for sea just yesterday.”

“But how will we get along? There'll be no one to help Daa with bringing in the cod!”

“There'll be no fishing for anyone this year, I'm afraid,” I said. “Hard times are coming—worse than you've ever seen before. But Daa will have what he needs to cover the rent. Reverend Sill is seeing to it.”

“The reverend is helping Daa?”

“Aye,” I said, swallowing hard. “If there's one thing I've learned since I left here the other night, it's that most things aren't what you might suspect.” I touched me right hand lightly
to me heart as I had when last I'd seen her on that storming night eight days before. “It may be a long time before I see you again, Cath. But while I'm gone, I'll keep you with me.”

And then I knelt down and hugged me wee sister, wanting never to let her go.

THE STIFF WEST WIND WAS RAW UNDER THE blanket of moonlight, and I was shivering when I finally saw the two flashes on the horizon. I had made up me mind—I wasn't leaving the island. Not with wee Victoria fighting for her life. And yet George Marwick had made arrangements for me escape, and put the
Ernestine Brennan
at considerable risk to pick me up. As I huddled in the shrubs at the rocky shore, at the very spot Daa and the other men of the parish had so many times before waited for boatloads of smuggled gin and tobacco, I wrestled with what message I could possibly send to convey me deep regrets for not coming aboard.

It wasn't long before I heard the slapping sound of oars on water and then saw the shadow of a yoal approaching the shore. “Over here!” I called, bounding toward the water. But as I sprinted through the darkness, a powerful arm grabbed me from behind. And then I gasped as a snarled beard brushed me neck.

“Hah!” Knut Blackbeard grunted. He held a thick bat in his hand. “You wee rat of a lad! Cuttin' into yer Daa's business, eh? Even after you robbed him blind of his life's earnin's?”

I struggled to free meself from his arm at me throat. “Lor',
Knut,” I managed. “Do you think I'm here to meet a drop of goods?”

“Aye, you are! Just as you tried at the Marwick Lodberry the other night!” he growled, dragging me back from the water. “Me sources tell me you went and squandered every last one of your Daa's coins on barrels of gin you've already lost!”

“That's a lie,” I cried, struggling to escape his grip.

“You know those two flashes was meant for us. We've spied the
Ernestine Brennan
lurkin' about these shores for two days now. As long as there's gin to come ashore at Culswick, it's your Daa and me's who's in charge.”

And as he spoke, I eyed a familiar figure hobbling toward us, lantern in hand. “Daa!” I shouted, wrestling to free meself from Knut's grip. “Help me!”

“Caught him trying to meet the shipment!” Knut muttered, tightening his hold as Daa grabbed fast to me shoulders.

“First me pouch and now me livelihood!” Daa growled, eyes piercing mine. “Thought by now Sheriff Nicolson'd have you penned up for good.”

“'Twas John who took the pouch!” I cried. “I never lie to you, Daa. You know that!”

He scowled. “Loyalty. That's all I've asked. Put cod on the table. Kept you in rivlins. To think I've raised a thief!”

“And what do you call taking the Peterson ewe?” I asked, the palm of me right hand twitching.

He laughed, a maniacal grin pulling across his bearded face. “Survival, it is. That's what it's always been on this Godforsaken
island! Marwick's stacked the deck against us. What you dunna have, you take, 'cause you'll never get it any other way.”

“But you had coins, Daa! We're
starving
and you had coins!”

“Aye!” he said, his voice turning icy cold. “
And I had plans for those coins
.”

I looked at him, suddenly so overcome by years of unspoken rage I couldn't hold back. “Plans?” I screamed. “While we went to bed hungry? While wee Victoria grew so weak she canna fight a fever?”

He released his grip as I spoke, his face losing all expression as Knut hung on. But before Daa could reply, we were startled by a loud crack.

Knut's arm dropped suddenly and then he stumbled forward. There was another crack, louder than the first, and I watched in amazement as the hulking, bearded giant collapsed face-first into the sand. Standing above him was Malcolm—a piece of driftwood raised high above his head.

“Come on, lad!” Malcolm shouted, yanking me down the beach to the faint outline of the yoal from the
Ernestine Brennan
. “It's our ride to the ship!”

“Malcolm!” I cried. “But . . . but I can't go! Me sister—
she has the fever!
”

“Well, you'll not be curing her from behind the bars of Lerwick Prison, I can tell you that much,” his wonderfully familiar voice roared. Then he leapt aboard the yoal and took a seat at
the oars in front of a young lad in a red cap. “Push us off, Chris! We've no time to lose!”

“Oh no, you don't,” Daa bellowed, hobbling after us. “That's me son!”

And the moment I heard the rage in his voice, I knew Malcolm was right. But by the time I grasped the gunwales and started pushing the boat from the shore, Daa's arms locked around me waist. Then I heard the words that hit me like shards of ice to me heart.

“Those coins were for our stones,” he hissed, lips hot at me ear. “For a monument, tall and important, chiseled with the Robertson name. Like the one Marwick'll have, and the other thievin' merchants who've clawed their way to greatness on the back of the crofter!”

I wrenched me neck around, at first not believing what I was hearing.

“Not just the unmarked mounds of the other crofter graves like your Midder's and William's,” he continued, dragging me inland. “A Robertson plot—all on its own—away from the grounds of the Godforsaken Kirk!”

“You were hoarding those coins . . .
for our gravestones
?” I gasped.

“Aye, I was,” he growled. He threw his right arm around me neck. “Marwick sees to it we Robertsons are nothin' from the day we're born till we breathe our last.
But I'll be damned if we'll be nothin' when we're dead!
”

“Enough!” Malcolm cried suddenly from behind us, an oar from the yoal raised above his head. Then he drove it like a javelin into the small of Daa's back, and yanked me to his side. “Run, lad, run!”

We raced back to the water. Then Malcolm leapt aboard, as I drove me rivlins into the rocky beach and launched us from the shore.

“Get up, Knut, ya big glundie!” Daa commanded, scrambling to his knees in the icy surf. “He's getting away!”

Knut staggered to his feet, shaking the sand from his beard, still dazed from Malcolm's blows. “Curse you, William! Ya know I canna swim!”

As I flung meself over the gunwales, Malcolm met me with his familiar crooked smile. He settled into the seat in front of what I could now see was a lad not much older than meself. Then he grabbed fast to a set of oars.

“You haven't seen the last of me, you good-for-nothin' son!” Daa bellowed from the shore, fist in the air. “I'll get you if I have to hunt you down all the way to Greenland!”

“Row faster, Malcolm!” I cried.

“Oh, I think we've got 'em licked,” he said. “They won't be forgettin' them blows I gave them anytime soon!”

I stared at me wayward friend in the gray-blue light of the moon. “Thought you were headed to the Davis Strait with John.”

“Didn't they tell you? The lass, Mary, arranged for me to join you on your trip. Convinced the Marwick lad that someone
with me
experience
might come in handy. I'd been waitin' for you.”

“But what of Netty and your bairns?”

“Aye. Well, the way I see it, a wee foray into the high seas beats Norfolk Isle by a long shot. And as soon as I get meself established, I'll send for them.” Then he threw back his shoulders, a black-toothed grin stretching from cheek to cheek. “It's like I told you, lad—never stop lookin' for opportunities!”

I shook me head and smiled at this most unlikely of companions. Then I turned back to the fading outlines of Knut Blackbeard and Daa cursing from the shore of the island I might never see again. I thought of wee Victoria, weak with fever. Catherine, Gutcher, and Aunt Alice. Me Midder's and William's unmarked graves. But mostly I thought of Daa—craving a name in the hereafter over food for our survival. Not right in the head he was. John had known it all along.

Before long the clouds drifted from the moon, and the faint silhouette of the
Ernestine Brennan
appeared amid whitecaps on glistening black water. Deep in me pocket the American coin and Mary's letter and compass felt warm at me fingertips. They were more than I had ever had, and all I had left.

The Flight of the
Ernestine Brennan

North Sea, March 29, 1842

ook sharp! She's startin' to tear!” First Mate Magnus McNutt bellowed from across the deck. I winced at the sound of ripping cloth as the pony snatched a mouthful of hay from me arms with her sharp yellow teeth. The southwesterly gale that had propelled the
Ernestine Brennan
forward since dawn had torn clear through a broadseam on the mainsail.