The Betrayal of Maggie Blair - By Elizabeth Laird Page 0,52

up and knock at the farm door, the family would be away in their beds and I'd have to spend the night supperless in the open.

I looked up and down the lane and scanned the bare hilltops. No one seemed to be about. Quickly, I untied my bundle and shook out my old gown. It would be best to start off on an honest foot, to show myself to my uncle and aunt as the person I really was. A few minutes later, I was a girl again. The strings of my cap were tied under my chin, hiding my short boyish hair, and my father's shirt was wrapped up in my bundle. I arranged his plaid around me like a woman's shawl, taking comfort from the smell of cows and heather it had acquired. I took a deep breath and marched up the track toward the farm.

The first living creatures I saw were the dogs. Two black-and-white collies that had been lying at the farmhouse door stood up as I approached and came toward me. Trained to silence, they didn't bark, but one bared his teeth and growled. I stood still and let them sniff me. They seemed reassured by the smell of the cows on me and let me pass.

The farm buildings were set around three sides of a square. The dwelling house was big, bigger than Macbean's farm at Scalpsie. There was even a chimney at one end of it and two windows, one on each side of the door, their wooden shutters already closed. I hesitated. The door was forbiddingly shut, and I didn't dare to knock. Then I heard the sound of quiet singing. Two or three men's voices rumbled low, with a couple of women warbling above. It was the first time I had ever heard the evening psalm and its sweetness gave me courage:

I will both lay me down in peace

And quiet sleep will take;

Because thou only me to dwell

In safety, Lord, dost make.

When the singing stopped, there was a murmur of "Good night, good night," and then the latch of the door was lifted and two men came out. They started with surprise when they saw me, hovering shyly by the barn.

"Master!" one of them called back into the house. "There's a lass out here."

I knew at once that the man who came to the door was my uncle Blair, and I'll never forget that first sight of him. He was indeed a tall man, as Mr. Lithgow had said, and he had to bend his head right down under the low lintel of the door as he stepped outside. His fine fair hair fell to his shoulders, and his face was clean-looking, like Mr. Robertson's. It wasn't a drinker's face, I could tell. He stood with one hand on the door frame, peering out at me in the faint evening light.

"Who's there?" he called out. "Why, it is a lass."

It was his voice that undid me. It unlocked a memory from long ago, of another big man, who had swung me up in his arms. I felt tears prick my eyelids and had to swallow hard.

"I'm Maggie Blair," I said. "I'm your brother Danny's daughter."

A woman appeared at his shoulder. I could barely see her, standing in the shadows.

"Is it beggars again, Hugh? Take care. There may be others hiding behind her."

He didn't answer her but stepped out of the house and came to look at me more closely. I was nearly full grown already, but he towered over me.

"I believe you are," he said. "I believe you really are Danny's wee girl. What brings you here so late? Surely you haven't come alone?"

There was such kindness in his voice that I found it hard to control my tears again, but the woman's voice, fretful and suspicious, set me on my guard.

"Who is it, Hugh? Be careful. What does she want?"

A boy, older than me, had appeared at the door now, and a girl peeped around from behind him.

"It's my brother Danny's daughter, Isobel," he said, with blessed certainty. "She looks half dead too. Come away in, lassie. Have you eaten your supper? Get her some broth and an oatcake. Now, then—Maggie, is it?— there's no need for that."

I had been overcome at last with tears of relief and joy.

"Thank you," was all I could manage to gasp out. "Oh, thank you."

It felt like a dream to enter that clean, well-ordered room, to be given a bowl of broth, to have