announced at last, tossing his kale torch onto the stony ground. “Duncan, see that the shepherds circle the pastures. As for the rest of you, away with your fires and make to the kitchen.” Leaving their torches behind in a small bonfire, the servants ran laughing into the house, eager for the household festivities to begin.
“Jamie?” Leana stepped next to him, sliding her cool fingers inside the curl of his hand. “I promised Neda I’d help with the turnip lanterns. Will you join us?”
They followed the path to the back door, stepping from the black shroud of night into a warm, cheery kitchen smelling of freshly baked gingersnaps and ripe apples. Young and old stood about the square wooden table in the center of the kitchen, eying a heap of yellow and orange turnips. The last of the crop harvested from Leana’s garden, they’d been left in the ground to grow plump and thick skinned, better suited for carving than for eating.
“Choose yer favorite,” Neda instructed, handing Jamie a stout blade. “Mr. McKie will cut off the top.” Eyes wide, the younger ones were allowed to pick first, wrapping their arms round the turnips and bringing them to Jamie so he could slice off the top quarter. In turn, Leana handed them blunt knives and steered them toward a large iron pot with orders to scoop out the centers. Though Neda would cook the neeps and mash them with butter and white pepper for their Sabbath supper, this night the turnips would serve another purpose: scaring away the goblins and beasties said to roam the hills and glens of Galloway.
“Take care not to push your knives through the skin,” Leana cautioned them, “or Mr. McKie will have no room left to make a face.” His skills with a sharpened dirk were put to the test when it came to carving eyes and mouths into the overripe vegetables. Some of the faces were frightening, but most were comical, with noses askew and crooked smiles. Leana shook her head in disbelief, pointing at one of them. “What sort of creature is that?”
Jamie gave a slight shrug. “A friendly one.” ’Twas best the younger lads did not learn the grisly truth behind the custom, filtered through the centuries from the ancient Druids who’d gathered at Carlinwark to sever the heads of their enemies. Hardly a story for innocent ears. Let them fill their turnips with candlelight and banish the darkness of auld Scotland.
“Jamie, I must see to Ian’s welfare,” Leana said, looking toward the hall. “When Duncan and the shepherds come back from their rounds,they’ll be dookin’ for apples with the servants. Be a good husband and fill the wooden tub for Neda, won’t you?”
Jamie squeezed her hand, assuring her he would do whatever was needed, and sent her up the stair. The shallow tub sat on the kitchen floor, wide enough to float a peck of apples, so it took several trips to the well to fill it. Rose busied herself breaking off pieces of the Hallowmas bannock for all to partake, while Neda polished the pippins until they shone. Hauling in his last pail of water, Jamie was joined by Duncan and the returning shepherds, who filled the kitchen with noise and merriment, scattering ashes on the floor from the bonfire. “This is Halloweven,” one sang out, and another joined in, “The morn is Hallowday.”
“Och, such a stramash! ” Neda fussed, grinning all the while. “Ye’ll have ashes in yer hair afore ye’re done.” She bent down to stir the water with her wooden porridge spurtle, sending the apples bobbing along the surface. “Who’ll be first tae dook his head?”
Rose volunteered at once. “I will.” She wrapped her hair in a linen towel, then tied another round her neck and knelt beside the tub on the brick floor. “Truth lies at the bottom of a well,” she announced, taking a deep breath. The wise wags insisted if folk captured an apple between their teeth that night, they’d have the power to see the days to come. Down into the water she went,
“Jamie?” Leana stepped next to him, sliding her cool fingers inside the curl of his hand. “I promised Neda I’d help with the turnip lanterns. Will you join us?”
They followed the path to the back door, stepping from the black shroud of night into a warm, cheery kitchen smelling of freshly baked gingersnaps and ripe apples. Young and old stood about the square wooden table in the center of the kitchen, eying a heap of yellow and orange turnips. The last of the crop harvested from Leana’s garden, they’d been left in the ground to grow plump and thick skinned, better suited for carving than for eating.
“Choose yer favorite,” Neda instructed, handing Jamie a stout blade. “Mr. McKie will cut off the top.” Eyes wide, the younger ones were allowed to pick first, wrapping their arms round the turnips and bringing them to Jamie so he could slice off the top quarter. In turn, Leana handed them blunt knives and steered them toward a large iron pot with orders to scoop out the centers. Though Neda would cook the neeps and mash them with butter and white pepper for their Sabbath supper, this night the turnips would serve another purpose: scaring away the goblins and beasties said to roam the hills and glens of Galloway.
“Take care not to push your knives through the skin,” Leana cautioned them, “or Mr. McKie will have no room left to make a face.” His skills with a sharpened dirk were put to the test when it came to carving eyes and mouths into the overripe vegetables. Some of the faces were frightening, but most were comical, with noses askew and crooked smiles. Leana shook her head in disbelief, pointing at one of them. “What sort of creature is that?”
Jamie gave a slight shrug. “A friendly one.” ’Twas best the younger lads did not learn the grisly truth behind the custom, filtered through the centuries from the ancient Druids who’d gathered at Carlinwark to sever the heads of their enemies. Hardly a story for innocent ears. Let them fill their turnips with candlelight and banish the darkness of auld Scotland.
“Jamie, I must see to Ian’s welfare,” Leana said, looking toward the hall. “When Duncan and the shepherds come back from their rounds,they’ll be dookin’ for apples with the servants. Be a good husband and fill the wooden tub for Neda, won’t you?”
Jamie squeezed her hand, assuring her he would do whatever was needed, and sent her up the stair. The shallow tub sat on the kitchen floor, wide enough to float a peck of apples, so it took several trips to the well to fill it. Rose busied herself breaking off pieces of the Hallowmas bannock for all to partake, while Neda polished the pippins until they shone. Hauling in his last pail of water, Jamie was joined by Duncan and the returning shepherds, who filled the kitchen with noise and merriment, scattering ashes on the floor from the bonfire. “This is Halloweven,” one sang out, and another joined in, “The morn is Hallowday.”
“Och, such a stramash! ” Neda fussed, grinning all the while. “Ye’ll have ashes in yer hair afore ye’re done.” She bent down to stir the water with her wooden porridge spurtle, sending the apples bobbing along the surface. “Who’ll be first tae dook his head?”
Rose volunteered at once. “I will.” She wrapped her hair in a linen towel, then tied another round her neck and knelt beside the tub on the brick floor. “Truth lies at the bottom of a well,” she announced, taking a deep breath. The wise wags insisted if folk captured an apple between their teeth that night, they’d have the power to see the days to come. Down into the water she went,
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