Summer of Love

by Gian Bordin

  "You seem preoccupied, Helen. Don’t you want to dance anymore?" Her mother’s question shook her out of her thoughts. She had not even noticed that couples were forming again on the green.

  "Just catching my breath, mother."

  "Yes, you danced quite wildly with this young Campbell lad. I’m glad he left."

  "Has he left?" The question was out before she could check herself. Mary looked at her daughter sharply, and Helen found it prudent to add in a casual tone: "He danced well though."

  "That is true, but it will only spell trouble if you encourage a gentleman from the castle, particularly a Campbell of Argyle."

  Helen forced out a quick laugh. "Oh, a little dancing can hardly do any harm, mother."

  "No, a bit of dancing does no harm. But he seems to have more than just a passing interest in you, and doesn’t even make an effort to hide it. So be forewarned, child."

  "Do you think that he fancies me?" Helen feigned surprise.

  Her mother snorted dismissively and said: "Don’t try to fool me, lass."

  "The more there are, the better my choice," Helen attempted to parry mockingly.

  "Just beware that you don’t get caught, child, and end up sorry. It can happen before you know it… and he is a Campbell. Just remember that!"

  Her mother’s voice had taken on a sharp edge, and Helen found it prudent to placate her. "Don’t worry, mother. I won’t get caught. Promise." She couldn’t help wondering why her mother would say that. Did it happen to her when she lived at the castle? She dismissed the thought. She was her mother’s first born. Maybe it almost happened when she fancied one of the Duke’s sons. That’s why she was so upset. She wished her mother would confide in her. Wasn’t she her best friend?

  As she got up to join the dancers, she saw Andrew walk down the path to the old church. Time and again her gaze strayed back in that direction. What could they be doing back there, she asked herself? A while later, she got a brief glimpse of a young woman disappearing behind the church. It took a few seconds for its meaning to sink in, and she felt her ears get hot, disappointment and embarrassment battling inside her. Mother is right!

  * * *

  Andrew finished the dance with the lively second daughter of the inn keeper, hoping to deflect the curiosity of his drinking companions away from Helen. They immediately took him aside.

  "We caught you, you liar," exclaimed Francis. "Who’d have thought that you fancied Molly Nichols. She’s cheap."

  "We all had her." John grinned foolishly.

  For an instant, Andrew was on the verge of denying it, but then he changed his mind. What better way to protect Helen than let them believe that Molly was his girl.

  "This is too easy. She’ll come willingly. You’ll have your lay," James added with a slight sneer. "But you must have ravished her already."

  Try as he may, Andrew couldn’t suppress blushing.

  "Look at him," exclaimed James, and turning to Francis, asked: "Is it really true he has never been with a woman?"

  "Not in Edinburgh, I’m sure of that."

  "I’ll go get her. Take him behind the cemetery, you know, the usual place."

  Before Andrew could protest, James disappeared in the crowd, and Francis and John linked their arms firmly with his. Taken by surprise he let himself be walked several hundred feet to the cemetery behind the old church, while he listened to the McNabb brothers brag about their exploits with Molly. If she’s so willing and eager, as they claim, you might as well do it. You’ve wanted for a long time! … But what if she gets with child? I don’t want to risk that! … She hasn’t so far, so she might not… But I don’t fancy her… All the better. You won’t feel obliged to her then… But what about Helen? … She’ll never need to know. Just imagine how they’ll laugh at you and tell everybody if you lose your nerve now! So battled the voices in his mind.

  When they reached the shelter of the bushes and willows behind the cemetery, the sun had set and a humid chill was creeping up from the loch.

  "Don’t look so nervous or she’ll know that she’s your first," remarked Francis condescendingly, and John added with a leering snigger: "Oh, she might like to be his first, show him a few tricks."

  "Why don’t you two now disappear, so I can have a chat with her?" Andrew’s anxiety began to get the better of him.

  "We’ll go when we see her coming."

  They showed him a soft patch of grass, hidden between low bushes, "a good place for smooching" as Francis put it, adding that this was where he had his first woman.

  Suddenly, Molly came around the bushes. She stopped in her tracks when she saw the McNabb brothers.

  "Oh, you’re here too," she exclaimed, visibly disconcerted.

  Francis grinned and said: "Yes, my sweetie. We just wanted to say hello."

  She hesitated for a few seconds and then quickly turned to leave, but her path was blocked by James.

  "James Campbell, you said that Andrew Campbell wanted to talk to me alone. Why are you all here?" There was panic in her voice now.

  "We just thought we might all have a bit of fun," John cheered, advancing and grinning broadly.

  "James, let her go," Andrew shouted and shoved John away.

  "Come on, Andrew, she’s just pretending to be coy." John poked him quite hard. "They all do!"

  "James, let her go," repeated Andrew.

  Molly struggled to get past James. Andrew started toward her, but John stepped in front of him, grabbing his left arm, hissing: "Don’t spoil everything now, you stupid bastard!"

  Francis rushed to his brother, shouting: "No, John, don’t! He’ll thrash you."

  But the warning was too late already. Andrew’s right hook slammed into John’s jaw and the heavy lad went down without a sound. Coming from behind, Francis wrapped both arms around Andrew’s chest and throat, while James rushed him from the front. Using Francis as his support, Andrew pulled up both knees and kicked his feet into James’ stomach. The tall man rolled to the ground, coughing and sputtering, desperately trying to recover his breath. Andrew’s kick made Francis lose his balance, and they both fell backward, Andrew on top of him.

  Molly watched, her mouth wide open. She must never have seen any men, let alone one of the gentry, get into a fight over her. When Andrew jumped back to his feet she quickly fled.

  * * *

  Things between Andrew and the other three young men were never quite the same after that evening. More often than not, they excluded him from their drinking parties, and Andrew didn’t really mind. Except for James, their conversations had become a repetitive bore. They avoided the library whenever Andrew was reading there, and he stayed away when he heard their rowdy voices.

  Two weeks later—the first snowfalls had already pulled a white blanket over the mountain tops—Andrew visited the MacGregors a second time, bringing two bottles of claret. Dougal MacGregor greeted him heartily. Mary seemed to be rather less pleased. There was no welcoming smile from her. But if she hadn’t intended to have him for a meal, her husband thwarted her by inviting him. His heart was beating higher up in his chest when he saw Helen.

  Dougal promptly opened a bottle and asked Andrew to join him at the table. Mary and Helen resumed mending children’s clothing next to a small window, while grandmother MacGregor continued to nap in a rocking chair by the fire. The two MacGregor sons, Robin and Alasdair, just a year and two younger than Helen, crouched on the ground. Everybody seemed to listen attentively to the conversation between Dougal and Andrew. It quickly revolved around the hot topic on everybody’s mind—the likelihood of another Jacobite rising.

  Andrew had turned his chair so that he could observe Helen without being too obvious about it. She seemed to avoid his gaze.

  "You believe that most of the clans will come out united this time," he expounded. "But what I hear at the castle paints a different picture. The Mackays and the Rosses are thought to be stout Whig supporters, same as the Campbells of Argyle and Breadalbane. Nor are the Grants and Munros
likely to come out in support of the Stuarts, I was just told the other day."

  Dougal raised his arm dismissively.

  Andrew continued: "The Chisholms seem to be badly divided, and Chief Angus of the Mackintoshes is serving with the English. I can’t see his clan coming out."

  Andrew’s tone of voice was maybe just a shade too ponderous. Although he didn’t want to provoke Dougal, he was eager to make him think carefully about his own options. Dougan Graham had instructed him to stress that the Earl of Breadalbane expected all his tenants to support him, and it was obvious where his sympathies lay. Andrew doubted though that any such appeal would have much effect on the MacGregors. But he had another reason for trying to sway the man. He wanted to remain on good terms with him and his family. If Dougal joined up with the new pretender, they would be on opposite sides, regardless of whether he, Andrew, took any active part or not. The very fact of being a Campbell of Argyle would make it happen.

  Dougal pursed his lips, shaking his head. "Except for the Campbells, these are all small clans. It won’t make much difference, and when they see that the Stuarts are winning, as they surely must, everybody will join."

  "That’s just the point. Didn’t many of the clans in 1715 wait to see which way the scales were tipping before committing their men?"

  "This time will be different. Most have grievances against the English now. They’ll welcome this opportunity to kick off the yoke of the Hanover kings. But tell me lad, which side will you be on? I would hate to see you across the battle field."

  "I’ll stay right here with Mr. Graham. What do I care if we are ruled by a Stuart or a Hanover king? It will make little difference for most people in the Highlands. They’ll still be poor and see their own children starve when their crops fail or their herds get sick."

  This statement, expressed with naive conviction, visibly startled Helen by its unexpected candor, particularly coming from a man of the gentry. She raised her head from her work. His eyes immediately locked on to hers and kept her in check, holding her like magnets.

  "These are strong words, master Andrew, strong words for a man who lives in the comfort of the castle."

  Andrew pushed out a deprecating laugh. "That comfort is rather scarce at Finlarig, Mr. MacGregor. That place feels more like a damp prison."

  "But Lord Glenorchy will surely order you to join his ranks."

  "I doubt that. I’m more useful to him here, with Mr. Graham in such bad health."

  The older man frowned, nodding slowly several times. "Now that I look at it, I’d say you are right… Master Andrew, you’re a very insightful lad, you are. But I must admit, you puzzle me. For a young man, you take a rather cautious stand. I would have expected you to take sides firmly, wanting to be part of the fight on one side or the other, participate in the glory of battle. I know that all the young men here are eager. Even my two sons," he pointed at the two lads in front of them, "would join if I let them. Mind you, I’m not implying that you’re a coward. You don’t come across as one. But you must lean one way or the other. Tell me!"

  "Many a wise man has been called a coward," Andrew retorted with a chuckle, "and I don’t claim to be wise. But it’s the truth. I’m not committed and I’m not willing to fight somebody else’s dirty war. I don’t feel any allegiance to the Hanover kings, nor do I trust the Stuarts. Didn’t they readily abandon Scotland for the English crown at the first opportunity? They might just simply see this as a way to get it back. In my opinion, they’re using Scottish patriotism for their own selfish designs… But look at it from a different angle, Mr. MacGregor. I’m, in fact, simply taking a leaf from your illustrious ancestor, Rob Roy. Isn’t it true that at that indecisive battle of Sherriffmuir he said, ‘If they cannot do it without me, they cannot do it with me!’ and wisely kept his men on the sideline. You may want to cogitate on this yourself." Although it didn’t quite fit his own stance, he hoped that it would sway his host.

  "Right you are, right you are," the latter laughed, slapping his bare thighs. His outburst startled the dozing grandmother MacGregor, and she looked confused at her son. "How is it that you know such intimate details about the history of the MacGregors? I thought you were a Campbell… Come, lad, you have hardly touched your cup. Drink some more of that excellent claret as long there is some left!" He refilled both cups and took a few sips. "You are quite a lad, I must say. Too bad you are a Campbell! I wouldn’t mind having you for a son-in-law."

  He winked at his daughter. Andrew and Helen both grew crimson. Their eyes met fleetingly, and he noticed his own discomfiture matched by hers.

  Mary MacGregor now got up. "Lass, come with me. I need your help."

  With obvious reluctance Helen folded up her mending. Andrew’s gaze followed her until she disappeared through the door.

  * * *

  "I want you to cut more fir candles from the branches father fetched yesterday," ordered Mary MacGregor.

  "You said I had to help you. That isn’t helping you and doesn’t have to be done right now… You just wanted me out of the cottage," Helen complained accusingly. "Why? It was interesting to hear what master Andrew had to say."

  "That’s just it. You were paying more attention to him than to your mending. Didn’t I tell you not to encourage a man from the gentry? Now you even got your father view him as a potential son-in-law," her mother said sternly.

  "I did nothing of the sort, nothing at all. You’re unfair, and you know it. But even if I had, what would be so bad about marrying a nice man like master Andrew? You said yourself that a factor makes good money." As she said that the blurred figure of a woman disappearing behind the old Killin church where Andrew and his friends had gone rose fleetingly in her mind and she felt again a rush of shame and embarrassment.

  "So, he is a nice man now!" her mother scoffed. "You know damn well why it wouldn’t work. No MacGregor will ever be wed to a Campbell!"

  Helen’s contrary nature got the upper hand. "I see, blood runs thicker than water." She wanted to add ‘as father says when he runs out of arguments’, but she swallowed it.

  "You watch your tongue, lass. You aren’t too old for a hiding."

  "Mother, this is so silly. I’ve no intention of getting married, if I ever will. All I wanted is to hear their interesting talk… Please, mother, let me go back inside. I’ll cut the fir candles later on."

  "You cut them right now and stop sulking!"

  Fighting her anger, Helen fetched the tool for cutting the fast burning wood splinters the Highlanders used as substitute for wax candles. They needed a large supply to last them through the long winter evenings.

  * * *

  She did not see Andrew again all winter. With the ground covered in snow and all provisions for the winter in storage, there was no need to go to Killin.

  At first, her mind wandered from time to time back to their last two encounters. She saw his light green eyes that could exude such a compelling intensity. But as the winter deepened, these flashbacks happened less and less often and then stopped altogether. She hardly gave it a thought when, on her first visit to Killin in the spring of 1745, she caught a glimpse of him, sitting alone behind his little factor’s booth, busily engaged in a transaction with a tacksman.

  With all the talk of rebellion and the half dozen men of fighting age in their small group making ready to join as soon as word arrived from Glengyle, the seat of clan MacGregors, a cloud of uncertainty hung over the little glen on the slopes of Creag Gharbh. The move into the summer shielings was seriously disrupted.

  In August when the call to arms finally came after Prince Charles left France and secretly landed at Borradale on the Western shores of the Highlands, Helen, her younger sister, Betty, and her two teenage brothers, Robin and Alasdair, together with other young people from the clachan, were still up in the shielings. They only learned about the departure of their father when Mary came up to tell them the following day. Robin and Alasdair made no bones about their disappointment for having been left behi
nd. Only their mother’s stern warning that their father had promised her solemnly to send them straight back, if they tried to follow, kept them from going after their clansmen.

  There was no Crieff rover market, and besides no men to drive the cattle there. This meant no money to buy additional grains for winter and too many cattle for the limited winter feed. They would have to slaughter some of their animals.

  The scant reports of the early success of Prince Charles’ motley and ill-equipped army, sweeping rapidly down into the Lowlands and taking Edinburgh in a surprise move, reached their clachan by late September and gave rise to celebration and hopes of a quick ending and without much bloodshed. They expected their men to be home safely by Christmas. It was January before news of the reversal of Charles’ fortunes finally came in. By then, heavy snow had cut them off almost completely from all contact with the world.

  As more news trickled in about the continued withdrawal of Prince Charles’ troops back into the Highlands, the women and old people began to worry about what the future had in store for them. Would their men return safe and whole? For the first time in almost a year, Helen was reminded of Andrew’s plea to her father to carefully weigh his decision. But she couldn’t conceive that her father would have stood aside and waited. It would have been completely contrary to his impulsive character and the MacGregor ethos.

  3

  1745 was not a happy year for Andrew. Dougan Graham became bedridden at the onset of the winter in 1744. Suddenly the whole burden of factor fell on the young man’s shoulders. Dougan’s health improved a bit in late spring, but not enough to allow him to resume his duties. He supervised Andrew as best as he could from his bedside. The young man was constantly on the move, setting up his factor’s stall all over the realm of Breadalbane. When his travels brought him back to the castle for Sunday, he was most often too tired even to read.