Heather Song

by Michael Phillips

  I sat shaking my head.

  “As I attempt to look at this whole thing with some perspective,” Mr. Crathie mused, “I cannot but be struck by the fact that revenge against you seems to be as strong a driving motivation as any hope that she will actually gain control of the estate. Tell me, is there any history that you know of that might point to mental imbalance? If so, that might be something we could use against her.”

  “I would never stoop to such tactics,” I answered. “Not even if it meant losing everything. That’s out of the question.”

  “But might there be something to it? This is so far over the top. She seems intent on destroying you completely in the eyes of everyone who knows you. It’s not normal, not sane. I read this affidavit in complete disbelief. She cannot possibly believe even half of it herself. Could she actually be mad?”

  “I think Olivia convinces herself that her lies are true, then actually comes to believe them.”

  “If she cannot tell fact from fiction, reality from unreality, then she is insane.”

  We both quietly contemplated his conclusion.

  “What happens next?” I said finally.

  “I will begin preparing our own case. We will have to answer and refute each of her allegations.”

  “I’m not sure I want to do that, Mr. Crathie,” I said. “My goodness—​extortion, kidnapping, adultery, not to mention attempted murder. To answer a lie only gives it credibility. Perhaps silence would be best.”

  “That would be risky, in my opinion. To leave the matter up to the court, and say nothing in your own defense, would give her a decided upper hand.”

  “Then why don’t we simply draw up papers and give her the estate?” I said in reply, letting out a long sigh. “Let her have it. I’m not sure I have it in me to fight it.”

  “Is that what Alasdair would want?” asked Mr. Crathie.

  His question put an end to the discussion. It was the simplest of statements, yet also the most compelling. I knew the answer well enough. Alasdair would be outraged—not on his own behalf, but for me.

  “If only Iain—that is, Mr. Barclay, were here,” I said. “He would be able to resolve at least some of these charges. Do you suppose there is any way to learn where he is? I don’t even know if he is aware of Alasdair’s death.”

  “I will make some discreet inquiries, Mrs. Reidhaven. But as far as I understand it, no one knows anything of his whereabouts.”

  Chapter Forty-two

  Silence or Defense?

  Lord, as to Thy dear cross we flee, and plead to be forgiven,

  So let Thy life our pattern be, and form our souls for heaven.

  Should friends misjudge, or foes defame, or brethren faithless prove,

  Then, like Thine own, be all our aim to conquer them by love.

  Kept peaceful in the midst of strife, forgiving and forgiven,

  O may we lead the pilgrim life, and follow Thee to heaven.

  —John Hampden Gurney, “Lord, as to Thy Dear Cross We Flee”

  Immediately after Mr. Crathie left, Alicia got the full story, and the full flow of my tears. Whereas I was heartbroken, bewildered, and frustrated, Alicia was furious. Her loyalty to both Alasdair and me spilled out with story after story about Olivia through the years, some so unbelievable I hardly could believe them. I thought I had already heard everything.

  Alicia’s stories kept Mr. Crathie’s question about Olivia’s sanity fresh in my mind. It was a bizarre thing to wonder. Yet Olivia’s irrational lust to control and exact revenge and, in Alasdair’s case, simply to hurt, almost did seem deranged. I did not know if I would ever be able to forgive her for keeping Gwendolyn from her father all those years. Ranald spoke to me about the promise that God will restore the years the locusts have eaten. But I did not see how those years Alasdair had missed with his daughter could ever be restored. Thoughts of them together in heaven didn’t alleviate in my mind the unconscionable travesty of what Olivia had done.

  “You have to fight this, Marie,” said Alicia, hot and red-faced. “Somebody must finally stand up to that woman and expose her for what she is.”

  “I just don’t know if that someone is me,” I said, feeling very weak.

  “There is no one else, Marie. Alasdair is gone. If you don’t, she will take everything. It is up to you. Her lies nearly destroyed Alasdair years ago. Never have I seen a man suffer like she made him suffer. Can you imagine—taking a man’s child from him, denying him even the right to name his own baby, and then refusing him contact forever after? Had it not been for you, Marie, Alasdair would literally never have seen his daughter again. She would have died without knowing him. Who but a mean-spirited woman would do such a thing? I remained neutral too long. Even though I was in his house, I was still under her control. I don’t know what I could have done, but I should have spoken up—should have done something. I regret my long silence now. She will take everything from you, too, Marie, if you allow it. You cannot let that happen…for Alasdair’s sake, for Gwendolyn’s sake, if not for your own.”

  As long as she had brought it up, I decided to ask her something I had wanted to know for a long time.

  “Alicia,” I said, “what do you think happened when Gwendolyn was born? Everyone tells such a different story. It is confusing.”

  “I wasn’t in the room,” she replied. “For years all I heard was Olivia’s side of it, which made Alasdair out to be a monster.”

  “But you kept working for him.”

  “I couldn’t believe everything she said. I really didn’t know what to believe. I tried not to think about it.”

  “But you were in the castle at the time? You were working for Alasdair’s parents by then, didn’t you say?”

  “Yes, I was here. I knew Fiona’s time had come. I heard things—comings and goings…Dr. Mair, Iain Barclay, of course…doors banging, occasional yelling, the shrieks of a woman’s voice. Listening from a distance, I had no idea what was going on. Everything sounded terrible, but I didn’t know. Then later, of course, Alasdair left and was gone a long time. I had been Olivia’s friend for so long, I suppose it was natural to accept her portrayal of events. I didn’t stop to analyze it. I didn’t realize what a master of manipulation Olivia was, and how she subtly twisted everything she wanted people to think and believe. With someone like that you don’t even recognize the mind control, because she is working it on your own mind. I am embarrassed; no, I am horrified now to realize how easily I was duped all those years. How many people go all their lives never breaking free from the coersive mind games of some of those who are closest to them.”

  She exhaled a great sigh.

  “I have you to thank, Marie,” Alicia went on, “you and Ranald, for fighting for me, for engaging in a battle I did not even know was going on around me— You fought for me when I couldn’t fight for myself. I didn’t even know I was in a battle for control of my very soul. You fought, you helped wake me up, helped me open my eyes, helped me wake into my own true self. I am more appreciative than I can tell you.”

  I smiled and nodded in acknowledgment.

  “And now,” she went on, “I am gradually coming to see two effects of that waking—one, Olivia now hates me with the same venom she directed toward poor Alasdair all those years. It is like she hates those who break free from her even more than those who were never under her influence.”

  “I think it is having stood up to her that produces the hatred,” I said. “Alasdair once said something like that—that it was his confronting her and laughing at her that made her so determined to get even, whatever it took.”

  Alicia nodded thoughtfully.

  “What’s the second change you mentioned?” I asked.

  “I am also seeing much of the past differently,” Alicia replied. “My eyes are opening to the realization that my perceptions about many things may not have been accurate. For years my perceptions were colored and dominated and shaped by Olivia’s subtle persuasions and invisible influences. Someone l
ike that influences the way people think in ways they are never aware of. I know from personal experience. I would not say I was a mindless clone. It’s more subtle than that. It’s an undercurrent. Your whole way of looking at things is altered by little comments and sighs and gestures and facial expressions and knowing glances. There are a thousand ways a manipulative woman exerts her influence. An unsuspecting victim never sees it.

  “Breaking free from all that, suddenly new light is shining in on the past from different angles,” said Alicia. “Of course I always disliked Iain Barclay. I never knew why. I never recognized that I was a victim of Olivia’s subtle persuasions about him. I was merely reflecting her perspectives. I have not seen Reverend Barclay since he left. I know nothing more about him. I have not heard him speak another word. I know nothing about his life now—whether he is still in the pulpit, whether he is married…nothing. Yet he has become a very different man in my thoughts now as I reflect back—almost a saint. I wish I could see him again and apologize for misjudging him. I recall things I heard him say. I realize that he could have been speaking to me, if I’d only had ears to hear. Yet maybe it is not entirely too late. I hope growth can take place through the memory as well as the present. And I think it can, I believe it can.”

  “I’m sure you are right.”

  “It’s not only with Reverend Barclay,” Alicia continued. “I now see Alasdair differently, too. Of course during these last years since you came, I had already begun to understand him differently, even love him, I hope I can say, just as a good and kind man. But now things are coming back to me from the distant past that appear much different than I thought at the time. I wonder if everything that happened that night might be completely different than Olivia allowed everyone to believe. To answer your question…I don’t know what happened. But at this point, I have begun to doubt the stories Olivia allowed to circulate. Look what she is now telling about you, which you know to be pure lies. So why would it not be the same back then?”

  “But you can’t absolutely know that I didn’t come here with designs on Alasdair,” I said. “You can’t know that I didn’t have an affair with Iain. Not absolutely, because you weren’t there.”

  “Yes I can, Marie. I know you. I know who you are; I know what you are made of. I know your character. I also know your accuser, and what she is made of.”

  I smiled and took Alicia’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

  “I am so thankful to have a friend like you, Alicia,” I said. “I don’t know if I could get through all this without you.”

  While we were still talking Tavia, Fia, and Mrs. Gauld appeared at the front door of the castle. I had completely forgotten that we had invited them to join us for tea. Now here they were with a basket of fresh home-bakes.

  The moment Olivia had departed for London, I gave orders that all the gates to the castle property were to be kept open twenty-four hours a day while she was gone. I also told Nicholls to disconnect the electrical power to the gates so that they would remain open, hopefully until I had complete control of the estate again. What Olivia would do upon her return was anyone’s guess. But at least it was a beginning to the reestablishment of the right of the community to full and unfettered access to the roads, and to me. Thus, the women had been able to walk straight in from the village all the way to the castle. I wanted to remove her new “Keep Out” signs, too, but remembered Mr. Crathie’s advice about taking one thing at a time.

  We invited our guests in. The five of us went to the kitchen to put on water and see what they had brought. We sliced some apples and strawberries to go with the oatcakes, rock cakes, scones, and shortbread.

  “Should we invite Adela to join us?” suggested Fia as we sat down. “Maybe with Olivia gone, I don’t know—do you think she would?”

  “After what I have just heard, I am not sure I could—” began Alicia, her anger resurfacing over what I had told her about Olivia’s latest charges.

  Suddenly she got up and hurried from the room.

  “Alicia does not seem herself today,” said Mrs. Gauld.

  “We have just had a bit of a shock,” I said. “She will join us again in a few minutes.”

  “I hope nothing is the matter, dear,” said Mrs. Gauld. She still called me Dear, even after all the changes that had taken place.

  “No, nothing…only—”

  I glanced away, feeling the tears returning to my eyes.

  “What is it, dear?” asked Mrs. Gauld, placing a gentle hand on my arm.

  “Only a few new developments in Olivia’s lawsuit about the will,” I said. I didn’t want to divulge too much. I knew that’s why Alicia had left suddenly. Though we were trying to win her over, Mrs. Gauld was still straddling the fence in her loyalties. I knew there was a chance that anything I said could get back to Olivia. While I wouldn’t exactly call her and Olivia bosom buddies, they were yet friends. Mrs. Gauld had no idea what kinds of things lurked beneath the surface of Olivia’s calm and smiling demeanor.

  Alicia returned a few minutes later. It was a strained and uncomfortable afternoon tea. I knew Tavia and Fia were dying to know what was going on, and we trusted them completely. I didn’t like having to guard my tongue. Unfortunately, that was the reality of the situation.

  I drove up to Ranald’s the next day. His reaction to the news of Olivia’s latest allegations was different than either Alicia’s or my own. He took in the news seriously and thoughtfully. The wheels of his brain were obviously turning, though at the time I had no idea what he was thinking.

  “What are ye gaein’ tae du, lass?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” I replied. “That’s one of the reasons I’m here. I hope you can help me. I wish Iain was here, too, and I could ask you both for your advice. Do you still have no idea where he is?”

  “I ken naethin’, lass,” Ranald replied, though with an odd expression on his face. I could not help wondering if he was keeping something from me. Yet I knew that for Ranald Bain to tell a lie, even a minor untruth, was a complete impossibility. If he said he did not know where Iain was, then he did not know where he was.

  “Mr. Crathie wants me to mount what he calls a vigorous refutation of all Olivia’s charges,” I sighed, “fight fire with fire, he says. But I’m not sure I am comfortable with that, or that it is the right thing to do.”

  “Ye’re instincts are nae sae far wrang, Marie, lass,” Ranald said, nodding, “an’ I’m aye prood o’ ye for feelin’ sich like.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because faniver we’re facin’ ony dilemma in life, there’s but ane way tae ken fit we’re tae de—by spierin’, What did the Master say? an’, What did the Master du? Gien we can lay haud o’ his command an’ his example, we’re weel on oor way tae findin’ the trowth o’ ony situation. I think the discomfort ye’re feelin’ in yer hert comes on account o’ ye’ve been spierin’ those twa questions.”

  “I wasn’t thinking consciously about it.”

  “Maybe no, but whan a body sets himsel’ tae follow the Master, his subconscious is spierin’ ilka day—What wud ye hae me du, Lord Jesus?…What wud ye hae me say? Ye’re orderin’ yer life by his command an’ his example whether ye’re thinkin’ o’ it ilka second or no.”

  “So what did the Lord say and do about something like this?” I asked. “Jesus never knew Olivia Urquhart!”

  “Ye’re in the richt there, lass!” Ranald chuckled. “But when he was hault tae court, the lees agin’ him were jist as egregious. He didna ken Olivia Urquhart, ’tis true. His enemies were men called Caiaphas an’ Herod an’ Pontius Pilate.”

  Ranald’s words sobered me.

  “As for what he said, we hae his words, Bi réidh ri d’ eascaraid gu luath, am feadh a bhitheas tu maille ris’s an t-slighe—”

  He began laughing as he saw the look of utter perplexity on my face.

  “Ye’ll hae tae forgive me, lass,” he said. “The auld Gaelic’s always the first way my mind hears the Scriptures as gien i
t’s comin’ straight oot o’ my granfather’s mouth. I maun mak a conscious effort tae translate it intil the English. What the Lord said, in the lowlan’ tongue, was, ‘Settle matters quickly wi’ yer adversary wha is takin’ ye tae court. Du it while ye are still wi’ him, aiblins he may hand ye o’er tae the judge.’ Aboot the Master’s ain example, ’tis a wee bit mair complicated. In Luke’s Gospel, the Lord is spiered twa questions, an’ he answers baith wi’ straightforward honesty. He’s spiered, ‘Are ye the Son o’ God?’ an’, ‘Are ye the King o’ the Jews?’ Jesus answers the first, ‘Ye say I am,’ an’ the second, ‘Ye hae said so.’

  “Those were twa o’ the charges broucht agin’ him—bein’ the Son o’ God an bein’ the King o’ the Jews—an’ though he didna exactly defend himsel’, he answered those twa. But there were ither charges as weel. In Mark’s Gospel, Pilate spiers anither twa questions, ‘Hae ye no answer tae mak? Dinna ye see hoo many charges they bring agin’ ye?’ But tae that question, listen tae what Mark says—‘But Jesus made nae further answer.’ In ither words, he wud answer wi’ a statement o’ trowth, but he wadna refute the charges agin’ himsel’. Matthew says it wi’ e’en mair force. Whan Pilate spiers, ‘Hae ye nae answer to mak? What is it that these men testify agin’ ye?’ Matthew says, ‘But Jesus was silent.’

  “Div ye hear, lass? Jesus was silent. So there’s yer twa examples—speik for the trowth, an’ remain silent in the face o’ accusation. Isna always easy tae ken which tae obey, an’ my ain feelin’ in the matter is that we’re mair likely tae be called tae the defense o’ anither nor oursel’s. Defendin’ oorsel’s is a dangerous sort o’ thing in the speeritual realm. Defendin’ anither for the sake o’ trowth—that may be required o’ us. It has aye been my experience that in maitters where trowth itsel’ is at stake, we may speik oot, though we are nae compelled tae du so. But in maitters where we are personally bein’ attacked, we maun be very wary o’ makin’ defense. Gien Alasdair’s guid name be attacked, ye may be called on tae speik oot for him. Gien yer ain guid name an’ reputation be attacked, ye may be called on tae be silent as was oor Lord, an’ let the Father o’ lichts be yer defender an’ witness. A body will almost ne’er gae wrang tae be silent in the face o’ accusation, an’ alloo God tae be oor shield. Beyond that, I canna tell ye what ye oucht tae du. But I haena doobt the Lord’ll show ye weel enouch.”