Far Horizons (18 page)

“If you like.”

They walked in silence for a moment, Elizabeth swinging her basket, Allan beside her feeling stiff and awkward.

“You're not like your father, are you?”

He started in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“There's talk about your family.” Elizabeth flushed. “He was tacksman back in Scotland, wasn't he?”

“Yes. What of it?”

“I'm sorry, I don't mean anything by it. Only...” she bit her lip. “He isn't friendly. I thought you were.” Her wry smile made Allan realise she was teasing him a bit, and he managed a smile.

“I'm sorry. I don't mean to be...” he shrugged. “Yes, Father was tacksman on Ardnamurchan. I don't think he's quite realised the same system doesn't work here.”

“It's like that for some. They come to the new world, but they cling to the old ways, in spite of themselves.”

“What about your family?”

Elizabeth's friendly eyes shadowed briefly. “We were thrown off our land. It was the clearances. We hadn't a penny, either. The tacksman took the laird's share and his own, as well. So you see why my father has no love for a tacksman.”

“My father was honest and fair,” Allan replied with some heat. “He shouldn't...”

“I know that. It's just the reminder, you see, of the injustice of it all.” Elizabeth smiled sadly. “It runs deep. That's why we--and many others--came here. To get away from the old ways.”

Allan sighed. Elizabeth was not telling him anything he hadn't already known or guessed. He only wished his father would see the sense of it, as well. “My father is slow to change his ways,” he said after a moment. “But he can change them.” Or so he hoped, for his own sake as much as anyone else’s.

Elizabeth smiled, the laughter back in her eyes. “Good.”

They'd almost reached the bend in the river, and Elizabeth turned to walk off the road to the raspberry patch. “You're not like your father, and you're not like your brother, either.”

“What do you mean?”

“He's always ready for a laugh, or some kind of mischief.” Elizabeth shrugged. “You're more serious. Steady.”

It was a comparison that had been made all his life. Allan merely nodded his head.

“Goodbye, then.” Elizabeth walked off, and so quietly he might not have heard it, she said, “I like the serious ones.”

Ian was not at supper that night, but Harriet was too anxious over the loss of the farm to worry much.

“I suppose he's hiding,” she said with tired contempt as she and Margaret cleared the dishes.

“You must feel sorry for him, Harriet,” Margaret said quietly. “He's only a boy.”

“He wanted to be a man.” Harriet sighed. “I'm too angry and afraid now to feel anything for Ian, Margaret. Perhaps that's low of me. It probably is.” She leaned against the pine table and closed her eyes briefly. “I feel as if I've been holding this family together for too long, and we're breaking apart into pieces. I can't clutch at them all. I can't carry them.”

“You don't need to. You're not alone, you know.”

“I know.” Harriet smiled briefly. “But you've your own family, and one day soon you'll be in the new world...”

“Perhaps.” Margaret turned away, busying with hanging a tea towel to dry. “Have you decided what you're going to do? Shall you tell your father?”

Harriet shook her head. “Not yet.” She dreaded that interview, whenever it came. “Tomorrow I'll see Mr. Franklin and show him the contract. There must be some way out of this.” It was the only hope she could cling to, and cling to it she did. The alternative was like staring into a great abyss, a despair and hopelessness she couldn't even begin to think of.

“I'm sure he’ll think of something,” Margaret said with more cheer than either of them felt. “After all, Ian's only fifteen. Surely his signature can't be binding, at that age.”

“I pray not.” Yet Harriet knew Ian had possessed a letter giving his father’s permission to sign a contract in his name. David had been pleased at his son’s interest, even if it was only to sell the land. Harriet couldn’t bear telling him the truth of the matter now.

By bedtime, Ian still hadn't returned. Uneasy now, Harriet searched the house and barns, expecting to find him hiding in one of the haylofts, ashamed. There wasn't a trace of him.

“Rupert, do you know where he's gone?” Margaret asked.

A shadow of apprehension flitted across the young boy's face. “No...”

“You know something,” Margaret said definitively. “You spend all day with Ian. Come out with it, then. We must find him, Rupert, surely you can see that.”

“I don't know where he went.” Rupert's face was set in stubborn lines, a younger version of their father. “I saw him head down the road, towards Cragnuire. But I didn't ask him where he was going, and he didn't tell me.”

“Did he have anything with him?” Margaret asked. “A rucksack, or...” she glanced at Harriet. “Rupert, was he running away?”

Rupert looked down, unwilling to meet their gaze. “I don't know.”

Margaret and Harriet exchanged worried glances. “He's gone, then,” Harriet said heavily. “I was too hard on him. I know I was. I was just so angry!”

“Of course you were. You mustn't blame yourself.”

A loud knocking had them both flying to the front door. Harriet jerked back in surprise when she opened it.

“What are you doing here?”

“Not a terribly friendly greeting, but I've had worse.” Andrew Reid smiled ruefully. “May I come in? It's pouring out here, and I'm getting quite soaked.”

“This isn't Lanymoor, Mr. Reid,” Harriet told him coldly. “Is there any reason I should let you inside my house--it will be yours soon enough, thanks to your uncle!”

“That's why I've come,” Andrew said quietly. “I'd nothing to do with that, and I'm truly sorry for what my uncle did.”

“Let him come in, Harriet,” Margaret said. “He might know something useful, after all.”

Reluctantly Harriet stood aside, and let Andrew into the front parlour. He seemed too big and lanky for the small space, and he stooped slightly even though there was no need.

“Do you have something to say?” Harriet asked. There was no call to be gracious to this man. He'd have his due soon enough.

“Actually, I do. I didn't know anything about my uncle's plan until he announced it to you.”

“You must've known something,” Margaret protested. “How did Sir Riddell know the Campbells were even considering selling the land?”

“I've no idea,” Andrew replied calmly. “I've known Uncle James wanted to buy land on Mull, and if I'm honest, I'll tell you I knew he wanted your land in particular.”

“Why?” Harriet cried. “What does he have against us?”

Andrew shrugged. “You're the largest landholders on Mull, the last freehold farmers. If he took your land, it would send a message to all the landholders between here and Fort William. When he learned you were having financial difficulties...”

“You certainly did know something,” Harriet rejoined bitterly. “Who was it who told him all this?”

“This is an island, Miss Campbell,” Andrew said gently, “and a small one at that. How was he not to know?”

Although Harriet could see the sense of it, she refused to acknowledge the point, and looked away instead. “Why have you come?” she said after a long, tense moment, her voice low. “What does it matter if you knew or not, if I believe you or not? It doesn't change things.”

“I rather hope that it might. I'll help you try and get the farm back, Harriet... if there's anything within my power.”

The use of her first name caused a strange sensation, half pleasure, half pain, to ripple through her. Harriet lifted her chin. “And what would that be, Mr. Reid? I wasn't under the impression that you'd much influence with your uncle at all!”

Andrew flushed. “Perhaps not. If you don't want my help...”

“Stop being so proud, Harriet,” Margaret admonished. “You could use all the help you're offered, especially now, with Ian.”

“What has happened to Ian?”

“He's run away,” Harriet said bluntly. “Shamed by your uncle's trickery, and how he fell foul of it, a mere boy!”

“Why don't you let me help you?” Andrew asked. “I have the carriage. We can look for him tonight. It's a foul night out. The sooner he's back in his bed, the better we'll all rest.”

“You included?” Harriet raised her eyebrows in mockery. “I didn't know you cared about my brother, Mr. Reid!”

“Pax, Miss Campbell,” Andrew said tiredly. “Please? For one night? So I can help.”

Grudgingly Harriet nodded. She felt, in a sudden rush, an immense weariness. Holding in this anger and bitterness took its toll. Perhaps for one evening she could let go of it.

The road to Cragnuire was thick with mud and the carriage ride was bumpy at best. They checked all the likely haunts: the inn, neighbours’ houses, even down to Tobermory and the waterfront, but there was no sign of him.

It occurred to Harriet as they sat close together, elbows jostling as Andrew handled the reins, how inappropriate it was that she was here, consorting with the enemy, and a bachelor at that. If anyone saw, her reputation would be maligned, but she'd little patience with that sort of nonsense. Ian had to be found.

“He's holed up somewhere for the night, no doubt,” Andrew said. “It's wretched out. Perhaps I should take you home. We can look again tomorrow.”

Harriet shivered. She didn't like the thought of Ian out in the lashing rain by himself.

“He's fifteen,” Andrew reminded her gently. “Man enough to run away, and man enough, I hope, to come back.”

“It'll serve him right, bearing an uncomfortable night,” Harriet said with a decided lack of conviction. “But if he's not back tomorrow, I shall have to tell Father... and everyone.”

“He'll come back tomorrow like a wet puppy, I'm sure. In the meantime, though, it doesn't solve your other problem.”

“I don't know what will solve that, except for your uncle's repentance.”

“I agree.” Andrew’s voice was dry. “However, I'm afraid that's hardly likely. Why don't you show the contract to your man of business? There may be a way out yet. I'll go with you, if you like.”

Harriet was about to retort that it would be hardly necessary, but the stinging words died on her lips. Andrew read her expression perfectly, and took her chin in his hand. Her skin tingled where he touched it.

“Harriet, I'm your friend. I want to be. Will you let me?”

Her mouth was dry and she wet her lips before whispering, “I don't know if I can trust you.”

“Let me prove it to you.”

With an alarming fluttering of her heart, Harriet realised he was going to kiss her. She jerked her chin from his grasp just in time. “Take me home, Mr. Reid, please. It's very late.”

Silently Andrew took the reins. Harriet leaned back against the seat and exhaled a shaky breath. She didn't know what frightened her more... that Andrew had been going to kiss her, or that a treacherous part of her had wanted him to.

“I have an announcement to make.” Sandy smiled at his family gathered around the supper table. Betty smiled back with a touch of worry clouding her eyes, and Archie leaned back in his chair, quietly confident. Allan stilled, his fork halfway to his mouth.

He glanced at Archie, and his brother averted his eyes. Allan laid down his fork.

“Archie is going into the army,” Sandy said proudly. “I've bought him a commission in the 30th regiment. He'll be a lieutenant to start with, and I'm sure he'll make us proud, won't you?”

Archie, lounging his chair, nodded. Allan placed his hands carefully on the table. He looked hard at his father, who stared back with a bland determination.

“What about the farm?” Allan asked quietly. “Without Archie's help...”

“I can afford to hire a few men. The harvest is good this year, and there's been talk in Charlottetown of men who haven't their own land. They're willing to work, in exchange for board and a little pay.”

“I see. No different than what I do then, except they get paid.”

“Allan!” Betty’s voice came out in a low, desperate entreaty, and Allan stood up from the table.

Sandy stared at him, eyes narrowed. “This is about Archie now, Allan.”

Allan nodded, waiting until he could trust his voice to be pleasant. “I can’t quite see how Archie’s joining the Army fits in with our plans, Father. I thought we were
all
meant to work the farm and enjoy its success.”

“I think you and I can manage the farm, Allan,” Sandy replied firmly. “And Archie never had his heart in the land, did you, lad?”

“No, Father.”

Allan’s hands clenched into fists, and he dropped them into his lap. Looking at his father’s bland face, his mother’s troubled countenance, and worst of all, Archie’s smug understanding, touched with pity, was more than he could bear. His brother knew. His brother knew just how much this was costing everyone in the family.

“Allan,” Sandy said with quiet menace, “you haven't congratulated your brother.”

Bitterness welled up in him as he forced hips lips to curl into a smile. “Congratulations, Archie. You'll do splendidly in the Army. You always did know how to fight for what you wanted.” He stood up. He could take no more. “Excuse me.”

Blindly he made his way out to the barn. The air was cold, with a promise of frost, and in the gathering dusk he could see the beauty of the turning foliage, a blaze of gold and crimson.

He was blind to it all, blind to everything but the rage building within him.

The animals sensed his anger and there was a rustling and fidgeting from the stalls as Allan placed his palms flat against the barn wall, his head bowed.

Why had Sandy seen fit to buy Archie a commission, a future of his own, while at every opportunity he reminded Allan of his duty to the farm? It wasn't fair. It was the cry of a little boy, unused to the ways of the world, yet Allan couldn't help but feel the injustice of it to the depths of his soul.

He let out a howl of rage, of frustration, and kicked at the dirt floor. He dropped his head into his hands, already defeated.

“Allan.” Betty stood silhouetted in the doorway of the barn, clutching her shawl. “Allan,
cridhe
, what is it?”

“Did you know about this?”