it took your father. He left me with this miserable cottage and no more money than a pauper."
"But you had my mother."
"Mary. Yes."
She seldom spoke of my mother, except when she wanted to compare me unfavorably with her. I held my breath, willing her to go on. She only heaved a sigh.
"Your father came and took her. She died. He died. And here we are, you and me. Evil came to me, you see? All my life. Sorrow and death and evil. One after another."
I'm not an evil, I thought rebelliously.
She read my mind, as she often seemed to do, and jabbed a dirty finger toward me.
"You, Maggie, are no evil, but the hope of my life. And I wish good on you. Only good. But you're weak. If they harm you and insult you, you cry and run away. You must turn. Show them you're not afraid. You must be angry, Maggie."
Much good anger does you, I thought. Everyone fears and hates you. Even I'm scared of you, most of the time.
Aloud I said, "So you think I should go up to Macbean's and shout at them all and make Annie give me back my buckle?"
She gave me a shrewd look.
"Is that a dig at me? I suppose I've earned it. And it's what I would do, right now, if there'd been more in this whiskey bottle to give me the courage. But we'll bide our time on the buckle. The moment for it will come. Fear's a great weapon, Maggie, and when you're poor and alone, it's the only one you have."
Chapter 5
Ebenezer Macbean lived for another six weeks. All that time I watched the comings and goings from the Macbean farm with dread, but as the weeks passed and nothing happened, I began to feel hopeful that Granny had been wrong and that he would live after all.
Granny and I were out in the kail yard, binding sticks into the hedge to stop Blackie from breaking through. It was a wintry February day, the sky as gray as the heaving sea. Granny looked up to watch a skein of geese fly overhead.
"'Wild geese, wild geese, going to the hill,'" she muttered.
"The weather it will spill," I finished automatically in my head.
I looked in the direction they were flying, as I always did, to see if there were rain clouds in the sky and caught sight of a woman, her head uncovered, her hair flying wild, running down the lane toward us. Granny had seen her too.
"Here she comes, with trouble on her, but I won't pity her, for she'll bring that trouble to us, you'll see."
Jeanie Macbean's rage and grief were almost choking her as she reached our gate. She clung to it, her hand to her side, trying to get her breath.
"You wicked—you vile—murderous—witch!" she gasped. "You killed him. You killed my Ebenezer!"
"Now, Jeanie," Granny said, with unusual mildness. "You know that isn't true. I would never harm a child. Come inside. Sit down for a while."
"I—wouldn't cross—your threshold—to save my life!" Mrs. Macbean said, panting. "Why, Elspeth? Why did you do it? It was because of the christening, John said, because you weren't invited. I wanted you to come! I told him! He said you weren't to be asked, because of the respectable folk of Kingarth. But to kill the wee man just for that! To take his life!"
She began to sob, unable to go on, hitting at the gate with her fists.
"Jeanie," Granny said, sounding almost pleading. "Will you listen to me? It was I who brought that child into the world. Why would I harm him? I tried to charm away the evil from him at your hearth, but your man wouldn't let me. There was a sickness on him from the start—the blue on his lips and in his face. I've seen it before. I knew what it meant. I didn't say it to threaten you, but to warn you, Jeanie. That was all."
It was the nearest thing to an apology that I'd ever heard Granny make, and I breathed a sigh of relief, sure that it would convince Mrs. Macbean. She wanted to believe Granny, I could see it in her face, but then came a man's shout from up the lane. Mr. Macbean was running toward us, his face dark with rage.
"Get away from her, Jeanie! Don't go near her! The witch'll kill you too!"
I was learning more about Granny that day than I'd ever learned in my whole life,