Another True Story. Really.

(Continuing my "research" into family stories ...)

Cousin Raibeart had nearly completed his apprenticeship as a blacksmith in the village of Milfield, Northumberland. He already had the right look for being a blacksmith: He was 6'3" with 220 pounds of solid muscle gracing that frame. He also had flaming red hair that rippled over his broad shoulders.

The problem was that the blacksmith to whom he was apprenticed had made it clear that once the apprenticeship was completed - and his obligation as a mentor was fulfilled - Raibeart would have to move on. The blacksmith's young son was soon to be old enough to apprentice, and would take over the smithy eventually.

So Raibeart was already beginning to consider his future. He found a good place to do that was in a local tavern over many a tankard of ale.

In addition to drinking toasts to his future, Raibeart was fond of playing dirks. Dirks was a game developed by bored and slightly drunk men who lived along the Scottish/English border. In the game participant's paired off, and one would stand still against a wall and the other would throw dirks attempting to create an outline of the one against the wall without actually hitting him. They would then switch positions and repeat the standing and throwing. The object was to create the best outline with the dirks, and the one who did so would have his drinks paid for by the other. Of course, if the thrower did hit the other one standing against the wall, he would automatically lose and have to pay for drinks and any medical care required.

Raibeart was quite skilled at this game, and often did not have to pay for drinks. But that meant he was also often challenged. One night, the son of the local laird issued such a challenge.

The laird's son threw first, and created a reasonably decent outline, but it was one that Raibeart knew he could better. The laird's son took his position against the wall, and Raibeart began his throws. But when Raibeart aimed for just to the left of the lairdling's head, the target sneezed and his head jerked to the left. The dirk glanced off his left eye, blinding it. 

Under the rules of the contest, he moved, and so should have lost. But he was the son of the laird, and he raised a hullabaloo. Suddenly Raibeart found himself released prematurely from his apprenticeship, and no one in area would hire him for fear of the laird. He also heard that the laird had made it known that if anything should happen to Raibeart whoever did the "anything" would not face legal consequences.

Raibeart took the hint and left town.

As for the laird's son, he quickly became known as One-Eyed Wullie (even though his given name was James). He also became known for quickly taking offense at any perceived slight, and consequently issuing challenges to duels. Now in most duels, the combatants were generally more interested in honor being served than in actually inflicting mortal harm on their opponents, and so they would aim to miss with whatever weapon had been selected, or at worst to hit in some non-fatal spot. But being one-eyed, Wullie made it know his aim was not always accurate, so his opponents always apologized or left town before the duel began. Thus Wullie never lost a duel.

But back to wandering cousin Raibeart.

Not having any proof that he had completed his apprenticeship, he couldn't find a blacksmith shop that would take him in. The father of the lairdling he had maimed also had many relatives, friends, and allies in Northumberland, so Raibeart could not even find work as a laborer.

He wandered from town to town, sleeping where he could, and "finding" food as best he could.

One night he sought shelter in a barn, sleeping in the the hay listening to the rhythmic breathing of the cows. He hoped to "find" some eggs in the morning and sneak out before the farmer or his family ventured into the barn.

But he was startled awake at dawn when a door to the barn creaked open. In stepped a dark-haired maiden.

Now this maiden happened literally not figuratively to be the farmer's daughter. And she also happened literally not figuratively to be the most beautiful young woman in Northumberland, and by all accounts, in any of the border counties. She had the kind of beauty that reduced adolescent males to babbling idiots - even more pronouncedly than their normal state of adolescent babbling idiocy - and made grown men stutter.

The slanting rays of the rising sun shone through gaps in the walls of the barn striking her like a spotlight in the theater. 

Raibeart was stunned by her beauty, and stood unable to even stutter.

It just so happened that silhouetted from behind by the light of the rising sun he appeared even more gigantic than he actually was, and the maiden was duly impressed. But finding a giant in the barn was not a normal situation, and being quick of wits she picked up a pitchfork and held it toward Raibeart.

"Who are you?" She demanded. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm ... m ... m ...  m," he managed to stutter.

"Stop that," she ordered, vexed that yet another man stuttered when talking to her. "Speak plainly."

He took a deep breath. "Raibeart. I'm Raibeart. I mean no harm."

She brandished the pitchfork. "And you'll cause none."

He nodded. 

"I just sought shelter her for the night," he continued. "I'll just leave."

He cautiously stepped out from the hay. He was no longer silhouetted, and she could see his face.

She liked what she saw.

"Have you had anything to eat?" She asked.

"No," he replied, a hint of anticipation in his voice. "Not since yesterday morning."

"Wait here," she ordered.

She left the barn and returned in a couple of minutes with some bread, cheese, and milk,

Raibeart gratefully took the food and said, "Thank you." 

Then he began to eat hungrily.

"Why were you sleeping in our barn? Don't you live somewhere?"

"Not anymore," he said. Then seeing interest in her eyes, he told his story.

As he spoke, she listened carefully. She liked his voice, and the polite way he spoke. There was no crude language of the kind she was used to hearing.

When he was done with his story, she asked, "So you have no place to go?"

"No. I need to keep looking."

She studied him for a moment, and then said, "I have an idea."

She then explained her family situation. Her brothers had been conscripted for a work party by a noble whose domain included the farm. That left just her father and herself to run the farm. But her father hurt his leg badly, and would not be able to do much for a few weeks. She could not keep up with the work, and they needed help until he got better, or until her brother returned, but all the able-bodied men had also been conscripted by the noble. But, she suggested, if Raibeart approached the farm from the roadway, and asked if there was work, her father might be willing to hire him for a couple of weeks.

Raibeart liked the plan. He needed work. And it would allow him to be near the lovely maiden, whose name he had learned was Margaret.

So Raibeart left the barn, cut across the field to the rod, then turned around and walked up to the house. Margaret's father was sitting in front of the door. He eyed Raibeart suspiciously. Raibeart stopped a few feet from the father, and nodded his head politely.

"God's blessing on you sir," Raibeart said. 

"Aye, and bless you too," the father replied flatly.

"I am a stranger passing through these parts," Raibeart said. "I'm not a beggar. I'm looking for work, even if for only a day or two."

 "I have noth ...," the father began. But then Margaret burst through the door.

"How lucky," she blurted. "With Henry and Joseph off conscripted there are some heavy tasks I need help with."

The father reluctantly agreed to hire him on a trial basis.

Raibeart set to work immediately. There was much to do, but by the end of the day he had made a good start. The father, who had watched him, had to admit that the hire was a good one. Raibeart's pay included his meals, and so he joined father and daughter for dinner. They ate in silence for most of the meal. Raibeart carefully avoided making eye contact with Margaret.

"You work hard," the father finally said between chews. "We could use you tomorrow."

Raibeart left after eating, walked down the road until he was out of sight, then cut across the fields and entered the barn from behind - as he and Margaret had arranged in advance. There they talked whenever she came into the barn to bring in the cows, to feed the chickens, and to carry out other chore's she suddenly discovered she had to do.

The pattern continued for nearly three weeks. The farm was coming back into shape, with repairs made, crops planted, a well restored, and more. 

Meanwhile, Margaret's visits to the barn became more frequent and lasted longer. She told him of her life and dreams. She told him about her mother who had educated Margaret along with her brothers. She sadly recounted the death of her mother two years before, and how she had to be the housekeeper in her stead. She said she loved her father and brothers, but wanted a home and family of her own. And she wanted to marry a man she loved, not a man just chosen by her father for practical reasons. Raibeart told her of his own life. He recounted the death of his mother when he was young, and how his father struggled to take care of him. His father had apprenticed him to a blacksmith, and then disappeared. he had no idea where his father was now. He recounted his years with the blacksmith, and how he was about to lose his place when the dirks game forced him to leave. And he too told how he dreamed of meeting a woman to love, and starting a family of his own.

Soon the subject of marriage came up. And both agree that that was what they wanted, but Margaret said it would be hard because of her father's intentions for her making a good match.

They both sighed often, and dreamed together that if it was possible, they would be together.

It became harder and harder for Raibeart to keep his eyes off Margaret when her father was around.

And finally, her father noticed.

As they sat down to dinner at the end of those three weeks, the father said. "My leg is better. The farm is in good shape, and I can handle it from now on. Thank you for all you did. We won't need you after today. We'll settle up after dinner."

After dinner, Raibeart got his pay. Saying thanks, he headed down the road. But then he cut across the fields to the back of the barn. He went in and waited.

He had almost given up when Margaret quietly entered through the usual door.

"What are we going to do," Raibeart asked.

Margaret held up a small satchel. "We get as far away from here as we can before morning and father finds out I'm gone."

So they headed out, walking in the dark to the next town. After the sun rose they went to the church, found the minister in his garden, and asked him to marry them. He studied them for a moment, and then smiled.

"I eloped with my wife years ago," he said. "Never regretted it."

And he married them.

The two continued on, still trying to distance themselves from her father's farm. When darkness came, along with it came rain. They took shelter in an abandoned cottage.

With rain drumming on the roof - and trickling through holes in that roof, they considered their situation.

Married. Very much in love. But love does not fill empty stomachs.

They counted the few pence they had from what Raibeart had earned working for his father-in-law and what she had saved.

While dodging trickles of rainwater, they alternated suggesting plans.

None of them seemed possible. 

Then Margaret remembers a story from the Bible where a husband and wife pretended just to be brother and sister. She added a few twists.

Raibeart agreed to give it a try.

The next town, they walked in as brother and sister. They strolled around the market together, making sure people believed they were siblings, that they were low on funds, and that Margaret was a maiden.  They then separated, and Margaret continued to walk about the market alone.

Adolescent males looked at her, and started babbling idiotically.

Grown men looked at her, and began to stutter. 

Finally, one of the stutterers approached her, and stuttered an invitation. Feigning innocence, she went with him off to a secluded spot. Suddenly the man stuttered an inappropriate suggestion. Margaret loudly proclaimed, "No." At that signal, Raibeart burst out from where he had been discretely watching the encounter, brandishing his dirk.

"Hands off my sister," he bellowed.

The stutterer, who had not actually placed his hands on her, fell to his knees, stuttering a plea for mercy.

"My family's honor," Raibeart roared, moving toward the hapless kneeler, who managed to stutter than perhaps the honor could be restored financially.

Raibeart lowered his dirk. The stutterer proffered coins. Raibeart rebrandished his dirk. The stutterer proffered additional coins.

Raibeart took the coins, waived the stutter on - who promptly fled - and then Raibeart and Margaret quickly left the scene.

The repeated this scheme multiple times, working their way across Northumberland, into Durham, and into Cambria. 

Periodically, they would give up their sibling pose and register in an inn as the married couple they were. After one of those periodic married couple stops, Margaret found herself with child.

She was even more beautiful in the way pregnant women could be, but they realized their scheme would not work with an obviously pregnant woman. They decided for the sake of the child it was time to settle down. 

They traveled north into Scotland, opting to travel by coach due to Margaret's condition, and soon found themselves in the city of Greenock on the Clyde River. The city was growing rapidly as a seaport. Raibeart used some of the money they had accumulated to buy out an elderly blacksmith's business, and began to ply the honorable trade for which he had trained. With the city booming, his business prospered.

Not long after they settled in Greenock, a son arrived to Margaret and Raibeart. He was followed by three other sons and three daughters.

Raibeart learned his letters as Margaret taught them to their bairns, and he became a prominent man of business in the city.

Meanwhile, the four sons became large, red-haired men fond of such physical displays as tossing cabers. The three daughters grew into dark-haired beauties who made adolescent males babble like idiots, and grown men stutters.

Sons and daughters all eventually married, and Raibeart and Margaret were soon surrounded by grandchildren.

They settled into old age together, doting on children and grandchildren, and glad they were married and not brother and sister. 

Pax et bonum