Page 53 of A Fire in Their Hearts

I ’VE MOVED TO STROMNESS BECAUSE ships leave here often for America and the West Indies.

If Violet is alive, then these places are where she would have been taken; and if she ever returns to Orkney, then it will most likely be to Stromness.

It’s a foolish, desperate hope that she could ever come back.

Yet here I am, a fool in love with a memory that never fades.

The demand for my paintings of ships continues to grow and I’ve already been successful enough to purchase a small but well-built stone house not far from the harbour.

When I’m not in the workshop I’ve created, the harbour is where I’m usually found and this morning I’m sitting on a wooden crate watching sailors unload cargo from Jamaica.

The ship has been here before and I’ve got to know a few of the men.

There’s one Orcadian in particular I like to draw, for his face represents so perfectly a life spent at sea.

Then I spot him, walking along the gangplank carrying a large sack on his shoulders, a strong man even at his age which, in fairness, is impossible to tell.

Maybe he’s a lot younger than I assume. When he lays down his burden I call over.

‘Hey, Magnus, a good journey?’

His whole face cracks into a smile when he sees me. It’s quite extraordinary to watch and a delight to sketch.

‘Aye, Mister Milligan, sir,’ he replies, touching his cap in respect. ‘We’ve had a good sailing.’

‘Have you time to pose for me?’

Magnus glances up at the deck, checking to see if there’s an officer in sight. His mates continue to unload. They all know that Magnus will end up with some easily earned money in his pocket as long as he’s not found out.

‘Mister Milligan, sir,’ a sailor calls out, ‘why don’t you draw me instead?’

‘Sorry, Jack, you’re just not good-looking enough.’

This sets all the nearby men off laughing, including Jack, who takes my jest in good spirit.

They know that Magnus will use my coins to buy rounds that evening in the Stromness tavern.

He sits on a sack and takes out his clay pipe while I quickly retrieve paper and graphite from my leather satchel.

We’ve managed about five minutes when an angry voice calls down from the ship.

‘What the devil do you think you’re doing down there!’

Poor Magnus jumps up as if a dozen wasps have stung him on the arse at exactly the same time. The officer hasn’t spotted me and I call up in as friendly a manner as possible.

‘My fault entirely, officer. I forced this poor fellow into posing and he shouldn’t be blamed for my interference in his work, for which I do apologise.’

‘Oh, it’s you, Mister Milligan, sir.’

That I’m often a guest of the most powerful ship owners in Orkney is well-known amongst regular crews and this has saved me, and my subjects, from verbal abuse on many occasions.

However, I never want to appear to undermine the authority of even the most junior officer as this would be hugely unfair.

‘Perhaps, sir,’ I reply politely, ‘if I may have your permission to quickly finish my sketch then I could draw a likeness of yourself if you wish .?.?. maybe as a present for your good lady wife?’

I’ve no idea if the officer is married but suspect that the offer of a free sketch of him in uniform will appeal.

‘Very kind of you, Mister Milligan, sir. I’ll be on deck whenever it suits you.’ He looks back to Magnus. ‘Carry on there! Don’t hold up Mister Milligan longer than necessary. He’s a busy gentleman.’

‘Aye, aye, sir.’

When the officer walks away, Magnus sits down and his face breaks into such an array of crevices and ravines that I have to clamp a hand to my mouth in case my laughter is heard on deck.

*?*?*

This afternoon I’m expecting a visit from the Reverend Sinclair, who will always be welcome in my house.

Not long after I moved here I received a letter from him, brought by a man also delivering several large boxes.

I’ve taken out the letter for although I know the contents by heart I still get pleasure from reading the words:

My Dear Samuel,

You will see by this letter that I received your new address.

Thank you for sending it. The manse has felt rather empty these last few weeks and the other evening I went to the workshop and removed the lids from all of the jars of pigments, inks and solutions, except the one containing turpentine as I know from experience this is not pleasant to breathe. Then I sat and closed my eyes.

I could almost hear Anne’s voice. She was a very generous woman and would not have wanted her painting materials to remain as a shrine to her memory.

I came to understand that evening that I had been left these items only for the time my broken heart needed them.

I’m their guardian and now they must be passed on.

I mentioned my idea to Gilbert. He was, as regards painting, Anne’s patron.

I noticed your surprise the first time you walked around her workshop, and you were quite correct, my lowly salary would never have been able to purchase such expensive materials.

It was Gilbert, with his many contacts, who obtained almost everything she needed for her art.

Anyway, Gilbert arrived the very next day with two strong men carrying packing chests and plenty of straw to help me with the task.

When they had gone and the room was completely empty, I opened the window for the first time in more than two years.

Anne loved children and the sound of children playing nearby suddenly filled the room.

It didn’t feel empty any more. I’m not ashamed to say that I shed many tears, but they were not all of sorrow.

So, dear Samuel, please accept this gift. I know you will put everything to good use.

I shall of course let you know when I next plan to visit Stromness.

Your Most Humble & Obedient Servant,

Reverend John Sinclair

My thoughts are interrupted when I hear knocking at the front door. Quickly, I put away the paper and run to answer it. My face is already smiling before I get there.

‘Samuel! How are you?’

‘Well, thanks to you, Reverend Sinclair.’

‘Ah, not my doing .?.?. yours and God’s.’

We go through to the kitchen, where the fire is crackling in the hearth.

I’ve spent much of yesterday and this morning preparing and the table is laden with slices of ham, turkey and honeyed chicken.

There’s a venison pie and herring pie from the local baker plus fresh bread, along with butter, cheeses and pickles.

Next to a trifle is a large plate of mince pies, the neck of lamb, fruit and spices making them so delicious that I ate one in the shop as I was buying them.

There is wine and ale plus tea, which I know he is partial to but can’t afford.

‘A feast!’ he says in delight. ‘Surely not just for us?’

‘Please eat what you wish, Reverend, and then perhaps together we can take what’s left around to the kirk. The minister says he’ll make sure it goes to those most in need.’

‘Now that’s an arrangement I can live with happily.’

We sit around the table and I take great pleasure in being able to repay a tiny part of the generosity he has shown me since I arrived at his manse all those months ago. When we’ve eaten and drunk our fill my guest sits back in his chair, his face becoming serious.

‘You have some bad news?’

‘I have, Samuel, I’m sorry to say. You know that there are those who supply me with information from around Scotland. I pass it on to others who keep their beliefs secret to the outside world.’

‘I hear Covenanters are still hunted like animals.’

‘Hunted, tortured, killed, transported to the plantations. These are not called the Killing Times without reason.’

‘The cause has resulted in so much death and misery. I don’t doubt the right of it, or that one day Covenanters will win, but I’ve no fight left within me to play any part in the outcome.

’ The joy at my friend’s visit is momentarily nudged aside by feelings of failure and emptiness.

‘I had to face the truth of this during those long months of recovery with Mary and Hugh.’

‘I know it, Samuel, I know it. You’ve done much and lost a great deal. Edinburgh’s hangman continues to be busy. The year began with the execution of young women and last week it was the turn of the Reverend Cargill.’

‘Donald Cargill, executed! That’s heavy news to carry. I was one of dozens who helped to keep him safe from the Highlanders who were searching in Ayrshire for him in seventy-eight. They came close to capturing him on several occasions.’

‘Sadly, the Royalist soldiers eventually succeeded.’ The Reverend Sinclair takes a large breath and sighs.

‘It’s not right that I hold back bad news that affects you personally.

I’m very sorry to have to tell you that your mother died in May.

That information only reached me recently. I wanted to tell you in person.’

I didn’t expect this and I’m not sure quite how to react.

Via the minister’s contacts I had secretly got word to my mother last year that I was alive and hiding in Orkney.

Of Calum and Violet I could give no news.

She understood not to mention my existence to anyone, even Hamish, who I had heard was living close by with his own mother following his release from Greyfriars Kirkyard.

‘The thing we feared when my father was executed, that my mother would find out about his death by the arrival in Coylton of his head .?.?. there was no way we could prevent it.’

‘That would have been so terrible a shock it’s a wonder the poor woman didn’t drop down dead upon the spot.’

‘My mother was a strong woman, like Violet’s in so many ways. The two of us often laughed that they could have been sisters.’

‘Of Violet’s mother I have no news, so I assume she’s alive. I hardly need to ask that you still have a great emptiness in your life.’

‘Sometimes I hear Violet’s voice so clearly that I turn around to speak to her, only to find there’s nobody there.’

‘I often speak to my dear Anne. I did wonder .?.?.’

‘What, my dear friend?’

‘Have you ever thought of painting Violet’s picture?’

As he says those words I’m overcome by the realisation that I can’t paint anything until I’ve created this image, this physical representation of the woman I love.

‘No, but now I’ll not rest until I’ve completed it. Violet lying amongst the heather in the place we used to meet, but not as a girl, as she was on our wedding day. I can see this image as clearly as you sitting opposite me.’

‘Then that is your most important task, Samuel, and I look forward very much to one day seeing the woman who has so captured your heart.’

*?*?*

My workshop is at the front of the house and although it’s not large, this room gets the best light and serves my needs well.

With the benefit of Gilbert’s contacts I have a batch of fine linen canvas, and I fitted the best one to a wooden stretcher before coating it with animal glue, successive layers of gypsum, drying oil and a final priming layer of light green paint.

Because every application has to be completely dry before the next is applied these preparations take a long time, but during this period I’ve been producing dozens of sketches in ink and graphite of Violet.

Although I’m driven by a need to create this image to the point of hardly being able to sleep, I don’t rush into it, for the task is too important not to consider every tiny detail.

I’ve had to prepare not just the canvas and create the drawings that I want to use as a guide, but also to make myself ready.

This morning, I know it’s time to begin and that’s not just because the sun is shining.

I feel it inside. For days I’ve been hearing Violet’s voice almost constantly, seeing her face and the outline of her body whether my eyes are open or shut.

It’s a strange sensation. Since the sinking of the Crown of London I’ve never been more certain that she is alive, somewhere out there in the world.

There’s no logic to it, no sense, no reason . .?. just a certainty in my heart.