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“Yes, uh, ma’am,” I say. “I don’t know what to say.”
She snorts. “And from silence comes unexpected words of wisdom.”
“She’s a good lass,” Alesoun says, standing up for me at last.
“So you say,” Mary Helen responds, “but good or not, we’ve problems more than I can count. We’ll need a ceremony, and some kind of a feast would be in order, though we’ve little enough supplies to feed ourselves as it is.”
“I do not need any feast,” I say, but Mary holds up a hand.
“No, I’ll not hear of it. If there is to be a wedding, then we’ll have a proper celebration.”
“Thank you,” I say, shifting my weight from foot to foot, unsure how to respond.
She looks me up and down before pursing her lips then turning to walk away.
“Mary?”
“Aye?” she asks, looking over her shoulder.
“I’m sorry to cause so much division. I truly don’t mean to be a problem.”
She turns around with a deep frown on her face and stares for a moment, then walks closer. She looks around as if making sure no one is too close.
“Alesoun knows well how hard life is when you’re barely accepted,” Mary says, her voice soft. “Ours is not a soft life. Are you sure this is what you want? Your accent places you from far away. Southern England I’d guess, and I’m sure you aren’t used to life in the Highlands, which is hard enough on its own. Yours will be tougher.”
I swallow. She’s blunt and honest and I admire these traits in her.
“I am. For him.”
She nods, then she grips my shoulder. “Good lass. Hold on to that. You’ll need it.”
“Thank you.” She tightens her grip, and on impulse I speak again. “Why do they hate us? Me?”
Mary’s face darkens and she closes her eyes. When she opens them there is kindness in them and on her face.
“My father told me a tale when I was but a young’un. It’s a story of two dogs who walked into the same room but at different times. One comes out waggling his tail, while the other one comes out growling.
“A man sees this and walks into the room, wondering what could possibly make one dog so happy and the other so angry. To his surprise he finds a room full of reflective surfaces. So what happened was the happy dog saw thousands of happy dogs looking back at him. The angry dog saw thousands of angry dogs looking back at him.”
I frown, trying to get the point of her story. She and Alesoun watch, waiting to see if I get it, but at last I give up and shake my head.
“I don’t understand.”
Mary smiles. “Aye, lass, you do not, but I’ll tell you the secret. What you see in the world is a reflection of what you put into it.”
She turns and walks away without another word. I look over at Alesoun, who snorts and picks back up her pestle and mortar.
“Oh, uhm, okay,” I say, trying to think over how that story applies to the clan and my situation.
Am I putting out anger? Is that what she’s telling me? As I struggle to understand and see if this is what I’m doing, frustration builds. I do the only thing I can think of and grab a bundle of herbs and work on stripping the healing leaves.
“Ach, gentle, Quinn. You’ll tear out all the good being so rough with them,” Alesoun admonishes.
“Sorry,” I say, slowing down. “Who was she? I don’t remember her from before.”
Alesoun smiles. “She was off visiting her relatives before the troubles and only recently made her way back after they began. But as to who she is, that’s Mary Helen. Johnne’s wife, she is.”
“Oh,” I say. “I guess that explains it.”
