Highland Ballad | Page 5

"Aunt Margaret," she began pensively, eyes glittering. "You quarreled
with mother, and now she can bear her cross no longer, and she says
you must tell me everything." Though the sentence was hardly coherent,
the old woman nodded her understanding. She came and sat on the bed,
taking the young girl's hand in her own.
"I'll tell you this much now, and then you must sleep. There'll be worlds
of time in the morning. Will you promise me you'll sleep, and trust
me till the sunrise?" The daughter nodded.
"She's not your mother, Mary. I am." Three
That night, her subconscious stirred by fever, and by the maelstrom of
unsettling events, Mary dreamed more deeply and vividly than she had
since childhood. The fire burned brightly before her as the old woman,
ever mindful, rocked slowly back and forth, beside her.

She stood atop a high hill, looking down into a broad expanse of green
valley. To the left she heard the stirring sound of bagpipes, to the right,
the ominous drums and steady tramp of the English. Two armies
advanced upon each other, making for some indefinable object in the
center of the field, which for some reason both sides wanted. To the left
the plaid kilts and mixed uniforms of the Highlanders, to the right a
rigid, regimented sea of Red. She watched them draw together with the
uncomprehending horror that every woman feels for war, unmoved by
words of glory and patriotism, understanding only that men, men dear
to herself and others, are about to die.
It seemed that the Scots would reach the object first, being the swifter
and on their own ground; but suddenly they stopped. At their head she
saw two men on horseback: a rugged, wizened general, and a handsome
young prince with long plumes in his hat, seated on a brilliant white
charger. The general was arguing and gesticulating sharply that they
must advance and attack. But the Prince, with an air of supreme
confidence and divine understanding, only made a sign of the cross and
remained where he was, content.
The British halted and formed ranks, expecting a charge. But not
receiving it, and perceiving their opponent's hesitation, they quickly
brought their artillery to the fore. Unlimbering the cannon, they loaded
and took aim, and began to shower the unmoving Highlanders with
grapeshot and thundering shells.
The young girl gasped in terror, and shouted for them to fight back, or
run away. The general waved his arms more violently than before. But
still the Prince gave no order, and only looked about him as if puzzled,
unable to fathom what was happening to his men.
And at length the English charged, mowing down the decimated
Scottish lines like so much rye after a hailstorm. While the Prince
slipped away with his escort.
But all of this, gruesome and sinister as it was. . .this was not what
froze her heart. In a smaller scene that somehow stood out sharp and
clear, two red-coated foot soldiers were dragging by the arms a tall Scot
with a bloodied shock of golden hair. He was dazed and plainly
wounded, but still they pulled at him fiercely, as if to throw him to the
ground and run him through. They carried him out of sight, into a copse
of death-black trees.

"Michael!" she cried frantically, trying to follow. But her legs would
not move, and she sank slowly into quicksand, her skirts billowing.....
Then the dream shifted and she was back at the grave, lying in the
rough grass. Again she felt the gentle touch on her hair and startled
cheek, again the reassuring voice:
"My Mary." And then. . .was it real or imagined? "I'll come back for
you." From the bottom of a well. "I've come back for you." Farther, and
fainter, then suddenly sharp and near. "My Mary. Mary....."
"Mary!"
"Mary, wake up. You've put yourself in a frenzy." And her guardian
steadily, though not without emotion, replaced the thrown and
disheveled blankets. "You've got to keep yourself---"
"I. . .I saw him again," she stammered. "He called to me. He said he'd
come back for me." She tried to rise. "I've got to go to him, I've got to
find him!"
"No." For the first time her mother (the claim was true) spoke
forbiddingly, taking her by the shoulders and forcing her back down.
"He's dead and in the grave, and that's where he's going to stay. And
unless you want to join him there---"
"But I do!" cried the girl. "I do. Why doesn't anyone understand?" And
she turned away and fell to weeping. Her mother was silent.
Perhaps an hour later the girl was asleep again, or appeared to be.
Troubled, her mother rose and went to an ancient chest that