Fire of the Covenant

by Gerald N. Lund

  A small rock hit her on the cheek, stinging sharply. A half loaf of moldy bread bounced off her arm and slammed into Robbie’s shoulder. As they raced away, he began to sob hysterically.

  “Get the Mormons!” came the cry from behind them. “Get ’em! Get ’em!”

  Hannah glanced back and saw a pack of boys burst out from behind the fence.

  “They’re getting away!” they shouted, breaking into a hard run. “After them!”

  Hannah didn’t have to take a second look. It was the same group. There were eight or ten of them. The oldest two were Hannah’s age. They were the ringleaders. The rest ranged from twelve to fifteen. A week ago one of the boys, one of the leaders, had somehow learned that the McKensies were Mormons. They cornered Robbie as he tried to leave class, calling him “Mad Mormon,” “devil’s child,” and “crazy boy.” When Hannah and Robbie had told their mother she complained to the headmaster. He reprimanded the boys, but only for creating a disturbance in the building. He made little attempt to hide the fact that he held the Mormons in open contempt as well. The boys were too cunning to miss that signal. With others joining in the “fun” every day, they had taken to waiting just off the school yard for Hannah and Robbie. Things quickly escalated from jeers and threats to open bullying, grabbing, and shoving. Last time they had torn Hannah’s coat and knocked one of Robbie’s books into a puddle before letting them go.

  Maggie? Where are you? As they raced along the street, Hannah searched ahead. Gripping Robbie’s hand tightly, she angled across the street toward the corner of the next intersection, hoping against hope. Behind her Hannah could hear the boys screaming and yelling, sounding like a pack of dogs in pursuit of a rabbit. Or two rabbits, she thought grimly.

  “Hang on, Robbie!” She pulled him forward, running all the harder.

  As they approached the corner, Hannah glanced back. The two oldest boys were pulling ahead of the rest, and she saw that one of them was Stuart Robison. She felt a chill shoot through her. He was the one who frightened her the most. Foul of temper, a natural bully, and hero of the pack, he had once tried to kiss Hannah on a dare and she had slapped his face. She knew that in addition to her being Mormon and therefore an object that would attract his malice, in his mind there was another score to settle. She could hear him swearing at his comrades, urging them on to greater effort. And then Hannah saw something that really frightened her. Stuart and his friend were both carrying short clubs.

  “Run, Robbie! Run!”

  •••

  Maggie McKensie moved swiftly up the street, only half listening to the squeak of her leather soles on the wet cobblestones. She was berating herself bitterly. She never slept past three in the afternoon. Never! Until today. After all her promises to Robbie and Hannah. She saw again the fear in Robbie’s dark eyes. “Please, Maggie, walk us home from school.”

  This morning Maggie had been exhausted after her shift and had collapsed on the bed when she finally arrived home. But then there had been some children playing in the streets and so she had not been able to sleep well. When they finally tired and went elsewhere, she had slept right through until almost three-thirty. She half closed her eyes. Wait for me, Hannah. Just wait!

  She broke into a trot, the guilt giving urgency to her feet.

  •••

  Clutching Robbie’s hand even more tightly, Hannah shot around the corner, hair bouncing as she ran. Robbie’s feet slipped and he nearly went down, dragging her with him. She yanked up hard. “Don’t stop!”

  And then down the block she saw the figure of her older sister coming toward them at a run. Hannah gave a cry of relief. “Maggie! Maggie!”

  As they raced toward each other, the sound of the pursuit burst upon them. Hannah turned her head. There were five boys in the lead now, with Stuart Robinson at the head. They had closed the distance to thirty or forty yards. The rest of the group was coming hard behind them.

  “Help, Maggie! Help!” It was Robbie and it came out in a great sob.

  They met in the middle of the block and came to a stop facing each other. “Oh, Maggie!” Hannah blurted. Robbie gave a strangled cry and threw his arms around his older sister.

  Up the street the boys pulled up short. Though Maggie was only an inch or two taller than Hannah, they saw immediately that here was an adult. They didn’t know that Maggie was only three years older than Hannah, but from where they were, nineteen years old looked like an adult. And that was an unexpected development.

  Maggie’s face went hard. “Is that them, Hannah? Are those the boys who have been bothering you and Robbie?”

  “Yes.”

  She turned angrily. The group of boys had moved into a tight circle, heads together, talking excitedly, eyes lifting and staring in their direction.

  “Get out of here!” Maggie yelled at them.

  She heard a younger voice suddenly cry out. “Hey, that’s their sister.”

  “Stay here,” Maggie said grimly, stepping forward.

  That sent a little ripple through the group, and the boys pulled in more tightly together. But the leader’s face went hard. “You looking for trouble, big sister?” Stuart shouted as she closed the distance between them.

  Maggie couldn’t believe it. This boy, barely starting to shave, swaggered as if he were twice that age. His face was an open sneer. Then Maggie saw his weapon. She felt a little start of fear, but that disappeared as a great anger washed over her. “No,” she cried, stalking forward, “I’m here to give you trouble.”

  That surprised them, and the younger ones shrank a little. Even the two older boys standing beside the leader looked suddenly nervous. Maggie counted swiftly. There were eleven of them, but only these three were of any size or consequence. It struck her suddenly that these were not street urchins, the flotsam of the streets that wandered some parts of Edinburgh and which, in groups, could frighten even the hardiest of adults. They were just schoolboys. But right now, street urchins or not, they were running as a pack and they had been stopped short of their prey. She slowed her step, trying to keep the sudden twinge of anxiety out of her eyes.

  “Aren’t you the brave warriors?” she hissed as she came to within ten feet of the three leaders and stopped. “Eleven of you to two of them? Why don’t you go find some more help? Then maybe you’ll feel safer taking on a twelve-year-old.”

  The leader growled and stepped forward, tapping his stick menacingly against his leg. The other two boys moved with him to provide a solid phalanx. “You watch your tongue, Mormon, or we’ll teach you a lesson too.”

  “Go home,” she said in disgust. “The fun’s over.”

  The leader motioned to the group behind him. They moved forward to form a half circle around her. “You want us to teach you a lesson, Mormon?” the leader sneered.

  And then behind her, Maggie heard Robbie’s soft whimpering as he tried to stop his crying. A great rage welled up inside her. Robbie was of such a tender heart, especially since their father had died. All Maggie had to do was speak sharply to him and he would start to cry. She lunged forward, snatching the stick from the stunned boy’s grasp. She turned and flung it away. “How about me teaching you a lesson, big man?” Her hands came up to form into fists.

  The suddenness of her move broke his will. Disarmed and faced with her fury, he backed up a step. That was all it took. The others moved as one, staying behind him. “Let’s get out of here,” one of the younger ones cried to his companion. They turned, then broke and ran. The half circle dissolved into nothing.

  The two boys who still carried sticks turned in horror; then, realizing they were all alone, they yelled at their buddy and took off as well. It said something for their friend’s bravado that he held his ground. His eyes were filled with anger at his being shamed, and for a moment he debated whether he dared go this alone. He was frightened. She leaned forward, thrusting her face next to his. “You think you are such a big man? Then let’s see if you’re big enough to beat a girl. How about it? Just you
and me.”

  He was startled for a moment, but then he shook his head in disdain. “I don’t fight girls.”

  Maggie straightened. “You know what?” she said. “Neither do I, but in your case I’d make an exception.” She straightened to her full height, her eyes smouldering now.

  That did it. He muttered something and then bolted. She turned and, without looking back, started for where Hannah and Robbie were watching. When she finally reached them the street behind them was empty. She turned and put an arm around her brother. “I’m sorry, Robbie. I’m sorry I was late.”

  •••

  James MacAllister and Maggie McKensie stood together a few rods down the street from the entrance to the tenement house where Maggie’s family lived. Maggie had hoped he would come. She hadn’t dared to leave Robbie and Hannah. For all they were putting on a brave face, she could tell they had been deeply shaken, and so she had not gone to the foundry as she usually did to wait for James to finish work. When she had not been there, he had come straight here to see if everything was all right.

  And now it was. The rain had stopped, but the temperature had dropped enough that their breath showed in momentary puffs of mist. It was almost seven, and the sky was completely dark. She moved closer to him. In another half an hour her mother would be home and James would leave again. About once a month he would eat with the family, but otherwise he always declined. He still didn’t feel comfortable with her mother.

  Maggie looked up at James and smiled at him. James MacAllister was twenty, just a year older than Maggie. He was born of Scottish Highland stock and it showed in the ruggedness of his features—the deep-set brown eyes that looked out from beneath thick dark eyebrows, the straight nose, the strong jawline, the mouth that she loved to watch, for it always betrayed his mood. A shock of black hair grew thick and straight, and he was always tossing his head back to take it from his eyes.

  They made a striking couple. Everyone said that, though Maggie always felt plain when she was beside him. Her hair was as dark as his and long enough to come below her neck. She had her mother’s pleasant countenance, but it was not remarkable in any way. Except for her eyes. She knew they were her best feature—large, almost black, and with long lashes. “Thank you for coming,” she murmured.

  “Aye,” he answered. “Mr. McPhail had me on a job and I was fifteen minutes late finishing my shift. I thought maybe you had come and gone again.”

  She didn’t take her eyes from his face. “I always wait. You know that.”

  “I wish I had been with you this afternoon. I would have taught them little beggars a lesson or two.”

  She touched his arm. “I wish you had been too. I don’t know what I would have done if that boy had taken my challenge to fight with me.”

  “You’da popped him one in the nose,” he said, smiling at her. He moved closer and put one arm around her. “It was him that was lucky, not you.”

  She had to laugh. His Gaelic accent was particularly noticeable at times like this. The MacAllisters had been sheep men and farmers in the northern Highlands for generations, unlike her family, who had always lived in Edinburgh. English had been the official language of Scotland since the Act of Union with England and Wales in 1707. But there were some, especially in the north country, who still spoke Gaelic, the language of the Celtic tribes who had invaded the British Isles centuries before.

  Then the laugh died. She shuddered slightly, remembering the hardness and hate in the face of the boys.

  Feeling her shiver, he pulled her in against him. “You cold?”

  She laid her head against his chest. “Mmm. Not now.”

  “Good.” He put his arms all the way around her. Suddenly his voice became hard. “I’ll see to it that those slinking mongrels won’t be bothering your brother and sister anymore, Maggie.”

  She looked up, grateful for his strength, grateful that he was angry, grateful that he understood clearly that something had to be done to change things. But then, as so many times before, in looking at him, she was swept away by his deep brown eyes, the dark hair which he left thick and shaggy, the high cheeks, the firm chin with a cleft in it. How had she, Maggie McKensie, ever in the world gotten James MacAllister to take one look at her, let alone become her beau.

  “I don’t understand it,” he said, his eyes still smouldering. “Why would they pick on Robbie and Hannah?”

  “Because we’re Mormons,” she answered in surprise. “I thought you knew that.”

  “Oh, yeah. Seems like you did say something about that once.”

  Maggie had lived in fear for a long time, worrying about what James would say or do when he learned that she was a Mormon. But then one day she had mentioned it casually in passing and that had been that. “Why do you suppose they hate us so?”

  He shrugged, and she sensed that he had already gone to something else in his thoughts.

  For some reason, that irritated her just a little. “They do, you know. They really hate us. I suppose they hear it from their parents.”

  He pulled back a little and grinned down at her. “Never could understand people getting all excited about this religion or that. Now, take me, for example. I don’t have enough religion for anyone to get excited about.”

  She ignored his attempt at humor. “So that’s your answer? Just stop being religious?”

  He looked down at her, realizing that he had hit a tender spot. “No. If you want to be a Mormon, it doesn’t bother me one way or the other.”

  “Good.” And yet she was somehow not comforted greatly by that response.

  “Can I ask you a question, Maggie?”

  She stepped back, sensing he was suddenly serious now. “Yes.”

  “Why are you a Mormon?”

  Her head came up quickly.

  “I know your mother is a strong believer and all that, but it seems like religion doesn’t mean that much to you. Why don’t you just give it up? Then nobody will hate you.”

  She stared at him.

  “Well, does it mean that much to you?”

  For a long moment she looked at him; then she turned her head slowly, glancing up at the darkness. “It’s getting late, James. Mother will be here shortly.”

  His face registered surprise and she felt a little stab of shame at turning cold on him. His question had been innocent enough.

  “I . . . I think Robbie and Hannah are still upset. I’d better go in.”

  He gave her a sardonic smile. “If it’s none of my business, Maggie, just tell me.”

  She feigned surprise. “What?”

  He just shook his head, then bent and kissed her quickly. “I know a couple of those boys. I’ll go around tonight and let them know that if they give Robbie and Hannah more trouble, they’re giving me trouble. That should help.”

  She kissed him back quickly. “Thank you, James.”

  He was still looking at her, his eyes challenging, but then he grinned. “You’re welcome. See you, luv.”

  She waved and watched him walk swiftly away. But even after he had turned the corner and disappeared she stood there, his words echoing in her mind. Well, does it mean that much to you?

  Her head lifted and she stared at the spot where she had last seen him. “If you have to ask, James,” she said softly, “what does that say about me?”

  •••

  Maggie glanced up at the clock for the third or fourth time in as many minutes. She felt a burst of irritation mingled with growing worry. Her mother finished her shift at seven and was always home no more than half an hour later. Now it was three minutes to nine. Any hope Maggie had of getting some sleep before she had to leave for work was quickly disappearing. She was still feeling the loss of sleep from earlier in the day. It was going to be a very long shift.

  She blew out her breath, the concern rising swiftly. The McKensie apartment was on the third floor of a dingy tenement house, one of dozens that filled this part of Edinburgh. It was not a neighborhood with a bad reputation like
some of the south side slums, but recently there had been a robbery just four blocks away.

  She turned. Hannah and Robbie were at the kitchen table doing their schoolwork, talking in low voices and occasionally laughing softly. Her face softened. The day’s confrontation was largely forgotten now, and that was good. That was part of the resilience of youth. It also showed the closeness that had grown between these two. They were more than just brother and sister now. They were friends, confidants, best buddies. In the three years since the family had been baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, the bond between them had deepened significantly. Being ostracized by most of their friends had left them little choice but to turn to each other.

  It left Maggie with a touch of envy. She had never had a close friend such as that. She didn’t like to admit it, but she knew that was partly why James meant so much to her now.

  Through the door there was the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Maggie swung around. Finally! The footsteps grew louder and then stopped outside the door for a moment. Hannah and Robbie turned now as well. Then the door opened and Mary McKensie stepped into the room, holding a folded up umbrella.

  “There you are,” Maggie said, rising quickly, greatly relieved.

  “I’m sorry.” Her mother took off her coat and shook it. “I stopped off at Brother Stuart’s house,” she said. “The missionaries were there.”

  Maggie noted that she pronounced it “mish-un-AIR-eez” in the American way, and not “MISH-un-reez,” as was the common pronunciation in the British Isles. She felt a quick flash of irritation. Maggie genuinely liked the Elders from America, and she found their accent quite amusing, but there was no need to try and imitate it.

  Hannah and Robbie were on their feet. As their mother started to hang up her coat on one of the pegs, she suddenly leaned forward. She reached out and touched Robbie’s coat. Her fingers ran across the dark stain where the rotten apple had hit him. “Robbie? What happened to your coat?” Then suddenly she understood. She turned and crossed the room swiftly. “Not again!”