The Exile of Sara Stevenson by Darci Hannah

Author:Darci Hannah [Hannah, Darci]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-345-52055-5
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2010-08-15T04:00:00+00:00

EIGHT

Mr. Seawell’s Reply

The village of Durness was certainly no Mecca, nor was it a thriving hub of civilization. In fact, village was perhaps too lofty a word to describe the shocking paucity of whitewashed cottages that dotted the vast and austere landscape. Yet it was more civilization than I had seen in a great long while, and sorry though it was, Mr. Campbell did let on that there was a house that acted as an inn of sorts where a meal could be ordered and a room procured. We had traveled a long distance indeed, and the thought of ordering a hot meal and having it served by an unknown procuress was titillating. Yet the meal, however wonderful it would be, was not why we had come to Durness. We had made the journey to the little cluster of cottages by the sea just so I could have the local doctor glance at my swelling midriff. I would have liked to profess that such a visit was unnecessary, but as the child within me grew, so too did my fears. I knew only too well it was a mortally dangerous prospect with both the child’s life and mine hanging in the balance, yet one I was undoubtedly obliged to make. And as our wagon trundled over the undulating moorland, across the still frozen streams and the Kyle of Durness, I was struck with a bit of an epiphany, and that simply was that no matter how long my labor was apt to be, it was highly unlikely a doctor would ever be fetched in time. This thought left me with the distasteful realization that Kate would be the one to help my child into the world; hers would be the first face my child would see. I was not well versed in the folk arts and had little knowledge of omens good or bad. However, I did strongly feel that if my baby’s first glimpse of the world was Kate’s great haughty glare it could not bode well for the child. I would just have to pray that Mary MacKay, bless her good-hearted soul, might be gotten as well.

I believed it was purely for peace of mind that Mr. Campbell insisted I make a visit to a midwife or an accoucheur; for, aside from his predilection for naked, dead pregnant women—a fact I shuddered to think on—I believed that the mere thought of childbirth, to one so far removed from humanity, was likely repugnant. We passed along the few cottages lining the main street, each one advertising on a little wooden sign the service, or multiplicity of services, to be found within. I spied the dwelling advertising that there was a surgeon to be had. The wagon slowed down, Mr. Campbell said something to Robbie, and Robbie along with Kate jumped out. Mr. Campbell, however, did not stop. He kept the team walking on, traveling farther down the rutted path, slowly moving away from the small cluster of civilization.

“I thought

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