by J. L. Jarvis
“I will make inquiries. In the meanwhile, go back to your camp. He or his men will know to find you there. They’re probably looking for you now.”
Mari stood, ready to leave. “What if he’s out there?” She looked across the moor littered with bodies all broken and bloody.
He looked squarely at her, and did not mince words. “If he’s out there, it is better that you didn’t see him. He would not want it, I promise you that. Go back to your camp and wait there.”
“Thank you. You’ve been very kind.” Mari left, headed toward Nellie’s tent. “Excuse me, can you tell me where the surgery is?” she asked a passing soldier.
“Oh, madam,” said the soldier, “You dinnae want to go there.”
“Yes, I do, and I want you to tell me.” She looked frantically at him. “Please, I’ve got to find someone.”
He reluctantly nodded his head toward the surgery, and watched with concern as she walked away.
Mari found it and the discarded limbs. She took in a sharp breath. Acrid odors assaulted her senses. She turned away, shutting her eyes to the sights until she could numb her memory of what she had seen as well. When she could move, she began to walk without thought or direction. She passed by men. Well or wounded, she looked long enough at each to see whether it was Callum. If not, she walked on like an impassive observer until she was sure she had seen every man there. Drying tears streaked her expressionless face as she found her way back to Callum’s tent. It was empty.
She went on to Nellie’s in hope that someone might have returned there. The sounds of battle, long abated, had been replaced by sounds of grief mixed with the sounds of men drinking to ease their minds of the visions of war. Nellie was gone. Mari stood staring, weighed down by aching dread. She sank down on a stool, buried her face in her hands, but she could no longer cry.
“Mari.”
“Aye?” Without thinking, she answered and then jerked her head up to find Callum standing before her.
“Mari, love, if it’s not a bother, could you give me some help?” He was smiling.
Only then did she notice him leaning on a crutch fashioned out of a tree branch with a uniform jacket wrapped around the end under his arm.
“Aye! Put your arm around me.”
“If you insist,” he said, grinning, then wincing from pain.
He hobbled over to the cot in the tent. Mari propped him up on pillows. “What happened? How bad is it? Have you seen a surgeon? I’ll go find someone.” She got up, but he grasped her wrist.
“Sit here by me.”
“But you’re hurt.”
He pressed his fingers to her lips until she was quiet, and then took both of her hands in his. “It’s not bad. I took a musket ball to the leg. Shh, love. It only grazed me. Yes, I’ve seen a surgeon. There, have I answered your questions?” Her concern made him smile.
Relieved to find Callum, Mari took in the sight of him. Suddenly she thought of his men. “Where are they?”
“They’re a wee bit scraped up, but we suffered no losses. We’re a fierce lot, you ken.”
Mari studied the hands that held hers. A tear fell on Callum’s hand.
“What’s this?” he asked as he wiped tears from her cheeks.
Alex strode in with his arm bandaged up. “Och, Mari! Look at you—wasting your tears on that one, when I’ve got real wounds that need tending. See here? I’ve got this wee scratch on my arm!”
Nellie was next to return with Hughie and Charlie on each side. “It’s a good day. My lads are all safe.”
“But where is Duncan?” Mari asked.
Nellie suppressed disapproval. “He had plans. I’ve learned not to ask that lad anything.”
The rest of them shared a meal and some laughter. While Mari and Nellie were cleaning up from supper, Callum called Hughie over and sent him off on an errand. When he returned, Nellie took his arm and the two of them went for a walk.
“What is it?” asked Mari, fully aware they had not been left alone by mere chance.
“Come sit by me, Mari,” he said, as he reached out his hand. She pulled a stool close beside the cot in which he sat propped up, with his injured leg stretched out straight. He clasped her hand and pressed it to his lips. “Have you thought of what we will do after this?”
“I’ve not had time to think, yet.”
“Well, I have,” Callum said.
“Have you now? I thought you seemed a wee bit busy today,” she said, smiling.
While he smiled back, it soon faded. Mari watched him, concerned.
“Lass, I ruined you—taking you away as I did.” Before she could protest, he said, “Perhaps not in fact, but in people’s eyes.”
“Callum, if you’ll recall, I was ruined already.”
He went on without giving credence to what she had said. “I have taken you from your home and the people who love you. And the people you love.”
“Aye, and from the kirk and the people who hurt me.” Without thinking, her hand went to her abdomen. She lowered her eyes.
Callum took note but said nothing. His jaw clenched through his hardened expression. Rage roiled inside every time he thought of the minister’s son. What a sorry excuse for a man he was! Callum tamped down his anger and grasped Mari’s hand. She brought warmth to his soul and heat to his body. The dark thoughts washed away as her gentle spirit filled him so full of love that it ached. Smiling, he told her, “You ought to be married.”
She lifted her eyes to meet his intense gaze. “And who would I marry, when no one has asked me?”
A frown creased his brow as he tilted his head and looked off to the distance. “Och, I’d not thought about that.” His eyes glimmered under his furrowed brow.
“Aye, well, you’ll have time to think later, and no one to bother your thinking.” Mari started to rise to leave him, but he would not let her hand go.
A smile spread from his brightening eyes to the crooked curve of his mouth as he said, “You bother my thinking, Miss Mari McEwan.”
She could not resist the smile that his words drew from her.
He went on, “And there’s no help for it.”
She shook her head and feigned a sympathetic look. “Poor lad.”
“Aye, no help,” he went on, “unless you marry me.”
His words warmed her heart as tears shone in her eyes. “And why would I do that?” she said softly.
He tenderly turned her hand over and traced his thumb up the back of her wrist to the crook of her arm. Lifting his eyes to find hers fixed on him, he dropped all guard. “I dinnae ken why you would.”
She could not look away. Her lips parted to take in an unsteady breath. “Because I love you.”
He smiled to hear the words, then a sudden frown creased his brow as he studied her. “Mari.” Combing his fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck, he drew her closer. As their lips brushed together he whispered, “Do you ken how I love you?”
“Aye,” she whispered, and he kissed her.
* * *
They were in the midst of a kiss when Nellie and Hughie returned. Nellie cleared her throat.
Playfully giving Mari a tight squeeze, Callum said, “I’ve asked Hughie to find someone to marry us.” Turning to the others, Callum smiled broadly and said, “That priest had best get here soon. The lass looks a bit shaky.”
Mari went still. “A priest?” She looked away.
Seeing her reaction, Callum exhaled, only now realizing how Mari would feel. “I’m sorry, lass. But we’re short of Presbyterian clergy on this side of the bridge.”
She looked at him as though realizing for the first time. “An Episcopal priest?”
“Aye.”
“But you’re not even… ”
“No, lass. I’m Catholic.”
“Aye. Well, there’s no difference, is there?” she said, making little effort to conceal her sarcasm.
“Mari, we have no choice. In this camp, all we will find is an Episcopal priest.
“
So I’m to be married by a papist?”
“And to one.” Callum watched her, concerned.
“I hadn’t thought. I suppose I just saw us together, in love and married. I didnae think how we might get to that point.”
“My love, I want you as my wife. It’s that simple. I dinnae care who does it, as long as we’re married.”
Mari spoke as though thinking aloud. “I knew you were not Presbyterian. Of course you were not. But I hadnae thought of our marriage—a Presbyterian and a Catholic.”
“Lass, we’re just us, Mari and Callum.”
She heard him, but could not ignore her heart and her conscience. “But we’re not, don’t you see? We cannae be. Jamie and Ellen died for their right to worship our way. To turn from that would be to scoff at their memory.”
“Mari, love, what happened to them was wrong, and I grieve for your loss. But this is our time. We cannae let this stand in our way.”
“But it is in our way.” When at last she looked at him, her eyes were distant and troubled.
“Mari.” He took hold of her shoulders, eyes burning into hers. “There is only one God. Do you think he cares whether we go to your kirk or mine? He knows your heart, and he knows mine. And God knows I’d do anything to be with you.”
She met his gaze with wavering certainty.
He gripped her shoulders a little too tightly. “Tell me you would do the same.”
“I… cannae. I dinnae ken.”
He looked like a man wounded in battle who does not quite know it yet.
She shook her head slightly. “I need to think. I cannae think here.” Turning, she walked with quickening pace down the path through the tents.
Callum took a step to follow, but cursed as he put weight on his wounded leg. He reached for his makeshift crutch, but Nellie stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Give her time to think, lad.”
Without taking his eyes off of Mari, he said, “Hughie, follow her. Dinnae let her see you, but make sure that she’s safe.”
Hughie sprang into action as Callum stood watching. “I’ve lost her, Nellie.”
13
The Promise
Once out of sight, Mari slowed to a walk. Going past some young dragoons, she watched them passing a bottle around and laughing. Past sermons on the wickedness of strong drink echoed in her mind. A tent glowed with the light from an oil lamp as an officer sat on a cot quietly writing. Outside, a handful of soldiers spoke in quiet grim words. Distant strains of a fiddle drifted through the camp. From the hospital tent, a young soldier wept softly in pain, while farther on children ran about playing, unfazed by their surroundings. Soldiers waited their turn outside tents where the camp followers entertained in their beds. The whole human condition seemed housed in this camp, and Mari felt smaller with each step she took.
She arrived at a hill overlooking the camp and the bridge, and the wild moor beyond. The moon cast its dim light over the men and their battleground, while a grand sky specked with stars stretched above. From which side of the bridge did God watch over them? For the heavens stretched over both sides of the battle.
“Where do I fit here?” Mari wondered. Poised amid living and dying, she felt lost and alone. Things that were once so clear and true now tangled themselves with new thoughts that confounded her logic. Men had fought and died on the field before her because their way was right, and they staked their lives on it. Both sides believed fiercely, but both could not be right. Whose religion was the right one, then? As she looked at the field strewn with lifeless bodies, she wondered if either was right anymore. For who had the right to impose their church on the other? But if neither was right, how could two lovers form a union of wrongs? Even if one was right, wasn’t it wrong to mix right with wrong? So she had always been taught. And there was the problem. To be with Callum would be to give up her beliefs—everything she had known to be true. Could she set it aside for this man whom she loved? If she did, of what value was everything else she believed? She could find no middle ground in the world she had grown to believe in, and the sorrow of this cut her deeply. Their hearts would forever be drawn together, while their minds would inevitably pull them apart.
Soft weeping interrupted Mari’s thoughts. A young man lay dead on the ground, while his love wept over him. It was like watching her earlier fears played out, and she wondered. Had she found Callum dying, would she hold him in her arms and feel sure that to leave him would be the right choice? Deprived of the warmth of his sturdy arms around her, how sure would she be of her principles then? Were it she leaning over the man who completed her heart, she would weep for the loss of his body against hers, for the sight of his eyes sweeping down to her lips just before he kissed her. She would miss his strong hands and how gently they touched her. She would desperately treasure the feel of his heart joined to hers. This was the loss from which she would never recover.
Callum was of the wrong faith according to whom? Men made these judgments, and men could be wrong. How could God be housed in her church and her church alone? He could not; nor was he solely at Callum’s. And yet, both sides believed that God was with them. If God had found them, he would find Mari, too. And she knew just where that would be.
Mari turned about and walked with increasing speed back to camp. Still weak, she did not try to run until she saw Callum. He glanced up to see Mari approaching, but braced for the news that his logic told him was coming. He waited, in no hurry to hear it. But as she drew closer and started to run toward him, he wished that his leg did not keep him from running to her.
She flew into his arms. “Take me wherever you go.”
Callum put his hands on her shoulders and held her at arm’s length as he tightened the loose fabric of her sleeve into his fists. She searched his intense gaze with eyes open with trust.
“Mari, I will not take you in tow like a camp follower.”
“How will you take me then?” Her mouth spread to a smile.
“I’m serious, Mari.” He was, and fiercely so.
“Serious enough to marry me?”
Dark eyes met hers. “Aye, lass. You ken that I am.”
“Well then let’s find a priest, or a minister or a blacksmith.” She laughed. “I dinnae care! I just want to be married to you.”
She threw her arms about his neck and they clung to one another.
* * *
Hughie cleared his throat. “Callum?” He stood awkwardly, searching for words.
“What is it, Hughie?” Reluctantly, the two lovers pulled apart to stand arm-in-arm.
“About the priest.”
Callum smiled and nodded. “Aye, run and fetch him.”
“I did,” Hughie said, looking troubled. “Could we talk alone?”
“Aye.”
“No,” said Mari. “If it concerns me, I will hear it.”
Callum glanced at Mari, and then nodded to Hughie.
Nellie joined them just as Hughie said, “The priest willnae do it.”
“Why not?” asked Callum, but already knew the answer.
“He got angry when I offered him money to forget about crying the banns. And then he asked for a letter of testimony from both of your kirks.”
Mari said, “My kirk will not write such a letter for me.”
“They would not recognize a letter from a Presbyterian kirk if you had one.” Callum cursed. “Has the Church of England not got one greedy priest?”
“Not in this camp, nor in this town,” answered Hughie.
Nellie said, “Laddie, I’m sorry.”
Mari felt more than disappointment. How could she have thought she could have a future with Callum? In every way, they were from opposite sides.
Nellie produced a bottle of scotch. “Have a wee dram. I brought it from home. I was hoping we could celebrate with it, but it’s best not to waste it.”
It was Mari who broke the long silence that followed. “He’s only one priest. If he will not marry us, then we’ll find someone in Edinburgh.”
&nb
sp; “And in the meanwhile?” asked Callum.
“In the meanwhile, I’m not going anywhere.”
Callum said, “I will not have others looking at you like you’re…not my wife. I will not have that for you.”
Mari lifted her chin. “Would you send me away, then?”
“Och, lass! Come here.” He put his solid arm about her. “I’ll not cast you out, you daft woman. But neither can I ask you to lower yourself to be with me.”
“You can ask or not. I will do what I want.”
Nellie spoke hesitantly. “You both ken…you dinnae always need a priest to get married.”
Callum said, “Mari deserves a proper marriage—recognized by the kirk.”
Nellie nodded. “I’ll no speak for the kirk, but I do ken of a marriage the government will recognize. The solicitors call it an irregular marriage.”
Nellie looked at Callum. “If you declared it before two witnesses, you’d be married.”
“In the eyes of God?” Mari asked.
Callum held her chin gently. “Would the eyes of the law do for now? It may be all we can manage for a while.”
“I want to be married to you.”
“Are you sure, Mari?”
Mari smiled. “I am.”
Turning to Nellie, he said, “How is it you ken so much about this?”
“Cover your lugs, Hughie.”
“I’m seventeen, Ma.”
She leaned forward toward Callum and Mari, and smiled. “I ken someone who was married like that.” Her eyes moistened. “Till the day he died, no twa were more married than my man and I.”
* * *
Minutes later, Nellie stood beside Hughie with tears in her eyes, watching the couple, who stood facing one another. There was no kirk or fine clothing as Callum leaned on his crutch facing Mari. The lads from Glengarry stood by with broad smiles. Duncan was the last to arrive. Trying not to draw attention, he pressed something into Mari’s hand, and in a gruff voice muttered, “It’s white heather for luck.”
