The Betrayal of Maggie Blair (3 page)

Tam mumbled something then turned away, fumbling with his breeks to relieve himself. He was doing it too close to the house for my liking.

I went inside quickly. I was afraid that other feelings for Tam would push their way in and spoil the love I felt for him. I didn't want to see weakness and silliness and the blur of drink in his eyes. I didn't want to feel pity or contempt.

The fire was nearly out, and it took a while to coax it back to life. The floor needed sweeping, Blackie needed milking, and the porridge had to be cooked. Granny, who had shooed Tam away from our door with a shake of her broom as if he was a stray dog, kept me at it all morning.

The lane running along the head of Scalpsie Bay goes directly past our cottage, and anyone coming or going to the Macbean farm has to pass right by us. It annoyed Mr. Macbean, as I knew well, to see the good land of our small field and kail yard, which took a bite out of his big farm. He was envious of the stream running so close to the cottage, and the treasures of the beach being ours for the first taking. He'd long wanted to gobble our place up and take it into his own holding.

Later that morning he rode by with a sack of oatmeal as payment for Granny's services, and his eyes wandered possessively past me toward the cottage. I flushed with annoyance at the sneer in his voice when he spoke. "When was it you last put fresh turf on your roof? You must be flooded through those holes every time it rains."

"It's dry enough," I said stiffly.

He pretended to look sympathetic.

"It's too much for you though, this place, isn't it, Maggie? An old woman and a young girl! I wonder you don't give it up and move somewhere more fitting. Elspeth could find a place in Rothesay, couldn't she? And you could go to be a serving girl like our Annie."

I had to bite my lip to stop my anger bursting out, but I wasn't like Granny. I could always hold it in. I stared back at him coolly and said, "I hope the baby's well and Mrs. Macbean. Have you chosen a name for him? When is the christening to be?"

He looked embarrassed.

"The christening will be soon enough. We'll see. He's to be named Ebenezer."

He mounted his horse and rode off.

"Ebenezer!" snorted Granny, who had come out of the cottage in time to see Mr. Macbean disappear over the rise toward Rothesay. "What kind of fool name is that? Not that the child will bear it for long. The mark of death is on him."

The gossips of Scalpsie Bay had been right. The whale stank as it rotted. Foulness hung in the air, and even the seagulls, which had feasted on the flesh at first, would not tear at the carcass anymore.

The other news was that a new minister had come to the church at Kingarth. His name was Mr. Robertson.

"A busybody, by the look of him," Granny said sourly, watching the man's lean, black-coated figure stride energetically up the lane toward Macbean's. "He'll be after us to go to the kirk every week, so he can insult us from his pulpit. They're all the same. Crows in black suits."

I watched for the minister coming back so that I could take a peep at him. There were hardly ever strangers in Scalpsie Bay, and a new face was always a wonder. I hid behind the hedge and looked through a gap. Just as he came into view, a swan flew overhead. The minister took off his round, broad-brimmed black hat and looked up at it, letting me get a good view of him.

Mr. Robertson was a young man, lean and pale. His hair fell in thin fair wisps to his shoulders. His skin was pink, not reddened or tanned by the wind and sun, as everyone else's was in Scalpsie Bay. He looked clean all over. There were no smears on his face or hands, and no specks on the black cloth of his coat.

I had thought that all ministers were like the last one had been: red-faced, old, stout, and angry. I thought they would all have a loud, booming voice and a frowning face. I was so surprised at the sight of this earnest, nervous-looking young man that I craned forward clumsily and set the hawthorn twigs rattling. He picked the sound up at once and came right up to the hedge, then bent down and stared through it, so that our eyes were no more than a foot's length apart.

He started with surprise when he saw me and straightened up. I had to stand up too, though I was so embarrassed I wanted only to bolt into the cottage. He settled his hat back on his head and pulled at the two white bands that fell from his collar over his black-clad chest. He was trying to look dignified, I could tell.

"You'll be Maggie Blair," he said. "And yours is a face I've yet to see in the kirk on the Sabbath day."

He was trying to sound severe but spoiled the effect by giving a gigantic sneeze that made his pale eyes water.

"H-how did you know my name?" I stammered.

"I know the name of every soul in my parish." He wiped his nose on a snowy kerchief that he folded carefully and tucked inside his sleeve. "And I'm discovering things about some of them that sadden me. You live here with your grandmother, Mistress Elspeth Wylie, isn't that so?"

I nodded warily. In my experience, mention of Granny usually involved severe disapproval.

"When was the last time that Mistress Elspeth brought you to the kirk, Maggie, to hear the word of the Lord?"

I looked down. In truth, it had been more than a year since Granny and I had tramped the four miles to the kirk and back again. Once the old minister's coughing had started, he had been like a fire damped down. He'd lost the strength to chase after his lost flock, and Granny was certainly not going to go to him of her own accord. Luckily, I thought of a way to change the subject.

"When's the baby to be christened, Mr. Robertson?" I asked.

He looked harassed.

"What baby would that be? There's one by every hearth hereabouts."

There was only one baby in my world.

"Ebenezer Macbean," I said.

Mr. Robertson raised his thin eyebrows.

"Tomorrow! Didn't you know? The whole parish seems to have been summoned to the..."

He broke off, his eyes fixed on something behind me. I turned to see Granny appear at the cottage door, holding a bucket of water. I knew she'd seen the minister, but she slung its dirty contents in our direction, anyway, making him jump backwards. Then she set it down and marched toward me, her arms crossed on her chest. I couldn't look at her. I was ashamed of her dirty clothes, wild hair, and blackened teeth. Beside the minister, so neat and scrubbed, she looked like a straw man set up in the fields to scare birds.

"Who's this keeping the girl from her work?" she demanded, pretending not to know Mr. Robertson. "Oh, it's you, Minister."

"And good morning to you, Mistress Elspeth," he said gravely. I glanced at him sharply, but he looked more alarmed than mocking. He coughed awkwardly. "I'm glad of the chance to speak with you. I've been at my parish three months already, and I haven't seen you or your granddaughter on one Sabbath day."

Granny's bare, hard-soled feet were planted firmly apart on the rough ground, but now she bent one knee and slapped a beefy hand down onto her hip.

"Pain in my joints," she said. "Ill health. A recurring fever. I'd never be able to walk such a distance."

Mr. Robertson pursed his lips.

"Oh, now, I saw you in Rothesay not one week ago, and it's a full two miles farther to walk."

"I know that fine, Minister." Granny's head was thrown back, and she was staring down her nose at him. "Crawled all the way, didn't I, on my hands and knees. The pain—you can't imagine."

Knowing how fast Granny strode along the lanes, covering the miles at a steady trot, I had to stifle a giggle.

A pink flush of irritation colored Mr. Robertson's cheeks.

"Mistress Elspeth, I have to remind you that it is your duty, both by earthly and heavenly law, to attend divine service at your parish kirk on the Lord's Day. If you fail to do so, you will incur a fine. Do you understand?"

Granny pretended to cringe in fear.

"A fine!" she whined. "Oh, sir, don't take from a poor old widow woman the little she has and leave her destitute!"

Mr. Robertson held up his hands, as if defeated, and began to back away.

"Hear the psalmist's words, Mistress Elspeth, and if you won't hear me, hear him." And he began to intone, in a surprisingly strong voice, "'Enter his gates and courts with praise, to thank him go ye thither...'" but before he could finish, a gust of wind snatched off his hat and sent it rolling down the lane. He ran after it, with Granny's mocking laughter following him.

"The wind heard you, Mister Minister, blowing the empty air out of your mouth, and it couldn't help joining in!" she said, a little too loudly.

Then, turning back toward the cottage, she let out a shriek. Blackie had wandered in from her pasture and was tearing at the shaggy thatch and turf that hung low off the cottage roof.

"You Devil's bit! You creature of Satan!" she screeched, beating Blackie away from the roof with her fists. The wind must have carried her words along the lane because I saw the minister stop in his tracks with shock, then bend over and hurry on, one hand clamping his hat to his head.

***

Annie appeared that afternoon. She came tripping down from the farm, her shawl pinned under her chin just loosely enough to let the curls escape from it to frame her face. I suppose she thought it pretty that way. I thought her plain silly. She carried a basket on her arm, and I guessed she was on her way to ask for contributions from the neighboring farms for the christening feast.

The christening feast. It occurred to me, as I saw Annie, how odd it was that no news of it had come to us. I remembered, too, that in the past few days Mr. Macbean had spurred his horse to go faster as he passed our cottage. The truth hit me as sharp as a blow.

We've not been invited. I'll not get the chance to hold baby Ebenezer. Everyone else is to go, but not Granny and me.

I was desperate not to believe it. I put up a hand to smooth back my hair, made myself smile, and called out, "Hello, Annie. Where are you away to? How's the baby, anyway?"

She raised her eyebrows when she saw me, in the sneering way she had.

"Eb-e-ne-zer's just fine." She separated out the sounds to make the long name seem even grander. "And I'm fetching eggs from the folks at Ambrismore for the christening."

My fingers curled tightly into my palms.

"The christening, eh? When's that to be?"

"Tomorrow of course.
Everyone
knows..."

She pretended she had made a mistake and clapped her hand over her mouth, but above her twitching fingers her eyes were dark with malice.

"We couldn't have come, anyway," I said, as carelessly as I could. "Granny's not well."

I couldn't help looking down toward the beach where Granny was bent over, vigorously pulling something out of a clump of seaweed. Luckily, Annie didn't notice.

An idea hit me.

"I've three eggs to spare. I'll give them to you if you like. For the christening."

Three eggs. They were a treasure to us. They'd be enough, surely, to buy us an invitation.

Annie nodded without answering, and I opened the little gate into our yard for her. She was right behind me as I went into the cottage, and turning around I caught a curiously greedy expression on her face.

She thinks it'll be all dirty and messy in here,
I thought with disgust,
and she wants to spread stories about us.

I was glad that I'd swept the floor that morning, washed the table, and arranged the dishes neatly on the shelf.

"I see you're not fussy about spiders, then," she said at last, pointing triumphantly at the tangle of webs in the corner where the roof beam came down to meet the stone wall.

"Annie, you'd never clear away the spiders' webs?" I was genuinely shocked. "Not when there's a baby in the house?"

"And why wouldn't I? Dirty, creepy things."

I was amazed at her ignorance.

"Don't you know that they're lucky? Don't you know that the spiders spun their webs around the baby Jesus to keep him hidden from the soldiers?"

She looked confused for a moment, then frowned suspiciously.

"Did you read that in the Bible? Oh, I forgot. You can't read, can you?"

"No, but it'll be there." I spoke with a confidence I didn't feel. "It must be. Lucky spiders?
Everyone
knows."

Her eyes were sweeping the cottage again. They rested disdainfully on Sheba, who was staring at her unblinkingly, lashing her tail from side to side.

"Get me those eggs, Maggie. I've to get on or Mrs. Macbean will be after me."

I regretted my offer now, but there was no going back on it. I went to the corner of the room by the chest, where it was quite dark, and put my hand into the crock where I'd placed the eggs that morning. I could feel them, round and smooth, under my fingers. Three eggs! And all for nothing. Annie wouldn't even tell Mrs. Macbean that I'd given them. There'd be no invitation, however many eggs I handed over.

"Oh," I said, trying to sound surprised, and hoping that the darkness of the corner would hide my lying blush. "There's only one here, after all."

As I turned, with the egg in my hand, I saw Annie move quickly away from beside the shelf where she'd been standing. She was settling her shawl again, tight under her chin.

"I'll be off, then," she said, putting the egg in the basket, and without a word of thanks, without even looking at me, she scuttled out of the cottage as if the Devil was after her.

***

Something woke me in the middle of the night. I don't know what it was, but I knew at once that I was alone. Granny had gone.

She had taken the news of the christening more quietly than I'd expected, though I saw the flesh around her mouth whiten as she clamped her lips tightly together. When she had finally spoken, she'd sounded more contemptuous than angry.

"They'd not have dared in your granddad's day. Mucky midden-crawlers! My man once cleared a room of the likes of them with one swing of his ax." Then, to my surprise, she noticed the tears drying on my cheeks and put a hand on my shoulder. "Don't think of them, Maggie. There's better company to be had than cold-hearted psalm singers like Macbean."