5. Chapter 5 - Kaitlyn
CHAPTER 5 - KAITLYN
SIDDALL’S FARM - 1775
T he house looked as if it had been built by additions as the family grew. One section was a one story, wood construction with a pitched roof; another section was two story, built of brick, the pitch of the roofs met awkwardly in at least three places; and every window was a different size.
On a direct path between fields we passed outbuildings, a barn, and a smokehouse with smoke rising from the chimney. I could see an orchard farther along and about six workers in the fields, stopping to watch as we strode by. We passed a stable and the kitchen garden, until we finally came to the front porch, where a woman stood at the rail wiping her hands on her apron. “Master Siddall, there is company?”
“Madame Siddall, I present to you, Master Campbell and his wife. They have solicited room and board. I will cart them to town in the morn.”
Magnus bowed, I did an awkward curtsey.
Her face drew down. “What manner of person is Master Campbell, in this outlandish attire? This is untoward! I was not expecting company, Master Siddall!”
Siddall’s voice was stern. “No need to fuss, Madame Siddall, he is here to fight the English. They are newly arrived and he is delivering his wife to safety, then he will go and fight on the lines.” He said to Magnus, “At the inn in town you can register for the militia.”
Magnus nodded.
Madame Siddall wrung her hands while holding her apron still . “But… their clothes , Master Siddall, if they were seen!”
I bowed my head. “If I had a place to wash up, Madame Siddall, I could be more presentable.”
Master Siddall said, “Show her through to the washbasin, Marnie — do as you are told. They will sleep in John-John’s room, he can bunk with his brothers for the night.”
Her eyes went wide. “But Master Siddall, we cannot put them in the house! Eliza is close to her time, this is too much turmoil.”
Anger flashed across his face. “Marnie, you must listen to what I say. They will sleep in the barn, that is the end of it.”
I glanced at Magnus and he raised his brow, but didn’t say a word.
His wife said, “Of course, Master Siddall.” She dropped her apron and turned on her heel. “Follow me, Madame… remind me your surname?”
I said, “Campbell.”
She stalked into the house and I followed her in.
She looked very uncomfortable, perhaps rightly so, I was a stranger after all and a mess, on top of a dress that was outlandishly overly decorated in embroidery on maroon.
Thankfully the blood marks on the skirt looked like dirt, but I was filthy. She directed me toward a basin with a pitcher of water beside it for washing my face, hands, and arms. There was soap beside it, and a cloth that looked as if it had been used to dry off a few people before me.
She stood to the side and watched.
It made me incredibly nervous to wash up in front of her — did I know how to wash myself correctly for colonial standards?
I poured water over my hands, sudsed and lathered up my arms, keeping my draping sleeves away as best I could. Then I leaned over the bowl and splashed and scrubbed all over my face with stinging soap, then quickly rinsed it off.
With wet hands I smoothed back my hair to tame it, pulling the hair band off, removing the couple of silver hair pins that were left, and putting my hair all back up in a low bun. I hoped it looked better.
I glanced at Madame Siddall, she was watching me, her eyes narrowed suspiciously.
I dabbed at my skin with the towel, drying off.
Madame Siddall said, “Thou needs better dress.”
I nodded. “I do, I need… I need better dress… and thank you for taking us in.” My stomach growled.
This seemed like a perfect time for her to give me something to eat, but instead she just stated, “Thou hast bruises. Did the man you are traveling with do it to you? He ought to know better than bruising your face, it gives one a disagreeable look.”
“No, it wasn’t the man I was traveling with, it was another man.”
She huffed. “Thou ought not travel with such men.”
My stomach growled. I wondered where Magnus was.
She said, “Thou needs some clothes,” and began walking down a dim hallway to a back room.
I followed her, wondering if I was supposed to. In a back bedroom she pulled a stack of clothes from a shelf and placed it on the bed.
Then she went and stood by the door with her hands clasped at her waist, giving me no instructions. I calculated that these were for me and she was going to observe again.
Without planning, I pulled my dress off over my head and then my under tunic, leaving myself completely unclothed. And drat, I hadn’t looked at what I was going to put on.
I gulped and guessed — the second item down looked like a linen shift. I opened it up and dove in, pulling it on and jabbing my arms in the sleeves. This was all done awkwardly. I glanced at Madame Siddall and she was not impressed.
It was a little like when Magnus and I lived in the home of Lady Helen Fleming in Edinburgh for those long months in 1552 — like there was nothing I could do to make her approve of me. There was no going up from here, I had no idea how to put on these clothes.
I wondered if I ought to just tell her that because I was a queen I rarely dressed myself.
I was a freaking queen. I was not going to be judged.
I blew hair off my forehead, I would need to fix my hair again.
The next big item in the pile was a gray dress. Very simple, a little like a pilgrim. I pulled it over my head and got it stuck on my shoulders. I struggled for a second, unable to get it down or off.
She muttered, “Tsk-tsk,” and stalked over to yank it off my arms. She shook her head while unpinning the front, then brusquely pulled the dress over my arms and manhandled me pulling it closed. “Thou hast how many babes?”
“Are you asking because the dress is too small?”
She nodded as she grasped the front fabric roughly.
Ow, that was going to make it hard to breathe.
She jabbed pins in to close it tight.
I gasped, “I have had four babies. The first I miscarried, he was a little boy. The second is my husband’s son, I adopted him. I have two I carried full term, a little girl, Isla who is four years old, and a baby boy named Jack. I guess I can blame the pouchy tummy on those two…”
She jabbed in another pin.
I asked, “How many babes have you carried?”
“I have been blessed with twelve living, four souls have passed on to Heaven.”
I muttered, “Wow, that’s…”
She said, “Thou are young though, you will have many more.”
My eyes went wide. “Well I don’t know, that would mean one a year for a bit. Not sure I’m that robust.” I awkwardly laughed.
She did not laugh. She unfolded a small shawl from the pile and wrapped it around my neck, tucked it, and pinned it down my front. In the close proximity I was aware how much I needed to brush my teeth and put on deodorant.
Then she unfolded a piece of white cloth, an apron, and wrapped it around my waist, tying it very tightly in the back. She stepped back and looked at me, her head cocked judgmentally.
It took effort to raise my arms to my hair, the seams on my shoulders stretching past what seemed safe, so I could only smooth the sides and hoped my hair looked good enough. My stomach growled once more. She ignored it, and placed a bonnet on my head that completely blocked my peripheral vision, and tied it under my chin.
She turned and walked from the room.
I guessed I should follow.
In the main room I found Magnus, wearing a man’s shirt and a pair of breeches, with stockings and his boots. His hair was tied back in a bow, his face washed. I had forgotten how absolutely hot he was in breeches. I flushed remembering that long ago day when he dressed like this in London in the eighteenth century.
I was not nearly as fancy as I had been then, but I was definitely an ‘Abigail’ to his ‘John Adams.’
If only he had a coat. He reached over and pulled a coat off the back of a chair and pulled it on and smoothed down the front.
He raised his brow.
How did he guess?
I smiled.
Yes.
He nodded. Aye.
We were alone, but spoke in hushed voices, not wanting to be overheard. “Will they feed us soon? I’m so hungry.”
He said, “Aye, I am verra close tae stalkin’ out ontae the farm and takin’ what I want, they canna stop me.”
I said, “You look very hot by the way.”
He chuckled. “I ken, tis why yer cheeks are pink and ye are undressin’ me with yer eyes, because ye hae always been weak for the fancy clothes of the American Founding Fathers. If only I had a white wig ye would be in bed already.”
I said, “So true. I am a sucker for the hot rebelliousness of a man about to overthrow a king.”
“Ye will hae tae accept a king pretendin ’ tae be a man who wants tae join the army tae overthrow an English king.”
“Oh right, it’s complicated.”
“Tis not.” He tapped his temple. “I am a king, I am a man, and if I can overthrow the English king, even if he is the great great grandson of the king who did this tae us, I find the terms acceptable. I will do it first then do my own English king later.”
I said, “...but, you know, let’s not. Let’s keep you from the front lines of the revolutionary war and get home somehow.”
“Tis my plan.”
“Besides, what would I do while you’re off at war?”
“Och nae,” he joked, “it does seem as if ye would hae the hardest time of it.”
I laughed.
And then, finally, finally, the evening meal was called.
They had a large family and we all sat down the sides of a very long table on a long bench, packed tightly together. Some of the women passed plates with food already served over our shoulders. There was a type of roasted meat, some boiled greens, and potatoes. A hunk of bread.
I wanted to eat, oh how I wanted to eat, but we all bowed our heads for a very long prayer.
I considered passing out with hunger but stayed conscious because it was the only way to get fed. I was driven by spite. It had been hours of getting ready. I was a queen, I should have been fed the minute I told them I was hungry, as soon as my husband, the king, passed them the jewel.
I felt guilty for thinking these thoughts during the prayer, but wow was I hungry, and then finally, I heard the ‘Amen.’
Everyone picked up their forks and began to eat. I was ravenous.
I glanced at Magnus, he looked ravenous too. He muttered, “Och, I need tae pace m’self.”
I nodded as I shoveled in some potatoes, chewing greedily, hungrily, the way someone would eat who had been kidnapped and human trafficked and their last meal had been sharing squirrel meat. I needed to pace myself, too. If I threw this up I wouldn’t get a second meal. This did not look like the kind of place that approved of a midnight kitchen run.
No Taco Bell drive-thru for centuries.
I tried to slow my chewing and then swallowed. The conversation was low and quiet. The women ate silently, the men said only what needed to be said, and then the matriarch and patriarch asked questions and responded curtly. It wasn’t conversational, there wasn’t camaraderie, it was all rather dull.
Imagine telling them a joke, I wondered, then uh oh. I got a little tickled.
It was that kind of laughter you might get in church, where it comes on suddenly and you can’t stop it though you must... this was totally inappropriate. The first guffaw almost sprayed potatoes. I pretended to cough, then clamped tight and held on, trying to keep the laughs from erupting — what in the world was going on? Magnus and I had been a king and queen and now we were beggars in a long-ago time. Where even were we — America, more specifically Virginia, in 1775? All costumed up like we were Colonials!
Magnus’s eyes went wide, the corner of his mouth went up, he chuckled and passed me his napkin. I put it over my mouth, hiding it, as my face contorted. We were at the mercy of these farmers! Magnus gave them a jewel to feed us and they still acted like we were beneath them. I guffawed again and covered my whole face with the napkin. Trying to hide inside the brim of my bonnet.
We weren’t even the right people for this. James would have loved to be here in one of these costumes. I just wanted to steal this dude’s musket and run — after the meal, of course. I picked up my cup of tea and sipped, holding it in front of my lips to block my laughs. We looked Amish, it was ridiculous. Magnus looked like George Washington, I looked like I would sew a flag, but alas, the joke was on these people: I didn’t know how to sew! Or how to can fruits and vegetables, or make candles, what would women even do in this time?
What if Magnus and I were forced to join the revolutionary cause? I had no skills!
I bit my lip as suppressed laughter caused my shoulders to shake, the tea cup clattering as I put it down.
Calm down. Calm down, Kaitlyn, calm down. We had to get out of here, we were waylaid, we had to rescue our kids, our family, our kingdom, our world, but now I needed to not upset our host, and laughing was not okay. I drew in a deep long breath, then exhaled, dabbed my eyes, and passed the napkin back to Magnus.
Madame Siddall, with a pointed expression, asked, “Madame Campbell, thou art well?”
“Of course, yes, yes, well.” My mind raced for an answer. I couldn’t say that I was ‘laughing at our predicament,’ it sounded insane.
Magnus said, “Madame Campbell was just overcome, she greatly misses our bairns, and it has been a long journey.”
She nodded. “Wilt thou be reunited with them promptly?”
Magnus nodded. “Aye, as soon as we can manage it.”
Everyone continued eating quietly.
I picked up my fork again, dinner went back to normal, and Magnus squeezed my hand under the table.