The Scot of Swinhope
an excerpt

The Scot of Swinhope
Part 1
Prologue

A young boy, his age about seven, woke to the sound of a door opening. Someone was trying to creep silently up the stairs. The boy counted the soft footsteps as they went up and, as always, on the third from the top a resounding squeak filled the silence. The boy sat up in his bed as he heard his brothers footsteps come to the door, and in a matter of seconds there stood a young man, seventeen years of age, with slightly orange hued hair, not unlike his younger brothers.
The young man saw his brother staring at him and then looked out the window. The sun had not begun to climb over the far horizon yet, and a fine mist was circling the window cill. It also engulfed the city that lay below, where only a few early wakers strolled to their usual meeting places at inns and taverns. The few trees of the city swayed in the wind and waved their branches like arms, trying to reach what they could not take hold of.
The room was cold, matching the mood that had fallen as the young man entered. He averted his eyes from his brothers and walked to his be, which lay on the opposite side of the small bed chamber. He sat down and looked down at his hands as he folded them on his lap. A few moments went by like that. The younger boy stared at him with beseeching eyes, while his brother ignored. Finally the silence was broken unexpectedly by the older boy.
“It’s no use, John. You can stop that now.” He said it in a snappier tone that he had meant to use, and realized that he had been doing that a lot lately. He shrugged the guilty feeling off and laid on his side, exhausted. John looked at his bed and laid down, trying to hold off tears.
He sat up again. “Why, Ralph? Why can’t you tell me? I wouldn’t tell father, or mother! Don’t you know you can trust me?” Holding back tears did little help, as they were now openly apparent on the young lads face.
“Don’t you know by now John?” said Ralph. “Don’t you know that you can’t trust anyone?” He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. He did trust, and love, his brother. The only person he couldn’t trust was himself. He sat up and looked at his tearful brother.
“I didn’t mean that John.” But he was too late. The young boy flew from his bed and ran down the stairs slamming the door behind him as he ran out into the city. Behind him he heard the voice of his Father and soon after, Ralph’s as they rose into another heated fight. John ran to the tree in back of their house and quickly climbed to his favorite spot. He was thankful that he had put his clothes on earlier, and as he thought back to earlier his brothers words came back to him like a harsh slap in the face. He climbed higher, the tears sliding down more freely than before.
He reached the highest branches he could, just as the sun came up. It’s beautiful light caressed the beautiful land where John had been born, Scotland. At the sight of his land John’s bitterness was washed away momentarily. The light stricken beauty of his home filled him with peace. He was content until he heard the door slam and turned to see Ralph stomping out into the chilly morning with their father shouting after him.
The wonderful moment ruined John angrily dashed his tears away. Why Ralph had changed was beyond him. John sat down and folded his arms thinking of when it all began. It was a hard point to pin down, and he finally decided that it started about two months ago. Of course, it hadn’t been as bad then, but it started with Ralph’s words growing harsher and harsher as the days went by. And then there were his disappearances. While they were not as frequent as they were now they all began soon after spring started.
He would go out, either in the night or early morning, when everyone was sleeping, but John would notice everyday when Ralph would disappear. He became so used to the sounds, and times that he would leave, that he stopped asking Ralph where he was going. Every day it was the same. Either, “I can’t tell you.” if he was in a good mood or “Go back to bed John!” if he was in a hurry or angry. Then Ralph refused to tell his parents what was up. And that made their father angry.
“And father doesn’t anger easily.” said John to himself. He would often speak to himself or just speak in general when he was in his tree. He felt safe there, and able to think what he wished. Then his mother came to the door calling to him. John didn’t move. She still hadn’t found out where he hid when he was upset. “Well,” John though, “Now Ralph and I both have our secrets.” But he still felt miserable. Ralph had grown on everyone’s nerves lately making his family edgy and disruptive towards each other. It was even worse considering their mother was with child.
John caught sight of a bird peeping out from it’s nest and said to it, “Ralph wasn’t always so bad, you know. We used to be real good friends, he even showed me how to climb this tree!” The bird had flown away as soon as he spoke, but he continued anyway. “He better have a good excuse for all this. I don’t know what he’s thinking ruining everything and telling me bad things about father.” It was true that Ralph would take his anger out on his father, telling John all sorts of bad thing’s about him. John tried not to agree, but Ralph could be very forceful sometimes, and John would almost be forced to agree with him.
His mother went in, giving up. John decided to go down soon and eat his breakfast and say goodbye to his father, who would soon leave for work. He hadn’t really spoken to John in a long time, because he was so busy with Ralph and work. John took one last look around and started down the tree. At the bottom was a little stone path leading around to the front door, grass was pushing through the individual stones pushing them up at odd angles. John walked on the pointed tips of the stones, tripping more than once on the way to the door. Someday he would make it across without tripping, he promised himself.
~
John was eating breakfast when his father came down, anger streaked across his face. His wife followed him, worried as usual, ringing her hands.
“He’s a boy! It’s not possible!” Shouted Mr. Kerr. “He’s an arrogant lad who can’t keep his nose out of trouble!”
Then the Mrs. spoke up. “He isn’t just a lad, he’s a young man of seventeen! Even if he doesn’t act like it. I think that it’s quite possible that he could be...” she looked at John who was staring expectantly at them. He was disappointed when she merely made a gesture with her hands indicating, that she couldn’t go on.
“Well, that’s what you think! Now madam if you excuse me I have to take my leave!” And he stormed out of the house leaving his wife and son staring after him. John’s mother slowly walked up to her room to, or at least as John suspected, cry. He sat, not eating, not doing anything, just sitting.
Then a torrent of questions came rushing to his brain. Why was this happening to his family? WHat right had Ralph to make everyone miserable? WHy would his father be so cruel? Was everything Ralph said about him false? Was he trying to turn the family against each other? Why now, when his mother was expecting child? Would there never be an end? And more importantly, What would the outcome be?
He didn’t know how long he sat thinking his thoughts, all he knew is that by the time he was interrupted it was after midday. A knock at the door woke him from his pondering. When his mother didn’t come down he went to go see who it was. He opened the door.
“Hello, young lad.” In front of him was a heavy set man, gruff and old. John knew him from the inn down the road. He wasn’t mean, or rude, but he could be angered easily. And he looked angry now, and he held someone by back of his jacket like a cat would hold a kitten, only without the ease and gentility. The boy held his head down so John couldn’t see his face.
“Do you know who this is? Caught him gambling unfairly, said’e lived ‘ere. Wouldn’t be surprised if’n he ‘ad to much to drink to! Filthy rotten sots!”
“I’m no sot! Or a cheat!” Shouted the boy he lifted his face and John gasped. It was Ralph. “It weren’t me who cheated! I don’ live ‘er!” He looked at John with pleading eyes. “I never saw this boy before, Honest!” Ralph said.
“But Ralph-!” and then John realized his mistake. The inn keeper spoke up. “Oh, so ‘e do live here! You better not show your face in my inn again!” And he shoved Ralph, stumbling into the house. He looked at John with and an angry glare lit his face. “But Ralph! You had to give me away!?” He started stomping up the stairs with John looking after him.
“Stop Ralph! Is that where you’ve been going? You go to the inn to gamble and-” He was cut off by his angered brother.
“No it isn’t John! I’ve never been there before now! You’d better not tell father and mother and you better keep your questions to yourself!” He snapped.
“But-”
“Oh, go away and mind your own business! Wish you’d all just disappear!” And he slammed the bedroom door behind him. John didn’t even blink at the sound. He could hear Ralph pacing back and forth, and once a chair thrown dawn angrily made him jump. Their mother knocked on the door but no one answered, save for Ralph’s cursing which grew louder, and sometime, a long time later, quite and more sporadic.
Meanwhile John and his mother went about doing housework. John offered to do the gardening, just to get away from his brother’s rage, yet when he went he could see the shadow of his brother on their rooms curtains. He hurried his job as quickly as possible. Whenever Ralph would do this it could go on for hours. When it ended her John would either find him staring nowhere on his bed. If things went worse he would storm off wherever it was he went.
John did cry once. It was late and the sun had almost set. He heard his brother cry out in agony, at what John didn’t know and couldn’t guess. The tears sprung to his eyes as the bellow rang down the hall to his ears, where he stood shaking the dust from an old carpet. Light was streaming through a window and the door John was at. It filled their dusty old hut, all except the small nooks and corners. They remained dark. John sat down crying. The dust lifted from the ground choking him and settling on his tearstained face. The dark. It filled his life, and had for a long long time. He closed the door from where he sat, and darkness entered more of the small room. But from the window came one small beam of light, looking alive as the tiny dust particles swirled in it’s wake. John watched it for a while then hung his head.
When he raised it again before him stood his brother, all the rage gone from his face, and tears coursing down it like his brothers. Ralph ran and knelt by John, and hugged him tight. John thought for sure he was dreaming, but then his brother whispered in his ear, “I’m so sorry, John...so sorry.” And they sat there until darkness had filled the whole room but they didn’t notice. So long they sat there that John did not know when his brother carried his sleeping form up to their room and laid him in his bed. And pulling the covers over him, Ralph left the room, closing the door softly.