Page 32 of A Fire in Their Hearts
A VOICE CALLS TO ME. IT’ s so far away, as if the words have been carried across the moors on the wind and now can’t even claim to be a whisper.
‘Samuel?’
‘Shhh. It’s Calum. You’re safe, at least for now, but your face has been badly messed up.’
Slowly, I open my eyes. They feel sticky. My nose is blocked and I can taste blood. It takes a while to focus on Calum, who’s cradling me in his arms. I raise a hand to my mouth, but he gently takes hold of it.
‘Best to leave it for the moment.’ He speaks quietly so as not to be overheard.
‘Samuel?’
‘No sign or word of him. I’ve asked everyone here.’
‘Where .?.?.’
‘Almost fifty of us are being held in a storeroom in Stromness. The authorities intend to keep us here until they can find another ship.’
‘A lot dead?’
He doesn’t answer straight away. ‘Yes. I doubt there’ll be many yet to find alive. Samuel is well known and easy to recognise. The fact that no one has seen his body has got to be a good thing.’
A sob bubbles to my lips and I close my swollen eyes again, tears escaping from the corners. I cling with all my might to the hope that if Samuel has not been found, he’s out there, somewhere, still alive.
*?*?*
One morning about two weeks later, we’re told to go outside.
It’s raining and Stromness is grey and bleak, yet I long to stay with all my heart, for if we leave I will never see these shores again.
It’s obviously been decided that nobody will try to escape as the only guards are sailors, who I assume are from the ship we’ll be taken to.
A couple of dozen local people watch. They’re wrapped in thick woollen clothing against the biting wind, while our clothes are little more than rags. We’re soon shivering uncontrollably as we wait for an order to move on. An elderly woman walks slowly towards our group. No one tries to stop her.
‘Something for your journey, son,’ she says, handing over a small bundle. ‘It’s not much. Share it out as best you can.’
‘Thank you, I will,’ replies the Covenanter.
Many more figures step forward, handing over food and speaking quietly to the men. A woman comes up to us. She glances at me and speaks to Calum.
‘A few oatcakes.’
‘Your kindness means more than I can express.’
Calum’s voice cracks with emotion. She gently lays a hand on his arm, nods at me, then walks away. The two of us are silent for several minutes.
‘Do you think he’s still here, Violet, somewhere in Orkney?’
I don’t answer straight away. Am I simply fooling myself, hoping that Samuel is alive? Should I accept what must surely be the truth, that his body has floated out to sea?
‘I was so certain that if he was dead I would know it, but now .?.?. I miss him so much. He was my life, Calum. Without him I can’t understand how I’ve continued to live, why I would want to continue to live.’
The conversation is brought to a halt by someone shouting that we should move.
We shuffle along, silent and sullen, each of us with our own private grief.
As we near the quayside, my heart starts pounding and soon my entire body is trembling.
I hear moans from a few of the others and realise they also feel this sudden unexpected terror.
‘Calum.’
‘It’s all right. You’re not alone and this is not the Crown of London .’
Despite his words of encouragement I continue to panic at the idea of boarding a ship. ‘I want Samuel. I can’t go on. I have to find Samuel. He may be hurt.’
Calum puts his hands on my shoulders. ‘Violet, I miss my wife and son more than I could possibly have imagined, but I have to believe that we’ll be reunited again.
For now we’ve no choice, but I won’t leave your side.
God hasn’t brought us this far only to let us die on this ship.
He must have a purpose for us.’ He puts an arm around my waist. ‘Just put one foot in front of the other. That’s it.
We’ll walk on side by side. One day we’ll find Samuel together and until then I’ll protect you. I promise.’
Slowly and hesitantly we board the Sophia .
There’s not the threat of violence that we experienced from Teddico and his crew and, unmolested, we climb down into the hold, a world uninhabited by those who live in the light.
It isn’t big but we’re fewer than a fifth of the number who left Leith in November and we have much more space than on the Crown of London.
Eventually, the hatch is closed and locked.
We hear orders being called out, the bumping of the gangplank being withdrawn, footsteps running, more instructions, the flapping of a sail.
Strangely we all remain standing. It’s at least twenty minutes after the vessel has moved away from the harbour that people begin looking for a place to sit.
Somewhere off to my left a man starts to cry.