PART ONE
1830
Chapter One
1830
Belle’s teeth clamped down on the thick wad of cloth as the pain ripped through her. She could taste the mustiness of it, a dry, acrid staleness that caught in the back of her throat. Spitting it out as the pain receded, she wondered how many other women had bitten down on that same piece of cloth.
The sun, struggling to pierce the green glass of the small window, giving an unearthly greenish glow to everything within, suddenly burst through the opening door with an unwelcome warmth which merged with the sweat on Belle’s body. She turned her head and, narrowing her eyes against the glare, looked at the woman stooping to enter the small room. Their eyes met momentarily, and Belle knew that Annie was only there because it was her duty to be present at the birth of her first grandchild.
Belle turned her face to the wall, but no matter how much she tried she could not find a comfortable position on the straw-filled mattress. Her dark curls tangled damply around her neck and she did not feel pretty, but no longer had the strength to care.
The pain started again. At first, it had only been twinges but now the pain deepened and came in waves, closer and closer together. Tears coursed down Belle’s cheeks as she twisted her head from side to side, sobbing and moaning. ‘Damn! Damn! Damn!’ she muttered. ‘Damn you, Jimmie Watt!’ Clamping her teeth firmly on the rag, she thought angrily, if it hadn’t been for you I wouldn’t be lying here now, with only your sour-faced mother and some damned witch of a midwife for company.
The pain ripped through her, a rending, splitting pain that threatened to disembowel her. She tried to scream but gagged on the cloth in her mouth. Struggling to dislodge it she finally shrieked and shrieked, while strong hands held her thrashing legs and caught the baby who had struggled so fiercely to be born. Belle, aware of a feeling of release now lay panting and sweating in the enclosed space of the box bed, barely aware of her mother-in-law’s silent disapproval.
‘It’s a fine wee lass.’ The midwife busied herself with a pair of scissors, manoeuvring adroitly in the confined space, her rubber apron crackling and smelling fishy in the heat. Belle felt sure it was the same apron she used to gut fish, and she recalled with a shudder the black under the woman’s fingernails.
‘A first bairn is always the worst.’ The midwife’s tone was kindly. ‘Are you not going to look at her then?’ She thrust the baby at Belle who instinctively held out her arms. The baby, still covered with birth fluids, puckered her lips and made a mewling sound.
Belle had never actually held a baby before and she had never seen one with such a head of black hair, so long that it reached her tiny shoulders. ‘I’ll call her Sarah,’ she announced.
The tall, well-built woman sitting on the ingle stool at the fireside removed the clay pipe from her mouth and spat in the fire. As the droplets bubbled and sizzled on the coal, she turned slowly and deliberately to stare at Belle. ‘Sarah? What kind of daft name’s that?’ she demanded. ‘It’s not a fisher name, that’s for sure.’
Belle cringed. The feeling of worthlessness, instilled in her by her minister uncle, crept through her making her feel stupid. She looked at the baby and then at Annie. Meeting the contempt in Annie’s eyes she stiffened with defiance and said, ‘She’s my baby and I’ll call her what I like.’ Belle’s arms tightened around Sarah, the only real possession she’d ever had that was all her own.
‘Ach, Annie Watt, what does it matter what the lassie calls her bairn.’ The midwife thrust a parcel of bloody papers and straw into the fire.
‘We’ll see about that when my Jimmie comes home,’ Annie muttered. ‘He’ll have something to say.’
‘He’s not your Jimmie anymore, he’s mine,’ Belle muttered, scowling at her mother-in-law.
‘Hmph!’ Annie snorted, turning back to the fire. ‘That’s what comes of marrying a townie. He should have stuck to his own kind.’ She rammed the clay pipe into her mouth and clamped her teeth on it, a sure indication that as far as she was concerned the discussion was over.
Belle flopped back on the bed exhausted, unsure whether the wetness on her cheeks was from sweat or tears. Jimmie should have been here with her, but he’d gone out with his father’s boat, chasing the herring shoals. The fish were more important to him than something so commonplace as the birth of a child.
Belle looked at the wrinkled, black-haired baby, but her feeling of joy had been ruined by the attitude of her mother-in-law, and she suddenly felt too tired to care.
‘Don’t be such a misery, Annie,’ the midwife said. She laid a basin in front of the fire and reached for the heavy black kettle that was simmering on the hob. ‘She’s just a wee lass, and I mind fine when you had Jeannie, you made a bit of a fuss too as I recall.’
‘I don’t recall that at all.’ Annie’s voice was dangerously quiet. ‘And I don’t see how you can remember. That was all of seven years ago.’
Turning her face to the wall, and grasping the baby close to her body, Belle covered her head with the rough grey blanket. She could not bear listening to the two older women because she knew that neither accepted her as one of their own. To them, she would always be an outsider. The incomer that was not welcome in the fishing community of Craigden. She wished again that her Jimmie was with her to shield her from their contempt.
Belle never noticed the blanket being pulled back, nor was she aware of Sarah being lifted from her arms as she descended into a restless sleep.
Chapter Two
The mud slithered through Jeannie’s toes. She tentatively dug deeper and wriggled them in an effort to detect stones and the precious mussels that clung to their surface. Ma always managed to fill her creel with mussels, so Jeannie knew she wouldn’t be pleased with today’s harvest that barely covered the bottom of her murlin basket.
‘There’ll be no mussels today,’ Jeannie had heard her ma say that morning. Jeannie knew she should not have come to the back-sands on her own. But she also knew that Da couldn’t fish tomorrow if there were no mussels to bait the lines, and Ma had been so busy she had not even noticed Jeannie leave.
Solemnly she studied the bottom of the basket hoping the mussels would magically increase, but nothing magic ever happened to Jeannie, and the weight of her responsibilities pressed down on her young shoulders. The other bairns didn’t seem to be worrying, but it did not matter so much to them because they knew there would be mussels in plenty to bait their father’s lines. There would be few mussels for her da’s lines because her ma was at home waiting for the birthing of Belle’s bairn.
Jeannie knew that if she could get further out onto the back-sands where the mussel beds were thick, she would have filled her basket. She looked with envy at the women already turning to wade back to the shore and knew by the angle of their shoulders that they had managed to fill their creels.
The first of the women passed her singing out as she went, ‘Back to the shore you, young uns. Tide’s coming in.’
Jeannie dug her toes stubbornly into the mud. There must be some more mussels somewhere. But if there were, the women would not have had to wade so far out into the tidal waters of the basin. Her eyes stung, but she refused to cry. Jeannie had not cried since she was five, and now she was a grown-up seven it wouldn’t do to let anyone see tears.
Davie appeared at her side with a splash. ‘Come on, Jeannie, tide’s coming in fast, and Ma would give me what for if I took you home drowned.’
‘You might have helped me with the mussels.’ Jeannie glared at her older brother.
‘Menfolk don’t gather mussels.’ Davie stretched his twelve-year-old body as tall as it would go. He smirked down at his sister. ‘That’s women’s work.’
The two children glared at each other, Jeannie, small and thin for her age, and Davie, already showing signs of becoming a tall man. Jeannie was the first to turn her eyes away. She did not like to fight with her brother and did not like it when Davie’s eyes lost their usual laughter.
‘Anyways, you could have helped, just this once,’ she muttered, turning to wade to the shore. Staggering slightly she held her skirts higher to avoid the gathering waves.
Davie grasped her thin arm. ‘Come on, before you sail down the river.’ And, making sure she did not stumble, led her to the shore.
The women, already walking towards the village, strode out with manly steps despite their wet skirts. Jeannie was not sure how they managed it because the sogginess of her skirt kept catching her legs and slowing her down.
‘Cheer up.’ Davie tramped along at her side. ‘Ma will be too busy helping Belle birth the bairn she won’t notice there’s hardly any mussels, and by the time she does I’ll make sure your murlin’s full.’
Jeannie did not bother to ask him how he would manage that, but she reckoned some of the other baskets might be slightly less full. It wasn’t right some of the things Davie got up to, but she would not refuse the extra mussels, for Ma’s displeasure was dreaded by all her children.
‘D’you think the bairn’s born yet, Davie?’
‘How should I know? That’s women’s business.’ Davie lengthened his stride. ‘Anyway I expect it is,’ he added.
Jeannie giggled. Davie often imitated his older brothers in his efforts to appear a man. ‘D’you like Belle?’ she asked, and watched with interest as a blush stained Davie’s neck and spread to his face.
‘She’s all right,’ he mumbled.
‘Ma doesn’t like her.’ Jeannie hesitated, not sure whether she should or shouldn’t like Belle, just because Ma didn’t like her.
‘Ma wouldn’t like anybody who’d taken her Jimmie away from her.’
‘That’s not true, she wanted Jimmie to marry Ellen Bruce.’ Jeannie nodded in the direction of the group of younger women just in front of them. ‘I heard her say so.’
‘She only wanted that so Jimmie could get a share in the Bruce boat, anyways Belle’s a lot prettier than Ellen.’
‘See, I knew you liked Belle.’ Jeannie skipped out of the way of the hand that Davie aimed at her head. Hoisting her damp skirt up to her knees, she ran to the top of the grassy bank where she could see straight down the river and out to sea.
The mud flats were now completely under the water as the tide raced in. Jeannie shivered to think that only minutes before she had been gathering mussels where now there was only water. The village lay before her, small and constrained by the cliff that rose behind it, the sun dappling the faces of the cottages that sat in its lap. She tried to pick out her ma’s house, but they all looked the same at this distance. Shading her eyes with her hand, for the sun was high in the sky, she looked beyond the small huddle of whitewashed cottages to the river mouth.
‘The boats should be coming back now the tide’s on the turn.’ Jeannie lowered her hand and turned to look at her brother. ‘Jimmie will be anxious to know if he’s a da yet.’
‘They’ll not come back until they’re full of fish, no bairn’s worth an empty boat. Besides Ma would give them what for if they came back without a catch.’
‘You’re right, Davie, I suppose I just wished they’d come home.’ Jeannie started to walk down the path towards the cottages. ‘At least we can see if Belle’s had her bairn yet.’
Chapter Three
Belle sank deeper into the sleep of exhaustion. The voices muttering in the background turned into the gentle shush of waves rolling up the beach.
Her feet sank into the sand and it trickled around them and between her toes. Jimmie’s hand, clasping hers, was warm and firm.
They started to run, whooping and laughing like children. Then he stopped, swung her off her feet and twirled her around before pulling her close to him, so close she could feel the beat of his heart against her breast. She swayed into him, feeling his love and need for her.
It was the most wonderful thing in the world, having someone want you and love you. It was something she had never experienced before.
‘Oh, Belle,’ he said, looking into her eyes. ‘You are the best thing that ever happened to me. Nothing must ever come between us.’
‘Nothing will,’ she replied. ‘I won’t let it.’
She savoured the moment, warmed by his love. The love that was hers alone. A love she would never willingly share with anyone.
The shriek of a gull broke into their reverie, accompanied by the clatter of tongues. Belle blinked. She was back in the box bed, lying on the hard straw.
***
The Bonnie Annie approached the river mouth well in front of the other fishing boats and its skipper, James Watt, sighed with contentment. He was a tall man with weather-beaten features and a grizzled grey beard that he kneaded with his fingers in an attempt to loosen the salt left behind by many dousings with sea spray. He looked with pride at his eldest son, Jimmie, who at nineteen, was turning into a damned good seaman, able to handle the boat almost as well as he could himself.
‘Pull that sail around, Jimmie, we’re just about at the river mouth and we don’t want to come in too close to the rocks.’ James Watt looked with satisfaction at their silvery catch. Never had he seen the herring so plentiful, they could almost have scooped them out of the sea with a bucket this time, and they hadn’t even lost one net.
‘Let me swing the sail, Da?’ Angus pleaded.
‘No lad, you must wait till you’ve more experience, and we can’t afford to sail too near the rocks. We’d lose everything if we lost the boat.’ James looked with pleasure at his second youngest son, only fifteen, still smooth chinned and desperate to have all the knowledge and experience of older sailors so he could get his own vessel. Not like Ian who slouched in the bottom of the boat and couldn’t care less. Still, Ian was only seventeen and might grow out of his fighting and carousing ways.
The small boat swung around in the wind and scudded around the rocky promontory as Jimmie expertly handled the sails. Jimmie was the eldest of James’s four sons and his favourite. Of course, there was wee Jeannie, who did not count because she was a girl. James would never have admitted it, but he had a soft spot for Jeannie, pity she hadn’t been a boy. James smiled with satisfaction. ‘Good lad, Jimmie.’ That was as much praise as James could bring himself to give.
Salt spray splashed over the side of the boat as the tide caught her, and James laughingly rubbed it out of his beard. ‘You’ll make a sailor yet,’ he shouted to Jimmie, ‘that is if you can manage to keep us afloat at the speed you’re going. But no doubt, you’ll be wanting to see if that wee lass has made you a father yet.’
Angus who had been having trouble maintaining his balance dropped down to join Ian on the bottom of the boat. ‘Jimmie’s in a hurry, but I don’t blame him. I’d be in a hurry too if I had somebody like Belle waiting for me.’
Ian snorted. ‘Jimmie’s had more lassies than you’ve had herrings for your tea,’ he sneered. ‘I don’t see Belle’s that much different. She’s just the one who caught him. She’ll have a hard job keeping him, though.’
‘Away you go. I’ve seen the way he looks at her. He never looked at any other lassie like that before.’
‘That may be so but Belle’s not a fisher lass and doesn’t know the life. She’ll never stand it and before you know it she’ll have found somebody else.’
‘But she can’t, she’s Jimmie’s wife,’ Angus stuttered.
‘A flash town tart, more like,’ Ian retorted.
James frowned down at his two sons. ‘That’s enough of that,’ he snapped. ‘Jimmie and Belle are nothing to do with you two. So hold your tongues.’ Turning he stared toward the little cluster of houses cradled in the shadow of the cliff. ‘Pull your sail round now, Jimmie,’ he ordered curtly, his earlier good humour gone as he worried about what he had overheard Ian saying, for it appeared to him that there was some truth in it.
***
Jeannie had almost reached the cottages when she caught sight of the boat, sails billowing in the wind, racing up the river with the incoming tide. She rose up on her toes and shaded her eyes. ‘Look, Davie! Look! The boats are coming back. Can you see which one’s in front? Is it Da’s boat?’
Davie frowned. ‘They should be lowering their sails by now, they’re too far up the river.’
‘Is it Da’s boat?’ Jeannie persisted. ‘Is it?’
‘Yes, yes, it’s Da’s boat...’
Jeannie didn’t wait to hear any more as she started running towards the cottage her murlin grasped firmly in both arms to prevent the bouncing mussels from spilling out.
‘Ma. Ma,’ she gasped as she burst through the door, ‘the boats are coming back.’ The sun cut through the green-tinged gloom in the room but even so, Jeannie had to blink several times before her eyes adjusted. She could distinguish her ma sitting on the ingle neuk stool smoking her pipe and the village midwife kneeling to bathe a tiny baby.
‘Leave the mussels outside the door, Jeannie.’ Her ma’s voice was harsher than usual. ‘You know better than bring them in the house.’
Jeannie turned, almost colliding with Davie. ‘Here, you take them, Davie. I want to see the bairn.’ She thrust the murlin into her brother’s unwilling arms. ‘Is it a boy?’ she asked excitedly, ignoring Davie’s muttered objections as he turned to place the basket outside.
‘No Jeannie, it’s not a boy. It’s the bonniest wee lass I ever saw.’ The midwife beckoned to her. ‘Come and see.’
‘You don’t have time to be admiring bairns,’ Annie snapped. ‘If the boats are coming upriver there’ll be work to do.’ Tapping her pipe out on the hearthstone she rose and strode out to the sunlight.
‘Ach, Ma. Just a wee look, that’s all I want.’
‘There’ll be plenty of time for that later. Come on, Jeannie.’
‘Quick Jeannie, have a wee peep. Your ma won’t know the difference if you run fast and catch up with her.’ The midwife laid the baby on her knee. Jeannie tiptoed over to her, afraid the baby would start crying. She looked in amazement at Sarah and gently touched her black hair. ‘I never knew babies had so much hair,’ she said. Sarah turned her head towards Jeannie’s stroking finger and the sound of her voice, and it was as if an instant bond had sprung up between the seven-year-old and the new baby.
‘Come on, Jeannie.’ Ma’s voice broke the spell, and Jeannie turned to run out of the cottage knowing that Sarah was special.
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