by J. L. Jarvis
Callum watched Grizzal leave, and then he rapped at the door, flanked by two of his men. Young Sally, the servant girl, answered.
“Sir?”
He smiled, not intending to charm her, but he had such a smile. She cast furtive eyes back. Her mistress was not far behind.
She looked at him bashfully from beneath ginger curls, and then looked past him to Hughie. A blush spread into her freckled cheeks.
“Would you please tell your mistress that Ensign MacDonell would like to see her?”
“Aye, sir!”
Callum glanced about, not having been in the house since the day they had arrived.
Marion’s mother soon swept into the entrance. “Ensign MacDonell,” said Margaret with measured grace.
“Good day, ma’am. We have orders to search the house.”
“But why now? You have been here for weeks.”
“There have been reports of Covenanters hiding out in homes in this area. We’ve been ordered to search all the houses.”
“Indeed?” Margaret could not hide her disbelief. “But you’ve been here with us, watching us come and go. How could we possibly be hiding anyone here?”
“I’m following orders.”
She reluctantly stepped aside while he and his men searched. His men kept Mrs. McEwan occupied downstairs while Callum went upstairs, straight to Mari’s room. He found her asleep. Closing the door gently behind him, he sat down on the edge of her bed. Charlie had charmed Sally, the housemaid, into keeping him informed of Mari’s condition. Her fever had soared for two days. No one knew of the bairn that she carried, and that worried him. He put his hand to her forehead. A deep sigh escaped. There was some lingering warmth from the fever, but she had clearly improved from what he had been told. “Mari, my love.”
Her eyes opened and found his. She gave a weak smile. His jaw clenched and his eyes shone as he choked back a surge of emotion. “Mari, this was my fault. I should not have kept you out in the rain. I was selfish.” He lifted her hand to his lips. “You’ve worried me, lass. When I heard you were ill, I could not keep away.”
She squeezed his hand weakly and whispered, “Are you through, Callum MacDonell?”
He smiled and said, “No, lass. I’m not.” He touched the slim fingers he held in his hand as he pressed his lips to them. “I tried not to love you.”
“And how did you fare?” she asked with shining eyes.
He lifted his eyes to hers. “Miserably.”
A faint smile traced her lips. “Well then are we not a pitiful pair?”
“Aye, love, that we are.” His eyes shone with all that he had held in his heart.
Mari’s eyes gently closed. A soft smile curved her lips as she drifted to sleep.
*
The next day he was gone. He and his men had been called back to Stirling. Marion was bedridden for several more days. Outside, the community was astir over a recent Covenanter victory over royalist soldiers at Drumclog. Some of the young men were off to Bothwell near Glasgow to join up with the mounting force of Covenanters. There was much debate over what should be done next, but no plans had been made.
Days passed. Marion grew stronger. She started to busy herself about the house and the farm, but her thoughts were with Callum. No word came from him. One morning, she and Sally, the dairymaid, worked in the kitchen squeezing the milk out of butter. They formed the butter into small blocks and wrap them in butterbur leaves. Mari set down the pitcher of buttermilk, and checked to make sure no one else was about.
“Sally?”
“Yes, Miss.”
“I could not help but notice you spent some time with one of those soldiers—Hughie, was it not?”
“Aye, Miss. In truth, we went walkin’ a wee bit.” Sally smiled at the memory, but her mood shifted to fear as she added, “But we did not do anything improper—I promise.”
“Och—no! I didnae mean that. I just wondered if you had heard from him.”
Sally lowered her eyes, and a small sigh slipped out. “Well no, Miss. But I did not expect to, with him fighting.”
“So he went off to fight?” Marion hid her alarm.
“Oh, aye, Miss.”
Marion tried to quell the concern in her voice. “Do you ken where?”
“He would not tell me, but—” Sally bit her lip, working hard to hold something back.
“What is it, Sally?”
“Oh, it’s probably nothin’. Only I overheard one of the Highlanders sayin’ somethin’.”
With diminishing patience, Mari sternly said, “Sally.”
“Loudon Hill,” she blurted out. “That’s all I ken.”
“Loudon Hill?”
“Aye. There’s to be a big conventicle there.”
Mari mulled it over. It made sense. Other than looting some area homes, the Highlanders had accomplished very little since arriving. They would want to report some sort of progress. What easier target than a large gathering of families with their eyes closed in worship?
Sally continued, “And wi’ our soldiers—well, not our soldiers, mind, but the one who were biding here, ken—goin’ off all a sudden… ”
Marion nodded and said, as though trying to convince herself most of all, “Aye, well it’s hard to say for certain, is it not?” With a warm smile she said, “If you hear from Hughie, please tell me.”
“Aye, Miss.” Sally returned to her dusting, but cast a glance toward Marion as she walked away. “She’s lanely for her ain soldier,” she whispered to herself, shaking her head. “He’s a braw man. I cannot blame her. An’ I miss Hughie.” The sound of footsteps drew her from her reverie and back to her vigorous dusting. “Och, weel, what cannot be helped must be put up with.”
*
On a gray afternoon, the cows rested under a tree as clouds rolled in and darkened the moor. Mari had come out to drive them back home, when a horseman came over the top of a hill and approached her. Her heart quickened, but she soon saw it was not Callum. The thrill changed to dread as the rider drew nearer. He tethered his horse to a tree branch.
“Thomas,” she said, eyeing the minister’s son with mistrust.
His admiring eyes drank her in. “Marion.”
“Congratulations on your wedding,” she said tersely as she went on her way.
“Marion, I ken that you’re angry.”
“Oh, you ken that, do you?” She turned away and shut her eyes for a moment. Losing her temper would just make things worse. She took a deep breath and calmed herself.
“You’ve no right to look down your nose at me, Marion McEwan.”
“If you’d leave, Thomas Blackwell, I wouldnae have to look at you at all.”
The chilling look darkened his eyes. “You drive men away with that temper of yours.”
“Good. Then as angry as I am, you’ll be on your way now.”
He stepped closer. “I came to do you a favor, if you’d let me.”
“I dinnae need favors from you.”
“You need this one.”
She looked at him with scorn, but he met it, undaunted, with a bold look of his own. “You’re with child,” he said bluntly.
Her eyes opened wide, but she turned her back to him to conceal any further reaction. “That’s a lie. Go away. I’ll not hear any more.”
He lunged for her from behind and circled his arms about her waist. Even as she fought to be free, his hands felt their way over the front of her body before settling on the mound that proved his claim true. She jabbed her elbow back into his side and pulled free of him.
Thomas held his palms up as he tried to look harmless. “Grizzal told me. I wanted to see for myself. I’ll not touch you again.” He took a step backward.
Mari spied a piece of broken branch on the ground. She picked it up and gripped it in her hand, ready to thrust it at him. “See that you dinnae! Now go away. It’s no business of yours.”
Thomas spoke in soothing tones. “Marion, listen. I’m trying to help you. The elders ken. Grizzal
told them.”
Mari started to ask how she knew, but then closed her eyes and let out a mournful sigh. Grizzal. When she was sick with a fever, Grizzal tended her. Tears filled her eyes. “No.” The word caught in her throat. Soon they would bring her before the kirk to answer for her actions. She had thought she would have two or three months to plan what she would do. Now, all of a sudden, that day was before her.
“Marion, listen to me.”
She shut her eyes, too mired in distress to contain her contempt.
He said, “I came here to help you.”
“You’ve helped me enough, Thomas Blackwell. You can best help me now by just leaving me be.” Mari started to leave, but he grasped her arm.
“Listen, Marion. When they call you before the kirk, they will want to ken who the father is.”
Mari inwardly groaned in disgust. So that was it. He was afraid she would name him as the father.
“I’ve a new wife.”
“So I’ve heard. Good for you.”
“Marion, my father insisted. It was a superior match.”
“Being the superior sort, then, I’m sure she will not mind.” She smiled to herself and tried to pull her arm free and go on her way.
“Dinnae jest.”
“Oh, I promise you, I take all of this seriously.”
“Listen to me. I’ve worked it all out. If there is not a bairn, they cannot punish you.”
“Brilliant plan, Thomas.” Mari started to walk.
“It is. If they cannot prove there’s a bairn, they will have to assume that Grizzal was mistaken—or lying.”
Mari stopped short to regard him. “Are you daft? First of all, there is a bairn and they can prove it. And why would Grizzal lie?”
Thomas looked down. “Because she… seems to think that she and I—”
“Och! Have you nothing to fasten your breeches?”
Mari strode off, but soon stopped as a wave of nausea came over her.
Thomas pulled out a vial. “I’ve brought something to help you.”
“The only thing that will help me at present would be for you to leave me.” Mari studied Thomas’s face. He seemed almost wounded.
His eyes darted away. “Do you think I stopped caring for you?”
Mari looked at him coldly. “Aye. That particular thought came to mind on the day of your wedding.”
“Marion. It was our parents who wanted the marriage. I couldnae go against my father.”
“No. Only a man could do that.”
“Aye, and no man keeps his manhood for long, around you.” Thomas glared at her.
“Leave me alone.”
“But I cannot.” Still grasping her arm, he pulled her close and said in her ear, “I miss the feel of you.”
She stepped out of reach. “You have your wife now for that.”
His breathing grew heavy. “Her bed is a cold one. I need more.”
“No.” Mari put her hand up to stop him. She glanced about. Only cows looked back. She would have to fetch them later. She would make some excuse. With a sigh of exasperation, Mari left.
He ran after her and caught her by the arm. “Feelings like ours dinnae just end.”
Mari heaved a sigh and looked plainly at him. “Yes, they do.”
He appeared outwardly chastened, and yet showed little remorse. “I deserved that.”
“Thomas,” she said, feeling calmer for having spoken her mind. “Go home to your wife.”
He nodded, and pressed the vial into her hand. “Drink this. It’s savin. It will make it go away.”
Marion knew what savin did. Women snickered about babies being born under the savin tree. It made pregnancies end. She had thought about taking it, and she had come close. But as she looked at Thomas, she knew she could not be so desperate as he, so she pushed his hand back.
“No, Thomas. We made a mistake, and since I am to pay for it one way or the other, I’ll be the one to decide how.”
“Marion, think what you’re saying. It will be like it never happened.”
“But it did happen,” said Mari.
Thomas said, “When they bring you before the kirk elders, you’ll just tell them it’s not true, and they’ll have no proof against you.”
The thought did appeal to her. She did wish that it never had happened.
Thomas said softly, “And no father need ever be named.”
Marion’s eyes shot up to his. “Dinnae worry. I would not stoop to give you the credit.”
She began to storm off, but he grabbed her and swung her into his arms. He pulled her to the ground and sat straddling her. Then he cupped her chin in one hand and squeezed tightly, pulling open her jaw. Marion tried to turn her head, but he yanked it back. She bit the hand holding her chin, but he cursed her through clenched teeth. “You’ll not bite me again,” he said as he swung the full force of his arm, striking her head with the back of his hand. Her head whipped to the side. A sob escaped. Lifting the vial, he pulled the cork out with his teeth and spat it out to the side. Thomas once more took her chin in his hand and held it firmly while he poured the vial’s contents down her throat. Tossing the vial, he forced her mouth closed and tilted her head back until she choked and involuntarily swallowed. He waited until he was sure she had swallowed the vial, then he gave her a bruising kiss, forcing his tongue into her mouth. “Good lass. Drank it all down.”
With a free arm, Marion felt about the ground frantically and seized hold of a rock. As Thomas got up, Marion struck him in the groin. He cried out, holding himself. In too much pain to control his balance, Marion pushed him over and scrambled free.
Thomas lay on his side, knees bent, cursing and moaning.
*
The next morning was a Sunday. Despite Mari’s pleas to stay home, her father insisted that she go with them. It was the first time in weeks since they had worshipped as they chose, in a secret kirk service called a conventicle. While the Highland soldiers had stayed there, Mari’s family had gone to the local kirk services, which were now under control of Episcopal curates. Every curate had a list of parishioners. Anyone absent was fined. Should they be suspected of harboring Covenanter sympathies, they could be questioned, forced to take oaths renouncing their faith, and even be tortured or executed. Mari resented attending the kirk, but complied with her parents’ wishes and went every Sunday. Jamie’s death had worn down their spirit. They were weary, and felt they had given enough.
However, once the soldiers were gone, the secret meetings resumed. Convinced they were no longer under suspicion, the McEwan family set out for their first secret kirk meeting one Sunday before the sunset. It would be at the Ferguson farm, Ellen’s home.
Mari awoke to uncomfortable cramping. Thomas’s vial had taken effect. She told her parents she was feeling ill and would not be able to go to the conventicle planned for the evening. But her father said she looked well enough and insisted. Mari could not defy him.
When the McEwans arrived for the service, they were met with awkward greetings and stares that made Mari’s parents uneasy. By now Mari was in too much pain to notice. Not only did she have to endure stabbing pain, but she also had to hide it from anyone watching. As one wave of contractions subsided, Mari caught sight of Grizzal MacRorie standing outside of the byre, eyeing her slyly. No, it could not be today. The agony was too much, but to endure it in public? She could not. As much as Mari had tried to prepare herself for this moment, her heart hammered in her chest. She was too sick now to think clearly.
One of the elders approached Mari and led her away from her now troubled parents. Agnes Blackwell, Thomas’s new wife, joined the elder who led Mari to the back of the byre.
“Mistress McEwan,” said the elder.
She looked plainly at him, but did not reply.
“We know that you are with child,” he stated, waiting for her to refute it. Mari could not meet his cold stare. Thomas Blackwell stood off to the side. Her eyes drifted toward him, but he shifted his weight to avoid looking
at her. Her heart pounded so much she thought everyone could hear it. The elder gave a nod to the women and left them alone to attend to Mari.
She did not resist as they stripped her off her shoes, stockings, and skirts—all but her shift. There was little point in protesting, unless she wished to be forever cast out from the church and her friends. Nor could she run away and start fresh somewhere else. In order to settle in a new town, a person needed a testimonial from the previous church attesting to their good character. Without this, the person would not only be barred from the new kirk, but would be further unable to obtain work. Left with no choice but to comply, Mari set her mind on one goal. She would find a way to persevere. She said not a word, and did her best to hide any emotion that might give her accusers satisfaction. If she could impress them with her repentance, they might spare her the rest of the punishment. Often the sentence included being chained to the Mercat Cross with a paper crown upon which was written the offense. They did not usually shave the heads of first offenders, but Reverend Blackwell was an unyielding man.
The pains were now coming more often. A lightheaded sensation dulled Mari’s fear as she clutched the side of the byre for support.
The women escorted her into the byre, which would serve as a kirk for this meeting. The elder prodded her forward to begin her solitary walk to the stool of repentance. A sharp pain shot through her abdomen, making her pause, but she steeled herself and kept walking along the dirt aisle. Now dizzy, she hesitated between steps and breathed deeply. Things came back into focus. As she resumed walking, she began to feel as though she were watching herself from a distance. At last, she arrived at the stool. There was talking. She heard words, but the pain soon returned and distracted her from their meaning. She bent over, but then gripped the edge of the stool and willed herself to sit up and face them. Only once did she let herself glance at Thomas Blackwell. She drew strength from the fear in his eyes. Agnes can have you and all of your lies. Wee one or not, I’ll not name you as the father and be yoked to you for the rest of my life.
