Delta40
02-10-2012, 06:35 PM
Morag looked at the sorrowful sight before her and pursed her lips together. ‘Well there’s nothing for it child. It’s off to Dr Langtry and we’ll see what he says, I’ll no hear another word’.
Eileen daren’t argue with her mother and just sat in her bed, trembling, clutching the blankets with all her might, terrified at the prospect of what the dreaded doctor would do to her. The painful angry swelling on her right cheek would not go away and overnight it seemed to have grown bigger than ever. Morag had given Eileen a final chance for the boil to heal itself, so before she got into bed, Eileen knelt at the foot and prayed to God in earnest that he would use his mighty power to make it disappear. A quick afterthought promise where she would never again sneak sweets into her pockets when she shouldn’t and little Eileen placed her complete trust in God.
At the first crow of the rooster, Eileen sprung out of bed and ran to the mirror and saw to her dismay the boil had only gotten bigger and angrier. All she could hope for now was her mother’s sympathy, which was not forthcoming. Morag marched down to Dr Langtry’s rooms in the town centre and asked if he was of a mind to see Eileen at home as she was ‘a wee bit off colour’.
Although he was still having breakfast, Dr Langtry knew since Morag had been widowed things must be difficult, so he accompanied her back up the hill.
She called out loudly to Eileen’s bedroom window ‘Make yoursel’ decent, we’ve got company’. Eileen scampered back into the bed and arranged her blankets neatly and with a beating heart, awaited her fate.
Dr Langtry was a middle-aged doctor newly arrived in the small town. Amidst the giggles and whispers from the locals, he was rather liked but still treated as an outsider for all that. He saw immediately why Eileen was off colour.
‘That’s quite a boil you have there Eileen’. He sat on the side of the bed and patted her arm. ‘Don’t worry’ he said kindly. ‘In my bag of tricks is something that will soon have you playing with your friends again’. He turned to Morag.
‘Mrs Burrows, I’ll need a basin of hot water and a towel please’.
Morag stood firm with her arms folded tightly around her ample figure. ‘D’ye mind telling me what it is you’ll be wanting to do first?’
‘Not at all, I am going to lance the boil’. Morag’s hands went to her hips.
‘You’re what?’ she said warningly. The doctor faltered under the threatening gaze. ‘You’ll no be doing that doctor.’
Dr Langtry tried to explain to her the dangers of not lancing the boil as advanced as the one on little Eileen’s face, the possibility of blood poisoning and how lancing was the only medical procedure known to effectively deal with boils. Morag discounted his warnings with the most important thing of all.
‘She’ll no be getting a husband once she’s marked for life, will she?’
Dr Langtry blinked, no immediate answer available. ‘You know Mrs Burrows, beauty is only skin deep’.
Morag tossed her head back and laughed. ‘Aye, it is when you’re the one holding the knife, now I’m sorry for taking your time Doctor but Eileen doesn’t need your help after all. Good day to ye’.
Dr Langtry shook his head, forgetting civilities and replied, ‘you know where I am if you need me Morag’.
No sooner had he took his leave than Morag told Eileen to get dressed. Eileen sulked. The boil was burning red hot on her cheek and she felt as if that side of her face would explode any minute.
‘Where we going Ma?’ she asked when she got her coat on.
‘Anna McCallister’s’.
Eileen reeled back at the news. Anna Mcallister was the local recluse. For reasons unknown to Eileen, people seldom visited the old woman. She was seen around the town of course and locals were courteous but somehow Anna McCallister was given a wide berth wherever she went. She did not call upon people and did not attend church. Children followed in the footsteps of tradition and afforded Anna her privacy. It was rumoured that she came from an ancient lineage of witches, who did not use bloodlines to pass the craft on.
When they arrived at the little cottage, Eileen was excited yet terrified at the same time. When Anna opened the door it was with the air of one who has been greatly imposed upon.
‘What ails you Morag?’ She slid her eyes to Eileen and saw immediately.
‘The doctor says her face needs cuttin’ Anna but you know doctors, too handy with a knife. The child’s future will be ruined afore you know it. Men dinna think of these things’.
Anna, studying Eileen closely, responded ‘Aye’ here and there. ‘Right, well I’ll see what I can do’.
In the neat little kitchen, the three women sat. ‘Morag, take this bowl and get some cow****e from Archie’s meadow.’
Eileen burst into tears, thinking she was going to have to eat it. ‘Shut it now or I’ll give ye a skelpin’ warned Morag as she went in search of a fresh cowpat.
Anna opened the cupboards below her sink to reveal a multitude of thick, matted cobwebs. She stooped with a wooden spoon and commenced spiralling a mass of the sticky substance containing dead insects onto the spoon like fairyfloss. Eileen watched fascinated as the old woman collected salt, butter and what she thought might be rosemary and dandelions. Not wanting to be poisoned, the little girl strained to see everything the old woman mixed in the wooden bowl. As if she felt Eileen's eyes on her, she cackled out,
'Dinna you worry. I'll gie you a special gift.'
Morag returned with the steaming cow****e. Anna told them to go into the next room while she prepared the strange brew. Eileen, a mixture of terror and curiosity, was dying to ask questions as she sat surrounded by countless pictures of austere looking women dressed in black. Her mother, still smelling rather rich, blended well with the pictures, her hands neatly folded, looking fiercely at Eileen, silently daring the child to say a word. Finally Anna called them back into the kitchen. In her hands was a flat, steaming poultice.
‘Put this on her face till the boil bursts’.
Morag thanked Anna profusely for saving little Eileen’s future with a few coins. Anna simply chuckled slyly.
‘If that’s what ye think I’m doing, so be it’.
Morag placed the poultice on Eileen’s cheek and instructed her to hold it there till they got home and secured it. As soon as it came into contact with her skin, Eileen felt it was wrong as its powerful heat sparked waves of nausea. It stunk to high heaven but Morag told her to press it hard against her cheek. Against her better instincts, and knowing her Mother’s wrath was stronger than any poultice, Eileen did as she was told and held the vile thing in place. That evening, the boil exploded to the delight of Morag and later to the disbelief of Dr Langtry.
‘Ah ye’ll be a happy bride someday child,’ crooned Morag to a weary Eileen. ‘With your fine skin and bonnie face, no man will keep his eyes off you’. Eileen went to sleep, relieved about the boil but forever curious about Anna McCallister.
Forty years later and Eileen's skin was still flawless. Not a scar to show where the angry red boil once was and not a husband to show for it either, thought Eileen walking home from the shop. All the other stories Morag told her came into being except for the one about her boil. She never did meet somebody handsome, get married and have children. In some ways, the boil on her face turned out to be her mother’s love story, instead of hers. Morag never let Dr Langtry forget the incident but he was a good sport. Then one day Morag asked him over for tea and their relationship seemed to flourish. Shortly afterwards, Eileen found herself with a stepfather, who was a loving and caring parent till the day he died.
She walked unseeingly before her, unaware of the lush, green countryside. Eileen was convinced there was something uncanny and mysterious in the poultice, which she didn’t see that day. It would explain how her life had become more akin to Anna McCallister’s than anyone else’s.
Eileen laughed at the local’s superstitious fears about her. The rumours that Morag was originally childless and under a full moon, Anna McCallister had cooked Eileen up and that is why she was the true daughter of Anna. Now considered the local recluse and under hushed whispers a witch, Eileen spent her time dabbling in the arts, researching traditional healing methods, and writing a detailed comprehensive history of the area. Anna had passed on years ago but not before leaving Eileen a very thick handwritten tome of remedies for any ailment you could think of.
Eileen daren’t argue with her mother and just sat in her bed, trembling, clutching the blankets with all her might, terrified at the prospect of what the dreaded doctor would do to her. The painful angry swelling on her right cheek would not go away and overnight it seemed to have grown bigger than ever. Morag had given Eileen a final chance for the boil to heal itself, so before she got into bed, Eileen knelt at the foot and prayed to God in earnest that he would use his mighty power to make it disappear. A quick afterthought promise where she would never again sneak sweets into her pockets when she shouldn’t and little Eileen placed her complete trust in God.
At the first crow of the rooster, Eileen sprung out of bed and ran to the mirror and saw to her dismay the boil had only gotten bigger and angrier. All she could hope for now was her mother’s sympathy, which was not forthcoming. Morag marched down to Dr Langtry’s rooms in the town centre and asked if he was of a mind to see Eileen at home as she was ‘a wee bit off colour’.
Although he was still having breakfast, Dr Langtry knew since Morag had been widowed things must be difficult, so he accompanied her back up the hill.
She called out loudly to Eileen’s bedroom window ‘Make yoursel’ decent, we’ve got company’. Eileen scampered back into the bed and arranged her blankets neatly and with a beating heart, awaited her fate.
Dr Langtry was a middle-aged doctor newly arrived in the small town. Amidst the giggles and whispers from the locals, he was rather liked but still treated as an outsider for all that. He saw immediately why Eileen was off colour.
‘That’s quite a boil you have there Eileen’. He sat on the side of the bed and patted her arm. ‘Don’t worry’ he said kindly. ‘In my bag of tricks is something that will soon have you playing with your friends again’. He turned to Morag.
‘Mrs Burrows, I’ll need a basin of hot water and a towel please’.
Morag stood firm with her arms folded tightly around her ample figure. ‘D’ye mind telling me what it is you’ll be wanting to do first?’
‘Not at all, I am going to lance the boil’. Morag’s hands went to her hips.
‘You’re what?’ she said warningly. The doctor faltered under the threatening gaze. ‘You’ll no be doing that doctor.’
Dr Langtry tried to explain to her the dangers of not lancing the boil as advanced as the one on little Eileen’s face, the possibility of blood poisoning and how lancing was the only medical procedure known to effectively deal with boils. Morag discounted his warnings with the most important thing of all.
‘She’ll no be getting a husband once she’s marked for life, will she?’
Dr Langtry blinked, no immediate answer available. ‘You know Mrs Burrows, beauty is only skin deep’.
Morag tossed her head back and laughed. ‘Aye, it is when you’re the one holding the knife, now I’m sorry for taking your time Doctor but Eileen doesn’t need your help after all. Good day to ye’.
Dr Langtry shook his head, forgetting civilities and replied, ‘you know where I am if you need me Morag’.
No sooner had he took his leave than Morag told Eileen to get dressed. Eileen sulked. The boil was burning red hot on her cheek and she felt as if that side of her face would explode any minute.
‘Where we going Ma?’ she asked when she got her coat on.
‘Anna McCallister’s’.
Eileen reeled back at the news. Anna Mcallister was the local recluse. For reasons unknown to Eileen, people seldom visited the old woman. She was seen around the town of course and locals were courteous but somehow Anna McCallister was given a wide berth wherever she went. She did not call upon people and did not attend church. Children followed in the footsteps of tradition and afforded Anna her privacy. It was rumoured that she came from an ancient lineage of witches, who did not use bloodlines to pass the craft on.
When they arrived at the little cottage, Eileen was excited yet terrified at the same time. When Anna opened the door it was with the air of one who has been greatly imposed upon.
‘What ails you Morag?’ She slid her eyes to Eileen and saw immediately.
‘The doctor says her face needs cuttin’ Anna but you know doctors, too handy with a knife. The child’s future will be ruined afore you know it. Men dinna think of these things’.
Anna, studying Eileen closely, responded ‘Aye’ here and there. ‘Right, well I’ll see what I can do’.
In the neat little kitchen, the three women sat. ‘Morag, take this bowl and get some cow****e from Archie’s meadow.’
Eileen burst into tears, thinking she was going to have to eat it. ‘Shut it now or I’ll give ye a skelpin’ warned Morag as she went in search of a fresh cowpat.
Anna opened the cupboards below her sink to reveal a multitude of thick, matted cobwebs. She stooped with a wooden spoon and commenced spiralling a mass of the sticky substance containing dead insects onto the spoon like fairyfloss. Eileen watched fascinated as the old woman collected salt, butter and what she thought might be rosemary and dandelions. Not wanting to be poisoned, the little girl strained to see everything the old woman mixed in the wooden bowl. As if she felt Eileen's eyes on her, she cackled out,
'Dinna you worry. I'll gie you a special gift.'
Morag returned with the steaming cow****e. Anna told them to go into the next room while she prepared the strange brew. Eileen, a mixture of terror and curiosity, was dying to ask questions as she sat surrounded by countless pictures of austere looking women dressed in black. Her mother, still smelling rather rich, blended well with the pictures, her hands neatly folded, looking fiercely at Eileen, silently daring the child to say a word. Finally Anna called them back into the kitchen. In her hands was a flat, steaming poultice.
‘Put this on her face till the boil bursts’.
Morag thanked Anna profusely for saving little Eileen’s future with a few coins. Anna simply chuckled slyly.
‘If that’s what ye think I’m doing, so be it’.
Morag placed the poultice on Eileen’s cheek and instructed her to hold it there till they got home and secured it. As soon as it came into contact with her skin, Eileen felt it was wrong as its powerful heat sparked waves of nausea. It stunk to high heaven but Morag told her to press it hard against her cheek. Against her better instincts, and knowing her Mother’s wrath was stronger than any poultice, Eileen did as she was told and held the vile thing in place. That evening, the boil exploded to the delight of Morag and later to the disbelief of Dr Langtry.
‘Ah ye’ll be a happy bride someday child,’ crooned Morag to a weary Eileen. ‘With your fine skin and bonnie face, no man will keep his eyes off you’. Eileen went to sleep, relieved about the boil but forever curious about Anna McCallister.
Forty years later and Eileen's skin was still flawless. Not a scar to show where the angry red boil once was and not a husband to show for it either, thought Eileen walking home from the shop. All the other stories Morag told her came into being except for the one about her boil. She never did meet somebody handsome, get married and have children. In some ways, the boil on her face turned out to be her mother’s love story, instead of hers. Morag never let Dr Langtry forget the incident but he was a good sport. Then one day Morag asked him over for tea and their relationship seemed to flourish. Shortly afterwards, Eileen found herself with a stepfather, who was a loving and caring parent till the day he died.
She walked unseeingly before her, unaware of the lush, green countryside. Eileen was convinced there was something uncanny and mysterious in the poultice, which she didn’t see that day. It would explain how her life had become more akin to Anna McCallister’s than anyone else’s.
Eileen laughed at the local’s superstitious fears about her. The rumours that Morag was originally childless and under a full moon, Anna McCallister had cooked Eileen up and that is why she was the true daughter of Anna. Now considered the local recluse and under hushed whispers a witch, Eileen spent her time dabbling in the arts, researching traditional healing methods, and writing a detailed comprehensive history of the area. Anna had passed on years ago but not before leaving Eileen a very thick handwritten tome of remedies for any ailment you could think of.