It seemed God was going to have his way with me after all.
The way of Jesus and the cross.
S I X T E E N
I went around the house the next morning and found the place where the sin eater sat beneath the window. It was worn smooth, a narrow pathway leading away toward the forest at the base of Dead Man’s Mountain. I was following it when Bletsung Macleod leaned out the window and called to me. “Where ye going, Cadi?”
“To find the sin eater.”
“Why don’t ye wait a day or two. He’ll come down. Ye can sit on my stool and talk to him through the window.”
I shook my head, knowing if I waited a day or two, I’d lose my courage. “I have to go now, ma’am.”
“Well, then, let me give ye something to take to him.” She disappeared inside the cabin, and I retraced my steps to the barren spot below her window, waiting there until she reappeared above me. Leaning out, she held a basket down to me. In it were raisin scones and a jar of honey. She dropped an empty gourd with a long string and a cork in it. “Keep to the path, Cadi, and ye’ll find a spring a mile up the mountain. You’ll be thirsty by then.”
It was a hard climb up Dead Man’s Mountain with the temptation of Bletsung Macleod’s scones and honey. The path wound its way upward between towering tulip trees, sugar ma ples, yellow birch, and red spruce. I found the spring and knelt down, cupping my hands and raising the water to my lips. Birdsong was all around me, and feeling safe, I rested there awhile, listening to the water trickling from the rocks. A yellow tanager fluttered to the ground not far away, pecking at the ground before flitting swiftly to the trees. Filling the gourd, I looped it over my shoulder, lifted the basket, and walked around the spring until I found the path again.
The day grew warm, the air heavy with moisture. The path went through a forest of waist-high ferns growing beneath a canopy of spruce and fir. I could hear the soft rush of water and came to amisting falls. Panting, I stood near the spray that hit the rocks, thankful after the heat for the refreshing shower. A rainbow arched in the stream of sunlight.There was a small pool at the base of the falls, and I wondered if the sin eater bathed here.
Picking my way carefully across the stream, I kept to the path winding ever upward until the rich smell of earth gave way to the smell of hot, sun-drenched stone. Pausing, I looked across the stretch of granite. My legs were tired from the long climb. Had I come so far just to lose my way? Sipping water from the gourd, I sat a few minutes beneath the shade of a pine that grew from cracks in the rock plateau. Then I walked across the layered stones, like giant steps, to a sparser forest beyond.
Walking between an outcropping of granite, I entered a thick forest of birches. The white trunks were stark against the green foliage, some of it already turning brilliant yellow and orange in the cooling air of the heights. There, on the other side, I found the home of the sin eater, a cave in the mountainside.
“Hello!” I called, my heart drumming. No one answered. I came a few steps closer, seeing a circle of stones where a fire had burned. An iron spit had been dismantled and left leaning against the cave entrance. Pausing, I waited, then called out again, louder this time, my palms sweating. “Hello!”
Still no answer.
Curious, I approached cautiously. “Sin Eater?” I called softly. Gathering my courage, I peered inside. “Sir, I’ve come to tell ye what the mon by the river said.”
As my eyes adjusted to the dimness, I saw a pile of furs near the back wall of the cave. Other than a rough-hewn open cabinet in which were several small cooking pots, two clean glass jars like the one I carried in my basket, and some chipped crockery, the poor man had no furnishings. A lantern hung from a root that had grown through a crack in the granite. A thin stream of sunlight pierced the darkness from above.
Entering, I looked up and saw the cave was large enough for a man to stand straight. One area of the cave’s wall that ended in a crevice, which I reckon opened to the outside, was blackened by years of smoke.
At least it was dry and cool after the heat of the late-summer day and would likely be warm enough during the cold winter months. Yet I felt sad thinking of the man living in this dark place for so many years.
I put the basket with the scones and honey on the pallet of furs and went back outside.
Had I come all this way for nothing?
“Sin Eater! Where are you?” Wind rustled the birch leaves. Was he close by, hiding and watching? “I’ve come to keep my promise!” I walked along the face of the mountainside, wondering what to do. Should I wait until he returned? And when would that be? What if night fell and he still didn’t come? What if he did and was angry that I’d entered his home? A hundred dire possibilities raised their heads.
The wall fell away and the world stretched out before me, row after row of deep green and blue-purple mountains troughed by puffs of white mist. An eagle cried above me, riding the wind currents. Awestruck, I turned, gazing all around me at the majesty of it all. I had never imagined the world being so vast, so beautiful. I kept climbing, eager now to stand at the top and see all around. The sin eater and my promise were forgotten in my quest for the heights. It was steeper now. I had just paused to sit and rest when I heard the crack of rock against rock. Rising, I walked along a ledge.
And it was then I saw him and remembered why I’d come.
Hunkered down before a long, narrow shelf of stone, the sin eater stacked stones, encasing the man of God, who was now tucked into a crevice at the top of the mountain. The dead man lay upon a bed of pine beneath the shelf, hands folded upon his chest, his eyes held closed by white pebbles. Hunkering down, hand to mouth, I watched.
The sin eater placed the stones with great care, shifting and moving them until they fit together tightly, sealing the man of God into the mountain. When he was finished, he stood for a long moment, head bowed in respect. Then he climbed the short distance to the top. He stood with his arms raised to the sky as though wanting to grasp hold of something. Sinking to his knees, he bent over, holding his head—and I could hear his broken sobs.
Climbing down from the rocky heights, I returned to the cave of the sin eater, sitting outside and waiting for him to return. Despairing, I wondered what more grief I would bring the poor man when he knew the truth. An hour passed and then another. When the sun began the arc toward the west and he still had not returned, I knew I had to start back down or I would not be off the mountain before dusk fell.
“Didn’t ye find him?” Bletsung Macleod asked when I entered her cabin, tired and dusty.
I sank wearily onto the chair, putting the empty gourd on the table. “Did ye know he lives in a cave?”
A frown flickered across her face, and she shook her head. “No, I didn’t.”
“He hasn’t got much.”
“Ye went inside?” Fagan said, pushing himself up so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Just for a minute. I called out, but he dinna answer.” I told them about the sin eater entombing the man of God.
“He said he’d see to the mon,” Bletsung Macleod said, “but I dinna think he’d carry him clear to the top of the mountain.”
“Seems a fitting place,” Fagan said solemnly.
She smiled sadly and sat on the stool by the window, gazing out at the mountain. “Poor Sim.” A tear slipped down her cheek. “He had such hope . . .”
“Sim?” I said, approaching her. When she said nothing, I touched her arm lightly.
She turned her head and looked at me, distracted.
“Did ye say Sim?” At the look on her face, I knew she had spoken his name unwittingly. “His name is—”
She stopped my words with her fingertips and shook her head. “Ye must not speak it aloud. I wasna thinking, child.”
“Hello!” a man called from outside, startling both of us. Blet-sung grasped my wrist, yanking me quickly away from the window. Releasing me, she gestured for me to move back to the far side of the cabin. Fagan’s face was
ashen gray, for he knew that voice very well. It was his father.
“Bletsung! Helllooo!”
She went to the door. “Get down behind the bed,” she hissed. “I’m leaving the door open or he’ll know something’s amiss.” She went out onto the porch and called out, “Well, if it isn’t Brogan Kai come again, hat in hand. And after all these years.”
Fagan shut his eyes. I could see the pulse pounding in his neck.
“I’m looking for my son, Bletsung.”
“Why would ye come to me?”
“Fagan was last seen with the Forbes girl.” His voice was closer. I moved restlessly, wanting to dive beneath the bed, but Fagan caught my wrist, putting a finger to his lips as his father spoke to Bletsung from just below the steps. “The Humes boy said he’d heard she’d been up this way a time or two.”
“That so? Well, ye’ve made a long walk for nothing. What happened to make them both run off?” My heart pounded at her question, for I was afraid it might rouse his suspicions.
“Ye seen the girl or not?”
“Ain’t gonna answer, are ye?”
“It don’t concern ye, Bletsung.”
“Not much does, it seems. I’ve lived alone, Brogan. More than twenty years now. I don’t know what goes on among the rest of you. Nobody comes to call unless they need the sin eater.”
Neither said anything for a long moment. We didn’t dare move, for Bletsung hadn’t taken a step toward the door. We knew Fagan’s father was still there, though not what he was doing or what he might be thinking.
“It dinna have to be this way, Bletsung.” His tone was strangely tender and filled with regret.
Fagan tipped his head, frowning.
“Oh yes it did.” Bletsung’s voice was firm.
“I would’ve had it otherwise.” The Kai’s tone took on a hard edge. “And well ye know it.”
“Aye, I know how ye wanted it. Ye just dinna understand it could never be any way but this.”
“Things would’ve been better for ye if ye hadna been so stubborn!”
“It wasn’t stubbornness that kept me here, Brogan Kai. It was love.” Her footsteps moved away from the edge of the porch, coming back toward the open doorway. She stopped when he shouted at her.
“The lot fell to him! He’s been the sin eater for twenty-two years. When will ye give him up for lost?”
“Never!” she said defiantly. “Never,” she said again, her voice breaking as she turned away. She came back inside. “Never, never, never . . .” Closing the door firmly, she dropped the bar into place. Closing her eyes, she stood for a moment, her forehead pressed against the door. When she opened her eyes again, I saw a hint of fear in the blue depths before she turned away and walked to the front window. She lifted the curtain aside just enough to look out. She held her breath and then let it out softly in relief. “He’s going away.” She moved away from the window.
Needing to see for myself, I hurried to take her place, peeping out cautiously. The Kai walked slowly across her small meadow, his shoulders stooped, a gun tucked firmly beneath his arm, barrel down.
I jumped slightly when Bletsung put her hand on my shoulder. “Best stay away from the windows, Cadi.”
I felt lighthearted at the reprieve. “He’s gone, Fagan. We’re safe.”
“For now.” Fagan sat on the edge of the bed. He stared solemnly at Bletsung Macleod. “He’ll come back, won’t he?”
She lifted her shoulder, her expression showing nothing.
His eyes narrowed slightly. “What’s between you and my father?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why’re ye so red?”
She sighed. “It was a long, long time ago, Fagan, before you were born.” She sat down at her table, looking weary and sad. Resting her elbows on the table, she put her face in her hands and rubbed her forehead as though it ached.
Fagan got up and came over, sitting in the chair opposite her. That determined look was on his face. He folded his hands on the table, never once taking his eyes from her. “I want to know.”
She lowered her hands and looked at him. She looked at him a long time. I reckon she saw he wasn’t going to give up until she answered. “He wanted to marry me.”
“Ye mean he loved you.”
“Once, a long time ago, he thought he did. Or maybe he just felt bad about what happened and it being his father’s doing and all. I don’t know anymore, Fagan. It don’t matter now anyway. It was years ago. The truth be told, Brogan Kai could’ve been the king of England come to call on me and it wouldn’t’ve mattered. I loved another. I love him yet and will always.”
I came closer. “The sin eater.”
She raised her head and looked at me. “Aye, my dear,” she said with a sad smile. “I love the sin eater.”
“Ye must hate my father,” Fagan said. “You and the sin eater both.”
Bletsung leaned across the table and put her hand over his. “It was Laochailand Kai who demanded a sin eater, not your father. Some said no, but in the end everyone gave in out of fear. The old man told Brogan he’d walk these hills sure if his sins wasn’t taken from him. And we all believed he would.”
“He was so bad?”
“Cold cruel. He let it be known to everyone in these parts that he’d left Scotland for good cause. Summat terrible, we knew, but not what. And there’re stories of how this highland valley came to fall into our hands. He was a bloody Scot if ever there was one and proud of it. Everyone feared him.” She withdrew her hand. “But there were others as bad.”
“My father,” he said grimly.
She shook her head and rose from her chair. She went to the stool by the window and sat, staring out at the mountain as she often did.
“So how did it happen?” Fagan said. “How was the sin eater chosen?”
“Pieces of bone were used, a mark for each man placed on each one. They were put in a mazer bowl and stirred and one drawn out by Cadi’s grandmother, Gorawen Forbes. She cried when she saw whose marker she held, but she turned her back to him just like all the rest.”
“And you?”
She turned the stool, looking back at us. “I would’ve stood against the old Kai myself if Sim’d let me, but he said God himself had drawn his name from that bowl of sorrow and there weren’t nothing we could do to change it. So I ran away and came back here. I ain’t never had much to do with the people of this valley since, and only a few ever came by.”
“The Kai,” I said.
“Aye, and Gervase Odara comes a couple times a year for my honey, and when the sin eater’s needed,” she said bleakly.
“They just left ye alone all these years?” I said, saddened.
“Not all of ’em.” She smiled at me. “Your granny came years back before she began ailing. She and Elda Kendric both. I always knew I’d see them ladies in the fall when the leaves turned red and gold, and again around Christmas, and in the spring.” She laughed at the pleasurable memories. “Your granny always came when the summer flowers were in bloom, and she’d have a basket of bluets for me. They never came empty-handed. They’d bring chestnuts or a jar of melon-rind pickles or apple butter, and I’d send ’em home with honey. Elda came once by herself and gave me that flowered quilt you’re sitting on, Fagan.” She frowned, perplexed. “I never did understand why she give it to me, especially since Iona had just given birth to Cleet, but she insisted I have it.”
“Miz Elda ain’t never given my mother nothing that I know about,” Fagan said, frowning slightly. “They’ve never had nothing to do with each other that I know about. Why would she?”
“Summat must’ve happened to put up a wall between ’em,” Bletsung said. “It’s a sorrowful thing to be cut off from loving kin.”
“Must be so,” I said. “Miz Elda sent all her kin over the mountain years ago.”
“Not all of ’em.”
“What do ye mean?” Fagan said, studying her.
Bletsung Macleod looked between us. “Don’t ye know??
??
We looked at one another and then back at her. “Know what?” Fagan said.
“What’ve ye been told about Elda Kendric?”
“Pa said to stay clear of her. Said once she’s worse than the plague. Only time I ever heard him mention her was when he was cursing her, and he won’t have her mentioned in the house.”
“And your mama?”
“She’s never said a word about her.”
Bletsung’s eyes filled with tears.
Fagan searched her face. “What about Miz Elda?”
She shook her head, tears slipping down her cheeks. She looked away again.
“Tell me!”
She looked back at him, her blue eyes tear washed and fierce. “Don’t use that tone on me, boy. It ain’t for me to say more than I have. Miz Elda must have her own reasons for keeping silent. Maybe I’ll go and ask her about ’em. Lord knows, I’ve missed talking with her.” She looked away. “Time passes and we look to the things that won’t hurt us, like the work that needs doing in the garden and the bees and putting up food for the winter. And all the while, people grow old and pass on, breaking off a piece of our hearts and taking it with ’em until there ain’t nothing left but a hollowness inside.”
“Ye could go visit Miz Elda,” I said, feeling her misery as though it was partly my own. “She’d welcome ye sure. Ye could sit on her porch and visit with her all day long if ye liked.”
Bletsung laughed sadly and shook her head. “No, I couldn’t, Cadi.”
“Why not?”
“Because she’d have to cross Kai Creek to get to there,” Fagan said grimly.
“That ain’t why,” Bletsung said. “Ye mustn’t think your father’s the only reason I’ve stayed to myself all these years.”
“Why then?” I asked.
“I know my place.”
But Fagan was set in his mind. “I’ve got to leave here. I’ll bring more trouble on ye if I don’t.”