Chapter Twenty-Three #2
Then another man appeared, holding the door open for a woman with a baby in her arms. Two small children toddled out behind her, holding on to her skirts.
The mother wore a shabby gown, the man an old plaid, and the little ones were in plain little gowns and knitted socks even in the chilly autumn weather.
Turning to speak to them, Catriona touched the children’s heads, then hugged the mother, took the father’s hand, and walked toward Finlay and Thomas.
The strangers went inside the shieling and shut the red door.
“What the devil,” Evan muttered.
“Ah, Kildonan.” Grant was suddenly there beside him. “Sorry you had to see this. I meant to tell you about this once we were alone. But it is good to have proof.”
“Proof of what?” Evan snapped.
“I suspect that your factor has been moving evicted tenants back to the glen without your permission. Your father sent them away. The local magistrate will be very interested to know that his orders have been ignored.”
Evan narrowed his eyes, watching Catriona follow her kinsmen toward a pony cart. While Evan waited, wondering when she would notice him, Arthur and the others joined them on the ridge top.
Then Catriona looked up at them. She said something to her brother and began to walk toward the slope. The skirt of her dark gown whipped in the wind. Then she stopped to wait as Evan strode downward to meet her alone on the rocky slope.
“What is this?” he asked low. “I know what Grant says about it. Now you tell me.”
She raised her chin and snugged her plaid around her shoulders, stubborn and defensive. “We have been finding homes for some of the Highlanders who left the glen years ago, and finding work for them too.”
“Not we,” Finlay said as he came up behind her. “I have done this.”
“So have I,” Thomas MacConn said. The three MacConns stood together with defiant expressions.
“How long has this been going on?” Evan asked.
“Over the last year. I have brought a dozen families back to the glen,” Finlay said. “Your father evicted them. Bringing them back was my own decision.”
“You did not ask me about this,” Evan said.
“I told your sister I thought we could bring families back to help with the work. She told me to write to you. I did that, but—”
“Letter!” Evan did not recall a letter. “So you went ahead with this?”
“Some of them came to me hoping to have help from you. I took it upon myself, waiting for your reply. But some of them could not wait—some were in the gutters of Glasgow collecting rags, others on the seashore gathering kelp and driftwood for pennies, not enough to live on. I had to help them, so I brought them here. Many of the huts and cottages were still abandoned, so most were able to go back to their homes. And I found work for them.”
“Shepherding,” Evan said. “Clipping. Gathering. Working the estate.”
Finlay nodded. “Aye. Helping with the work that had to be done. And repairing homes. They are grateful for the work, and glad to be back home, sir.”
Evan kept his expression flat, neutral. “What else do they do here?”
“The women weave good cloth from sheep’s wool,” Catriona said. “And spin wool into yarn to knit for our project. There were not enough women left in the glen to spin and weave and work the gardens until Finlay began bringing families back.”
“Knitting,” Evan repeated in a grim tone. “Spinning.”
She nodded, watching him, her eyes large and blue as the crisp autumn sky above. Near the hut, the newly placed family stood uncertainly in the yard.
Evan sighed, considering what to say, what to do.
The estate’s profit depended on a handful of men shepherding and shearing thousands of sheep.
The estate’s farms needed more help, too.
He knew his father’s economic reasons for clearing the glen, sending people away and replacing crofting farms with enormous flocks of sheep belonging to the earl, and renting vast acreage for hunting reserves and holiday resorts.
For centuries, Highlanders had held huge tracts of land in glens like this one, putting the land to minimal use with vegetable gardens and grain crops, while herding cattle and flocks of sheep in hills too inhospitable for crops.
They sold hides and wool, produced whisky, wove tartans, and kept their enterprises modest, focusing on family and kin and life in the Highlands.
He had never supported what his father had done here, never agreed with a bit of it.
Narrowing his eyes, Evan watched the MacConns in silence. The new family came closer. Behind him, he sensed his guests approaching too. All waited for him to demand repercussion and recompense, threaten Finlay with arrest for undermining the earl’s authority and ignoring the magistrate’s orders.
Catriona watched him too, intently. She stood like a statue, her hair bright as fire in the cool air, skirts fluttering in the breeze. Though her face was pale, she radiated strength and conviction. For a moment, she looked like an ancient Celtic warrior queen determined to defend her people.
Then he thought of the day she stood on a high hill, singing as the people left.
He respected her love of this glen and its people and traditions. He admired her spirit and devotion, and loved her compassion. He saw the strength of the mountain in her.
And recognized the courage and resourcefulness Finlay had shown too. But he had his own position to consider as well.
He stood silent and still, gathering his thoughts.