Departure Time

            A few days later Jannet accompanied her family to Sergeant MacDonald's presentation at the mill. The sergeant described Lord Selkirk's dream of a settlement on the Red River in North America. To this end he had purchased five thousand square miles of prairie land from the Hudson's Bay Company. Under questioning, MacDonald admitted neither he nor His Grace had ever been there.

            In the crowd Jannet shifted from foot to foot. Her inner voice screamed, Where exactly is the Red River? How do we get there? She was too timid to holler aloud, but someone else did.

            In response MacDonald unscrolled a crude map, marking the sailing route across the Atlantic to the southwest shore of Hudson's Bay. This map did not reassure Jannet. She knew the fate of Henry Hudson, set adrift in a skiff after his crew mutinied in the frozen wasteland. Besides, MacDonald's map did not pinpoint the location of the Red River.

            In the days that followed one thousand people enrolled as prospective settlers. Jannet couldn't believe so many people trusted an emigration plan with so few details attached. Such as....how do we reach the Red River? MacDonald admitted there were no roads, not even trails—just hundreds of miles of dense forests and wild rivers. Even thinking about the journey made her head ache.

            In mid-May Lord Selkirk installed himself at the Helmsdale Inn for a week. Da and Mr. Sage were summoned to confer with him. Several days later, while Jannet was eating supper, their cottage door burst open. Da stood there beaming, looking ten years younger. He had helped His Grace whittle down that long list to ninety stalwart souls. Gave character references, Da said.

            The lucky ninety included their family plus Angus and Jean and their neighbours the Gunns. They would leave on a Hudson's Bay ship in mid-June. Jannet didn't feel at all lucky. Nevertheless, the next morning she was sucked into a vortex of frenzied activity.

            Sent to retrieve their sheep from the high meadow, Jannet trudged across the family garden plot. She recalled how comforting the soil had felt a year ago when she planted seed potatoes. Last May when she still belonged here...before her entire parish was torn from their ancestral land. The ache in her heart threatened to explode.

            She crouched to sift the dark loam, enriched with hundreds of years of cattle droppings. An image flitted though her mind. She was a wee child tagging behind Da, while he tucked potato eyes into the ground. She patted the soil over each chunk, as Da related stories about their farm.

            This plot had sustained her ancestors with turnips and kale since St. Donan brought the first Scots here. Her own grandfather had intoduced potatoes to this valley. Some neighbours were loathe to plant them, being supicious of all things Irish. Da always laughed at this point. They came round after hearing how nourishing they were.

            Jannet's body ached to begin the planting dance: dig, plant, cover, step forward, repeat. The spring dance to tuck seeds onto God's good earth and reap the bounty for winter survival. She stood up with a sigh. Only weeds will grow here now.

            She remembered her mission to bring down the sheep. Straightening her back, she strode across the soft earth onto the rocky path.

            As she passed the rigs she noticed a few farmers sowing barley and oats. Jannet felt a twinge of envy. Some families were allowed to stay until Lord Selkirk could arrange further passage next spring—a reprieve granted by Lady Stafford after shaming lectures in the southern press.

            Just postponing the heartbreak till next year, Jannet reminded herself.

            She plodded uphill where a stream gurgled over rocks and bubbled through stretches of young grass. She laboured up the switch-back trail she had climbed with Ian Gordon during that snowstorm in February. When the ground leveled out she was at the high measdow.

            At the broad flat top of Coimhead Creag  Jannet spread her arms wide. My last chance to stand atop our famous lookout rock. The day was so clear she could see miles up the valley. Near Kinbrace her eyes lit upon the castle ruins she and Da had explored once. Da had lifted her up to a window seat in a half-collapsed wall. She posed on its wide ledge pretending to be the beautiful daughter of a laird. The last time I'll ever see this castle. A sob caught in her throat.

            Jannet rounded up the six sheep and paused at the top of the switch-back trail. Her eyes followed the Helmsdale River as it broadened and flowed into the North Sea. In the clear air she spotted Granny's cottage nestled in the seaside village.

            My last view of Kildonan strath from this height. The next truth sliced through her mind like a dagger.  From now on everything I do will be the last time!  

            With a heavy heart Jannet herded the sheep downhill to their barn. For the next week Ma kept her busy shearing, cleaning, carding and spinning the wool. Already a capable knitter, Jannet sat by the window for another week, clicking wooden needles. Every hour she stood and arched her aching back as the wool became scarves and mitts. Ma used her skill to create high-necked sweaters. All big and loose to begin, but felted and windproof after they were waulked in hot water. Parted from their woolly coats, the sheep were sold for meat.

            Shortly before emigration day, Jannet and her mother visited their parish church for the last time. Sitting in their family pew, Jannet whispered farewell to the Chiefs of Clann Gunn sleeping beneath the altar. She studied each corner of Reverend Sage's church, trying to fix it in her mind.

            When Ma rose to leave, Jannet hurried to hold open the heavy door. She willed her feet to follow her mother home, but they would not budge. Her hand stuck to the brass doorlatch. Silent tears rolled down her face.

            Ma turned around with a scowl. “Whatever is wrong, Jannet?”

            Collapsing on the front step of the church, Jannet exhaled a long gutteral moan. The throat muscles that suppressed her anguish failed her completely. “'Tis is the last time I'll ever see this church,” she wailed. “I have to leave behind everything I love.”

            In the most unlikely miracle of love, her mother softened, sat on the stoop beside her daughter. “Ye will not leave everything behind,” she soothed. “Ye'll carry yer memories and these memories will always comfort ye.” Jannet looked into Ma's eyes and felt comforted.

             The day of departure arrived. The wagon was packed and George perched on the seat, reins in hand. The wagon box was crammed with trunks and food supplies. Da helped Ma settle on the bench beside her son. Her face was rigid, revealing no emotion.

            Jannet knew she had to walk to Helmsdale, a journey she used to enjoy. But not today. Now her legs felt so weak, her chest so constricted, her stomach so nauseous, she didn't think she could manage a single step, let alone ten miles. She clutched the side of the wagon.

            Nobody spoke. They waited...supended in time. For Da...but he had vanished. Finally he appeared on the path from the barn, holding aloft two blazing torches. Whatever..? Jannet thought. Before she could form a complete question, the answer was clear.

            With a mighty heave Da hurled one torch onto the thatched roof of their home. He walked forward and heaved the other torch onto the far end of the roof. As Jannet stood there, rooted in horror,  tendrils of acrid smoke coiled through the trees. Da had set the barn ablaze too.

            Da turned a grim face to his family and hollered through the crackling fire, “We're not leaving anything for that bastard Sellar to use.” He flipped his Sutherland plaid over his shoulder like the proud Highland warrior he was and strode up to George. “Let's go, man.”

            The heavily-laden wagon creaked forward, inching away from the monstrous bonfire that their cottage had become. The Sutherland family was on the way to their new life.

            All except Jannet. She stood still as stone, transfixed by the enormity of her loss. This must be how Noah felt after the flood. Everything familiar is destroyed. She imagined mud oozing down the mountain as Noah abandoned the ark and led his animals into a land completely altered and foreign.    

            Suddenly Jannet's mother let out a sustained lament. Ma's high-pitched wail unhinged Jannet even more than the spitting flames devouring her cottage. If Màmag has lost her strength, how will I survive this ordeal?

            Still in a stupor, Jannet turned toward the cart lumbering away from her and began to shuffle in the same direction. Da walked back and clasped her hand.

            “Head up, lass. Remember the strength of yer people. Highlanders have been beaten to the ground many times. We have always risen again. We will build a better life in a new world.”

            Jannet tried fervently to believe this. The sorry parade of refugees grew as more carts fell in behind the Sutherlands. They stopped for Jean and Angus who threw their packs atop Da's cart and joined the walkers. Jannet managed a rushed hug with Aunt Nessie before the procession moved on.

            It was then that Jannet heard the sound that would sustain her. Gordon McKay emerged from Nessie's cottage playing his bagpipes as he had never played before. First the sprightly tunes of the Highlander's Farewell and Lochiel's Farewell.

            He's trying to instill heart in us, Jannet thought. As the procession travelled on and the sound wove through the trees, the tunes became more haunting, spilling over with heartbreak and loss. Lochaber No More, then Loch Lomond. The last tune Jannet strained to hear was the Skye Boat Song. The slow mournful notes hung in the air long after Gordon finished playing. 

            Beyond the village of Kildonan, Reverend Sage stood at the crossroads with his heavy church bible. He blessed each family as they passed. When Jannet stopped to receive his benediction he looked straight into her eyes and spoke only to her. “Go with God, young woman. You have Highland strength in your bones. You will rise again.”

            “Thank ye, sir,” Jannet whispered. “I'll ne'er forget ye.”

             She plodded on with the parade of evicted farmers, headed to Helmsdale to await the ferry to Stromness where a ship would sail them to the end of the known world. With every footstep Jannet mulled over Mr. Sage's parting words.

            She felt taller. She held her back straight and lifted her chin. I carry childhood memories with me, but I go into the world as a strong Highland woman.