My Precious Child

A young girl travailed up the overgrown steep hill. With the Highland winds blowing through her hair, she heard the sheep’s bleats getting louder. Lambs cried for their mothers’ safe warmth as the tempestuous winds became more intense. Despite her family’s pleas to not venture to the cemetery on the cusp of a storm, Alana had remained persistent in her tradition to visit her birth mother’s grave every year on Samhain. The town found Alana cradled in her birth mother’s arms on Samhain. Unfortunately, her birth mother had already passed from blood loss.

Alana picked up the edges of her brown skirt as she climbed over rubble from stone ruins. After she reached the cemetery, she swiftly greeted each sheep, petting their heads, on the path to her birth mother’s grave. Finally, she reached the headstone. 

Blaire Mackenzie. Birth unknown. Death 31 October 1662. Her gravestone was empty in comparison to others in the cemetery. Other gravestones included carvings of the person’s occupation and family crest, but Blaire Mackenzie was a mystery to every townsfolk in Rosincree, including her own daughter. Alana had no attachment to connect any emotion to losing her birth mother. At twelve years old, the only thing that tied Alana to Blaire was the Mackenzie name and her birthday, which happened to also be the day Blaire died.

Alana picked her skirt up to kneel on the damp grass before Blaire’s grave. Weeds poked through the surface, speckling her birth mother’s grave. In the native accent, Alana spoke to her birth mother. “Good-day, Madam Mackenzie. It’s me, your daughter Alana. I pray that you enjoy the sheep’s company. I’m sure that they can be annoying after a while, but they’re very soft and nice! I hope my grave has fluffy sheep watching over me.” 

Alana continued to update her birth mother about her daily life as the stormy clouds became darker and the thunder grew louder. “I turned twelve today, which means that I will be expected to marry soon. I don’t want to marry anyone, but Mama says it's tradition. Papa needs a man to help around the farm when he dies. I wonder if you would have made me marry if you had raised me. Clearly, you cared for me enough to give me a name meaning ‘precious child’.”

Alana sighed. “I just wish that I could know more about you. You are a mystery to the entire town. Why did you leave me behind here with strangers?” A particularly loud whip of thunder sounds throughout the hills. 

Hearing the thunder grow unbearably louder, Alana knew it was time for her to head home. Standing up and wiping the grass off her skirt, Alana concludes, “I’m sorry that I couldn’t stay longer, Madam Mackenzie, but I need to make it home before the storm to help with Samhain preparations. I promise to honor you during the bonfire.” 

As the storm clouds began to sprinkle, Alana swiftly returned back home with little hope of her identity. For how could she care for someone that she never knew? Little did she know about what Blaire Mackenzie had sacrificed in order to provide her with the best opportunities.

In 1662, rumors of witch hunts had finally reached the small town of Rosincree. In this town lived a man by the name of James MacLeod, who was training to become the local minister. When he heard the news, he felt called by God to enlighten the town to the witches in hiding. When the townsfolk suspected neighbors and family of witchcraft, MacLeod used a pricking device. Allegedly, if a witch is pricked, then she will not bleed, while a regular individual would bleed when pricked. 

On the edge of the woods lived Blaire Mackenzie, who was heavily pregnant. She was the town herbalist, and everyone appreciated her talent in medicine. Almost a week before Samhain, Blaire was mixing concoctions for burns and cuts, preparing for the townsfolk’s injuries from the upcoming bonfires and celebrations.  Occupied by her task, she did not hear the pounding horse steps galloping closer to her home. The door slammed open, which startled her. Blaire, in self-defense, reached for a potion, which contained a magical liquid that would stun the intruder. Before she threw the potion, she realized that the man standing in her doorway was out of breath and bent over. It was the father of her child. She placed the potion back on the shelf and rushed to touch her lover.

“My dear, what is wrong? Why do you appear so distressed?”

After catching his breath, he grabbed Blaire’s shoulders to focus her attention on his face. He said, “Blaire, my love, you must leave immediately! Word has reached the town about the witch trials blazing through the Highlands. Minister MacLeod has taken it upon himself to condemn the witches residing in our town. Blaire, you must protect our child, in fear that they discover your true nature.”

She saw the absolute agony and fear in his expression. Sighing, she placed her hand on his cheek and brushed her thumb across his stubble. “My dear, I value your commitment to my protection as well as our unborn child’s life, but I cannot just leave. I care for these people, for they are my coven. It is my duty to protect them in spite of their wrongdoings and poor judgment. Furthermore, I don’t want to leave you behind, for they would know your affiliation with me. I just need to show them that I am a simple herbalist.”

He pushed her hand away from his face. His emotions heightened with distress. “No, my dear thistle, you don’t understand. I admire your loyalty and bravery to the people of Rosincree, but you have our precious child to protect! If you stay, you will not survive and neither will our child. Even if they let you live, our child will be raised as an outcast. I cannot live with that fact, knowing that we could have prevented it. Please, Blaire! I know that you can care for,” he moved his hands from her shoulders to caress her stomach, “this child. Simply imagine the suffering our future daughter or son will undergo because of your stubbornness to serve this ungrateful town!”

When Blaire placed her hands on top of his, she moved her gaze back to her lover. His countenance was full of emotion. Tears had filled the corners of his eyes. Suddenly, she heard more horses in the distance. Glancing out the window, she saw Minister MacLeod rushing towards her house with an entourage of torches. Her heartbeat quickened, and all that she could think about was her precious child, the embodiment of her union with the man desperately wanting to protect them both. Pushing his hands away, Blaire rushed towards one of her spellbooks. She flipped through the pages until she came across the chant she was looking for. Looking back at her lover with tears in her eyes, she revealed, “If I do this, nobody will remember who I am. I will remain a missing person in the minds of all who hear my name. There are no exceptions. Not even you will remember me, and I don’t know if I can bear that!”

MacLeod and his men’s shouts grew louder as they disembarked their horses. The father prepared to step out and close the door to the house. “You can and you must, my love. Protect our child at any cost!” He slammed the door shut, and Blaire heard his voice become entangled in an argument with James MacLeod. Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, Blaire recited the enchantment. As swiftly as the loud voices arose, they became silent. Hearing the men climb onto their horses, Blaire cried for the loss of her coven’s trust, her lover’s memory, and ultimately, the involvement of her lover in their child’s life. 

She tried to continue with her tasks, but she no longer felt that she had a purpose. Unfortunately, when Samhain arrived days later, Blaire went into labor. Her mind and body were in distress. When she gave birth to a baby girl, she named her Alana for she was destined to be a precious child. However, Blaire felt her body losing energy. She had lost too much blood. She made her way into town with her swaddled babe, following the sounds of the bonfire and people’s shouts. Despite her ragged appearance, covered in blood, the townsfolk acted as if she was not there. Scanning the crowd, she found her ex-lover. Blaire approached him. Her heart ached with his lack of response or recognition, but she knew that he would take care of their daughter. 

“Madam, you don’t look well. Do you need any--” Blaire fell to the ground, cradling Alana in her arms.

“Please,” she whispered, ”please take care of our sweet daughter.” He knelt to the ground, wrapping an arm around Blaire. 

“Madam, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know who you are.”

Curling in more, she cried over her child, mourning the loss of what could have been. If only the people of Rosincree had placed more faith in their herbalist. She gathered all her strength and energy to sit up and press Alana into her father’s arms. “Please, sir. I’m not well, and I need someone to protect my daughter. Her name is Alana Mackenzie, and I am her mother Blaire.”

The man gently held her in his arms as he promised, “I will protect this girl, Madam Mackenzie, with my life.” At that moment, Blaire looked into his eyes and swore that she saw a glimpse of recognition. Briefly, his eyes melted from a stone-cold stare into a gentle warm embrace. With that promise, Blaire fainted to the floor and passed away.

Twelve years later, Alana still lived with this man and his wife. They nurtured her, especially since the couple was unable to produce a child of their own. Something tugged at the man’s heart every time he looked at Alana; her face resembled a faint memory that was always out of reach.