Another Country (12 page)

“Prime for what?” Eleanor now looked curious, as if
Rupert were some unusual kind of specimen she was studying. Rupert
felt a prickle of irritation, even though he was gratified by her
interest.

“Prime for new business opportunities, and
expansion. If you read the papers...” he gave a little cough.
“Excuse me, I’m behaving terribly to control the conversation in
such a way. And I know well that ladies of breeding aren’t meant to
read newspapers.”

“Oh, really?” Margaret, leaning back in her seat,
looked amused. “Not in this house, I’m afraid. We all read the
papers, and quite avidly.” Rupert ducked his head, and she
chuckled, waving to him to continue. “Go on, Rupert. You’ve caught
my interest.”

Rupert resisted the urge to tug at his collar. He
was certain of his ideas; on fire for his beliefs and yet...
despite the old acquaintance of everyone in the room, they were
little more than strangers. He barely knew Henry at all, and he
hadn’t seen the others since he was little more than a child. His
heart beat with anxiety and excitement; he saw Eleanor looking at
him again with that peculiar expression on her face, interest and
even need masked by diffidence.

“Well, since you read the papers,” he continued
after a moment, “you’ll see loads of companies springing up
everywhere. There are plans to build canals, mills, even
railroads.”

“Railroads!” Eleanor was thunderstruck. She leaned
forward, and Rupert noticed how interest made her cheeks glow, her
eyes sparkle. “Engines are so noisy and smelly from what I’ve
heard, not to mention dangerous. Surely it won’t catch on.”

“I think there will be a railroad from one end of
this country to the other, before fifty years are out,” Rupert
declared. “Perhaps no more than twenty. You’ll be able to travel
from the Atlantic to the Pacific, all from the comfort of a
train!”

“Oh, Rupert, that must be nonsense,” Margaret
protested. “Settlers have been in America for two hundred years,
and nothing like that has happened. Most of the country is wild,
and filled with Indians.”

“The Indians are being removed,” Henry said quietly.
“A tragedy in itself, but the Black Hawk War has opened up the
Illinois territory to us.”

“Where do the Indians go?” Eleanor asked, her brow
wrinkled, and Henry shrugged.

“Reservations mostly. Contained areas where they’re
allowed, or really, wherever they can find just a bit of the space
and freedom they’re used to. Many die under the conditions.”

“And that’s the price of expansion,” Eleanor said in
a thoughtful, quiet voice. Rupert’s prickle of irritation
intensified.

“There always has to be a price,” he said and
Eleanor looked at him sharply.

“As long as you don’t pay it!”

“You can’t tell me you care for the Indians,” Rupert
persisted. “You’ve never even met one, and if you saw one, you’d
think it a savage.”

“Oh, would I?” She raised one eyebrow, a quiet
challenge.

Rupert shifted uncomfortably. “I only meant you are
new to this country.”

“As are you,” Eleanor returned. “Newer than I by a
fortnight, or so I recall? Yet you seemed to have formed your own
strong opinions. Allow me the same liberty.”

“Bravo, Eleanor!” Margaret clapped her hands
lightly, amused as always by debate of any kind. “You must not
discount Eleanor’s wisdom, Rupert. She’s been an observer for most
of her life; she has much to offer us.”

Rupert knew Margaret meant it as a
compliment, but by the way Eleanor flushed and looked down at her
plate he knew she regarded it as a slight.
An observer of life
. He put that
thought in the back of his mind, to be taken out later and examined
at leisure.

“Let us not argue about Indians,” he said smoothly.
“Surely there is enough interesting discussion without resorting to
unpleasant debates.”

“Tell us about the railroads, then, Rupert,”
Margaret said.

“There are already plans to build a railroad to
Chicago, a small settlement in the Illinois territory Henry
mentioned. And that’s just the beginning.”

“It surely couldn’t be true,” Eleanor said
dubiously, her eyes raised briefly from her plate.

Rupert subjected her to a
penetrating stare. “Are you saying that because you believe it, or
because you merely
want
to believe it?”

Eleanor bristled. “What are you implying?”

“Many people are afraid of change.” Rupert spoke
quietly, even gently. He realized he was afraid of hurting her, and
yet he could not let her words go unchallenged.

A shadow flickered in Eleanor’s eyes. “I’m not,” she
said after a moment. “As long as it doesn’t impinge on
comfort.”

Rupert chuckled. “Change will always do that, I’m
afraid. But if Henry will let me, I’d be happy to look into
investments... not abroad, but in this country.”

“You might have me persuaded,” Henry said affably.
“In time. But surely that is enough business talk over the dinner
table. Margaret, have you told Eleanor your plans for a charity
school?”

Eleanor’s eyes lit with interest. “Charity
school?”

“Something small,” Margaret explained, “to alleviate
the orphan problem.”

Rupert sat back in his chair, watching Eleanor as
Margaret explained her school plans. Animated as she was now, she
looked quite pretty. He wondered why she resented change, when
she’d obviously embraced it in her own life. Marrying a soldier,
removing to Glasgow, and then traveling unchaperoned to the new
world...! He would’ve thought she had a more adventurous nature,
but perhaps it was well hidden.

He felt a pang of regret for goading her. He was an
evangelist for opportunity, he knew, and he would need to use more
tact and grace to convince people of his plans... and his
dreams.

His gaze moved to Ian, who was gazing moodily into
his wine glass. The man was obviously troubled, and Rupert wondered
why. From all accounts Ian had made a success of his new life. Why
then, did he look as if carried the world on his shoulders?

“Perhaps you and Henry can come with us to look for
suitable premises,” Margaret said, bringing Rupert back into the
conversation.

“That would be delightful,” Rupert said. He glanced
again at Eleanor, and saw her look quickly away. He looked forward
to getting to know her, he realized, and understanding the puzzle
she seemed to present.

Allan glanced at his full barn in satisfaction. The
hay and barley were harvested, and their farmhouse fairly burst
with the fruits of the summer... ropes of onions, fat hams, and
barrels of dried apples, salt, and flour. Enough to last them the
winter, he thought with thankfulness, for although it was only the
end of September there was a chill in the air, and dawn had shown a
glittering mantle of silver frost on the ground.

Harriet wrapped her shawl around her shoulders,
joining Allan by the barn. “A good summer,” she said quietly. “We
should do well this winter, I hope.”

“As do I.” Allan turned to embrace her lightly. “I’d
planned to travel to the mainland before the waters freeze up.
There might be letters, and I could do with a few bits and pieces.
We’re low on nails, for a start.”

“Of course. Perhaps Rupert will have time to write
us, now he’s settled.” Harriet was pensive. Rupert had left after
the wheat had been gathered in, taking a ship from Charlottetown to
Boston. It was considered a short and safe journey these days,
which amazed her when she thought of her own harrowing crossing
eleven years ago.

“I thought we should visit Mingarry before winter
sets in,” Allan continued, breaking into Harriet’s thoughts.
“Mother’s been so poorly this last winter, I have a care for her
for the next.”

“Of course,” Harriet murmured. “I know Rupert’s
leaving took them hard.”

“Yes, Father especially.” Allan sighed. “All of his
sons found their calling elsewhere. I can’t help but feel that has
been a sore disappointment to him.”

“You came back,” Harriet reminded him. “And have
been a credit to him for ten years, Allan MacDougall. There’s no
need for regrets, not now.”

“I suppose not. It will be good to see them, though.
There can be no mistaking they are getting older, as we all are,
and who knows how many more years Providence will grant them, or
us.”

Harriet shivered as the evening breeze picked up.
“Many, I trust. And I’d like to see your parents as well.”

“Then it’s settled.” Allan smiled. “As soon as we
can make ready.”

The next few days were taken up with preparations
for travel, as well as continuing to ready for winter. When Maggie
and George learned they were to spend a few days at Mingarry Farm,
they were delighted, and seemed to spend even more time asking
endless questions and getting underfoot.

“Will Uncle Rupert be there?” George asked eagerly,
and Harriet shook her head. “No, you know I told you Rupert has
gone to Boston.”

“Boston?” George looked at her in confusion, and
Harriet well knew how bewildering it was. Who would’ve ever
thought, their family scattered to the corners of the earth in such
a fashion? Her hands stilled over the bread dough she was kneading
as she was assailed with a sudden, fierce pang of longing...
longing for her family to be together, safe, under one roof. The
desire was replaced by sorrow as she realized how unlikely that was
to ever happen.

“Mama, there’s a man coming from the river!” Maggie
announced from the window. “And he’s got such a long face!”

Harriet turned from her work to look outside. “It’s
John McPhee,” she said, worry sharpening her tone. “Your
grandparents’ hired man.” She frowned, drying her hands on her
apron, and hurried outside.

John McPhee climbed up from the river, the color of
pewter in the cold, overcast day, his face as grim as the sky above
him.

“John, is something wrong at Mingarry?” she called.
“We’ve just been planning a visit there, before the cold weather
comes.”

John nodded gravely. “Aye, it’s bad news, I’m
afraid, Mistress MacDougall. Mr. MacDougall taken poorly these last
few days, and is laid up in bed.”

Harriet’s fingers clenched around the fringes of her
shawl. “How poorly?”

John looked even more serious. “The mistress asked
me to fetch you at once, for we don’t know how long he’ll hang
on.”

“Hang on?” Harriet repeated numbly. She saw Allan
come round the house from the barn, his boots muddy and his
expression one of alarm as he saw John.

“It’s Father, isn’t it?” he asked quietly as he drew
up to them, and Harriet could only nod.

Allan’s expression hardened and he nodded once,
firmly, in decision. “I’ll get the horses ready. We’ll come at
once.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Harriet pulled her shawl tighter across her
shoulders as she clung to the seat of the wagon. It was raining
steadily, the roads turned to muddy ruts.

The journey from their own farm to Mingarry usually
only took an hour, and yet in this weather Harriet knew it could
take twice or even three times that. She suppressed a sigh, drawing
a fractious Anna closer to her.

“Hush, little one. Hush.” She glanced at Allan, the
rain dripping from the brim of his hat, his hands tight on the
reins, his face grim, as it had been since Sandy’s hired man had
brought the news of his illness.

Harriet put a hand on Allan’s
sleeve, and he gave a small smile, reaching over to pat her hand
with his own. She watched the rain sluice over their intertwined
fingers, chilling them to the color of bone. Her fingers curled and
tightened instinctively.

“It will be all right.”

Allan sighed heavily. “I pray so.”

“Mama? Are we there yet?” George and Maggie’s pale,
anxious faces peered from behind.

“Soon, darlings, soon.” Harriet silently prayed that
the rain would not give them a chill, and create even more illness.
Travel in this weather was dangerous for anyone. She wondered
inwardly if the journey was worth such a price, but Allan would not
be dissuaded.

“He needs me,” he’d argued, his voice low but firm.
“John wouldn’t have come if Father wasn’t truly ill. If you don’t
want to travel in the rain, I’ll go alone.”

And leave her to travel by herself, with three
children? She held little hope that Allan would return once he’d
arrived at Mingarry. The needs of his parents would keep him busy,
and Harriet acknowledged silently, they would come first.
“Nonsense. A little rain won’t hurt us. We’ll stay together.”

“Look, Mama, Mingarry!” Maggie pointed at the clump
of birches, their leaves now a deep gold, that marked the beginning
of the older MacDougalls’ property. Harriet murmured a prayer of
thanks.

It was another half hour before they actually
reached the farmhouse, sodden and shivering. The house was dark,
strangely lifeless, and Harriet felt a chill of foreboding that had
nothing to do with the freezing rain.

“There’s no smoke from the chimney.” The words came
out before Harriet could stop them, and with a muffled oath Allan
swung down from the wagon.

Harriet gathered the children together, Anna pressed
closed to her chest, and followed her husband up the steps to the
wide front porch.

Inside the house was dark, the damp penetrating even
to the hearth. Harriet glanced quickly for signs of life, but the
grate held nothing but dead ashes and it looked as if no food had
been prepared for some time.

“Mother.” Allan started forward as Betty emerged
from the bedroom, a shawl draped over her stooped shoulders, her
mob cap askew on her thin, white hair.

“Oh, Allan, thank Providence you’ve come.” Betty
leaned into her son as he put his arms around her.

“How is Father?”

“He fell yesterday morning, while out in the barn. I
didn’t see it happen, of course, but John came running in. He’s
been in bed since, but he hasn’t stirred or even had a bit of broth
to drink.” She glanced helplessly around the cold, dark room. “I
fell asleep...”