Oatcakes and Courage (10 page)

Lily said, “Now, Janet, I know it hurts. So scream if you must. But try not to scare all the men into jumping off the ship.”

Janet gave a wan smile.

“What do I do?” Anne whispered, realizing she was parroting poor Kenneth. She had never attended a birthing before, and she thought she must be as scared as Janet.

“Exactly what you are doing. Talk to Janet. Hold her hand. Remember lasses, this is a natural process. Women have been having babies since God made the earth.”

John Sutherland wordlessly set a bucket of water, a lit lantern, and a clean linen raiment next to his wife and slipped
away. Anne thought the linen looked suspiciously like what was left of her best petticoat.

Kenneth returned with an armful of blankets. He stood looking helplessly upon his wife. Janet's pale, freckled face was contorted with pain. Kenneth's mouth opened and closed several times, but nothing came out but a few incomprehensible moans.

Lily stood and scooped the blankets from his arms, then dismissed him with, “Now go away, Kenneth. I'll let you know when you are a father.”

He shuffled his feet for a moment, then turned and shambled to the stern where John Sutherland, Ian, Hugh and Alexander sat waiting for him.

John patted him on the shoulder as he sat down. “Be brave, lad.”

Kenneth nodded glumly and stared across the deck through the darkness. His face was as pale as the moon. He could hear Janet panting.

“Now,” Lily was saying to Janet, “you need to rest whenever you can. As the word suggests, labour is hard work. So between pains, take long, deep breaths and wait.”

Janet stared at Lily with huge eyes. The contractions terrified her. She had never felt pain like this in her life.

Lily rolled Janet so she could put a blanket under her, then spread one over her. “Are you warm enough?” she asked gently, as to a child she was tucking into bed for the night.

Janet nodded.

“Good. You're sweating and we don't want you to get a chill. Now, let me look and see how far this wee bairn has come.”

Anne squeezed Janet's fingers and said, “I guess this baby is not going to be a patient one. It could not wait to get to the New World to be born.”

“What a terrible time…!” Janet wailed.

“Nay,” Anne hurried to say. “It means it's a good strong soul with a will to be alive. That's a good thing.”

Janet searched Anne's face. “Do you think that?”

“Of course!” Anne said with as much conviction as she could muster. “This babe wants to get that first look at the New World with the rest of us.”

Just then, a contraction hit. Janet clenched her teeth and groaned.

“Just hold steady, lass,” Lily instructed gently.

Janet cried out. Anne felt her fingers go numb as Janet crushed them between hers. After a few moments, the pain subsided, and Janet lay shaking on the blankets.

“You are doing fine,” Lily said calmly.

Anne's heart pounded. She smoothed damp curls from Janet's sweat-beaded forehead. Her own hands were shaking. She took a couple of deep breaths. Lily caught her eye and gave her an encouraging nod.

The pains began to come more quickly and finally Lily told Janet, “All right, lassie. It's time to push.”

Another contraction washed over Janet. She lifted her head and shoulders with the effort of her push. Anne helped support Janet's shoulders with her arms. Lily called out, “Good girl. That's it.”

This continued throughout the remainder of the night. Anne lost count of the contractions that wracked through Janet. Anne was exhausted from helping the young mother-to-be. She couldn't imagine how wasted Janet must feel.

Now, between pains, Janet lay limply on the bed of blankets. Her shift was soaked in sweat. She whimpered once, “I can't.”

Anne could see the transom deck silhouetted in the lightening gray of dawn when Lily said, “This time, the baby is coming, Janet. Do you hear me? Give it everything you have. Here we go!”

Anne pressed on Janet's back. Janet sat up and gave a battle cry that would make her clan elders proud. Her face scrunched together in a grimace of great concentration. She bore down.

“Aye! That's it! Push! More! Just a little more!” Lily cried.

Janet gave another great push, then fell back, totally exhausted.

Anne waited. All was quiet but for Janet's panting breath. Then Lily whispered, “Janet, you have a daughter.”

The mewing cry of a newborn babe poured over them like warm honey.

Tears streamed from the corners of Janet's eyes. She lay with her eyes closed, a tiny smile creasing her lips.

Lily hurriedly wrapped the baby in a soft blanket and set her on the new mother's heart.

Janet opened her eyes and in the new dawn light, gazed at her baby girl. Anne was weeping and laughing. She looked up at Lily to see the midwife's eyes glistening. They smiled at one another.

“You girls did just fine,” Lily said, patting Janet and then Anne on the shoulder.

Lily tidied up a bit, then said, “Now, I'd better go see Kenneth and tell him that he is a father. After that battle cry of yours, Janet, he may wonder what I've done to you.”

Janet whispered, “Thank you, Lily. Oh, thank you.”

Lily tried to compose her face. Smiles and tears fought to overcome the usual passive calm of her features. “You are welcome, lass. I'll be back shortly.”

Lily turned and bustled across the deck.

Anne reached out to touch the tiny infant's cheek. She was delicate and soft as a rose petal. She had a wisp of ginger hair, like her mother's. Anne asked, “What will you call her?”

“Jane. After my mother,” Janet murmured.

“That's a lovely name.”

Kenneth rushed over and began to fuss over his wife and daughter as new fathers do. Anne excused herself and left them to their happy moment.

Blessedly, Baby Jane did seem to be a strong and willful soul. She had a hearty appetite and a good set of lungs. The passengers didn't even mind too much that she woke them every night with her lusty cries for milk. It was a joy to have a healthy new life among them.

A couple of days later, the
Hector
rocked upon gentle swells as light, wispy clouds skimmed the turquoise sky. Kenneth and Janet, with baby Jane, joined Hugh, Katherine, the girls, Alexander, Elspie, their boys, Anne and Ian for their midday meal. There was a comfortable camaraderie amongst them, and when conversation lapsed, no one felt the need to fill the peaceful silence.

Little Christina's voice carried very clearly, then, when she turned to her father and asked, “Where did Baby Jane come from?”

Hugh's face turned as red as his bright hair. He gaped at Christina. The rest of the group sat for a moment in stunned silence, then a quiet titter of laughter rippled the air. Hugh looked from face to face, aghast.

He gazed down at Christina again. She sat with a small frown puckering her forehead. She didn't understand the delay in getting an answer to her question or the chuckles of the adults.

“I do not think that is a question that you should be asking…” Hugh choked.

“Why?” Christina asked, eyes wide.

“Well, because, it's…” Hugh looked beseechingly at Katherine. She raised an eyebrow, but offered no assistance.

“It's not a question for a young lady to ask in such company.”

Christina looked at the people about her. They were all family or folks friendly with her mama and papa. What was wrong with asking a question here? Her confusion was evident in her pouting lips.

Hugh's face grew redder still. Alexander's shoulders were shaking with the effort of controlling his laughter. Hugh scowled at him.

“Baby Jane was not on the ship when we left Scotland, was she?” Christina persisted. “I didn't see her. So where did she come from?”

Hugh threw up his hands. “Katherine!”

Katherine took pity on Hugh and beckoned Christina over to her. She settled Christina next to her on the deck and said, “Baby Jane was on the ship, but you couldn't see her.”

“How? How could I not see her?” Christina's eyes were enormous with wonder.

Hugh, still red and flustered, strode off to the stern. Chuckling loudly, Alexander followed.

Katherine explained, “The baby was in an egg. A very special egg.”

Christina puzzled over that for a moment, then asked, “Why did I not see the egg, then?”

Katherine smiled. “Ah, the egg was in a very safe place. It was in Janet's belly. It stayed there, safe and warm until Baby Jane was ready to be born.”

“Oh,” Christina said. She looked Janet up and down. Then she asked, “How did she know when she was ready?”

“God knew,” Katherine said. “Just like when a baby chick is ready to come out of its egg. When it's the right time, the babe will come.”

Christina glanced at baby Jane, then nodded, satisfied. She hopped up and trotted across the deck toward her father.

“I think she's gone to explain it all to Hugh,” Kenneth snorted.

Katherine nodded.

Ian chuckled, “Poor man.”

“I liked your explanation,” Anne told Katherine.

Katherine winked at Anne. “Maybe one day you will use that little story to tell your own daughter where a babe comes from.”

It was Anne's turn to blush.

At suppertime, when John Stewart made his rounds with his bucket of water, he did not have his usual cheery smile.

“Hello, there, John,” Hugh greeted him.

“I am afraid I am the bearer of more bad news,” John Stewart said glumly, raking one hand through his forelock of straw-coloured hair.

Anne and Ian scrambled to their feet. Now what was wrong?

“It seems,” John said, his deep voice toneless, “that the voyage is taking longer than was expected. We have a long way to go yet.”

“That is bad news,” Ian said.

“And,” John continued, “because of that, our water rations may not be sufficient to last out the trip. So I have been told by Master Orr to half the daily water allotted to everyone.”

Anne glanced at the crumbling oatcake in her hand. Her throat was parched much of the time as it was, with merely a pint to drink each day.

“Half a pint!” Hugh roared.

“Well,” John Stewart said listlessly, “it's that, or have no water at all for the last week or so that we're at sea. That's how Master Orr put it to me. I don't relish that idea at all.”

Hugh took a steadying breath. Ian and Anne looked at one another sorrowfully, then Ian shrugged.

They held out their cups and accepted their meagre ration of breakfast water. They sipped it slowly to make it last.

Chapter 9

W
HEN
A
NNE WOKE ONE
late August morning, she knew something was not right, even before she opened her eyes. An eerie hush enveloped the ship.

Anne came to her feet and looked about. The sea was as flat as a platter; the rising sun reflected on its surface like a mirror. Anne tilted her head and gazed at the masts. The sails lay as limp as wilted leaves. The
Hector
sat serenely, a dozing swan on a millpond.

At first, Anne felt joy at the calm and beauty of the morning. She didn't have to brace her legs to walk upon the deck. The ocean was enchanted in its stillness.

Then, as she watched the tension on the faces of the sailors and the pacing of the captain upon the transom, she realized that without the wind and the waves, the ship was stalled.

That realization dawned on all the passengers during the morning. “We are stuck here in the middle of the ocean!” Alex Cameron groused.

“Aye.” John Sutherland frowned, his bushy eyebrows meeting in a ‘v' over his nose. “But there is naught we can do about it. Unless you can whistle up the wind.”

“It is one thing after another on this accursed voyage,” Rebecca Patterson grumbled, her thin arms folded across her scrawny bosom.

“John Ross made it seem like it was naught but a wee trip to paradise, did he not?” ranted Alex Cameron.

“Well, I don't suppose he knew what troubles we'd have on the ship,” John Sutherland conceded.

“I wonder,” Alex snapped. “And I wonder if the promises he made us about the New World are as full of holes as this ship.”

“Oh, surely not!” Rebecca Patterson blanched.

“If we don't get some wind, we might never find out,” Alex Cameron snarled. “And here comes John Stewart with our thimbleful of water!”

“Don't be short with me,” John Stewart snapped. “I just deliver the water to you. 'Tis not my fault the rations have been cut. I did not make this tub as slow as a snail.”

“Aye, no point in shootin' the messenger, as it were,” Archibald Chisholm soothed in his deep voice. “We don't blame you, John, for the water ration. We appreciate you bringing the bucket 'round to us.”

“Humph,” John Stewart grumbled. “Hard to tell, I'd say. All I hear are complaints. Someone else is welcome to the job anytime.”

“Nay, nay, don't take it so. It is not you we are sore at, is it?” Archibald looked pointedly at the others.

The rest of the group gave grudging thanks to John Stewart for his efforts to bring around the water and he carried his bucket along to other settlers.

Fear festered and pustulated into suspicion and anger. There was nothing to do but wait for the wind to blow. There were some half-hearted attempts to engage the men in arm wrestling contests to help pass the time. But when one match ended in a nasty fistfight because one contestant claimed the other had cheated, and Master Spiers had to break it up and put both men in irons for a day until they cooled their tempers, the settlers went back to listless waiting.

The air was heavy, sultry, oppressive.

The first adult to die was Margaret McLean. She passed over on the second day of the calm. Margaret had been terribly seasick at the beginning of the voyage and finally succumbed to dysentery. Anne remembered when she had brought her a cup of water just a day or so out of Ullapool. Margaret had been plump and red-faced, with merry eyes and a sweet little upturned mouth. When Anne saw her just before her death, she hardly recognized her. The illness had wasted her away to little more than a skeletal husk.