Dawn on a Distant Shore
Page 75
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"Try some of this, little brother," Hannah said to him in Kahnyen'kehâka, dipping her finger in the gruel.
He sucked hard enough to make her wince. Then his mouth popped open in invitation for more.
"Look!" Hannah felt herself flush with relief and pleasure.
"Hunger is the best sauce, so they say." Curiosity sniffed a little. "Thank the Lord."
There was a scratching at the door.
"That will be Mrs. MacKay," said Hakim Ibrahim.
"I don't think we'll need her anymore. Not as long as those goats don't decide to go for a swim," said Curiosity.
Hannah did not particularly want to see Mrs. MacKay again and so she kept her attention on Daniel, who clasped her wrist with both hands as if to guide the spoon toward his mouth. But she could still hear the rise and fall of Hakim Ibrahim's voice, and Mrs. MacKay's response: soft, hesitant, and in a tone that wavered between defiance and breaking. Hannah looked at Curiosity, who only raised a brow in surprise.
The Hakim came back into the room but went straight to his medicine cabinet, where he plucked a small bottle out of an intricate carved stand. Hannah watched him take a bit of some soft material from a jar, and then he spoke a word to Mrs. MacKay.
She closed the door behind her but stood looking past them as if they did not exist. Her eyes were red rimmed and her color was very bad, even for a white woman. There were wet spots on her bodice, and for the first time it occurred to Hannah that Elizabeth was in much the same situation. Except Elizabeth would get her children back-- Hannah knew in her heart that this was true--and this woman had no hope of such a reunion. She might have said something to Mrs. MacKay, a word of thanks or even apology, but the Scotswoman refused to meet her gaze.
The Hakim said, "Tilt your head to the left, please."
With a turn of his wrist he touched the material to the lip of the small bottle and a new scent flooded the room, sharp but not unpleasant. Then Hakim Ibrahim touched the soaked cloth to the inner shell of Mrs. MacKay's exposed right ear and held it there for a moment, murmuring something under his breath that Hannah could not quite make out. Finally he stepped back and bowed from the shoulders.
Mrs. MacKay said, "I've a few shillings." But she seemed relieved when the Hakim would not take her money, and slipped away without another glance in their direction.
Hannah said, "What did you give her?"
"There is no medicine for grief," said Hakim Ibrahim, taking up his mortar and pestle again. "But sandalwood oil will quiet her womb."
Curiosity pushed out a sigh. "There's women who never get over a stillbirth."
Hannah had heard this before. Listening to birthing stories was a chore a girl couldn't escape: the spinning and the washing and the garden hoe would always be there, and so would the idea that someday she would find herself in childbed and have to struggle to come out of it alive. Once you had started down the road you could no more walk away from your fate than they could walk away from this ship on foot.
Her own mother had failed at it. When Hannah closed her eyes she could see her still. In death one corner of her mouth had turned down a little as it often did when she was irritated. She left the world angry, but at whom? The women who failed to stop her bleeding? Maybe it was the waxen-faced child they had folded so lovingly into the cold cradle of her arms. Or maybe she had been angry with herself, and her failure. Hannah had often wondered at it.
Daniel yanked hard at her plait and she roused herself out of her daydream to scoop more gruel into his mouth. She said, "I wish I had been kinder to her."
With a hushing sound Curiosity said, "There's enough on your shoulders, child. You cain't take on the woes of the world, too."
But the Hakim said nothing, and only looked at her with a thoughtful expression.
By midday Hannah could hardly contain her need to be up on the quarterdeck, where she could scan the horizon for sails that might mean a quick rescue. But Curiosity would not go where she might see Moncrieff, and Hannah was not so desperate that she would leave her alone with the babies. Work might have distracted her, but there was little to do: every possible need was attended to. The cabin boy had even taken away a basket of dirty swaddling clothes to wash.
"Don' look so surprised," said Curiosity. "I suppose a little poop ain't the worst of what those boys have to put up with." She had found the bundle that Runs-from-Bears brought from the voyageurs' camp, and now she stood over the Hakim's table where she had spread out the deerskin. Sewing would have been a distraction, if Hannah could only make herself concentrate.
The cabin boy preoccupied her. His name was Charlie, and he seemed to her a very ordinary sort of boy, a little younger than Liam but older than she was. She knew nothing about him except that he was from Scotland, had been at sea for three years already, and that his hands--red knuckled and work hardened--were cleaner than her own. When he brought fresh water she asked him about this.
"The Hakim says that the devil hides beneath the fingernails, miss." Hannah could hear him trying to swallow his Scots and sound like the doctor. It made her curious about him, even though she knew that it would not be a good idea to be too friendly; he might be reporting everything to Moncrieff or the captain. And still she was inclined to like him, for his competence and quickness, and perhaps just because they had too few allies on the Isis to take him for granted.
"I ain't sure it's the best idea for you to be up on deck anyway," said Curiosity, angling borrowed scissors down the length of the deerskin, her brow creased in concentration. "What you need is sleep."
He sucked hard enough to make her wince. Then his mouth popped open in invitation for more.
"Look!" Hannah felt herself flush with relief and pleasure.
"Hunger is the best sauce, so they say." Curiosity sniffed a little. "Thank the Lord."
There was a scratching at the door.
"That will be Mrs. MacKay," said Hakim Ibrahim.
"I don't think we'll need her anymore. Not as long as those goats don't decide to go for a swim," said Curiosity.
Hannah did not particularly want to see Mrs. MacKay again and so she kept her attention on Daniel, who clasped her wrist with both hands as if to guide the spoon toward his mouth. But she could still hear the rise and fall of Hakim Ibrahim's voice, and Mrs. MacKay's response: soft, hesitant, and in a tone that wavered between defiance and breaking. Hannah looked at Curiosity, who only raised a brow in surprise.
The Hakim came back into the room but went straight to his medicine cabinet, where he plucked a small bottle out of an intricate carved stand. Hannah watched him take a bit of some soft material from a jar, and then he spoke a word to Mrs. MacKay.
She closed the door behind her but stood looking past them as if they did not exist. Her eyes were red rimmed and her color was very bad, even for a white woman. There were wet spots on her bodice, and for the first time it occurred to Hannah that Elizabeth was in much the same situation. Except Elizabeth would get her children back-- Hannah knew in her heart that this was true--and this woman had no hope of such a reunion. She might have said something to Mrs. MacKay, a word of thanks or even apology, but the Scotswoman refused to meet her gaze.
The Hakim said, "Tilt your head to the left, please."
With a turn of his wrist he touched the material to the lip of the small bottle and a new scent flooded the room, sharp but not unpleasant. Then Hakim Ibrahim touched the soaked cloth to the inner shell of Mrs. MacKay's exposed right ear and held it there for a moment, murmuring something under his breath that Hannah could not quite make out. Finally he stepped back and bowed from the shoulders.
Mrs. MacKay said, "I've a few shillings." But she seemed relieved when the Hakim would not take her money, and slipped away without another glance in their direction.
Hannah said, "What did you give her?"
"There is no medicine for grief," said Hakim Ibrahim, taking up his mortar and pestle again. "But sandalwood oil will quiet her womb."
Curiosity pushed out a sigh. "There's women who never get over a stillbirth."
Hannah had heard this before. Listening to birthing stories was a chore a girl couldn't escape: the spinning and the washing and the garden hoe would always be there, and so would the idea that someday she would find herself in childbed and have to struggle to come out of it alive. Once you had started down the road you could no more walk away from your fate than they could walk away from this ship on foot.
Her own mother had failed at it. When Hannah closed her eyes she could see her still. In death one corner of her mouth had turned down a little as it often did when she was irritated. She left the world angry, but at whom? The women who failed to stop her bleeding? Maybe it was the waxen-faced child they had folded so lovingly into the cold cradle of her arms. Or maybe she had been angry with herself, and her failure. Hannah had often wondered at it.
Daniel yanked hard at her plait and she roused herself out of her daydream to scoop more gruel into his mouth. She said, "I wish I had been kinder to her."
With a hushing sound Curiosity said, "There's enough on your shoulders, child. You cain't take on the woes of the world, too."
But the Hakim said nothing, and only looked at her with a thoughtful expression.
By midday Hannah could hardly contain her need to be up on the quarterdeck, where she could scan the horizon for sails that might mean a quick rescue. But Curiosity would not go where she might see Moncrieff, and Hannah was not so desperate that she would leave her alone with the babies. Work might have distracted her, but there was little to do: every possible need was attended to. The cabin boy had even taken away a basket of dirty swaddling clothes to wash.
"Don' look so surprised," said Curiosity. "I suppose a little poop ain't the worst of what those boys have to put up with." She had found the bundle that Runs-from-Bears brought from the voyageurs' camp, and now she stood over the Hakim's table where she had spread out the deerskin. Sewing would have been a distraction, if Hannah could only make herself concentrate.
The cabin boy preoccupied her. His name was Charlie, and he seemed to her a very ordinary sort of boy, a little younger than Liam but older than she was. She knew nothing about him except that he was from Scotland, had been at sea for three years already, and that his hands--red knuckled and work hardened--were cleaner than her own. When he brought fresh water she asked him about this.
"The Hakim says that the devil hides beneath the fingernails, miss." Hannah could hear him trying to swallow his Scots and sound like the doctor. It made her curious about him, even though she knew that it would not be a good idea to be too friendly; he might be reporting everything to Moncrieff or the captain. And still she was inclined to like him, for his competence and quickness, and perhaps just because they had too few allies on the Isis to take him for granted.
"I ain't sure it's the best idea for you to be up on deck anyway," said Curiosity, angling borrowed scissors down the length of the deerskin, her brow creased in concentration. "What you need is sleep."
