The Betrayal of Maggie Blair (23 page)

I was used to my uncle's passionate Presbyterianism, but I sensed that his enthusiasm was made less harsh by the sweetness of his temper and the softness of his love for his family. There was nothing soft about Mistress Barbour.

I don't feel like she does about anything,
I thought.
I wish I did. I don't care enough about anything to die for it.

"Where have they taken Stephen, did they say?" Mistress Barbour demanded.

"Oh, Dorcas, my dear, you must be so desperately worried!" Aunt Blair clutched Andrew to her shoulder, rubbing his back as if in solidarity. Uncle Blair frowned.

"They didn't say. But it will be to Paisley first. The tolbooth in Glasgow tomorrow, I suppose."

"Did they talk of a penalty? A fine? A trial? Or were they—wouldi tbe a—asum maryex ecution?"

In spite of her strength, her voice wavered.

"I can tell you nothing more. I wish I could. But they have nothing on him, you know. He wasn't caught attending a meeting of worship in the hills. He wasn't in the company of a wanted preacher. All he did was protest against the persecution of Mr. Renwick and try to defend the man's good name."

Mistress Barbour had recovered herself and nodded briskly.

"Thank you, Mr. Blair. That's a comfort. Now I've a favor to ask."

"Oh, anything!" cried Aunt Blair. "We'll have the children over, cook their food, take care of the cattle—"

"Lend me your horse," interrupted Mistress Barbour. "My old pony's gone lame. I'll ride to Paisley and see the officer. Lieutenant Dundas was his name, Ritchie said. Isn't that so? I have money put by in case of such a day. The king's servants are crooks to a man. They'll sell him back to me for a price."

"Let me go instead!" said Ritchie, his face flushing with eagerness. I could see that he was still filled with rage at his helplessness in the face of the dragoons and was desperate for action.

"I wouldn't hear of it." Mistress Barbour shook her head, forestalling Aunt Blair's anxious objection. "If the case needed a young man, I'd send my own David, but he's a hothead, too, and would only get into worse trouble than his father. Anyway, you're forgetting the wicked new law forbidding travel without a pass. A young man is sure to attract attention, but no one will notice an old woman on a nag. And if I'm stopped and questioned, I'll remind them of my midwife's skills and state that I'm summoned to assist a poor soul in trouble, which will be no lie at all, for Stephen's in worse trouble than he's ever been. In spite of your kind words, Mr. Blair, I really fear that they may have already shot him without a trial. He wouldn't be the first to be murdered in such a way."

"Not your Stephen! Oh, Dorcas, no!" said Aunt Blair with a shudder. Mistress Barbour frowned, not liking this display of feeling, and without another word Uncle Blair and Ritchie went out to the yard and brought the horse up to the door.

"That's a brave woman," Uncle Blair said, coming back to the kitchen, as the clop of the old horse's hooves died away. "If anyone can face down the enemy, it's Dorcas Barbour."

"Hugh! Sit down. Your wound's still bleeding," commanded Aunt Blair, looking a little put out.

Ritchie went to the fire and gave the burning peat a savage kick, sending sparks flying.

"Is she right, Father? Do you think Mr. Barbour's been executed already?"

Uncle Blair let out a groan.

"It's possible. Look what happened to William Lyle and Patrick Holm. Taken up at an open-air meeting, drummed out by a couple of soldiers into their own fields, and shot. You saw the arrogance, the cruelty of that man—that officer."

"Fouling our well! And ruining our cheese!" cried Aunt Blair.

"It's worse than that, Mother," said Ritchie. "They've slit every meal sack with their daggers. The storeroom's awash with oats."

Aunt Blair started up with a cry of horror, planted Andrew in the nearest pair of arms, which happened to be Annie's, and rushed outside.

"Father, we must
do
something! We can't just let Mr. Barbour go like that! We must go into Paisley, whatever the risk, speak to—"

"That's foolishness, Ritchie. What good would it do to be arrested ourselves? There's only one thing we can do, and it's the most important thing of all."

"What's that?"

"We must pray. Without ceasing."

I saw the effort that it cost Ritchie to say, "Yes, Father, of course." But then he brightened. "And the more people that pray, the better. I'll run over to Newton and tell the John Lairds."

He dashed off, and my own feet itched as I watched him go. I was still shaken with anger at the soldiers' contempt for us and fear at the threats of Lieutenant Dundas.

I wish I was a boy. At least there's something he can do,
I thought enviously.

"Grizel, take two buckets to the burn and fill them with water," came Aunt Blair's voice from the door. "The well will be unusable for weeks. Annie, put that child in his cradle. Martha, rock him to sleep. Maggie, fetch out the needles and yarn. You and Annie can get down all the bowls from the shelf and come to the barn to salvage the meal."

I had never heard such a hard edge to her voice. Though I didn't realize it until later, Lieutenant Dundas had achieved what all Uncle Blair's preaching had been unable quite to do. He had roused a passion for the cause in Aunt Blair. She had become a rebel in her heart.

***

The winter days slipped past, and Mr. Renwick didn't come. Uncle Blair, who had expected his arrival hourly, stopped looking up eagerly every time a knock came at the door.

I was relieved. I liked the quiet rhythm of life at Ladymuir and had no wish for more turmoil and danger. I set myself to learn all that I could, and by the time the buds were swelling on the ash tree by the entrance to the yard, I could read the Bible quite well, except for the long difficult names, and I could write a little too. I could spin a decent thread, churn butter, make a posset, and sew a straight seam.

Annie had the sense to keep clear of me most of the time. Bit by bit, she had wormed her way into the heart of the family. For my aunt, she could do no wrong, and Nanny followed her around like a devoted lamb. Martha and Grizel staunchly refused to be charmed by her, and Ritchie, on whom she never ceased to work her wiles, ignored her and spoke curtly to her whenever he had to speak at all. I was grateful to him for that.

Mr. Renwick arrived one ordinary afternoon, when a clammy, cold mist hung over the hills. He slipped into the house as quietly as a whisper, following Dandy Fleming, who had brought him by lonely mountain paths across the hills from Whinnerston. I was alone in the kitchen, minding Andrew and turning the oatcakes on the griddle over the fire, while Aunt Blair, Grizel, and Annie were busy in the storeroom.

I knew Dandy by sight. He had been one of the young men who had stood with Ritchie by the kirk door, hindering Mr. Alexander's escape.

"Are you Maggie?" he asked me. "Is your uncle at home?"

"He'll be out with the sheep," I said. I had barely noticed the other young man, standing quietly by the door, and I turned back to my oatcakes. "He'll be in soon with the men for their dinner, if you care to wait."

Dandy came up close to me.

"I've brought Mr. Renwick," he said in my ear. "Is there anyone here who shouldn't be told?"

I whipped around and peered forward to see the face of the man standing in the shadow by the door. Then he stepped into the middle of the room, and I saw how slim he was, how short, and how very young.

"Are you really Mr. Renwick?" I said disbelievingly.

He laughed.

"I am indeed. 'The boy Renwick,' my enemies call me, 'that the nation is so troubled with.' Or, if you prefer, 'the seditious vagabond.'"

His voice was surprisingly deep and musical, and I felt a little shock at the sound of it, as if I'd touched something hot.

"But you're so young," I blurted out, then blushed scarlet with embarrassment.

He smiled and moved farther into the room, so that he was now staring down into the cradle at Andrew, who was peacefully asleep.

"There are none too small, too young, or insignificant to become true servants of the Lord Jesus Christ, whose service is perfect freedom. Are you the Lord's servant, young woman?"

There was something irresistible in his face and voice, something so confident and thrilling that I felt a trembling inside me.

"I—I don't know," I stammered. "I'm Maggie."

And then, as I stood, staring foolishly, Aunt Blair burst into the kitchen, and I could turn my burning face back to the fire, where the oatcakes had begun to smoke and singe on the griddle.

The arrival of Mr. Renwick put my aunt into such a spin that we three girls could only stare at her, bewildered, as one order contradicted another. Her mind seemed split between anxiety to show this honored guest the best that her house and table could offer, anguish at the wreckage of her storehouse, and fear that the troopers might return.

"Grizel, go and look for eggs. No, fetch more water from the burn. Maggie, what have you done to the oatcakes! Look, all of them burned. Go and bring cheese—no, milk, no—Annie! Run into the parlor and bring the silver spoon from the press. It's on the top shelf."

In the end I copied Grizel, who stolidly worked at one task after another, ignoring my aunt's distracted orders.

Uncle Blair came in at last, bending his head under the low lintel of the door. He snatched off his bonnet at the sight of Mr. Renwick and grasped the preacher's slim hand in both his great ones.

"So the Lord has brought you safely to us at last! The whole country is on fire with your preaching. You will work miracles among us."

Mr. Renwick managed to remove his hand before it was entirely crushed.

"Praise the Lord indeed that I am here at all, brother. Without his aid, I would have been caught long ago. The Father of Lies has whipped up such hatred against us that it's only by God's providence that I reached Ladymuir today. They're pursuing me everywhere, on horse and on foot. The escapes that I've had—the runs over moors, climbing from windows, hiding in gullies..."

"You'll tell us everything," Uncle Blair interrupted enthusiastically. "But my dear brother, I must ask you first, are you strong enough to preach tomorrow? There's a place on my land, not far from here, wonderfully hidden from any who don't know it. It's a hollow by a stream, and any noise of voices would be muffled from afar by a waterfall. I do believe that God has made it especially for our purpose. If you are able—there are hundreds of the good souls around Kilmacolm who long to hear you. Can you do it? If so, I'll send word out to the faithful, with the time and place."

He broke off, as Mr. Renwick's slight body shook with a racking cough.

"But you're not well! The strain of it would surely be too much for you."

Mr. Renwick's cough went on so long that Uncle Blair looked more and more anxious, while my aunt came and fluttered around him with a beaker of water and a kerchief.

"Hugh, don't ask it of him. You can see Mr. Renwick's not well. He needs to rest."

Mr. Renwick took the water and sipped, dabbed his mouth with the kerchief, and smiled. I had been whisking the crumbs off the table, and his smile sent my heart into a flutter.

"Don't be anxious on my account, sister," he said. "My poor body is a weak and feeble vessel, but the Lord fills it with strength as the need arises."

"Amen," said Uncle Blair reverently.

"But that's an awful cough," Aunt Blair said doubtfully.

"Well, now," Uncle Blair said with a change of tone. "You women will be busy, I'm sure, preparing a good dinner for us, and you'll be wanting the kitchen to yourselves. It's a fine morning. Mr. Renwick and I will send the men off to gather the brothers and sisters in Christ for a field meeting tomorrow, and then he and I will sit out on the stone seat by the door. We'll be able to watch from there if the Black Cuffs are busy in the hills."

"The Black Cuffs?" said Aunt Blair, flushing with anger. "If any of them go near my store again ... But they'll not return today, surely."

"They're swarming like the hornets of Satan across the whole of our poor Scotland," said Mr. Renwick cheerfully.

"Yes, yes, but don't fret, Isobel," my uncle said hastily. "Trust only in the Lord and all our ways will be safe."

My aunt's hospitable instincts quickly swept all other thoughts from her mind, and for the rest of that long afternoon we were set to chop up onions, pluck hens, stir pots, cut slices of salt beef, smooth the linen table cloth with hot stones, and shake out the heather of the girls' bed for Mr. Renwick to sleep in (which made Annie pout at the thought of the night she'd have to spend beside me on the parlor floor). The domestic tasks were so normal, and we were so conscious of the fame of our visitor, that I forgot for long quarter hours at a time the danger that surrounded us. Then the memory of Lieutenant Dunbar and his threatening henchmen would come back to me, and my heart would give a thump of fright. But the fear died down quickly. Mr. Renwick cast about himself a ring of brightness, a wall of light and faith and confidence that felt stronger than the ramparts of the stoutest castle.

Every now and then, I would make an excuse to cross the yard on an errand to the storehouse. I lingered as long as I could to catch snatches of Mr. Renwick's voice. He was always the one who was talking, and Uncle Blair sat speechless beside him, his hands resting on his knees, his face turned toward his guest with an expression of complete absorption.

"...and so the meeting was a blessed one, brother, with hundreds of faithful souls bearing witness to the Lord. We posted our men, fully armed, around the whole congregation. We knew that our enemies were scouring the hills for us, but they stuck together in one troop, too afraid of our muskets to risk going in ones and twos. We saw them coming over the hilltop, and they saw us too, but at the very last minute..."

"Maggie!" my aunt's voice came from the kitchen. "Where's the girl gone? Hurry up with that butter!"

The next time I managed to sneak outside, Mr. Renwick was saying, "...after that, our men went to meet them, and there was some musket fire. Two of theirs met their deaths, but—praise the Lord!—we got off without a scratch, and..."