A Place Called Freedom (1995)

“You’re not going to be free,” Sir George rasped, standing up again.

Esther tugged at Mack’s sleeve. “The letter!” she hissed urgently. “Show them the letter!”

Mack had forgotten it in his excitement. “The law says differently, Sir George,” he cried, waving the letter.

York said: “What is that paper, McAsh?”

“It’s a letter from a London lawyer that I’ve consulted.”

Sir George was so outraged he looked as if he might burst. Mack was glad they were separated by rows of pews; otherwise the laird might have got him by the throat. “You have consulted a lawyer?” he spluttered. That seemed to offend him more than anything else.

York said: “What does the letter say?”

“I’ll read it,” Mack said. “ ‘The ceremony of arles has no foundation in English or Scottish law.’ ” There was a rumble of surprised comment from the congregation: this contradicted everything they had been taught to believe. “ ‘The parents cannot sell what they do not own, namely the freedom of a grown man. They may compel their child to work in the mine until he reaches the age of twenty-one, but’ ”—Mack paused dramatically and read the next bit very slowly—“ ‘but then he will be free to leave!’ ”

All at once everyone wanted to say something. There was an uproar as a hundred people tried to speak, shout, begin a question or voice an exclamation. Probably half the men in the church had been pledged as children and had always considered themselves slaves in consequence. Now they were being told they had been deceived, and they wanted to know the truth.

Mack held up a hand for quiet, and almost immediately they fell silent. For an instant he marveled at his power. “Let me read one more line,” he said. “ ‘Once the man is adult, the law applies to him as it applies to everyone else in Scotland: when he has worked a year and a day as an adult he loses his freedom.’ ”

There were grunts of anger and disappointment. This was no revolution, the men realized; most of them were no more free than they had ever been. But their sons might escape.

York said: “Let me see that letter, McAsh.”

Mack went up to the front and handed it to him.

Sir George, still flushed with anger, said: “Who is this so-called lawyer?”

Mack said: “His name is Caspar Gordonson.”

York said: “Oh, yes, I’ve heard of him.”

“So have I,” said Sir George scornfully. “An out-and-out radical! He’s an associate of John Wilkes.” Everyone knew the name of Wilkes: he was the celebrated liberal leader, living in exile in Paris but constantly threatening to return and undermine the government. Sir George went on: “Gordonson will hang for this, if I have anything to do with it. That letter is treason.”

The pastor was shocked at this talk of hanging. “I hardly think treason comes into it—”

“You’d better confine yourself to the kingdom of heaven,” Sir George said sharply. “Leave it to men of this world to decide what is treason and what is not.” With that he snatched the letter out of York’s hand.

The congregation were shocked at this brutal rebuke to their pastor, and they went quiet, waiting to see how he would react. York held Jamisson’s gaze, and Mack was sure the pastor would defy the laird; but then York dropped his eyes, and Jamisson looked triumphant. He sat down again, as if it were all over.

Mack was outraged by York’s cowardice. The church was supposed to be the moral authority. A pastor who took orders from the laird was completely superfluous. Mack gave the man a look of frank contempt and said in a derisive voice: “Are we to respect the law, or not?”

Robert Jamisson stood up, flushed with anger like his father. “You’ll respect the law, and your laird will tell you what the law is,” he said.

“That’s the same as having no law at all,” Mack said.

“Which is just as well, as far as you’re concerned,” Robert said. “You’re a coal miner: what have you to do with the law? As for writing to lawyers—” He took the letter from his father. “This is what I think of your lawyer.” He tore the paper in half.

The miners gasped. Their future was written on those pages, and he was ripping them up.

Robert tore the letter again and again, then threw the pieces in the air. They fluttered over Saul and Jen like confetti at a wedding.

Mack felt as grief-stricken as if someone had died. The letter was the most important thing that had ever happened to him. He had planned to show it to everyone in the village. He had imagined taking it to other pits in other villages, until all Scotland knew about it. Yet Robert had destroyed it in a second.

Defeat must have shown in his face, for Robert looked triumphant. That enraged Mack. He would not be crushed so easily. Anger made him defiant. I’m not finished yet, he thought. The letter had gone but the law was still the same. “I see you’re frightened enough to destroy that letter,” he said, and he was surprised by the withering scorn in his own voice. “But you can’t tear up the law of the land. That’s written on a paper that’s not so easily ripped.”