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I stare at the giant in front of me, refusing to answer. He has no business knowing why I’ve been scorned and considered unfit for marriage, and no reason to know that I’m the cause of my family being forced to leave Scotland and my father’s death. I stare at the beast of a man in front of me, daring him to ask again. He lets go of my hair and rubs a thick finger across my cheek before continuing down the line, assessing each of my siblings as he passes.
“Go ahead then.” He shakes the ticket Mama gave him in the air, shooing us toward the awaiting vessel. A few of the men standing around whistle as we board. I move to the back of the line, feeling the need to protect the smallest members of my family.
The ship we board is large and made of wood with three sets of extra-large sails on top. “Follow me to yourquarters,” the large man says as he leads us through a narrow door behind the helm.
The smell of urine and other excrement hits me the moment the door opens. He opens an even smaller door on the side of the hallway and issues a warning to someone inside. “Get out!” he shouts, slamming the door open.
A young girl, not much older than me, runs past with the top part of her dress hanging open.
“Here you go milady.” He motions toward the now empty space. “Your room.”
Mama steps into the room. “Is this forallof us?” she asks.
“I’m afraid it’s all we can spare.”
“It will do then,” she answers.
The rest of us enter the small room, finding a wooden platform, a brass pot that is one of the sources of the smell, and a small wooden chair. The room is barely big enough for one, let alone ten.
“We set sail in an hour,” the man bellows before leaving us alone in the room.
Mama sighs and straightens her skirt. “Well, we’ll just make this our home for the next few weeks.” She looks me in the eyes. “We can do anything we set our minds to, as long as we’re together.”
I nod, setting Bonnie down for the first time. My back sighs in relief. “Where are we going to sleep?” I ask, looking around the small room.
“The girls will sleep on the bed, and the boys can sleep on the floor.”
For the first time today, the baby cries. His voice is weaker than usual as he whimpers for food.
“Shut that baby up,” a deep voice sounds through the hallway.
She pulls him from the bog and tries to feed him. He has a hard time latching onto her breast but thankfully manages.
I turn toward my sisters. “Why don’t we get this out of here?” I nod toward the disgusting brass pot.
“Eww,” Bonnie answers.
“Aye, I agree. But I’m not staying another minute with it in here. Get the door.” I pick up the pot, being careful not to splash the excrement in the room. Bonnie is the only girl who follows as I head back through the narrow door onto the deck. We move quickly to the side and dump the disgusting contents into the water below.
“Oh, that stinks,” Bonnie says, holding her nose. “What are they eating?”
I laugh, wondering the same thing. “I need to wash my hands. Can you take the pot back to the room?”
“Do I have to?” she asks, pursing her face into a disgusted pattern.
“Yes. I don’t want to touch anything after that.”
Bonnie sighs and pulls the pot closer to her. “It still smells,” she groans, walking back toward the room.
I wait until she’s safely inside before looking forsomewhere to wash. Most of the men on board are busy preparing to set sail. In the back of the ship behind the helm is a bucket of what appears to be clean water. At least I can see the bottom of the bucket. That’s as clean as I can expect at this moment. Bending down, I plunge my hands into the coldness, wiping the human excrement from my palms. I rub my hands together until the skin begins to feel raw. Satisfied that they’re as clean as they’ll get, I wipe the water onto the worn fabric of my apron.
Standing, I turn, finding myself facing a man wearing a blue velvet waistcoat. “Did you just wash your hands in my drinking water?” he asks, staring down at me. He’s the kind of man we don’t have around the village. Tall, handsome, and clean.
I fight the butterflies swarming in my stomach and square my shoulders before making eye contact with him. “Yes?” I point at the bucket. “It was just sitting there, and I needed a place to wash up.”
“Who are you?” he asks.
“Elsbeth Abernathy.”
