The Betrayal of Maggie Blair (18 page)

"Don't mind if they pinch a little, dearie. You'll carry them till we're nearly there and put them on before we arrive."

"How far is the church?" I asked.

"Well..."

She shot a look at my uncle. He had been sitting at the table filing a metal link for his plow, but he put it down and patted the bench beside him, inviting me to sit.

"You can forget about that haunt of evil men that calls itself a church," he said gravely. "While you're under my roof, you'll have nothing to do with that dunghill of royal wickedness, and neither will any of my household. Now listen, while I tell you what's happening here in Kilmacolm."

"Hugh..." began Aunt Blair, but he silenced her with a nod.

"No, Isobel. Maggie's one of us now. She's a good girl. We've all seen how hard she's tried to do her best in this family these last months. She's my brother Danny's daughter. She'd not betray us, not even for silver or gold, I know it."

I was warmed through by his words and felt a rush of love for him.

"I'd never betray you, Uncle. But how could I, anyway?"

"Very easily." Aunt Blair had picked up her sewing again. "One word to the minister..."

Uncle Blair ignored her.

"Maggie, you'll have heard of the Covenant?" he said. "Do you know what it means?"

"Not really," I admitted.

"Then it's time you did." He paused, as if gathering his thoughts. "King Charles Stuart, of evil fame, and his wicked father James before him, puffed themselves up with pride and arrogance. They took it into their heads that it is the right of the king, and not the right of the Lord our God, to be rulers over our Presbyterian church in Scotland."

I was frowning, trying to understand. I could imagine the king, all puffed up with pride so that he was monstrously fat, and I supposed he'd be wearing a silver coat and have a golden crown on his head, like the fairy king in one of Tam's stories. And his wicked eyes would be red like glowing embers.

I nearly missed the next part of Uncle's explanation.

"We are a chosen few," he was saying earnestly. "A sacred remnant. The Lord has called us to stand firm for the difficult right against the easy wrong. If we give way, Maggie, and bow our necks humbly to this king, the bishops he wishes to set over us will force us to obey them. They'll tell us how to pray and what to preach. They'll try to make us think that what the king wants, God wants. They'll take away our freedom and make us servants while they loll fatly in their luxury and gluttony."

His words rolled richly around and over themselves, as if he was preaching a sermon himself.

"But if we're not going to the kirk tomorrow, Uncle," I dared to ask at last, "why have we been brushing our clothes and fetching out the shoes?"

"Ah, Maggie!" He smiled, with a look that was almost mischievous, like a boy planning to raid a neighbor's apple tree. "That's the nub of the matter. Mr. Irving, the king's chosen minister, will preach to an empty kirk tomorrow morning, as he has done to his own rage and fury these many weeks past. But we'll be up early and away across the moss into the hills with all of the true Presbyterian brothers. Our good old minister, Mr. Alexander, who was thrown out of his kirk and his manse by the king's men, will lead us in our prayers and preach to us from the Good Book."

"But it's a great secret, Maggie," Aunt Blair said, holding up her forefinger. "To meet for prayer in the open is against the law—"

"Against the
king's
law, not against God's," interrupted Uncle Blair.

"Yes, Hugh, but let me tell her. Maggie, if we're caught by the troops or if someone betrays us, they will put us in prison. They'll take everything from us in fines. They could even hang us from the gallows! Hugh..." Her voice had risen with anxiety, and she stopped, looking pleadingly at her husband.

"Now, my dear," Uncle Blair said, "you know fine that the Lord is the rock of our strength."

"I know, Hugh, but the children..."

"If we're to be cast out like criminals or outlaws, or even slain, it will be in the Lord's holy name. We'll be martyrs, Isobel, don't forget. The Lord will take each one of us by the hand, and lead us into glory, and say to us, 'Well done, my good and faithful servant.'"

I could hardly bear to look at my poor aunt, who had put down her sewing and was twisting her apron in her hands. Martha and Nanny, feeling the tension, had crept close to her and were folding her skirts around themselves. Grizel, who had been stirring the stew for tomorrow's dinner in the cauldron over the fire, was standing with the spoon in midair, as if mesmerized by Uncle Blair's words. I hadn't noticed Ritchie come in through the door behind me, but now he broke in eagerly, "Will we go armed into the hills, Father? If you take the musket, can I carry the sword?"

Uncle Blair tried to frown at him, but I could see that he shared Ritchie's excitement.

"Aye, son. We've no choice. If the forces of evil—"

"You mean the king's Black Cuffs! Armed to the teeth and with fast horses," Aunt Blair interrupted, her usual mild fretfulness giving way to bitterness.

"Yes, my dear. Charles Stuart's cavalry. If they come after us, we'll have no choice but to defend ourselves in the Lord's name. You'd best look at the powder horn, Ritchie, and see if it's dry. I'll check the musket balls. I've sharpened the sword. It'll do for the Lord's purposes."

Aunt Blair threw up her hands as if she despaired of both of them.

"I'm away to my bed," she said. "We'll be up before dawn. Ritchie, get off now to the barn. Grizel, cover the fire. Stop pulling Nanny's hair, Martha, and get into your night shift."

A few minutes later, Grizel, the little girls, and I were enclosed within our stuffy cupboard bed, but tired as I was, it was a long time before I could sleep. I had thought I had left danger behind when I'd fled from the Isle of Bute, but I seemed to have leaped from the cauldron into the fire. In Rothesay they'd wanted to string me up for being in league with the Devil, but here in Kilmacolm you could be hanged for trying to be too close to God. My stomach churned with terror at the thought of fleeing once again, pursued by a cruel enemy.

Why can't I just be ordinary?
I wanted to cry out loud.
Why does all this happen to me?

I was afraid that the thought was sinful, and I tried to pray, but the words of my prayer seemed to rise no further than the roof of the box bed. Nanny rolled over, muttering in her sleep. I put my arms around her and held her close, taking comfort from her childish peacefulness.

***

We got up and dressed by candlelight, and Aunt was just buttering some oatcakes for a hasty breakfast when a loud rapping came at the door.

"Lord have mercy!" she cried out, dropping the oatcake she'd been holding, which fell, butter-side down, on the table. "It's the soldiers! Hugh! Hide yourself!"

But Uncle Blair was calmly opening the door. He stepped outside, and we heard men's voices raised first in greeting, then in discussion. He came back in a few minutes later, shaking his head.

"Isobel, you'll not be coming today after all. The troops are out. They were seen last night riding from Paisley, and now they're fanning out, scouring the hills."

A smile of pure relief lit my aunt's face.

"It's the Lord's will, Hugh. We must accept it. We'll have a quiet Sabbath here at home."

"Aye, you will, my dear. You and the girls. Ritchie and I—"

"You'll not go out there, Hugh! Please! What if—"

She had caught his arm, but he gently took her hand away and held it in both of his own.

"Isobel, don't tempt me away from the path of righteousness! If Mr. Alexander has the courage to preach up there in the hills, who am I to let him down? There'll be others—all our good neighbors. Barbour from Barnaigh is here just now. He's going with all his sons. And Laird of Newton. The Flemings from Whinnerstone. Do you want Blair of Ladymuir to be the only one to skulk at home in cowardice?"

"No." She was biting her lip. "But, Hugh..."

"Aye, aye, we'll take care. We'll set a watch around the meeting place. This is our country. We know every stone and hollow. We can melt away like snow in April if they come upon us, while they blunder about on their English horses, getting mired in our bogs."

He was trying to make her smile, but she shook her head at him.

"Look after your son, Hugh."

He was at the door already, but he turned back.

"Give me your blessing, Isobel. I won't go without that."

"Well, yes, you have it, you know you have."

She held her hand out and he pressed it, and then he was gone. I looked out the door and saw Ritchie, his face ablaze with excitement, with his father's long sword dangling from his belt. Two other farmers, solid men, nodded at Uncle Blair as he joined them. The little group of them set out at a brisk walk along the track that led up into the hills behind the farm, two with muskets over their shoulders and all with their Sunday hats neatly brushed on their heads. The dogs, who had been lying by the barn door, got up and followed them, silent black shadows hugging the ground.

I had been looking forward to that long, quiet Sunday, when all work was forbidden, and my tired arms and legs could rest. I would have time, I thought, to look at the autumn colors around the farm and play with the little girls. I would have enjoyed it, too, if it hadn't been for my aunt's dreadful anxiety, which was as catching as a bad cold. Since she couldn't work without sin, she couldn't even occupy her hands with her needle or her distaff. The oatmeal had all been ground the day before, the stew prepared, and the oatcakes baked. She had nothing to do but sit at the table, or walk backwards and forwards to the door, looking up the track in the hope of seeing the menfolk come back.

While her back was turned, Martha climbed up onto a stool.

"What are you doing, silly child?" said Aunt, noticing her at last.

Martha was unused to hearing such a sharp note in her mother's voice. Her chin wobbled, and tears filled her eyes.

"I'm going to preach a sermon, Mammy," she whispered, "to tell Nanny to be good."

Grizel and I couldn't help laughing, and even Aunt Blair smiled.

"Out of the mouths of babes." She sighed. "You're right, darling. We must hold a service of our own. Fetch down the Bible, Grizel. Martha, since you're learning to read so well, you'll be the one to read to us."

Martha, pink with pride, went to stand by her mother, following Aunt Blair's finger as it ran along the line of words. I marveled at Martha's confident high voice, reading out all but the hardest words.

"
'There be three things which are too wonderful for me,'
" she intoned. "
Yea, four which I know not. The way of an eagle in the air...'
"

"What's a 'neagle'?" Nanny interrupted.

"A big bird, dear," said Aunt Blair. "Go on, Martha."

"
'The way of a serpent upon a rock; the way of a ship in the midst of the sea; and the way of a man with a maid.'
" She looked up, puzzled. "What does that mean, Mammy,
'the way of a man with a maid'
?"

Grizel sniggered, and I couldn't help giggling myself. Aunt Blair snapped the Bible shut.

"You'll know soon enough. There, I knew I wouldn't get it right. Your father would have chosen a better chapter. What's that you're saying, Nanny?"

Nanny had been muttering in the secret language she shared with Martha. Now she wriggled and hid her head under her apron.

"She means, I
to the hills will lift mine eyes,'
" translated Martha. "It's the psalm, Mammy."

"I know it's the psalm," Aunt Blair said, unable to hide her exasperation. "Well, then, we'd better sing it," and in a quavering voice she began:

"
I to the hills will lift mine eyes,
From whence doth come mine aid.
My safety cometh from the Lord,
Who Heaven and earth hath made.
"

As I sang I, too, looked out through the door, longing for the sight of the brown coats and tall hats coming down to us from above.

They appeared at last, long after the sun was beginning to sink. Grizel saw them first.

"It's them, mistress," she called out, "but it looks like the master's lost his hat."

Aunt Blair was off the bench where she'd been sitting and was running up the track, her shawl blowing out behind her, before the rest of us had moved. I saw her stumble, Uncle Blair catch hold of her, and Ritchie take her other arm. They almost carried her between them back to the house. I didn't know which to look at first, my aunt's deathly pale face or the blood pouring down my uncle's forehead.

"It's nothing! Nothing!" he said irritably, as the little girls set up a wail, and Grizel and I stood gaping at him. "A tiny nick in the skin, that's all. The real damage is to my hat, which the musket ball blew clean away. A good hat it was too."

"We shook them off, Mother, just as Father said we would," Ritchie burst out exultantly. "Seven troopers, mounted, and a captain, but they were floundering around in the bog and they couldn't come near us! The others got Mr. Alexander away. He's hiding at Whinnerstone."

"It was a grand sermon he preached, Ritchie, that's the main thing," his father said with a frown.

A gasp from Aunt Blair made him turn around.

"What is it, Isobel? Oh, my dear, you're not—it's not..."

"It is," she said, panting. "The pains have come. Help me inside, Hugh. Ritchie, get away to Barnaigh. Fetch Mistress Barbour to come and help me. Ah! Hurry, now!"

The birth of my little cousin Andrew was quite different from that of Ebenezer Macbean. There were no wild clouds racing across the moonlit sky, no drunken Granny to curse and stumble, no furious rages, on the one hand, or plaintive, weak cries, on the other. And, of course, there were no mumbled charms around the fire. My aunt, so particular in all her ways, had everything ready.

Ritchie must have run all the way to fetch Mistress Barbour from Barnaigh, because she was back almost at once. She was a round-faced woman, sober and clean. I took the little girls into the rarely used best room, wrapped them in a plaid, and sang them to sleep. Grizel, unconcerned, was already snoring in a corner. Then I opened the shutter at the window and leaned out.