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A Long Way Home
A Sweet Contemporary Gay Romance
Blake Allwood

Blake Allwood Publishing

 A Long Way Home. Copyright © 2023 by Blake Allwood. All Rights Reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval
systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

Cover designed by Samrat Acharjee

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Blake Allwood
Visit my website at BlakeAllwood.com

Printed in the United States of America

Box Elder, SD

First Printing: Feb 2023

Blake Allwood Publishing

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-956727-38-8

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-956727-39-5
Library of Congress Control Number: 2023901995
 A Long Way Home. Copyright © 2023 by Blake Allwood. All Rights Reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval
systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

Cover designed by Samrat Acharjee

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Blake Allwood
Visit my website at BlakeAllwood.com

Printed in the United States of America

Box Elder, SD

First Printing: Feb 2023

Blake Allwood Publishing

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-956727-38-8

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-956727-39-5
Library of Congress Control Number: 2023901995
Content Warnings

These topics are discussed, but not explicit:

Homophobia
Death
Loss of Family Member
Orphaned Children
Trauma
Fear of Loss
Recovery
Depression
Murder
Content Warnings

These topics are discussed, but not explicit:

Homophobia
Death
Loss of Family Member
Orphaned Children
Trauma
Fear of Loss
Recovery
Depression
Murder
 Join Blake’s email list to get advance notice of new books and receive his occasional newsletter:
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Acknowledgments

Special thanks to the following amazing people who helped me get this book finished and into your
hands.

Jo Bird: Editor
Renee Mizar: Editor
Ann Attwood: Proofreader

And of course, a big thank you to my husband who puts up with my endless stories and handles the
formatting and final publishing of all my books.
Acknowledgments

Special thanks to the following amazing people who helped me get this book finished and into your
hands.

Jo Bird: Editor
Renee Mizar: Editor
Ann Attwood: Proofreader

And of course, a big thank you to my husband who puts up with my endless stories and handles the
formatting and final publishing of all my books.
Contents

1. Prologue
2. Allen
3. Gib
4. Allen
5. Gib
6. Allen
7. Gib
8. Allen

9. Gib
10. Allen
11. Gib
12. Allen
13. Gib
14. Allen
15. Gib
16. Allen
17. Gib
18. Allen

19. Gib

20. Allen
21. Gib

22. Allen
23. Gib
24. Allen
25. Gib

26. Allen
27. Gib
28. Allen
29. Gib
30. Allen
31. Gib
32. Allen
33. Gib
34. Allen

35. Gib
36. Allen
37. Gib
38. Allen
39. Gib
40. Allen
41. Gib
42. Allen
43. Gib
44. Allen

45. Gib

46. Allen
47. Gib

48. Allen
49. Gib
50. Allen
51. Gib

52. Allen
53. Epilogue: Allen
bibliopride.com
44. Allen

45. Gib

46. Allen
47. Gib

48. Allen
49. Gib
50. Allen
51. Gib

52. Allen
53. Epilogue: Allen
bibliopride.com
One
One
Prologue

“O LIVIA, OLIVIA!” I WHISPER-SHOUTED. “Don’t do it! We’re gonna get in trouble. Again.”
“Shh, you’re gonna give us away. Just shut up and keep an eye out.”
Olivia snuck down the hall of the old Victorian, and into the master bedroom. She’d found the
garter snake under a bush out front while weeding the garden, which we’d been told to do as
punishment for some other naughty crime I’d already forgotten.
Olivia slipped into the room while Chase and I kept guard. Why she always left us to stand guard,
I’d never understand, as we always got distracted. Meaning, of course, that we always got caught.
Sure enough, Mrs. Simmons came out of one of the rooms, and saw Chase and me sitting
suspiciously next to the stairs. “And just what are you two doing up here?” she asked as she looked
around. “And more importantly, where is your coconspirator?”
Just then, Olivia came out of the bedroom with a smile the size of the Cheshire cat’s. “Oh no,
missy,” Mrs. Simmons said. “Back in there, and you bring whatever it was you took in back out!”
Olivia looked at Chase and me with disgust. Not a new look, mind you, since we got it almost
every time we were in trouble. She turned back into the bedroom, with Mrs. Simmons on her heels.
A second later, we heard a yelp from Mrs. Simmons. Chase and I couldn’t help but peek around the
corner, only to see Olivia holding the snake up to Mrs. Simmons’s face. Our guardian had a look of
barely suppressed terror, mixed with a good dose of rage.
Mrs. Simmons was a saint. The three of us knew it, even though we found great pleasure in
tormenting her. Despite Olivia still gripping the snake, Mrs. Simmons got ahold of her ear and pulled
her along the hallway and down the stairs.
Chase and I followed, but not close enough for Mrs. Simmons to notice us, we hoped. When Mrs.
Simmons, the snake, and Olivia’s very red ear were all outside, she instructed Olivia to put the
 slippery reptile back in a cool place, then return to the porch, so she could have a word with us all.
“Boys, you too, all three of you. I want to see you front and center!” Mrs. Simmons had three
distinct tones: the you are funny, but I have to fuss at you anyway tone, the I can’t believe you did
that tone, and the you really have gone too far this time tone. She was using that last one this time.
When we were all gathered on the front porch, sneaking glances at Mrs. Simmons, and trying not to
smile or cry, the woman drew in a deep breath, and sighed. “The three of you sit down right where
you are standing.”
After doing as we were told, Mrs. Simmons sat in a chair and looked at us for a long time. Finally,
she shook her head, put her hands in her lap, and slumped forward.
“Children, this morning I went to a doctor’s appointment, and was told I have a sickness called
multiple sclerosis. They call it MS for short. It means I may no longer be able to take care of you.”
The tears streamed down Mrs. Simmons’s face for a moment before she was able to compose
herself. It was the only time I’d ever seen her lose control, and I knew I’d never forget it.
he
“I love you three like you were my biological children, even when you’re totally naughty.” She
as
gave Olivia a very pointed look. “When Charles, um, Mr. Simmons died two years ago, I had to argue
with Children’s Services that I was still qualified to care for you, but now with my diagnosis, I know
d,
they’re going to force me to give you up, unless...” She seemed to still herself for a moment, trying to
find the right words. “The three of you keep getting in trouble, not just here, but at school, so the state
ng
will want to put you in a more… controlled environment. I know you’re not bad kids, and I know that
ed
you are mostly just mischievous, but things are changing. If I’m going to have any hope of keeping
you, I’m going to need your help. I need you to make an effort to try to stay out of trouble.”
o,
She took another long breath, looking at each of us, then her lean, tall body once again slumped in
the chair. It was the first and only time I’d ever seen her let go of her normally perfect piano-teacher
ost
posture. The three of us had come to live with the Simmonses when we were still small. Now, we
were all pre-teens, and Mrs. Simmons was having an adult conversation with us, one I wasn’t
he
prepared to hear.
of
But, even her serious news couldn’t deter Mrs. Simmons from launching into one of her old-
fashioned lectures. “I love you with all my heart, and as such, I must tell you that harming another
in
creature is the most inappropriate wrong you can do. Olivia, how do you think that poor snake felt
ed
while you were hauling it to my bedroom?” she asked. “What about you, Chase? Would you like
someone to grab you out of your comfortable room and throw you somewhere you had never been
rs.
before? Gib? What about you? Are you able to imagine how scary it would be to lose your home in
he
 one quick moment, because someone was inconsiderate enough—” She gave Olivia another pointed
eelook. “—and mean enough to kidnap you and throw you somewhere you’d never been?”
id Olivia had never looked scared or chastised before, and both Chase and I were concerned when
she looked stricken by Mrs. Simmons’s words.
to “A-Are you gonna die, Mrs. Simmons?” Olivia finally asked.
re Mrs. Simmons looked at Olivia with what appeared to be exhaustion mixed with sadness. “We will
all die someday, little one,” Mrs. Simmons reached down then, and pulled Olivia up and onto her lap.
ly,“But, yes, if I don’t control the stress in my life, it could cause me to get sick faster.”
Mrs. Simmons never threw false punches. She had always been straight with us, never lying or
edtrying to tell us half-truths.
“I’m going to ask my sister Margaret to move in with us… to help out, but she doesn’t do well with
sekids. She even hated being a kid herself.” Mrs. Simmons chuckled a little. “So, if you want to stay,
you can’t be naughty or mischievous when she arrives. You will have to be on your best behavior. I’m
heafraid if she refuses to help me, the state will come and rehome you with other people.”
ue Olivia was once again stricken. “I always thought you’d adopt us.”
w The tears began falling down Mrs. Simmons’s face again. “Yes, dear one, I thought I was going to
toadopt you too, but now that I’m sick, they will never let me.” She wrapped Olivia into a tighter hug
teand squeezed her. “But, that is no matter. I don’t have to adopt you for you to be mine, do you hear
hatme?”
ng We all nodded and believed her, because Mrs. Simmons would never lie to us. As Mrs. Simmons
had said, her sister was not a fan of children. Miss Margaret Latham was, in every aspect, a Southern
inVictorian woman transported to the twenty-first century. Her clothing may have been current, but her
erbeliefs about raising and treating children were strictly from an earlier time.
we From that point on, the three of us defined our lives as before Miss Margaret and after Miss
n’tMargaret. Before, we were free, and life was full of adventure. After, we were full of fear, and
always waiting for the day Miss Margaret would send us away.
d- A house that was at one time loud and full of life was now quiet and death-like. Mrs. Simmons
erspent more and more time to herself as she slowly became less and less able to control her body or
elther movements.
ke The three of us spent our teenage years avoiding getting into trouble. When other teens were
enexperimenting, we were just trying to stay together. There was little room for error in the world of
inMiss Margaret.
ed The year we all went to college, each getting a scholarship, because Miss Margaret tolerated
nothing less than perfect grades, Mrs. Simmons was permanently placed in assisted living. She was
enonly thirty-nine.
All three of us took turns going to see her, but her MS was aggressive, and it took her from us just
three years later. It was the end of our junior year of college, and the grief almost consumed us.
ill We buried Mrs. Ruby Simmons next to her husband in the church graveyard. After the funeral, we
p.went back to the house, which was packed to the rafters with mourners. The love we felt for Mrs.
Simmons was not reserved only for us. Our entire small, rural, West Tennessee town seemed to love
orher as well, and I was sure everyone in the county had come either to the service, the funeral, or our
home afterward.
th When the crowd finally left, we helped the church ladies clean the kitchen, while Miss Margaret
ay,sat in the parlor, staring out the window.
m After everyone had left, Olivia leaned against the counter, and looked at Chase, then at me. “This
probably isn’t the time to tell you—” Olivia began, “—but Chase and I are kind of dating.”
“Eww,” I said, before I could stop myself. “You’re like sister and brother.”
to Olivia laughed. “Well, not really. You are like my brother.”
ug Chase agreed. “You are like my brother too, but it’s always been different between Olivia and me.
arWe always knew we would be more one day.”
The pit of my stomach rolled at the thought. Maybe it had been different for them, but I couldn’t see
nsit. I managed to swallow it though, and gave my best fake smile.
rn “That’s good, I guess.”
er Olivia elbowed Chase in the ribs. “I told you he wouldn’t be okay with this.” Chase just bowed his
head, and refused to look me in the eye.
ss “Listen, Gib, you had a right to know before anyone else, but it’s bound to get out now we’re not
ndhiding it any longer. We just thought you needed to hear it from us.”
I felt like I’d lost my mother and my siblings all at the same time, and the feeling of sickness was
nsbecoming harder to control.
or “Um… give me a minute,” I said, and dashed to the bathroom, where I was no longer able to hold it
all down. You know how sometimes you would feel better after you had puked? Well, this wasn’t one
reof those times. I leaned back against the bathroom door and tried to catch my breath.
of A second later, I heard a knock on the door. “Gib, buddy?” Chase’s voice sounded apologetic.
“Miss Margaret wants to speak to us in the parlor. She sent me to come fetch you.”
 ed I stood up without responding and washed my face. I wasn’t in the mood for one of Miss
asMargaret’s lectures about maintaining my composure.
Chase was gone when I came out, and I assumed he’d joined Miss Margaret in the parlor.
ust When I entered the room, I noticed Miss Margaret was sitting in the formal Victorian chair no one
ever sat in, because it was as painfully uncomfortable as it was ugly. She seemed to fit the chair
wenicely, though.
rs. When I sat down across from Olivia and Chase, she briefly cocked an eyebrow, noticing I didn’t sit
vewith them. We had always been a cohesive unit, especially when facing Miss Margaret, but tonight, I
urdidn’t have the strength to join them on the settee.
Miss Margaret was barely holding in her emotions as she spoke. I looked at Olivia and Chase and,
etdespite the new strain on our relationship, we exchanged perplexed looks. We’d never seen Miss
Margaret demonstrate anything that resembled emotions other than anger and stoicism.
his She drew in a breath, and after slowly letting it out, said, “My sister loved you and she made me
swear that you would always have a home here if you needed one. In fact, in her will she stipulated
that the house belonged to the three of you, but that I could live here until my death. Of course, I don’t
need the home, I have my own, so I won’t be staying for long.”
me. There was something confusing in her tone. I thought she’d be mad about not inheriting the house,
since she’d grown up in it too, but what I heard in her voice sounded more like concern. If I hadn’t
eeknown this woman so well, I’d have thought her concern was for us, but that wasn’t Miss Margaret’s
way, so I must’ve misread it.
“She also left the three of you a significant sum of money to be kept in a trust until your twenty-fifth
hisbirthdays. At that point, you can either take the money in a lump sum, or monthly installments that
should last you your entire lives. It is completely up to you.”
ot Miss Margaret seemed to have finished and the three of us stood to leave, when she said, “Please,
wait a moment. I-I…” She stopped talking, emotion taking hold once again.
as “My sister isn’t the only one who loves you. It’s no secret that I didn’t want to come here to be your
caretaker. I honestly thought I’d be here only as long as my sister needed me, then either we’d send
ityou to boarding school or back to the state.” Her tears became more like sobs, but none of us were
nebrave enough to console her. When she finally regained control, she used a tissue to properly wipe
away the tears and blow her nose. Even in mourning, she was intensely proper. “It’s also no secret
c.that I’ve never wanted children. Our father was a strict, rigid man. When our mother died, we were
stuck with him and I hated him for being a cold, unloving person. I knew I would be just like him, and
ssI swore I’d never put children through that, but after Charles died and Ruby asked if I could come
help with the three of you, I decided to try.”
She looked at each of us as the tears streamed down her face. Utter shock held me in place as Miss
neMargaret continued to speak, “I know you hate me, and I don’t blame you. I would’ve hated me too,
airbut despite what you may think, I’m not without feeling. The three of you have filled my life with
happiness like I never knew existed.” I quickly glanced over at Olivia, whose eyes were wide and
sitfilled with her own tears. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness, or even your love, but I hope one day
, Iyou’ll understand that I stayed here not out of obligation, or even for Ruby’s sake. I stayed because I
wanted to help raise you. Ruby said, over and over, there had to be love mixed with the discipline. I
d,figured as long as she was around, she could handle the love, and I could handle the discipline.” She
sslooked at the three of us and sighed. “Now you need both, and I’m not sure I can do that.” The tears
continued to stream down her face, making her look much older than her forty-six years.
me We stood there silently, unsure what to say or do. We’d been held captive by her words… words
edthat were quite different from any we thought we’d ever hear from her. None of us could have
n’timagined stern Miss Margaret as being a sensitive, feeling person underneath, let alone that she
would tell us she loved us.
e, As usual, Olivia came to her senses before either Chase or me, and turned to Miss Margaret, took
n’ther hand, and said, “We aren’t sure what to say, Miss Margaret. You’ve never made any claims of
t’scaring about us before. You may have to give us a little time to digest all this.”
Miss Margaret nodded as Olivia leaned back on her heels, still holding Miss Margaret’s hand. To
fththis day, I don’t know what inspired me to comment, since I usually let Olivia or Chase deal with
hatthings, but something about Miss Margaret’s confession sparked real emotion in me.
“Miss Margaret,” I said. “When I was very young, both my parents died in a car accident, and the
e,rest of my family didn’t want me. I ended up going to several homes before Mr. and Mrs. Simmons
took me in. The day Mrs. Simmons told us she was sick, and you were coming to help take care of us
uris etched in my memory. I was sure I was going to lose my family again and I’ll never have the words
ndto explain the terror that brought me. I cried every night for a year, expecting the monsters, or
reChildren’s Services workers, to come and take me away. When you arrived, I knew you were strong
peenough to keep the monsters away. I’m not going to lie to you, I was… okay, maybe I still am scared
etof you, but I thanked God every night after you arrived, and that you were strong enough to protect
reus.”
nd
me Chase walked over and joined Olivia on the floor, grabbing Miss Margaret’s other hand as I knelt
beside them. All of us ended up crying that day. Despite her rigidity, we all knew and understood that
ssif she hadn’t come, or more importantly, if she hadn’t stayed, we would have lost our family, and
o,nothing she did or didn’t do would be as bad as that.
th
nd
ay
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.I
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 Chase walked over and joined Olivia on the floor, grabbing Miss Margaret’s other hand as I knelt
beside them. All of us ended up crying that day. Despite her rigidity, we all knew and understood that
if she hadn’t come, or more importantly, if she hadn’t stayed, we would have lost our family, and
nothing she did or didn’t do would be as bad as that.
Two
Two
Allen

DIALED MY FATHER’S number, dreading the conversation.

I “Hello?” I heard my half-brother’s voice. Damn, I thought to myself, he never answers the
landline. Why did he this time?
“Hey, Lance, is Dad there?”
“No.”
I sighed. My brother always made it hard on me if I needed to speak to Dad. Of course, Dad had a
mobile phone, but he’d banned me from calling it, saying he paid for a landline, so I should use that
unless it was an emergency.
“Lance, when will he be back?” I tried desperately to keep the frustration out of my voice. I needed
to reach Dad sooner rather than later.
“I don’t know.” God help me, my brother’s such a jerk.
“Then, I need to leave him a message.”
I wasn’t surprised when the line went dead. I now had no choice but to call Dad’s mobile. Inviting
my own family to attend what should be one of my proudest accomplishments, graduating from
college, shouldn’t feel like such a burden.
I plopped down on the sofa in my mom’s apartment, and leaned my head back before closing my
eyes.
Dad had divorced my mom when I was only seven after cheating on her, then married the other
woman. The woman wasn’t a horrible person, but she’d clearly been a social climber.
They’d met while working together at a prestigious hospital in Queens, New York. My father was
the lead surgeon there, and his future wife was the secretary on his unit. Their only child, Lance, was
born shortly after.
 Lance pretty-much hated me from the time he could talk. Of course, Dad divorced his mom a few
months after he was born, so I always felt a bit sorry for him. No matter how he felt about me, I knew
he had it worse than I ever would. Lance’s mom had given full custody to Dad, then promptly
disappeared from their lives. So, Lance had to constantly deal with our father’s horrible attitude,
while I had an amazing and loving mom who shielded me from the worst of it.
Mom came into the room and asked what was wrong, pulling me out of my thoughts.
“Are you sure you can’t come to the family luncheon? I’d rather you were there instead of Dad.”
She shook her head. “I tried, honey, but your grandpa said someone from the family needs to cover
the meeting with the French hotel we’re buying. Like I said, though, I’ll fly out that night and be there
the next day. I promise not to miss graduation.”
She kissed the top of my head as she walked back toward the kitchen.
This wasn’t the first time our family’s hotel business had taken priority. Mom had temporarily taken
he
over the CEO position after Grandpa suffered a mild stroke, and she’d always been his right-hand
person in the company anyway.
I’d recently overheard Mom talking with Grandpa on the phone about selling the company, but they
must’ve decided against it. My being accepted into Harvard Medical School in the fall rather than
a
joining the business probably factored into that.
hat
Ultimately, I thought her biggest issue wasn’t with me going into medicine, or anything to do with
me at all. She’d blamed all her relationship problems with Dad on his career. I had to confess that
ed
even though Dad drove me insane, I’d always admired him for what he did for a living.
It’s funny, because when I’d told him I was going into pre-med, he just said, “You’ll have to get
your grades up.” My father’s a total asshole. So, it was no wonder I dreaded inviting him to my
graduation events.
ng
At least he’d shown a hint of emotion at my acceptance to Harvard. Fortunately, I no longer cared
m
what he thought, or sought his approval. I got into Harvard on my own academic merits, rather than
relying on his connections, or my privileged background, and that alone should make any parent
my
proud. None of it made picking up the phone to call him any easier, though.
I silently kicked my feet out in frustration as soon as Mom was out of sight, grabbed my phone, and
er
dialed his stupid mobile. God, why does everything have to be so freaking difficult?

as
as
 Lance pretty-much hated me from the time he could talk. Of course, Dad divorced his mom a few
months after he was born, so I always felt a bit sorry for him. No matter how he felt about me, I knew
he had it worse than I ever would. Lance’s mom had given full custody to Dad, then promptly
disappeared from their lives. So, Lance had to constantly deal with our father’s horrible attitude,
while I had an amazing and loving mom who shielded me from the worst of it.
Mom came into the room and asked what was wrong, pulling me out of my thoughts.
“Are you sure you can’t come to the family luncheon? I’d rather you were there instead of Dad.”
She shook her head. “I tried, honey, but your grandpa said someone from the family needs to cover
the meeting with the French hotel we’re buying. Like I said, though, I’ll fly out that night and be there
the next day. I promise not to miss graduation.”
She kissed the top of my head as she walked back toward the kitchen.
This wasn’t the first time our family’s hotel business had taken priority. Mom had temporarily taken
over the CEO position after Grandpa suffered a mild stroke, and she’d always been his right-hand
person in the company anyway.
I’d recently overheard Mom talking with Grandpa on the phone about selling the company, but they
must’ve decided against it. My being accepted into Harvard Medical School in the fall rather than
joining the business probably factored into that.
Ultimately, I thought her biggest issue wasn’t with me going into medicine, or anything to do with
me at all. She’d blamed all her relationship problems with Dad on his career. I had to confess that
even though Dad drove me insane, I’d always admired him for what he did for a living.
It’s funny, because when I’d told him I was going into pre-med, he just said, “You’ll have to get
your grades up.” My father’s a total asshole. So, it was no wonder I dreaded inviting him to my
graduation events.
At least he’d shown a hint of emotion at my acceptance to Harvard. Fortunately, I no longer cared
what he thought, or sought his approval. I got into Harvard on my own academic merits, rather than
relying on his connections, or my privileged background, and that alone should make any parent
proud. None of it made picking up the phone to call him any easier, though.
I silently kicked my feet out in frustration as soon as Mom was out of sight, grabbed my phone, and
dialed his stupid mobile. God, why does everything have to be so freaking difficult?
Three
Three
Gib

’D NEVER FORGIVEN CHASE and Olivia for being together. I considered them my sister and
I brother, and when their relationship turned romantic, I took that as a betrayal of everything we’d
had as children.
It was the Fourth of July when I confessed to them that I’d been accepted into Harvard.
“So, I have news,” I said as we sat together on the same old blanket we’d used since we were little
kids. When I had their attention, I continued, “I’ve been accepted into Harvard Medical School.”
“Are you going to go?” Chase asked.
I nodded, then stared up toward the sky as the fireworks began. There was a theme with us that we
never picked the right times to share difficult news. As the fireworks exploded overhead, Olivia
cried, and Chase’s face took on a sick look.
“Are you leaving because of us?” Olivia asked once the show ended.
The truth was, absolutely, but, of course, I couldn’t say that. “No,” I said instead. “This is just a
really great opportunity. And guess what? You’ll never believe this, but Miss Margaret even
volunteered to pay for my education.” That seemed to alleviate some of the tension as both Olivia and
Chase stared at me in disbelief.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Olivia said.
For a brief moment, we were children again, and I shrugged before we collapsed into fits of
laughter, trying to reconcile the woman who raised us and the charitable woman who had only
admitted she loved us a year before.
“We also have news,” Olivia said. Once again, the wall between us came back up, and I cringed
inside as I prepared to hear what I already knew was coming.
Olivia, of course, detected my mood change, but ignored it. Another tear did manage to escape
 down her face, though, which I saw and regretted. Finally, she shook off the sadness and smiled,
saying, “We’re engaged.”
I smiled, but knew they could tell it was forced. The two looked at each other again, exchanging
unspoken dialogue I no longer shared with them. Clearly, there was more to tell, and I wasn’t at all
sure I was ready to hear it. I’d managed to ignore their relationship this past year, able to say at least
to myself that it would pass, but now they were engaged… and there was more news. That more
meant things would never go back to how they had been… back when we were all a family.
After we gathered up our picnic supplies and began walking toward the old Victorian, Chase said,
“There’s more.” His eyes never left Olivia, and it was plain as day they really were in love. I felt like
an ass for not being able to accept it, but the feeling of betrayal still held tight to my heart. Chase
cleared his throat as he looked over at me, then back to the ground. “We’re pregnant,” he said. Neither
nd
of them smiled or tried to ease the awkwardness of the situation. We had known and loved each other
’d
too long for that.
I sighed, before asking, “Have you told Miss Margaret?”
I could see the two of them exchange sad looks, before answering, “We’ve told her we’re getting
le
married, but not about the baby. She’ll have a hard time with the pregnancy, so we’re going to tell her
about the baby after we’re married.”
I looked out over the dispersing crowd as the noise of the celebrations drifted around us.
we
When I turned back toward them, Olivia was leaning into Chase, and they were both looking at
ia
anything but me.
Olivia was the first to break the silence. “We never planned to fall in love, Gib, it just happened. In
fact, we’ve been in love for a very long time. We both decided to hide it from you, because we knew
a
you’d never be okay with it. After we started college, I knew it was time to come clean. I didn’t want
en
you to find out through gossip. It was insensitive to tell you when I did, though.”
nd
I shrugged, not knowing what to say. Only after we were approaching the home we’d all grown up
in, did I stop and turn toward them. “I don’t get it. I don’t think I ever will, because like I said, you’re
my siblings, and I never thought of you as anything else. I won’t pretend that doesn’t hurt, because it
of
does,” I said, knowing I was pushing some of my hurt back on them.
ly
Not ready to go inside, we all sat on the steps of the huge porch for several moments before I broke
the silence. “I love you and always will. I’m sure we’ll eventually work this out, but you have to give
ed
me time. When is the wedding?” I asked, not really wanting to know.

pe
d, “We want to get it done before I start to show, so in a couple months… the plan is September, over
Labor Day weekend.”
ng “Where are you getting married?” I asked, becoming more curious.
all Olivia looked back toward the old home, not wanting to say anything Miss Margaret might
astoverhear. Luckily for them, she wouldn’t be back for another hour or so. Seeing the house was empty,
reOlivia continued.
“Miss Margaret said we should use the house. It won’t be a big crowd, just a few of our friends
d,and some of the folks from church. Pastor Jones has already agreed to do the ceremony. We really
kewant you there. Will you stand up with us?” Olivia asked.
se I inwardly sighed, but nodded. They were my family, my only family. I wouldn’t let them down, no
ermatter how much of an issue I had with what they were doing… what they’d already done.
er “Of course,” I barely got out before Olivia and Chase pulled me into a big group hug.
Needless to say, I was more than happy to escape West Tennessee and my complicated family.
Harvard would be tough, but it didn’t hold a candle to my home life.
ng
er

at

In
w
nt

up
re
it

ke
ve
 “We want to get it done before I start to show, so in a couple months… the plan is September, over
Labor Day weekend.”
“Where are you getting married?” I asked, becoming more curious.
Olivia looked back toward the old home, not wanting to say anything Miss Margaret might
overhear. Luckily for them, she wouldn’t be back for another hour or so. Seeing the house was empty,
Olivia continued.
“Miss Margaret said we should use the house. It won’t be a big crowd, just a few of our friends
and some of the folks from church. Pastor Jones has already agreed to do the ceremony. We really
want you there. Will you stand up with us?” Olivia asked.
I inwardly sighed, but nodded. They were my family, my only family. I wouldn’t let them down, no
matter how much of an issue I had with what they were doing… what they’d already done.
“Of course,” I barely got out before Olivia and Chase pulled me into a big group hug.
Needless to say, I was more than happy to escape West Tennessee and my complicated family.
Harvard would be tough, but it didn’t hold a candle to my home life.
Four
Four
Allen

LOOKED OVER AT my pompous father and his new wife, Kassidy, and once again, I asked
I myself why I’d felt obligated to invite him to my graduation luncheon. Despite the happy families
surrounding us talking about the exciting futures ahead, the mood at our table was tense, to say the
freaking least.
“Where’s Lance?” I asked, when Dad and Kassidy picked me up from Mom’s place.
“He didn’t want to come.” I could hear all the loaded crap in that statement, but chose not to take
the bait. Dad often liked pitting the two of us against each other.
“Well, I appreciate you coming,” I said, trying to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.
We rode in silence all the way to the luncheon and probably stood out like a sore thumb among the
crowd of happy people waiting to be seated.
I shook my head slightly when I caught a glimpse of Kassidy. I could tell my very elegantly dressed
new stepmother was trying to make the best of a very awkward situation. She and Dad had gotten
married just a few months before, and the fact that she was less than three years older than me felt…
well, freaking strange, quite frankly.
Even though I didn’t want to, I couldn’t help but like her. Kassidy was bright and funny, and most
importantly, she didn’t put up with any crap from my dad. That was admirable if nothing else was.
No surprise, Dad spent the afternoon speaking to everyone except me. Luckily, we’d been seated
with the family of a woman I’d had classes with, so I could chat with her instead of staring into space
bored out of my head.
On the drive back to Mom’s, Dad asked if I was dating the woman. Of course, I stared at him as if
he’d just grown horns.
“Dad, I’m gay,” I deadpanned.
 How could he not already know that? I’d come out to Mom when I was fourteen. I just figured
she’d told him, since she told him everything else about me that she deemed important enough for him
to know.
Dad cleared his throat, then nodded before pulling up to Mom’s brownstone.
“That’s it?” I asked, feeling a need to clear the air before getting out of the car.
“What else do you want?” he asked. I could hear the peeved note in his voice.
I shook my head. “Dad, you’re a piece of work. So, does this mean I need to find alternative
funding for medical school?”
The subject of Dad paying for my education never sat easily with me. I preferred to make my own
way, and I’d earned a full-ride academic scholarship for my undergraduate studies. I figured I’d get
loans to pay for medical school, and knew Mom would help if I asked her, but Dad shocked me when
ed
he’d offered to fund it all himself. I should’ve known nothing came that easy with him. Kassidy turned
es
toward my father, then looked at me in the backseat. Without waiting for him to answer my question,
he
she said, “No, your sexuality is your own business, and we will be happy to pay for your education.
Isn’t that right, Evan?”
My father looked shocked, but quickly nodded and turned back to face the road. If I hadn’t already
ke
liked Kassidy, I did now. Had Kassidy not intervened, I was sure our conversation would’ve ended
much worse than it did.
I stepped out of the car, but before they pulled away, I mouthed, “Thank you,” where Dad couldn’t
he
see. Kassidy smiled and winked at me just as Dad pulled back into the traffic and they disappeared
down the road.
ed
en
…

ost

ed
ce

if
 How could he not already know that? I’d come out to Mom when I was fourteen. I just figured
she’d told him, since she told him everything else about me that she deemed important enough for him
to know.
Dad cleared his throat, then nodded before pulling up to Mom’s brownstone.
“That’s it?” I asked, feeling a need to clear the air before getting out of the car.
“What else do you want?” he asked. I could hear the peeved note in his voice.
I shook my head. “Dad, you’re a piece of work. So, does this mean I need to find alternative
funding for medical school?”
The subject of Dad paying for my education never sat easily with me. I preferred to make my own
way, and I’d earned a full-ride academic scholarship for my undergraduate studies. I figured I’d get
loans to pay for medical school, and knew Mom would help if I asked her, but Dad shocked me when
he’d offered to fund it all himself. I should’ve known nothing came that easy with him. Kassidy turned
toward my father, then looked at me in the backseat. Without waiting for him to answer my question,
she said, “No, your sexuality is your own business, and we will be happy to pay for your education.
Isn’t that right, Evan?”
My father looked shocked, but quickly nodded and turned back to face the road. If I hadn’t already
liked Kassidy, I did now. Had Kassidy not intervened, I was sure our conversation would’ve ended
much worse than it did.
I stepped out of the car, but before they pulled away, I mouthed, “Thank you,” where Dad couldn’t
see. Kassidy smiled and winked at me just as Dad pulled back into the traffic and they disappeared
down the road.
Another random document with
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chime in with the first notes of the first psalm, than starting up with
a long staff,—the awe-inspiring baton of office,—he belabours the
yelping curs with such blessed effect as to restore them to a sense of
propriety, and prevent them from mingling their unhallowed chorus
with that of the melodious choir.
Having given this brief outline of Mr Houston, we shall proceed
through the remaining part of the scene. A large and very substantial
dinner forms an agreeable variety in the entertainments of the day;
and in the evening the scene of elegant conviviality is transferred to
the ball-room, where dancing again commences with renovated
spirit. The perpetual motion, also, seems at last to be discovered in
that of the three-lugged cog, which circulates unceasing as the sun;—
like that, diffusing life and gladness in its growing orbit round the
room, and kissed in its course by so many fair lips, bears off upon its
edges much of their balmy dew, affording a double-refined relish to
its inspiring draughts.
At length the supper is announced, and a rich repast it is: quarters
of mutton, boiled and roasted, flocks of fat hens, in marshalled
ranks, flanked with roasted geese, luxuriously swimming in a
savoury sea of butter, form the élite of the feast; from which all
manner of vegetables are entirely excluded, being considered as
much too humble for such an occasion.
The company do ample justice to the hospitality of their
entertainers; and even the bride, considering the delicacy of her
situation, has already exceeded all bounds of moderation. This,
however, is entirely owing to her high sense of politeness; for she
conceives that it would be rude in her to decline eating so long as she
is asked to do so by the various carvers. But now I really begin to be
alarmed for her: already has she dispatched six or seven services of
animal food, and is even now essaying to disjoint the leg and wing of
a goose; but, thank Heaven!—in attempting to cut through the bone,
she has upset her plate, and transferred its contents into her lap;
which circumstance, I trust, she will consider a providential warning
to eat no more.
And now, before leaving the wedding, we will have a little
conversation with some of my country friends, who are fond of
chatting with those whom they call the gentry; and who, being
particularly partial to a pompous phraseology, and addicted to the
use of words, of which they either do not understand the meaning at
all, or very imperfectly, are all of the Malaprop school, and often
quite untranslatable. A fair specimen of their style may be had from
my friend Magnus Isbister, who has taken his seat upon my left
hand, but at such a distance from the table that his victuals are
continually dropping betwixt his plate and his mouth. I will speak to
him.
“I am glad to see you here, Magnus; and looking so well, that I
need not inquire after your health.”
Magnus. “Why, thanks to the Best, sir, I’m brave and easy that
way; but sairly hadden down wi’ the laird, wha’s threatenin’ to raise
my rent that’s ower high already; but he was aye a raxward man,—
and, between you and me, he’s rather greedy.”
“That’s a hard case, Magnus; you should speak to the factor, and
explain your circumstances to him.”
Mag. “Oh, sir, I hae been doin’ that already; but he got into a
sevandable passion, an’ said something about ‘his eye and Betty
Martin;’—I’m sure I ken naething about her; but ye maun ken he’s a
felonious arguer, an’ ower deep for the like o’ us puir infidel bodies.”
“Had you not better sit nearer to the table, Magnus? You are losing
your victuals by keeping at such a distance.”
Mag. “Na, na, sir; I doubt ye’re mockan’ me noo; but I ken what
gude manners is better than do ony siccan a thing.”
“Where is your son at present?”
Mag. “Why, thanks be praised, sir, he’s doing bravely. He follows
the swindling trade awa in the south, whaur they tell me the great
Bishops o’ Lunnon are proclaiming war wi’ the Papists.”
“That they are, Magnus, and ever will do.”
Mag. “Can ye tell me, sir, if it’s true that the king’s intending to
part wi’ his ministers? I’m thinking it would be a’ the better for the
like o’ us boons folk, and wad free us frae the tithes.”
“You misunderstand the thing, Magnus; the king’s ministers are
not those of the Church, but of the State.”
Mag. “Oh—is that it? Weel, I never kent that before. But can ye tell
me, sir, wha that gentleman is upon your ither side?”
 “He is a young Englishman, who has come north to see this
country.”
Mag. “Is he indeed, sir? And, by your leave, what ack o’
parliament does he drive?”
“He is, I believe, a doctor of medicine.”
Mag. “Just so, sir; I wonder if he could tell what would be good for
me?”
“I thought you told me you were in good health?”
Mag. “Weel, as I said before, I’m brave and easy that way, indeed;
but yet I’m whiles fashed wi’ the rheumaticisms, and sometimes I’m
very domalis.”
“Domalis!—what’s that, Magnus?”
Mag. “Weel, never might there be the waur o’ that; I thought you,
that’s been at college, wad hae kent that;—domalis is just ‘flamp’
(listless).”
“I would advise you to keep clear of the doctors, Magnus; believe
me, you don’t require them at present;—but come, favour me with a
toast.”
Mag. (Filling his glass.) “Weel, sir, I’se do my best to gie ye a gude
ane (scratching his head);—weel, sir, ‘Here’s luck.’”
“An excellent toast, Magnus, which I drink with all my heart; and,
in return ‘Here’s to your health and happiness, and that of the bride
and bridegroom, and the rest of this pleasant company, and a good
night to you all.’”
 THE GHOST WITH THE GOLDEN CASKET.

By Allan Cunningham.
Is my soul tamed
And baby-rid with the thought that flood or field
Can render back, to scare men and the moon,
The airy shapes of the corses they enwomb?
And what if ’tis so—shall I lose the crown
Of my most golden hope, ’cause its fair circle
Is haunted by a shadow?

From the coast of Cumberland the beautiful old castle of

Caerlaverock is seen standing on the point of a fine green
promontory, bounded by the river Nith on one side, by the deep sea
on another, by the almost impassable morass of Solway on a third;
while, far beyond, you observe the three spires of Dumfries, and the
high green hills of Dalswinton and Keir. It was formerly the
residence of the almost princely names of Douglas, Seaton,
Kirkpatrick, and Maxwell: it is now the dwelling-place of the hawk
and the owl; its courts are a lair for cattle, and its walls afford a
midnight shelter to the passing smuggler, or, like those of the city
doomed in Scripture, are places for the fishermen to dry their nets.
Between this fine old ruin and the banks of the Nith, at the foot of a
grove of pines, and within a stone-cast of tide-mark, the remains of a
rude cottage are yet visible to the curious eye; the bramble and the
wild plum have in vain tried to triumph over the huge gray granite
blocks, which composed the foundations of its walls. The vestiges of
a small garden may still be traced, more particularly in summer,
when roses and lilies, and other relics of its former beauty, begin to
open their bloom, clinging, amid the neglect and desolation of the
place, with something like human affection, to the soil. This rustic
ruin presents no attractions to the eye of the profound antiquary,
compared to those of its more stately companion, Caerlaverock
Castle; but with this rude cottage and its garden, tradition connects a
tale so wild and so moving, as to elevate it, in the contemplation of
the peasantry, above all the princely feasts and feudal atrocities of its
neighbour.
It is now some fifty years since I visited the parish of Caerlaverock;
but the memory of its people, its scenery, and the story of the Ghost
with the Golden Casket, are as fresh with me as matters of yesterday.
I had walked out to the river bank one sweet afternoon of July, when
the fishermen were hastening to dip their nets in the coming tide,
and the broad waters of the Solway sea were swelling and leaping
against bank and cliff, as far as the eye could reach. It was studded
over with boats, and its more unfrequented bays were white with
water-fowl. I sat down on a small grassy mound between the cottage
ruins and the old garden plot, and gazed, with all the hitherto
untasted pleasure of a stranger, on the beautiful scene before me. On
the right, and beyond the river, the mouldering relics of the ancient
religion of Scotland ascended, in unassimilating beauty, above the
humble kirk of New Abbey and its squalid village; farther to the
south rose the white sharp cliffs of Barnhourie; while on the left
stood the ancient Keeps of Cumlongan and Torthorald, and the
Castle of Caerlaverock. Over the whole looked the stately green
mountain of Criffel, confronting its more stately but less beautiful
neighbour, Skiddaw; while between them flowed the deep wide sea of
Solway, hemmed with cliff, and castle, and town.
As I sat looking on the increasing multitudes of waters, and
watching the success of the fishermen, I became aware of the
approach of an old man, leading, as one will conduct a dog in a
string, a fine young milch cow, in a halter of twisted hair, which,
passing through the ends of two pieces of flat wood, fitted to the
animal’s cheek-bones, pressed her nose, and gave her great pain
whenever she became disobedient. The cow seemed willing to enjoy
the luxury of a browse on the rich pasture which surrounded the
little ruined cottage; but in this humble wish she was not to be
indulged; for the aged owner, coiling up the tether, and seizing her
closely by the head, conducted her past the tempting herbage
towards a small and close-cropt hillock, a good stone-cast distant. In
this piece of self-denial the animal seemed reluctant to sympathise—
she snuffed the fresh green pasture, and plunged, and startled, and
nearly broke away. What the old man’s strength seemed nearly
unequal to was accomplished by speech:—
“Bonnie leddy, bonnie leddy,” said he, in a soothing tone, “it canna
be, it maunna be; hinnie! hinnie! what would become of my three-
bonnie grandbairns, made fatherless and mitherless by that false
flood afore us, if they supped milk, and tasted butter, that came from
the greensward of this doomed and unblessed spot?”
The animal appeared to comprehend something in her own way
from the speech of her owner: she abated her resistance; and,
indulging only in a passing glance at the rich deep herbage, passed
on to her destined pasture.
I had often heard of the singular superstitions of the Scottish
peasantry, and that every hillock had its song, every hill its ballad,
and every valley its tale. I followed with my eye the old man and his
cow: he went but a little way, till, seating himself on the ground,
retaining still the tether in his hand, he said,—
“Now, bonnie leddy, feast thy fill on this good greensward; it is
halesome and holy, compared to the sward at the doomed cottage of
auld Gibbie Gyrape—leave that to smugglers’ nags: Willie o’
Brandyburn and roaring Jock o’ Kempstane will ca’ the Haunted Ha’
a hained bit—they are godless fearnoughts.”
I looked at the person of the peasant. He was a stout hale old man,
with a weather-beaten face, furrowed something by time, and
perhaps by sorrow. Though summer was at its warmest, he wore a
broad chequered mantle, fastened at the bosom with a skewer of
steel; a broad bonnet, from beneath the circumference of which
straggled a few thin locks, as white as driven snow, shining like
amber, and softer than the finest flax; while his legs were warmly
cased in blue-ribbed boot-hose. Having laid his charge to the grass,
he looked leisurely around him, and espying me,—a stranger, and
dressed above the manner of the peasantry,—he acknowledged my
presence by touching his bonnet; and, as if willing to communicate
something of importance, he struck the tethered stake in the ground
and came to the old garden fence.
 Wishing to know the peasant’s reason for avoiding the ruins, I thus
addressed him:—
“This is a pretty spot, my aged friend, and the herbage looks so
fresh and abundant, that I would advise thee to bring thy charge
hither; and while she continues to browse, I would gladly listen to
the history of thy white locks, for they seem to have been bleached in
many tempests.”
“Ay, ay,” said the peasant, shaking his white head with a grave
smile; “they have braved sundry tempests between sixteen and sixty;
but touching this pasture, sir, I know of none who would like their
cows to crop it: the aged cattle shun the place;—the bushes bloom,
but bear no fruit,—the birds never build in the branches,—the
children never come near to play,—and the aged never choose it for a
resting-place; but, pointing it out as they pass to the young, tell them
the story of its desolation. Sae ye see, sir, having nae gude-will to
such a spot of earth myself, I like little to see a stranger sitting in
such an unblessed place; and I would as good as advise ye to come
ower wi’ me to the cowslip knoll—there are reasons mony that an
honest man shouldna sit there.”
I arose at once, and seating myself beside the peasant on the
cowslip knoll, desired to know something of the history of the spot
from which he had just warned me. The old man looked on me with
an air of embarrassment.
“I am just thinking,” said he, “that, as ye are an Englishman, I
shouldna acquaint ye wi’ such a story. Ye’ll mak it, I’m doubting, a
matter of reproach and vaunt when ye gae hame, how Willie Borlan
o’ Caerlaverock told ye a tale of Scottish iniquity, that cowed a’ the
stories in southern book or history.”
This unexpected obstacle was soon removed.
“My sage and considerate friend,” I said, “I have the blood in my
bosom that will keep me from revealing such a tale to the scoffer and
the scorner. I am something of a Caerlaverock man—the grandson of
Marion Stobie of Dookdub.”
The peasant seized my hand—“Marion Stobie! bonnie Marion
Stobie o’ Dookdub—whom I wooed sae sair, and loved sae lang!—
Man, I love ye for her sake; and well was it for her braw English
bridegroom that William Borlan—frail and faded now, but strong
and in manhood then—was a thousand miles from Caerlaverock,
rolling on the salt sea, when she was brided. Ye have the glance of
her ee,—I could ken it yet amang ten thousand, gray as my head is. I
will tell the grandson of bonnie Marion Stobie ony tale he likes to ask
for; and the story of the Ghost and the Gowd Casket shall be
foremost.”
“You may imagine then,” said the old Caerlaverock peasant, rising
at once with the commencement of his story from his native dialect
into very passable English—“you may imagine these ruined walls
raised again in their beauty,—whitened, and covered with a coating
of green broom; that garden, now desolate, filled with herbs in their
season, and with flowers, hemmed round with a fence of cherry and
plumtrees; and the whole possessed by a young fisherman, who won
a fair subsistence for his wife and children from the waters of the
Solway sea: you may imagine it, too, as far from the present time as
fifty years. There are only two persons living now, who remember
when the Bonne Homme Richard—the first ship ever Richard
Faulder commanded—was wrecked on the Pelock sands: one of these
persons now addresses you, the other is the fisherman who once
owned that cottage,—whose name ought never to be named, and
whose life seems lengthened as a warning to the earth, how fierce
God’s judgments are. Life changes—all breathing things have their
time and their season; but the Solway flows in the same beauty—
Criffel rises in the same majesty—the light of morning comes, and
the full moon arises now, as they did then;—but this moralizing
matters little. It was about the middle of harvest—I remember the
day well; it had been sultry and suffocating, accompanied by
rushings of wind, sudden convulsions of the water, and cloudings of
the sun:—I heard my father sigh and say, ‘Dool, dool to them found
on the deep sea to-night; there will happen strong storm and fearful
tempest!’
“The day closed, and the moon came over Skiddaw: all was
perfectly clear and still; frequent dashings and whirling agitations of
the sea were soon heard mingling with the hasty clang of the water-
fowls’ wings, as they forsook the waves, and sought shelter among
the hollows of the rocks. The storm was nigh. The sky darkened
down at once; clap after clap of thunder followed; and lightning
flashed so vividly, and so frequent, that the wide and agitated
expanse of Solway was visible from side to side—from St Bees to
Barnhourie. A very heavy rain, mingled with hail, succeeded; and a
wind accompanied it, so fierce, and so high, that the white foam of
the sea was showered as thick as snow on the summit of
Caerlaverock Castle.
“Through this perilous sea, and amid this darkness and tempest, a
bark was observed coming swiftly down the middle of the sea; her
sails rent, and her decks crowded with people. The ‘carry,’ as it is
called, of the tempest was direct from St Bees to Caerlaverock; and
experienced men could see that the bark would be driven full on the
fatal shoals of the Scottish side; but the lightning was so fierce that
few dared venture to look on the approaching vessel, or take
measures for endeavouring to preserve the lives of the unfortunate
mariners. My father stood on the threshold of his door, and beheld
all that passed in the bosom of the sea. The bark approached fast, her
canvas rent to shreds, her masts nearly levelled with the deck, and
the sea foaming over her so deep, and so strong, as to threaten to
sweep the remains of her crew from the little refuge the broken
masts and splintered beams still afforded them. She now seemed
within half a mile of the shore, when a strong flash of lightning, that
appeared to hang over the bark for a moment, showed the figure of a
lady richly dressed, clinging to a youth who was pressing her to his
bosom.
“My father exclaimed, ‘Saddle me my black horse, and saddle me
my gray, and bring them down to the Dead-man’s bank,’—and, swift
in action as he was in resolve, he hastened to the shore, his servants
following with his horses. The shore of Solway presented then, as it
does now, the same varying line of coast; and the house of my father
stood in the bosom of a little bay, nearly a mile distant from where
we sit. The remains of an old forest interposed between the bay at
Dead-man’s bank, and the bay at our feet; and mariners had learned
to wish, that if it were their doom to be wrecked, it might be in the
bay of douce William Borlan, rather than that of Gilbert Gyrape, the
proprietor of that ruined cottage. But human wishes are vanities,
wished either by sea or land. I have heard my father say, he could
never forget the cries of the mariners, as the bark smote on the
Pellock bank, and the flood rushed through the chasms made by the
concussion; but he could far less forget the agony of a lady—the
loveliest that could be looked upon, and the calm and affectionate
courage of the young man who supported her, and endeavoured to
save her from destruction. Richard Faulder, the only man who
survived, has often sat at my fireside, and sung me a very rude, but a
very moving ballad, which he made on this young and unhappy pair;
and the old mariner assured me he had only added rhymes, and a
descriptive line or two, to the language in which Sir William
Musgrave endeavoured to soothe and support his wife.”
It seemed a thing truly singular, that at this very moment two
young fishermen, who sat on the margin of the sea below us,
watching their halve-nets, should sing, and with much sweetness, the
very song the old man had described. They warbled verse and verse
alternately; and rock and bay seemed to retain and then release the
sound. Nothing is so sweet as a song by the seaside on a tranquil
evening.
 SIR WILLIAM MUSGRAVE.
First Fisherman.

“O lady, lady, why do you weep?

Tho’ the wind be loosed on the raging deep,
Tho’ the heaven be mirker than mirk may be,
And our frail bark ships a fearful sea,—
Yet thou art safe—as on that sweet night
When our bridal candles gleamed far and bright.”—
There came a shriek, and there came a sound,
And the Solway roared, and the ship spun round.

Second Fisherman.

“O lady, lady, why do you cry?

Though the waves be flashing top-mast high,
Though our frail bark yields to the dashing brine,
And heaven and earth show no saving sign,
There is One who comes in the time of need,
And curbs the waves as we curb a steed.”—
The lightning came, with the whirlwind blast,
And cleaved the prow, and smote down the mast.

First Fisherman.

“O lady, lady, weep not nor wail,

Though the sea runs howe as Dalswinton vale,
Then flashes high as Barnhourie brave,
And yawns for thee, like the yearning grave—
Tho’ twixt thee and the ravening flood
There is but my arm and this splintering wood,
The fell quicksand, or the famished brine,
Can ne’er harm a face so fair as thine.”

Both.

“O lady, lady, be bold and brave,

Spread thy white breast to the fearful wave,
And cling to me with that white right hand,
And I’ll set thee safe on the good dry land.”
A lightning flash on the shallop strook,
The Solway roared, and Caerlaverock shook;
From the sinking ship there were shriekings cast,
That were heard above the tempest’s blast.

The young fishermen having concluded their song, my companion

proceeded.
“The lightning still flashed vivid and fast, and the storm raged with
unabated fury; for, between the ship and the shore, the sea broke in
frightful undulation, and leaped on the greensward several fathoms
deep abreast. My father, mounted on one horse, and holding another
in his hand, stood prepared to give all the aid that a brave man could
to the unhappy mariners; but neither horse nor man could endure
the onset of that tremendous surge. The bark bore for a time the fury
of the element; but a strong eastern wind came suddenly upon her,
and crushing her between the wave and the freestone bank, drove
her from the entrance of my father’s little bay towards the dwelling of
Gibbie Gyrape, and the thick forest intervening, she was out of sight
in a moment. My father saw, for the last time, the lady and her
husband looking shoreward from the side of the vessel, as she drifted
along; and as he galloped round the head of the forest, he heard for
the last time the outcry of some, and the wail and intercession of
others. When he came before the fisherman’s house, a fearful sight
presented itself: the ship, dashed to atoms, covered the shore with its
wreck, and with the bodies of the mariners—not a living soul
escaped, save Richard Faulder, whom the fiend who guides the
spectre shallop of the Solway had rendered proof to the perils of the
deep. The fisherman himself came suddenly from his cottage, all
dripping and drenched, and my father addressed him:—
“‘O, Gilbert, Gilbert, what a fearful sight is this! Has Heaven
blessed thee with making thee the means of saving a human soul?’
“‘Nor soul nor body have I saved,’ said the fisherman, doggedly. ‘I
have done my best; the storm proved too stark, and the lightning too
fierce for me; their boat alone came near with a lady and a casket of
gold, but she was swallowed up with the surge.’
“My father confessed afterwards that he was struck with the tone
in which these words were delivered, and made answer—
“‘If thou hast done thy best to save souls to-night, a bright reward
will be thine;—if thou hast been fonder for gain than for working the
mariners’ redemption, thou hast much to answer for.’
“As he uttered these words, an immense wave rolled landward, as
far as the place where they stood; it almost left its foam on their
faces, and suddenly receding, deposited at their feet the dead body of
the lady. As my father lifted her in his arms, he observed that the
jewels which had adorned her hair—at that time worn long—had
been forcibly rent away; the diamonds and gold that enclosed her
neck, and ornamented the bosom of her rich satin dress, had been
torn off,—the rings removed from her fingers,—and on her neck,
lately so lily-white and pure, there appeared the marks of hands—not
laid there in love and gentleness, but with a fierce and deadly grasp.
“The lady was buried with the body of her husband, side by side, in
Caerlaverock burial-ground. My father never openly accused Gilbert
the fisherman of having murdered the lady for her riches, as she
reached the shore, preserved from sinking, as was supposed, by her
long, wide, and stiff satin robes;—but from that hour till the hour of
his death, my father never broke bread with him—never shook him
or his by the hand, nor spoke with them in wrath or in love. The
fisherman from that time, too, waxed rich and prosperous; and from
being the needy proprietor of a halve-net, and the tenant at will of a
rude cottage, he became, by purchase, lord of a handsome
inheritance, proceeded to build a bonny mansion, and called it
Gyrape-ha’; and became a leading man in a flock of a purer kind of
Presbyterians, and a precept and example to the community.
“But though the portioner of Gyrape-ha’ prospered wondrously,
his claims to parochial distinction, and the continuance of his
fortune, were treated with scorn by many, and with doubt by all;
though nothing open or direct was said, yet looks, more cutting at
times than the keenest speech, and actions still more expressive,
showed that the hearts of honest men were alienated—the cause was
left to his own interpretation. The peasant scrupled to become his
servant; sailors hesitated to receive his grain on board, lest perils
should find them on the deep; the beggar ceased to solicit alms; the
drover and horse-couper—an unscrupulous generation—found out a
more distant mode of concluding bargains than by shaking his hand;
his daughters, handsome and blue-eyed, were neither wooed nor
married; no maiden would hold tryst with his sons, though maidens
were then as little loth as they are now; and the aged peasant, as he
passed his new mansion, would shake his head and say—‘The voice
of spilt blood will be lifted up against thee; and a spirit shall come up
from the waters, and cause the corner-stone of thy habitation to
tremble and quake.’
It happened, during the summer which succeeded this unfortunate
shipwreck, that I accompanied my father to the Solway, to examine
his nets. It was near midnight, the tide was making, and I sat down
by his side and watched the coming of the waters. The shore was
glittering in starlight as far as the eye could reach. Gilbert, the
fisherman, had that morning removed from his cottage to his new
mansion; the former was therefore untenanted, and the latter, from
its vantage-ground on the crest of the hill, threw down to us the
sound of mirth, and music, and dancing,—a revelry common in
Scotland on taking possession of a new house. As we lay quietly
looking on the swelling sea, and observing the water-fowl swimming
and ducking in the increasing waters, the sound of the merriment
became more audible. My father listened to the mirth, looked to the
sea, looked to the deserted cottage, and then to the new mansion,
and said—
“‘My son, I have a counsel to give thee; treasure it in thy heart, and
practise it in thy life: the daughters of him of Gyrape-ha’ are fair, and
have an eye that would wile away the wits of the wisest. Their father
has wealth,—I say nought of the way he came by it,—they will have
golden portions doubtless. But I would rather lay thy head aneath the
gowans in Caerlaverock kirkyard (and son have I none beside thee),
than see thee lay it on the bridal pillow with the begotten of that
man, though she had Nithsdale for her dowry. Let not my words be
as seed sown on the ocean. I may not now tell thee why this warning
is given. Before that fatal shipwreck, I would have said Prudence
Gyrape, in her kirtle, was a better bride than some who have golden
dowers. I have long thought some one would see a sight; and often,
while holding my halve-net in the midnight tide, have I looked for
something to appear, for where blood is shed there doth the spirit
haunt for a time, and give warning to man. May I be strengthened to
endure the sight!’
“I answered not, being accustomed to regard my father’s counsel
as a matter not to be debated, as a solemn command: we heard
something like the rustling of wings on the water, accompanied by a
slight curling motion of the tide. ‘God haud His right hand about us!’
said my father, breathing thick with emotion and awe, and looking
on the sea with a gaze so intense that his eyes seemed to dilate, and
the hair of his forehead to project forward, and bristle into life. I
looked, but observed nothing, save a long line of thin and quivering
light, dancing along the surface of the sea: it ascended the bank, on
which it seemed to linger for a moment, and then entering the
fisherman’s cottage, made roof and rafter gleam with a sudden
illumination. ‘I’ll tell thee what, Gibbie Gyrape,’ said my father, ‘I
wouldna be the owner of thy heart, and the proprietor of thy right
hand, for all the treasures in earth and ocean.’
“A loud and piercing scream from the cottage made us thrill with
fear, and in a moment the figures of three human beings rushed into
the open air, and ran towards us with a swiftness which supernatural
dread alone could inspire. We instantly knew them to be three noted
smugglers who infested the country; and rallying when they found
my father maintain his ground, they thus mingled their fears and the
secrets of their trade, for terror fairly overpowered their habitual
caution.
“‘I vow by the night tide, and the crooked timber,’ said Willie
Weethause, ‘I never beheld sic a light as yon since our distillation
pipe took fire, and made a burnt instead of a drink offering of our
spirits; I’ll uphold it comes for nae good—a warning maybe—sae ye
may gang on, Wattie Bouseaway, wi’ yer wickedness; as for me, I’se
gang hame and repent.’
“‘Saulless bodie!’ said his companion, whose natural hardihood
was considerably supported by his communion with the brandy cup
—‘saulless bodie, for a flaff o’ fire and a maiden’s shadow, would ye
foreswear the gallant trade? Saul to gude! but auld Miller Morison
shall turn yer thrapple into a drain-pipe to wyse the waste water
from his mill, if ye turn back now, and help us nae through wi’ as
strong an importation as ever cheered the throat, and cheeped in the
crapin. Confound the fuzhionless bodie! he glowers as if this fine
starlight were something frae the warst side o’ the world, and thae
staring een o’ his are busy shaping heaven’s sweetest and balmiest air
into the figures of wraiths and goblins.’
“‘Robert Telfer,’ said my father, addressing the third smuggler, ‘tell
me naught of the secrets of your perilous trade; but tell me what you
have seen, and why ye uttered that fearful scream, that made the
wood-doves start from Caerlaverock pines.’
“‘I’ll tell ye what, goodman,’ said the mariner, ‘I have seen the fires
of heaven running as thick along the sky, and on the surface of the
ocean, as ye ever saw the blaze on a bowl o’ punch at a merry-
making, and neither quaked nor screamed; but ye’ll mind the light
that came to that cottage to-night was one for some fearful purport,
which let the wise expound; sae it lessened nae one’s courage to quail
for sic an apparition? ’Od, if I thought living soul would ever make
the start I gied an upcast to me, I’d drill his breast-bane with my dirk
like a turnip-lantern.’
“My father mollified the wrath of this maritime desperado, by
assuring him that he beheld the light go from the sea to the cottage,
and that he shook with terror, for it seemed no common light.
“‘Ou, then,’ said hopeful Robin, ‘since it was ane o’ our ain cannie
sea apparitions, I care less about it. I took it for some landward
sprite! And now I think on’t, where were my een? Did it no stand
amang its ain light, with its long hanks of hair dripping and
drenched; with a casket of gold in ae hand, and the other guarding its
throat? I’ll be bound it’s the ghost o’ some sonsie lass that has had
her neck nipped for her gold; and had she stayed till I emptied the
bicker o’ brandy, I would have asked a cannie question or twa.’
“Willie Weethause had now fairly overcome his consternation, and
began to feel all his love return for the ‘gallant trade,’ as his comrade
called it.
“‘The tide serves, lads! the tide serves; let us slip our drap o’
brandy into the bit bonnie boat, and tottle awa amang the sweet
starlight as far as the Kingholm or the town quarry—ye ken we have
to meet Bailie Gardevine and Laird Soukaway o’ Ladlemouth.’
“They then returned, not without hesitation and fear, to the old
cottage; carried their brandy to the boat; and as my father and I went
home, we heard the dipping of their oars in the Nith, along the banks
of which they sold their liquor, and told their tale of fear, magnifying
its horror at every step, and introducing abundance of variations.
“The story of the Ghost with the Golden Casket flew over the
country side with all its variations, and with many comments. Some
said they saw her, and some thought they saw her; and those who
had the hardihood to keep watch on the beach at midnight had their
tales to tell of terrible lights and strange visions. With one who
delighted in the marvellous, the spectre was decked in attributes that
made the circle of auditors tighten round the hearth; while others,
who allowed to a ghost only a certain quantity of thin air to clothe
itself in, reduced it in their description to a very unpoetic shadow, or
a kind of better sort of will-o’-the-wisp, that could for its own
amusement counterfeit the human shape. There were many others
who, like my father, beheld the singular illumination appear at
midnight on the coast; saw also something sailing along with it in the
form of a lady in bright garments, her hair long and wet, and shining
in diamonds; and heard a struggle, and the shriek as of a creature
drowning.
“The belief of the peasantry did not long confine the apparition to
the sea coast; it was seen sometimes late at night far inland, and
following Gilbert the fisherman, like a human shadow—like a pure
light—like a white garment—and often in the shape and with the
attributes in which it disturbed the carousal of the smugglers. I heard
douce Davie Haining—a God-fearing man, and an elder of the
Burgher congregation, and on whose word I could well lippen, when
drink was kept from his head—I heard him say that as he rode home
late from the Roodfair of Dumfries—the night was dark, there lay a
dusting of snow on the ground, and no one appeared on the road but
himself; he was lilting and singing the canny end of the auld sang,
‘There’s a cutty stool in our kirk,’ which was made on some foolish
quean’s misfortune, when he heard the sound of horses’ feet behind
him at full gallop, and ere he could look round, who should flee past,
urging his horse with whip and spur, but Gilbert the fisherman!
‘Little wonder that he galloped,’ said the elder, ‘for a fearful form
hovered around him, making many a clutch at him, and with every
clutch uttering a shriek most piercing to hear. But why should I make
a long story of a common tale? The curse of spilt blood fell on him,
and on his children, and on all he possessed; his sons and daughters
died; his flocks perished; his grain grew, but never filled the ear; and
fire came from heaven, or rose from hell, and consumed his house
and all that was therein. He is now a man of ninety years; a fugitive
and a vagabond on the earth, without a house to put his white head
in, and with the unexpiated curse still clinging to him.’
 While my companion was making this summary of human
wretchedness, I observed the figure of a man, stooping to the earth
with extreme age, gliding through among the bushes of the ruined
cottage, and approaching the advancing tide. He wore a loose great-
coat, patched to the ground, and fastened round his waist by a belt
and buckle; the remains of stockings and shoes were on his feet; a
kind of fisherman’s cap surmounted some remaining white hairs,
while a long peeled stick supported him as he went. My companion
gave an involuntary shudder when he saw him—
“Lo and behold, now, here comes Gilbert the fisherman! Once
every twenty-four hours does he come, let the wind and the rain be
as they will, to the nightly tide, to work o’er again, in imagination, his
old tragedy of unrighteousness. See how he waves his hand, as if he
welcomed some one from the sea; he raises his voice, too, as if
something in the water required his counsel; and see how he dashes
up to the middle, and grapples with the water as if he clutched a
human being!”
I looked on the old man, and heard him call in a hollow and
broken voice—
“Ahoy! the ship ahoy,—turn your boat’s head ashore! And, my
bonnie leddy, keep haud o’ yer casket. Hech be’t! that wave would
have sunk a three-decker, let a be a slender boat. See—see an she
binna sailing abune the water like a wild swan!”—and wading deeper
in the tide as he spoke, he seemed to clutch at something with both
hands, and struggle with it in the water.
“Na, na—dinna haud your white hands to me; ye wear ower mickle
gowd in your hair, and ower mony diamonds on your bosom, to
’scape drowning. There’s as mickle gowd in this casket as would have
sunk thee seventy fathom deep.” And he continued to hold his hands
under the water, muttering all the while.
“She’s half gane now; and I’ll be a braw laird, and build a bonnie
house, and gang crousely to kirk and market. Now I may let the
waves work their will; my wark will be ta’en for theirs.”
He turned to wade to the shore, but a large and heavy wave came
full dash on him, and bore him off his feet, and ere any assistance
reached him, all human aid was too late; for nature was so exhausted
with the fulness of years, and with his exertions, that a spoonful of
water would have drowned him. The body of this miserable old man
was interred, after some opposition from the peasantry, beneath the
wall of the kirkyard; and from that time the Ghost with the Golden
Casket was seen no more, and only continued to haunt the evening
tale of the hind and the farmer.
 RANALD OF THE HENS:
A TRADITION OF THE WESTERN
HIGHLANDS.

Early in the sixteenth century, Macdonald of Clanranald married

the daughter of Fraser Lord Lovat, and from this connection some
very unfortunate consequences to both these powerful families
followed. Soon after his marriage Clanranald died, and left but one
lawful son, who was bred and educated at Castle Donie, the seat of
Lovat, under the care of his maternal grandfather. The name of the
young chieftain was Ranald, and, unhappily for himself, he was
distinguished by the appellation Gaulta, or Lowland, because Lovat’s
country was considered as approaching towards the manners,
customs, and appearance of the Lowlands, compared to his own
native land of Moidart, one of the most barren and mountainous
districts in the Highlands.
Ranald was an accomplished youth, and promised to be an
ornament to his family and his country; his disposition was amiable,
and his personal appearance extremely handsome and
prepossessing. While yet a stripling, he visited his estate; and his
people being desirous to give him the best reception in their power,
he found at every house great entertainments provided, and much
expense incurred by the slaughter of cattle and other acts of
extravagance, which appeared to Ranald very superfluous. He was a
stranger to the customs of the country, and it would seem that he had
no friendly or judicious counsellor. In an evil hour, he remarked that
he was extremely averse to this ruinous practice, which he was
convinced the people could ill afford; and said that, for his own part,
he would be perfectly satisfied to dine on a fowl. Ranald had an
illegitimate brother (or, as some say, an uncle’s son), who was born
and bred on the estate. He was many years older than the young