“You weren't.” Henry grinned. “Margaret, will you be my wife? I want to marry you without delay.”
“Yes--”
“What is all this carrying on?” David Campbell stood in the doorway. Although his hair was white and he walked with a cane, he was still fit and smiling. “I knew Margaret had a young man...”
“A betrothed now, sir, with your permission.”
“It isn't mine to give,” David replied. “The MacDougalls are in Canada now, God bless them. It hasn't been an easy time.”
“Father wrote in the autumn with his permission,” Margaret explained quickly. “I'll show you the letter.”
“Then we can travel to Prince Edward Island after our wedding.” Henry grinned broadly. “And you can introduce me to your family.”
Eleanor watched as they embraced. Henry caught her wistful stare and chucked her under the chin. “I can tell the gentlemen will be lining up to court you, Miss Eleanor, in another three years or so.”
Eleanor blushed and looked away. As the sunlight filtered through the trees, lighting their faces, she was glad there was already so much happiness in the world.
It was late summer, and the leaves were barely touched with the red of frost. Harriet and Allan stood by the clearing, gazing down at the foundation of their cabin.
“It'll be a year yet before it's finished,” Allan said ruefully, “what with winter closing in soon.”
Harriet smiled at him and reached for his hand. “I don't mind.”
It had been a long, hard year. After they'd found each other in the trapper's cabin, Allan had guided them back to Fort Douglas. Harriet had been afraid of violence, as the Métis had taken the fort, but after the battle of Seven Oaks, everyone seemed to want peace. When the chaos had finally died down, they'd found a boat to lead them to York Factory.
As Allan had predicted, they'd wintered at the trading post. Harriet had never been so cold. York Factory was shrouded in ice and snow for six months, and it wasn't until May that they were able to find passage on a ship returning to Pictou.
Harriet would never forget their homecoming. The island was awash in cherry blossoms as they made their way from the docks to Mingarry Farm. Betty was sitting on the porch when they came up the road, and she half rose from her chair, her face paling, as they rounded the bend.
“Sandy...! Sandy...!” she gasped, and Allan hurried towards her, half afraid she'd fall.
“It's me, Mother,” he said softly, his arms around her. “It really is.”
“But how? How did you survive? They said everyone drowned.” Tears ran silently down Betty's face. “Where have you been all this time?”
Just then Sandy, hearing Betty's cry, came hurrying from the barn. His face mirrored his wife's own shock.
Quickly and quietly Allan explained the events that led to them being there. He also introduced Katherine Donald, and she was welcomed warmly by both Sandy and Betty.
“It's a miracle,” Betty said, shaking her head, her tears still flowing unchecked. “To live, and to find each other again. Harriet, Allan, You've both been granted a second chance, by the grace of God.”
The farm and island which had seemed a merciless prison a year ago, now was filled with hope and promise. Harriet and Allan marked out where their cabin would be, across the river from Mingarry Farm.
Katherine Donald had decided to live in Charlottetown, surrounded by more people, with several other widows for company.
In late spring, the wreck of the mail packet was found, and Archie's body was recovered and buried. Allan had stared down at the grave, placed on the edge of Mingarry Farm, near a copse of birches. He remembered Archie's vitality and enthusiasm, his desire for safety after their near miss on the ice floes, and the cruel trick of fate which had caused his death.
“It doesn't seem fair that he should die and I should live,” he told Harriet quietly. “But after all this, I've learned not to question God.” He held Harriet's hand. “Archie was reckless, and sometimes arrogant, but he was brave and honourable as well, and I loved him.”
Still, as spring turned to summer, there was much to look forward to. In June Harriet and Allan married at Mingarry Farm, among the company friends and family.
A wedding was an occasion for everyone to celebrate, and the entire Scots community on Flatt River came together.
“I never thought I'd see this day,” Sandy confessed to Allan during a break in the dancing. They stood on the far side of the barn, the river sparkling in the distance.
“Nor did I.” Allan smiled back. Any ill will he'd born his father died when he learned of the ship's sinking. He would not ruin any second chances with bitterness.
“I've wanted to tell you, I've been wrong,” Sandy said quietly. “I was stubborn, and set in my own ways, and in the end it drove both you and Archie away from me, and the farm here.”
“You can't blame yourself for the way we were. I should have spoken my mind earlier.” He shook his head. “I should have done so many things differently.”
Sandy's face creased into a smile. “We can all say that. It's as Betty said, we've been given second chances. All of us.” He nodded his head towards the crowd of guests. “I had it stuck in my thick head that I was better than all of those good folk, and I can tell you true now that I'm not. Every one of those men and women has helped us in some way, even with me and my stupid pride. I'd do the same for them now. I've learned my lesson... one of them, anyway.”
The music struck up again and Sandy clapped Allan on the shoulder. “I haven't danced with your lovely bride yet. It's a pleasure I'm greatly looking forward to.”
Sandy took Harriet in his arms, and they danced a rousing country reel. “This isn't a day you're likely to forget then, is it, lass?”
Harriet shook her head, smiling. “Never.” No, she never would forget the joy of that day, dancing and feasting with her new family as well as her new community, and most of all, Allan by her side.
And now here they were, at the foundations of their own cabin, the hope for the future, and a little life stirring inside her own womb. Harriet lay a hand on her stomach, smiling.
“A few months ago, I'd never have imagined this,” she said softly. “I thought it all lost to me, forever.”
“And I thought you lost to me,” Allan said. He touched her cheek gently. “I am the most fortunate man, to have his bride restored.” He paused, his face grave. “Perhaps I shouldn't have asked you to wait for me, Harriet. It was wrong of me, but I couldn't help it, I loved you so much. Releasing you from the promise afterwards was no great freedom, was it? It would have been better not to have asked at all.”
“No, it wouldn't have,” Harriet replied simply. “You'd never even have needed to ask, I was yours always.” She turned to look at the beginnings of their own cabin, their own life together. The last few years had been hard, more trying and frightening than anything she could've imagined when Allan had sailed away. Yet somehow she had weathered the storms, and so had Allan. It was as Betty had said, a miracle. A second chance.
The sun was setting behind the birches that surrounded Archie's grave, a glittering gold ball low in the sky. Around them the leaves rustled and a whippoorwill trilled its twilight song.
“Come,” Allan said, tugging gently at her hand as he turned towards Mingarry Farm. “Let's go home.”
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Far Horizons
is based on the travels--and travails--of my own ancestors, but much of it is, of course, fiction. However the premise of the story is true: in 1819, on the eve of his sailing to Canada, my great-great-great-uncle Allan MacDougall asked Harriet Campbell to wait for him. His father considered this dishonourable and made him return her letters, but Allan told Harriet she could keep his own, as a sign of his own faithfulness.
The MacDougalls were distantly related to Sir James Riddell (known in history as a bit of a blackguard), and Alexander MacDougall did live at Mingarry Castle and act as Riddell’s tacksman.
Archie MacDougall had a Commission in the Army, and did drown in the sinking of a mail packet, which he insisted on taking rather than a smaller boat because of the rough weather. Margaret MacDougall, my own great-great-great grandmother, was known to be feisty and educated, and married a sea captain named Henry Moore.
Most poignantly, perhaps, the letters between Allan and Harriet featured in
Far Horizons
are taken word for word from the originals which have been handed down through my family, except for the one in which Harriet breaks off their understanding and those she discovers in Andrew Reid’s keeping. Allan did experience a long silence from Harriet, and it was my own imagining of why that would be that started this story.
The rest, however, including Riddell’s scheming, the characters and exploits of Rupert, Eleanor, and Ian, and Allan’s adventures as a fur trader are, alas, all fiction.
The events at Red River and the Seven Oaks Massacre in what is modern-day Manitoba are based in fact, and the settlers did have to flee into the night as described. However, my ancestors never made it as far as Manitoba.
In reality, it took Allan seven years to return to Harriet and finally marry her. I took pity on him--and her--and allowed them to reunite after only two years.
You can read more about Allan, Harriet, Margaret, Henry, Ian, Rupert, Eleanor, and even little Caroline Reid in the second book of the Emigrants Trilogy,
Another Country
, set ten years later and taking place mostly in Boston.
About the Author:
Kate Hewitt has been writing creatively since she was five years old. She wrote a lot of angst-ridden poetry in high school, and then moved onto writing and directing plays about the meaning of life while in college. After her first child was born she began to write short stories--the perfect amount of words to complete during nap time. After selling over 200 short stories to various women's magazines around the world, she started to write for Harlequin Mills & Boon, a long-held dream. She has written over 20 romances for Harlequin Presents, and has been both a RITA and Romantic Times Reviewer's Choice finalist. She has also written several historical novels for a UK publisher. After living in both Yorkshire and New York City, she now resides on the remote coast of Cumbria with her husband, four children, and a Golden Retriever puppy. To learn more about her books, visit Kate at
http://www.kate-hewitt.com
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