Strathaven

My father digs graves further up the glen in Caldermill. His father, meaning my grandfather, and my great-grandfather were the only ones who did naught but blacksmithing. But before them (and after) the Dixons 'round Strathaven have dug graves. We usually did a bit of smithing to fill in the slack times, but that's our history as far back as our family stories can be remembered.

Not sure how many times great, but a long time afore you walked up to me today, one of my grandfathers knew the Fergusons, including Cait Ferguson, who was a McKay before marrying old Fergus. Little Cait was stronger than most men. She got her broad, strong shoulders by lifting and tossing cattle feed. But her husband was the head of the house, never a question of that. His word was law, and Cait would never break... it well....

A God-fearing man, was Fergus. Happy to serve on the kirk's elder council, he was. Then come the early months of 1820, 'round the end of February or start of March when the nights are still long. That was when there came a terrible wasting disease among the cattle 'round Strathaven. But old Fergus, he was ready to bear up under the tragedy as if he was Job himself returned from the Old Testament.

Cait was more of a worrier.

Bone Liquor

It started on a morning when a cold, foggy mist was spilling down from the hills. It hung from the thatching of the cottage and down by the byre it collected in beads on Cait Ferguson's shawl.

"Alice," she said to her friend, "we've tried the fires and the hallowed waters, and our cattle still have the wasting. It's a terrible mystery. Dougall MacInlay's cattle have it as well, and he lives clear t'other side of the glen. You should give thanks that your man keeps goats and sheep, not cows."

Alice Brannan looked helplessly at her friend and neighbor. "Is there anything to be done?"

Cait looked into the morning mist and said, "Something none other has done yet, though it frightens me deeply to think it."

"What ever could you mean?"

"I've been thinking of asking the help of auld Eibhlin Cowan."

"The auld woman of Corse Hill? But she follows of the ways of the ancients."

Cait scratched behind her ear. "Aye, that's it Alice. She still speaks to the trees and rocks and hares and such, and if anyone was to know what's afoot hereabouts, wouldn't it be her?"

The cottage door banged shut, and Cait whispered urgently, "Tut, now. That will be Fergus. I can't let him think I'd even dream such a thing, what with him being on the kirk's elder council and all." She gripped Alice's hand and begged, "Will you go with me? I couldn't go alone."

"Clear over to Corse Hill? Today? In this weather?" Alice shook her head, but then said, "Well, you'll need someone for company. Mind you, once there, I shan't set foot off the path."

"Oh, thank you, Alice. You've rescued me." She looked up into her friend's eyes. "Fergus is off to Strathaven this forenoon. Come by for lunch. We'll have a bite afore we go."

"Caitie," roared Fergus Ferguson. "Are ye about?"

"Over here, Fergus," called Cait as she hustled Alice down the path, for Alice's face was all too easy to read if she was up to something. Alice's long strides had her quickly away.

"Ah, there ye are, my dear. Alice seems in a hurry; didn't even say hello."

"It's her bread," Cait said quickly. "She just remembered it's time to take it from the oven." She glanced quickly at him to see if he was satisfied with the answer.

"Och, we're out of flour, aren't we? Well, p'rhaps she'll share half a loaf with ye. Tomorrow after the kirk's council has done meeting, I'll stop for some at the miller in Strathaven. Will ten pound be enough?"

"Aye, and there's a thoughtful husband." A sudden fear of what might come from her plan prompted her to give him a hasty kiss on the cheek.

He quickly looked around. "Caitie! Kissing in public is unseemly."

She blushed at the scolding. "Behind your own barn is hardly in public. Have a care on the road, now. Do you have the cheese and the trailcakes I made for you?"

He waved his satchel for an answer and set his feet down the path toward town.

The path to Eibhlin Cowan's cottage was slippery from the mist of the morning. Alice remained by the path, standing in the grass, to avoid the mud as Cait climbed the hill and rapped at the old woman's door.

When Eibhlin Cowan opened it she pulled her old tartan shawl close against the weather. She was even smaller than Cait, and her quiet voice had in it a crackle like bacon frying in a pan. "Ah, Caitlin, (she used the old names) will Ailis Brannan nae come warm her self by my fire?"

Cait looked at the floor and said, "I'm the one who needs to see you, Eibhlin Cowan, and Alice felt unsure of the path up the hill."

But the old woman knew the true reason. She shook her head with a touch of sadness, and said, "To think I'm that dreadful to her."

Cait began, "She's not the one who  "

Eibhlin Cowan held up a crooked old hand. "Oh, I know, Dear. I know. It's not the sheep, it's the cattle that's got the ailment. And you've been frettin' over yours like a hen with one chick, haven't you? Let me tell you, you've good reason. An evil hand, come up from the south, is at work here. It's good you've come to me, because none but the strongest cure will work. If you're to save your cattle, you'll need to boil up a batch of bone liquor." She paused, pulled her chin to one side, then nodded. "What you'll do is take and soak one dram of brew into a daily portion of oats or corn. This do for three days."

"I've never made such a thing and wouldn't know how."

"Here's what to do: Boil up a stewpot of fresh spring water." She took down a small leather sack that was hanging near her fireplace. "Along into that you drop the herbs in this wee bag. Once you've got it at a rollin' boil, you drop in a human skull. Your brew will be strongest if the skull is collected at midnight. Go to the auld buryin' ground on the road to Caldermill, and you'll find what you need."

Alice was the taller, so Cait always felt she was hurrying to keep up. But they hadn't gone far on the path back before Alice stopped and said. "Out with it Cait. What did the auld woman say?"

Cait shivered. "It was only mist this morning, but it's rain now, Alice, and I'm wet. Can we walk on as I tell it?"

Alice impatiently ground her foot into the muddy path and said, "Very well."

Cait scratched her ear, snugged her shawl up under her chin, and looked down at the path. They resumed walking, and she mumbled, "I'm to brew up a batch of bone liquor."

"Oh, dear."

Cait bit her lip and said, "It must be the strongest kind."

"Oh, dear."

Looking anxiously into the fading mist, she said, "I'm to go to the auld Caldermill burying ground tonight at midnight to dig up a skull."

"Oh "

Cait whirled about and took her friend by the hand. "Alice, oh, please, please. I need you to come with me tonight."

"Are ye daft?" howled Alice.

"I'd die if I had to go by myself," whimpered Cait. "But I must go, Alice. What will become of us if we lose our cattle?"

Alice stopped and stared wide-eyed at Cait. "Do ye ken what you're asking?"

"Aye. I'm asking my dearest friend for help when I need it most." She grabbed her by the arm and pulled her along. "Alice, your man's a sound sleeper. He'll never know. Put him to sleep, then meet me on the path in front of your house. You needn't do any more than be there, just so I'm not alone."

Alice shook her head. "I'm going to regret "

Cait took Alice by the hand. "Thank you, Alice. I'm ever in your debt. I shan't forget this."

"I dinna suppose I shall either," Alice answered.

Alice was late. Dark clouds went by turns drifting across the face of the moon. Cait re-wrapped herself in her shawl. At least the rain had stopped. Cait was grateful for that.

A black shadow appeared next to her. A whisper from the dark said, "Sorry, Cait."

Cait Ferguson's heart shot up into her throat till she realized who it was.

Alice said, "My man was a bit restless to start. I suggested a bit of the whiskey for him. He's in a sound sleep now."

Cait gathered her wits back and took a deep breath. She picked up her shovel 'round which she had wrapped a rough sack and hoisted it up to her shoulder. "Twasn't your fault, Alice." Cait gave a weak smile. "But you can be sure of this: I'm truly glad of your company."

Along the way trees mingled in the breeze, hinting at things that were not there. When they passed a darkened house set back in a grove of black-fingered trees, Cait whispered, "From here it's but a few minutes more."

Cait stopped at the gate-way to the burying ground. In the moonlight, the stones in the wall were a colorless gray. A hundred year-old oak tree cast its dark shadow from inside. Cait turned to her friend.

Alice shook her head and said, "I go this far, Cait, no more."

"But if I need you, and if I call, will you come?"

"I expect not. I've no humor for tempting the dead."

Cait scratched behind her ear and gave a long sigh. "Well, with luck I shan't be long."

Cait searched to the north of the old oak tree and found a headstone, not too big, not too small, and with not too much moss on it. She sank her shovel into the cool, damp earth. About three feet down she reached an old, pine coffin and easily broke through the boards. There, in the wavering glow of the gloomy moonlight, was the skull she needed. She stood back and stared at it, horrified at what she was about to do. Cait scratched behind, then yanked at her ear. She fetched her sack and cautiously lifted the skull from its resting place.

Instantly, a voice growled at her, "That is my head. Leave my head where it lay."

From the gate-way, Alice screeched, "What was that?"

Cait near dropped the old skull, so stunned was she. Carefully she returned it to its resting place, fought to catch her breath, and said, "As you will, good Sir. I'm not the one to dispute your ownership claim nor refuse your wishes."

Head down, Cait nervously retreated and sat back against the hole's edge. She waited. Nothing more happened. Nothing more was said. Reminding herself why she was there, she stooped, picked up her shovel, and carved into the dirt to the left. There was another pine box, even more crumbled than the one before. Scraping about, Cait came up with another skull, though more stained and less preserved than the first. She knelt to pick it up.

The voice bellowed, "That is my father's head. Leave it where it lay." Cait's eyes flew open wide, and she quickly drew her hands back.

From outside the wall, Alice shrieked, "Cait, are ye dead?"

Cait staggered back from the skull and, with her head bowed, she said, "As you will, good Sir. I'm not a quarrelsome person, and I'll not move your father's head from where it is."

She looked toward the old oak. A vision of her wasting cattle looked back at her. Their survival depended on her finishing the job she had come to do. Cait drove the fear from her mind, scratched behind her ear, picked up her shovel as if it was a weapon, and with a firm purpose she set to digging over to the right of the original grave.

This time she could barely tell there had been a coffin. The skull she found was old, brown, and toothless. Cait glanced again toward the old oak. The vision of her cattle was gone, but they had inspired in her a stubborn stripe that came from deep within. She picked up the old head bone.

The voice spoke once more, this time in a roar. "That is my grandfather's head. Leave it where it lay."

This was too much. Frustration and anger finally got the best of Cait. She said "This well may be your grandfather's head, but till I am done with it, you shan't have it back."

"What do you say, you feckless wench?" roared the old bones as they began to rattle of their own accord. The old corpse rose up and sat before her, his death-clothes all in ribbons. In a colossal rage, he howled, "By the great oath, you had best give leave of my grandfather's head."

From outside the stone wall Alice's scream choked off into a gurgle.

Cait decided matters might be getting a bit out of hand, and it might be a good idea to adopt a more courteous attitude. "Good Sir, I do apologize for all this, but I've reason for desperation."

The old skeleton stared at her with hollow eyes.

Cait stared back. For a full minute, nothing happened. Finally, Cait spoke. "Sir, the cattle hereabouts have a foul wasting disease, and nothing we've tried has cured even a-one of them. Eibhlin Cowan has told me the only cure that will work is a bone liquor, and that I'll need this head to make it."

How the old cadaver spoke was a mystery, for nothing moved as its scratchy old voice grumbled, "I dinna ken this Eibhlin person, but I'll not see my grandfather's bones ill-treated."

To Cait he now sounded a bit less menacing, so, hoping to strike a bargain, she said, "I've nothing but the greatest respect for you and your grandfather," she held out the head as if admiring a fine goblet, "and I vow to have this head returned safe and whole. In fact, it will be cleaner by far than it's been these many years."

"What can you possibly offer to make me believe you'll stand guid to your word?"

Sensing a glimmer of softening, Cait said, "My name is Caitlin Ferguson, an honest woman of good family."

"Easily said."

Cait thought gravely about what few things she had. She considered her best shovel, then her fine, warm winter shawl, but no, they were not enough. Cait pulled at her ear and decided. "Sir, I'll leave my wedding ring for a bond."

The corpse was silent for a long time before it said, "Bring the ring to me. Put it on my finger." Cait's hand shook with dread as she did what she was told. Once it was on, the dead man pointed his clicking finger at her. "The sun can not shine on this old bone. You must return it ere the cock crows."

"That I can do," said Cait.

"Do it not, and you will suffer the heaviest of penalties."

Cait didn't care to ask what such penalties might be. She slipped the skull into her sack and climbed out of the grave. At the opening in the stone wall, she whispered, "Alice, are you still there?"

There was no answer.

Cait dropped her shovel as she cast around. She found Alice lying in a heap at the base of the wall. Cait shook her friend's shoulder, but there was no response. Alice had fainted dead away.

This was no small bother since it was now closer to cock-crow than Cait would like. She hoisted her friend over her back and trudged up the hill to the darkened house they had passed on the way. It wouldn't do to have to explain herself, so Cait quietly laid Alice on a dry spot in the woodshed and hurried home.

The pot over the fire was already boiling, so once Cait had dropped the skull in, it didn't take over long for the bone liquor to be ready. She had the old head back before the glass had run, and, according to the bargain, placed it back from whence it came, collected her ring, and shoveled the dirt back into the grave.