Under the Same Sky (24 page)

“Aye, I expect there is,” Iain said genially. “We’re lookin’ for passage to Virginia on yon ship. Who would we see regardin’ that?”

“Be ye lookin’ to work or just take a nice, easy ride?” the bald man asked, tilting his head to the side and lifting one corner of his mouth. “For one of the two will cost ye a pretty penny, aye?”

Iain crossed his massive arms and smiled, waiting for the other sailors to finish chuckling. Andrew stood at Iain’s side, wary of the men’s unpredictable reactions. The docks were full of sailors. If a fight broke out, he and Iain would be badly outnumbered.

Iain squinted at the sailors, then shook his head with apparent disappointment.

“If these be the size o’ men what work the riggin’ here, I’d say ye’d be needin’ the two of us to make sure the ship doesna sink afore she leaves port,” he said.

The three sailors’ jaws dropped. The man in charge, however, hooted out a laugh that caused passersby to stop in surprise.

“Aye, ’tis so, we’d be glad o’ yer braw,” the bald man said, grinning. He thrust out a huge hand and Iain took it. “The name’s Murdo MacKinley, first mate. These here are Cullen, Sparky, and Jean Paul.”

“Andrew MacDonnell and Iain MacKenzie,” said Iain.

“You’ll want to speak with the cap’n, and he’s in town at the moment. Oh, wait a mite, there he is now. Cap’n!” he called. “We’ve a couple o’ men what want to work for ye.”

Captain Ninian Bryce was a short, stocky Scotsman with a curly gray beard and a belly that made the captain’s affinity for rich food obvious. His lips stuck out in a permanent pucker from under the beard, shaped for the moment around a weathered black pipe. His eyes were small, but in perpetual motion. They watched the men, the town, the ship, and the weather all at once. He tucked his thumbs into the waistband of his breeks as he approached the sailors and
gave Andrew and Iain a shrewd frown, narrowing his eyes and puffing on his pipe.

“Do they? Do they indeed. Aye, well. Ye’ve braw enough.” Smoke puffed through one corner of his mouth as he considered. “Have ye been aship afore?” he asked. He pulled the pipe from his lips and plucked a bit of tobacco from his tongue before continuing. “ ’Tis a difficult voyage, this. I’ve no desire to carry dead wood.”

Andrew spoke up. “We’ve no experience on the water, sir, but plenty o’ time spent workin’ hard.”

The captain nodded, then seemed to spot something on the ground. “The sea’s a wicked tutor,” he muttered.

“We’ve need to purchase a cabin as well, sir,” Andrew added. “No’ for us, mind. For a lady and two weans. We’ve the funds to cover their passage.”

The captain looked at Andrew with a new glimmer in his eye, suddenly more interested in the prospect.

“Aye? So I’ll be thankin’ ye for both yer coin
an’
yer backs?” The captain cleared his throat, then pulled his pipe from his mouth. He tapped the bowl against his leg, then turned toward his first mate. “Seems to me as we’ve a cabin no’ yet filled. Is that right, Murdo?”

The bald man smiled. “Aye, sir. But we’ve interested parties to be sure.”

“Have ye the passage wi’ ye, sirs?” asked Captain Bryce.

Iain chuckled. “Not in my hands, no. We’ll learn yer price an’ be back within the hour, if you’ll allow.”

The captain nodded. “Aye. That’ll be fine. We sail in two days, weather willin’. We’ve food and drink enough for the trip, lads, but if the good Lord should choose to change our course, we may have to cut back rations, so ye might tell yer lass to bring what else she can, an’ keep it well hid.”

“Aye, Cap’n,” Iain said. “We’ll do that.”

Andrew wandered down the dock, leaving Iain to the practical discussions. He wasn’t overly concerned about the amount of the fare. Beside the fact both Iain and Andrew were obviously fit workers, they had the money from his parents as well as Janet’s.

The ship looked sound, he thought. Then again, he’d never seen a ship before, so he’d no idea what it should have looked like. But it looked sturdy, with a gleaming hull that was currently being painted black by two sailors hanging on swings. Three masts towered over the ship, looking almost overwhelmed by endless spiderwebs of ropes and ladders. The sails were bundled neatly; the deck’s planking shone with a recent oiling.

Andrew took a deep breath. “All right,” he said to the ship. “Get us there safe.”

He turned back to Iain, who seemed satisfied with the business at hand. Iain bade the soldiers farewell and joined Andrew down the dock.

“Be ready to work like ye’ve ne’er worked afore!” called MacKinley, and they heard the sailors roar with laughter.

On the day of their departure the sun rose over a cloudless sky, the air cool with the aftereffects of rain. The wind dropped to almost nothing, which didn’t bode well for sailing; however, the crew set to work readying the ship anyway. Andrew and Iain worked alongside the sailors, heaving cargo until their skin shone with sweat. After the hold was filled with goods and livestock, the remaining space was crammed with human cargo. When the hold reached capacity, the hatch doors were shut, the sun denied passage.

Thanks to Hector’s purse, Janet and the children lived in relative luxury in a cabin, with two small beds and a table between. The men slept with the rest of the crew in another, larger cabin, sleeping in hammocks. Hammocks that were, in Iain’s furiously stated opinion, far too small.

The
Boyd of Glasgow
was a massive ship. The creaking mast and spars hung with ropes as thick as a man’s arm. Sailors hung from booms and dropped off rigging, hauled up sails, and waited for them to fill. MacKinley gave a piercing whistle to a boy aloft in the crow’s nest. As if waiting for this signal, the wind swooped in and pushed into the mainsail, billowing it out into giant white squares. As they left port, the wind picked up strength and the men shouted and whistled, thundering across the deck to loosen cleats, open more sails, and tie down the ropes again.

Endless waves eased the ship into the infinite sea. Janet stood with the children at the rail, eyes squinted against the wind as Scotland’s profile faded away. Andrew and Iain worked among the sailors, straining muscles and following orders, but when they could, they also faced backwards, their dark eyes seeing beyond the untidy buildings of the town, imagining the Highlands. The certainty of the past disappeared with each white-capped splash on the hull. The future stretched invisibly into the horizon, promising nothing.

The sailors plainly didn’t see it that way. The sun was out and the wind had come up. The decks were scrubbed, and their clothes and bodies were relatively clean from their layover. They flew from rope to sail to mast as easily as Andrew might have skipped a stone across a stream.

The crew was a moving patchwork of old and young, wide and wiry, some bald, some with hair that hung in thick tangles. They wore breeks or kilts, many wore coats, some wore rough-hewn shirts that had seen better days, and a few stripped to bare torsos. Sun-darkened skin stretched over honed muscles, gleaming with exertion. Grime stained the sailors’ hands and faces. Many of them tied rags in bands around their foreheads to keep the sweat from dripping into their eyes. A confusing medley of languages bounced across the
deck: English, Scots, Irish, French, and another Andrew couldn’t recognise. He thought maybe German.

And there was another sound. One that drew everyone to midship like a school of fish. Music. A lone fiddler stood by the bow, stomping a leather-clad foot in time to a jig. A wave crashed against the hull, showering the fiddler with seawater. The man laughed, throwing back his head as if waiting for more, but didn’t stop playing.

Andrew leaned against the rigging with his arms crossed, slightly apart from the other crew members. When he saw Janet and the children, he smiled and cocked his head, inviting them to stand by him.

“He’s mad,” Andrew said, and she nodded.

“Aye. But he can play,” she said. “Geoffrey would have liked it.”

“What’s ’at?” Peter asked, watching the fiddler with open awe.

The fiddler whirled toward them, dancing while he played, grinning from within his flaming red mane. His tunic was butter yellow, belted over black breeches, and he spun among the sailors, diverting them and spreading his enthusiasm. Before long most of the crew had joined in, clapping and whistling while the tempo built to a frenzy. At last the fiddler dropped his arms and bowed toward the company, shamelessly encouraging the burst of applause.

The captain’s boot heels struck the deck like a soldier’s drum as he strode toward the fiddler, thumbs in his belt. He stopped in the centre of the group, lifted his chin, and blew a stream of smoke into the air. He didn’t look at anyone, only focused on the line of clouds overhead. His voice was genial, with an iron core.

“Am I payin’ ye to be entertained, lads? Mr. MacKinley?”

MacKinley stepped out from where he had plainly been enjoying the music as well. “Cap’n?”

“If ye would be so kind?”

MacKinley bellowed, “Get yer lazy arses on deck, lads! This ship’s no’ goin’ to sail herself!”

Andrew and the rest of the crew, cheered by the music and chided by the captain, returned to their work, muttering good-naturedly to one another.

After they’d left, the fiddler approached Janet, smiling under twinkling eyes. “Seamus Murphy. At your service, ma’am,” he announced and bowed elegantly, fiddle tucked under his arm.

“That was lovely playin’, Mr. Murphy,” she said.

His ever-present grin widened. “Most gracious of you to say so, ma’am. I’ll be guessin’ this might be yer first time on a ship, am I right? I’ve a bit of experience I’d be pleased to share wit’ ye, if ye’re at all inclined. Yer accent tells me ye’re a Highlander, are ye? From Dublin I am, sailin’ to me fortune in America.”

“Good luck to ye, Mr. Murphy,” she said. Peter jerked on her hand and she nodded toward the fiddler. “If ye’ll excuse me, I must go an’—”

“Och! And be these yer precious children? Or”—his pale blue eyes went wide with feigned wonder—“might they be faeries?” He stepped back to get a good look at Peter and Flora.

The two were struck dumb. They stared open-mouthed at the stranger. Seamus didn’t wait for Janet’s answer but returned his laughing eyes to hers.

“Have mercy on a wretched soul, I pray ye. I’m afraid ye’ve the advantage, for I’ve given ye my name. Might ye gift me with yours?”

He waited expectantly, wearing a genuine expression of friendliness on his face. Janet frowned. She wasn’t used to strangers. And this Seamus fellow spoke so quickly it was difficult to understand a word he said.

“I’m inclined to keep that to myself, Mr. Murphy. Now, if ye dinna mind, I—”

“Oh, but I do! I do mind! A lass needs a proper escort on her first day aboard ship. How could I e’er forgive meself if sommit was to happen? It’s yer lucky day, sure and it is, that Seamus Murphy is here, for I know the ship as if ’twere the back o’ me own ’and. Allow me, miss”—he crooked his white-sleeved arm in invitation—“to give ye a tour—”

“The lady has said no, sir,” came a low voice, “and I’ll ask ye to respect her wishes.”

Andrew appeared behind Murphy, and the Irishman stiffened, but quickly regained his composure. He winked at Janet before turning around to face Andrew.

“Seamus Murphy, sir, at yer service,” he said, beaming at Andrew. “Am I to be acquainted with
your
name then, sir, as the lady isn’t wantin’ to tell me hers at present.”

“Andrew MacDonnell. Pleased to make yer acquaintance, Mr. Murphy. The lady is wi’ me, and ye’ll mind yer manners around her.”

Andrew kept his expression calm, holding the Irishman’s gaze. He saw curiosity sparkling in Seamus’s eyes. After a moment, Seamus bowed his head in good-humoured acquiescence.

“Sure, and I’ll remember that. I’ll apologise for any offense I might have given.” He tipped an imaginary hat Janet’s way, then turned back to Andrew. “I don’t recall seein’ you afore, Mr. MacDonnell. Is it your first time at sea, then?”

The fellow’s energy was contagious. He reminded Andrew of his brother, Dougal, and he clung to that thought. Seamus seemed like someone Andrew would like to know. He was someone who knew nothing about his history—about the battles he had fought, the horrors he had left behind.

“Aye,” Andrew said. “ ’Tis my first journey across water. Did I hear ye say ye were familiar wi’ this ship?”

“Sure an’ I did, Andrew,” Seamus answered in his cheerful lilt.
“Is it all right I call ye that? Andrew? I prefer the less formal in ever’t’in’, I do. Aye, an’ I’ve been aship afore today, although I must admit I
might
have stretched the truth a wee bit wi’ the lady.” He grimaced and plucked one of his fiddle strings. “I’ve no’ bin on
this
particular ship afore. How different can they be from one anot’er, though, I ask meself. Well, Seamus me lad, I says, let’s find us a mate an’ we’ll go explore the ship. An’ here stood this bonny lass”—he winked at Janet—“all alone wi’ the wee ones. I t’ought to maybe cheer her up wi’ a walk round is all.”

Janet arched one cool eyebrow.

“Well, Seamus,” Andrew answered, smiling and using the fiddler’s first name. “I’d be much obliged if ye were to show
me
around. I dinna ken if the lady is of a mind to join us, though.”

Andrew looked to Janet for direction. “Might I introduce ye?” he asked, and she pursed her lips, but nodded slightly.

“I’ll do it myself. And I’ll do it in my own time, thank ye. Mr. Murphy, I’m Janet MacLeod. At your pleasure, sir.”

Seamus nodded formally in acknowledgment. “Indeed. And t’ese?” He looked down at the children, who stepped forward to touch the strings on the fiddle, cushioned between Seamus’s arm and his side.

“These are Flora and Peter MacLeod,” Andrew said. “We are takin’ them to America since they’ve no kin left in Scotland.”

“Ah,” nodded Seamus. He frowned as he stooped and spoke to the children. “Not faeries after all then. For the faeries wouldn’t be near so brave as you two.”

Peter plucked one of the strings, then looked up at Seamus.

Seamus squatted so he was face to face with the little boy. “Have ye not seen a fiddle afore, lad? Well, an’ t’at’s a sorry thing to be sure. Tell me now”—he dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper—“have ye never afore met with an Irishman, either? Ah. Now
that’s
a sin, it is. It’s fine to meet you, sir.” He offered his hand to Peter, who stared at it, then back at Seamus, who waited. The boy looked down at his own hand, then very gently placed it within Seamus’s palm. Seamus nodded and shook the little hand. “Right, then. Let’s go see the ship, aye?”