'Mother gave me that.' Alexander said. 'She wrote the name of my future wife on the paper.'
'Well?' John Aitken tossed the paper back to Alexander. 'Open the damned thing and read Mary's name.'
That is when I realised the true difficulty of Alexander's position. He had only one choice. If he opened the paper and the name was not the woman he chose, he would have thrown away his life. Holding Alexander's gaze, I lifted my eyebrows.
'I am not forcing you,' I said.
Alexander's sudden grin lit up the room. 'Oh, damn it all,' he said. 'I'm going to marry you whatever the paper says. It's my choice and nobody else's.' He looked at me with his grin widening. 'Except yours.'
I tilted my head to one side. 'I am not forcing you,' I repeated. 'You already know my thoughts. I defy any witch, East Lothian or other, to try to destroy my love for you.'
Although we all watched as Alexander untied the faded ribbon, broke the red seal and unfolded the paper, I doubt that the others in that room experienced the same heart-pounding tension as I did. My mouth was dry as a sawyer's yard in midsummer.
Alexander took one glance at the paper, read the name silently, folded it again and replaced it in his pocket. His smile had not faltered, but his face was ashen beneath the tan.
'Well?' I demanded.
'We'll make the arrangements as soon as we can,' Alexander said. 'There is no sense in waiting for these things.'
'The name,' I insisted. 'Was it Mary?'
'The name does not matter,' Alexander said. 'I love you, and you love me. That's all that matters.'
I could see the horror in his eyes. I knew he would marry me whatever price he had to pay. This strange plant hunter was my man. We belonged together. I was not prepared to marry him if it ruined his life.
'What name was written?' I kept my voice under control. 'What name was on the paper? If there is a better girl for you, Alexander, I swear by all that is holy that I shall spend the rest of my life helping you find her.'
I was not merely saying that. It was true. I loved this man. I had not realised that until this morning. I loved him so much that it hurt. I loved him so much that I was prepared to sacrifice my happiness to grant him his, as I knew he was ready to do the same for me. He had already proved that he would do the same for me, with Captain Ferintosh.
Alexander stood up. 'Mary Hepburn,' he said quietly. 'Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?'
I wanted to say yes. I wanted desperately to throw myself at Alexander, hold him and keep holding him for the rest of my life. 'No.' Shaking my head, I stood up, knocking my chair onto the floor. 'No, Alexander. I will not. I will not put you through a life of misery.'
We stared at each other, two young people painfully in love with a barrier between us that neither of us wished or could understand. Two young people trapped by a woman who was long dead.
It was my mother who broke the terrible silence. 'Now listen to me, Mary! I've had just about enough of this nonsense. I don't believe in witchcraft or curses or any of that rubbish. You will accept this man's offer and take him as your husband! You hear me, Mary Agnes Hepburn? I will take on any pretended witch and challenge her false power! I will stand between you and any curse!'
That was my mother at her best.
Alexander blinked. I saw some of the colour return to his face. 'Mrs Hepburn,' he said. 'What did you call Mary?'
'I called her by her name: Mary Agnes Hepburn, and I say the same to you, John Alexander Aitken. You can forget all about witches. Love is more powerful than any such thing.'
'Yes, Mother,' Alexander slid his hand back inside his pocket. He produced the folded paper and placed it, oh-so-carefully, on to the table.
I ignored it. Mother was right. Our love was too strong for any curse to spoil.
'Let me see.' Father reached forward and opened the paper. There were only three letters on it. MAH.
M. A. H.
My initials: Mary Agnes Hepburn.
'Oh, dear God in his heaven,' Alexander said. 'Mary Agnes Hepburn. Now I will ask again. Will you marry me, Mary Agnes Hepburn?'
'Alexander,' I said softly. 'You told me, only a few days ago, that no women would wish a husband who wandered all over the world most of the time, leaving her at home.' I saw the sudden doubt shadow his eyes.
'I said that,' Alexander said.
I knew he was preparing himself for a disappointment. 'I would not like that either. I want to be with you when you wander all over the world. I want to be with you when you return to Cauldneb with our discoveries. I want to be with you every day wherever you are. In short, John Alexander Aitken, my answer is yes.'
I did not have the opportunity to say more as Alexander pressed his lips against mine for his third, and undoubtedly, his best yet, kiss.
So you see why I grew reconciled to my name. It is not a pretty name. It is not a distinguished name, but it is all my own. If I had been called anything else, I might not have had such a happy marriage to Alexander. Mary Agnes Hepburn, I was and Mary Agnes Hepburn I remain, although I can also use my married name of Mary Agnes Aitken if I so desire.
And that is my story, and here it ends.
Good night and joy be with you all.
Historical Notes
Illicit Distilling
In the late 18th and early 19th century, illicit distilling was a black industry throughout Scotland. It is nearly impossible to pick up a Scottish newspaper of the period without coming across some reference to a still being located, or a skirmish between the Excisemen and illegal distillers. Although most of these stills were small-scale affairs, others were of industrial size. Often large gangs of armed men escorted the whisky from the still in the deep countryside to the major population centres where the smugglers sold it.
Agricultural Revolution
The Industrial Revolution is well known. Most people will be aware that Scotland was at the forefront of the process of industrialisation, with many of the innovations of steam power and the associated machinery coming from this small nation. What is not so well known is that an agricultural revolution preceded the industrial advances. Again, Scotland was at the forefront, with improvements in agricultural machinery, drainage, methods of crop cultivation, enclosures and stock rearing. Without these improvements, it is unlikely that the growing population of Industrial Britain could have been fed.
Scottish Plant Hunters
In the Eighteenth and Nineteenth centuries, Scotland produced a plethora of explorers. Most were concerned with geographical discoveries, such as the source of the Nile, or the whereabouts of Timbuktu or the North Pole. Others were hoping to stop the slave trade in Africa, while a small and dedicated band were searching for new plants. These latter men worked for what is now the Royal Horticultural Society, the Botanical Gardens of Edinburgh or Glasgow or for wealthy patrons. The plants they introduced to this country, and to the world, have proved immense in increasing our scientific knowledge as well as enhancing gardens the length and breadth of the nation.
For instance, there was George Don (1764 – 1814) who travelled from the Gambia to the USA, David Douglas (1799 – 1834), after whom the Douglas Fir is named and Francis Masson (1741-1805) who sought plants in South Africa, the West Indies, USA and Canada.
John Alexander Aitken is, of course, fictitious, but as a representative of a dedicated group, I hope he had a productive and happy life with Mary Hepburn. I am sure he did have.
Helen Susan Swift
Haddington, Lammermuir, Garleton Hills and Aberdeen, November, 2018
Books by the Author
The Handfasters (Lowland Romance Book 1)
The Tweedie Passion (Lowland Romance Book 2)
A Turn of Cards (Lowland Romance Book 3)
The Name of Love (Lowland Romance Book 4)
Dark Mountain
Dark Voyage
The Malvern Mystery
Sarah's Story
Women of Scotland
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