From Highlands to Homecoming by Margaret P.

(With thanks to betas Terri Derr and Anna Orr)

Chapter 1: From Highlands

"Here laddie, take this." Unfastening the gold fob from his vest pocket the old clockmaker pressed the watch into his namesake's hands. "It's auld but it still keeps good time. It would please me to think you carried something of me in a strange land."

Looking down, Murdoch Lancer closed his fingers around the timepiece, feeling its steady pulse like a heartbeat. His grandfather had worn the watch for over fifty years. It was his apprentice piece. "Aw Grandda, are you sure? Thank you. I will think of you whenever I use it."

Hugging him awkwardly, his grandfather pushed Murdoch towards the door. "Away with you. I've work to be doing."

The shop bell jangled as Murdoch stepped out onto the grey cobbled street, slick from the drizzle that had blanketed the town most of the morning. It was strange, as much as he longed to leave, he would miss Inverness with its dour stone buildings and narrow rows of houses. He could walk its streets blindfolded. Breathing in the cleansing damp mist, he knew the sun would soon push the clouds aside. The afternoon would be crystal clear, smelling new born. A light breeze would blow the raindrops from the green-black fir trees on the surrounding hills and the birds would sing in the glens. The oaks, birches and elms were already starting to bud. This year he would miss the fragrances of spring and the pure gold of autumn. He would miss so much and so many. He took one last look at the weathered sign above the shop door; he would miss Murdoch MacKinnon, Maker of Fine Clocks and Watches most of all. Rubbing the smooth gold between his fingers Murdoch raised his face to the parting clouds and blinked rapidly.

Putting the watch safely away in the top pocket of his jacket, his eyes searched the far end of the street to find his mother and sister waiting with his trunk and bedding bundle outside the coach house. Where was Jock?

"Behind you." Looking like he had come straight from the byre, his brother rolled down his sleeves as he strode towards him. "A bull. An easy delivery, thank God. I thought when she started, it would make me late." Jock threw his arm over Murdoch's shoulder. "One down, two to go. Sure you won't change your mind and keep working for the laird? You know he'll have you back. Best cattle man for miles, he says—next to me of course. We share our father's knack with them bonnie beasts, laddie."

"No Jock, you know that wouldn't work. The laird is changing to sheep like the rest, and besides I've got a hunger for adventure. It's different for you." Murdoch came to a halt turning towards the brother he admired him so much. Not many men could have taken on the roles of man of the house and bonnet laird at the age of fourteen and made a success of it. Murdoch was not even allowed to leave school to help. After he finished at the parish school, Jock and their grandfather paid for private tuition with the Reverend Carmichael, declaring Da would have wanted it that way. Murdoch could have entered university in the end, but the local laird made him an offer that suited him better. The position of assistant factor valued his education and his knowledge of cattle. He did stock work when needed and trained in all aspects of estate management, splitting his earnings between his family and his dream. "I dinnae begrudge you the farm, Jock. It's yours by right, but I want land of my own, freedom and space. Scotland can't offer that."

"Aye, with the clearances, folk are leaving in their droves, but there is always a place for skilled and educated men. The laird has been hard pushed to find a replacement for you as factor. He has asked Robertson to come out of retirement while he advertises further afield."

"I didna know that, but it makes no difference."

"No? Well, you can't blame me for trying one last time." Laughing, Jock gave his brother a shove. "Come on. Now you must pay the price for your stubbornness and bid farewell to our mother and Maggie. The coach will be for Greenock soon."

Approaching the front entrance of the inn they could see the ostler harnessing fresh horses to the mail coach. Smartly dressed in black and scarlet livery, the driver and guard loaded the luggage and the mail box. Jock stepped forward to lend a hand with his brother's trunk, and Murdoch went to bid farewell to his mother and sister.

Maggie tried to hide her feelings behind pragmatisms, but her blue eyes watered. "You'll write at least once a month and mind you eat properly."

"Yes Maggie, I promise." He smiled and nodded towards her rounded midriff. "And you look after yourself and the bairn."

"Rob is sorry he couldn't be here to see you off, but auld man Macpherson wouldn't hear of him taking the time. I'm sure he's the reason the Sassenachs say we Scots are tight-fisted."

"No matter, Maggie. We said all there was to say last night."

"Remember you have kin in America, but they likely spell the name differently." His mother fussed with his collar and a button on his vest. "You should try to find them."

"America is a big place, Ma, but I will let you know if our paths cross." Murdoch held her hands still on his chest. The chances of him meeting his American kin were very slim after so many years with no contact and no knowledge of where they had settled, but if it helped her to believe family would be nearby to support him, he would not dampen her hopes entirely.

"You'll always be my bairn." Ellen Lancer forced him to stoop so she could hug him one last time. "You'll be a success, son. I ken that. Oh, but it's hard to have you go so far away. You stay safe. You hear me?"

Gently prising her arms away from his neck, he wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb and kissed her forehead. As the coachman gave the final call, he hugged her close. There was a chance they would see each other again, but they both knew it was a slim one.

"All aboard." The coachman called for his passengers and rang his hand bell before hauling himself up into the driver's box.

Murdoch let go of his mother and swung around, offering his hand. "Take care of them, Jock—and yourself." For a moment, the Lancer brothers said nothing at all as they drank in each other's image.

Then Jock pulled Murdoch into an embrace. "Good luck, brother." He pushed him towards the carriage and closed the door. Their eyes met again through the window and their hands gripped for the last time. "Have a good life, Murdoch."

"And you, Jock."

The coachman cracked his whip and four strong horses clattered over the cobbles, splashing through puddles towards an unknown future. Holding back the leather curtain, Murdoch leaned out, waving to his loved ones as they grew smaller and smaller and finally disappeared. He swallowed the lump in his throat and settled back next to a rotund scrivener. The hard part was over.

Two days later, the Highlands were haloed in the distance by a rising sun as the Duchess of Argyle slipped her moorings. The breeze caught the mainsail and the emigrant ship with Murdoch aboard glided towards open seas.

Notes:

1. Scottish naming patterns as they affect this story:

First son is named for the Father's Father.
Second son is named for the Mother's Father.
First daughter is named for the Mother's Mother.

If a child dies in infancy, his or her name is often given to a subsequent child - a natural consequence of the high birth rate and infant mortality rates of past times.

2. A 'bonnet laird' is a small landowner: Wikipedia says "Historically, the term 'bonnet laird' was applied to rural, petty landowners, as they wore a bonnet like the non-landowning classes. Bonnet lairds filled a position in society below lairds and above husbandsmen (farmers), similar to the yeomen of England."

3. I made up the name for the Lancer farm in Scotland. 'Glenbeath', I believe, means valley of birches.

4. Duchess of Argyle was a real ship and during the 1840s transported many hopeful young emigrants away from Scotland.