Maggie's Song

As the three hikers walked along the brown dirt trail, they came to a large cliff face. They stood breathless for a few seconds, eyes scanning the world before them. Behind them the dark viridian canopy of the forest echoed peace, while before them the white cliffs descended in a sheer drop into the aquamarine oceans below. Large white clouds floated by like castles. The three hikers stood in awe as they drank from their water bottles. Then they heard it.

Faintly, softly, they heard the song. It was strong and sweet and ethereal. The voice was on the wind, coming from the cliffs around them. They couldn’t understand the words which sounded smooth and clear, like Gaelic. They walked on the path along the cliff’s side looking for the singer. Then they saw her, a woman dressed in black, stood on the cliff that jutted out the farthest. She was looking away from them, her long white hair blowing in the breeze.

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Back at the tavern of the small town, the people were laughing and singing as a rather large man played a jig on a pipe. The three hikers sat at a table in the corner and discussed the trail that day. An old man sitting close by heard them talking and commented.

“Oh, so you took the Arrowroot trail? That ‘uns a beauty! Did you happen to see Mad Mag?”

“You mean the old woman who was singing?” asked one.

“Oh, aye! Ol Mad Maggie McGuire is a sight ta see!”

“Be silent you loudmouth!” said another old man, with a rugged and tired face. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Margret McGuire is not mad. She was simply madly in love.”

The other old man snorted and walked away to get more to drink as the three hikers leaned closer to hear as the man began speaking.

“It was a very long time ago, though for some of us it seems like it was simply yesterday…”

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The warm sun shone down on the green fields and pastures as three friends ran through the countryside. The green fields of the potato plants were fresh and clean smelling as the three continued running towards the old Arrowroot path that led to the cliffs. They ran through the forest but stopped at a stream to drink from the cool water.

“Angus! Stop that!” called the girl as she lay back listening to the stream.

“Awe come on Maggie! Its only a wee little splash!” The boy with the head of curly strawberry blind hair called, splashing more.

“I said stop!” Maggie called fiercely, “You better stop or you’ll be sorry! Bryan! Help me!”

The other boy with the dark hair laughed as he watched, pulling his fiddle out and beginning to play, “Only if you’ll give us a dance Maggie, me dear.”

She pretended to pout then got up. Bryan played a lively jig on his fiddle and she and Angus got up and began to dance in the clearing between the columns of trees. The stream seemed to serenade them as they twirled on the mossy grass and leaves. They laughed as they finished the dance falling on the ground.

“Alrighty then. Give us a song.” laughed Angus as he sat back.

“Oh, I dunno. Which one should I sing?” Maggie asked as she looked from one to the other.

“Sing about Scarborough Fair for us. About the parsley, and the sage, and the rosemary and thyme.” Bryan said getting his fiddle ready, “Here I’ll help.”

As the first note of the song rang out clear and true, she swayed slowly as she sang clearly and precisely. Her voice was soft and melodic and sweet, and Angus could only close his eyes as he listened in awe of her beautiful voice. Then as the song finished they all continued walking to the cliffs. There they lay back and watched the clouds.

Bryan began to play his fiddle, softly and smoothly, a melody that stirred the love in their young hearts. Maggie had not seen the wink that had passed between them. Then Angus stood her up and went down on one knee.

“Maggie O’Day. Will ya marry me? Please say yes, other wise I’ll have to throw myself down this cliff. But it would be better than living another day without you!”

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“He threw himself down the cliff?!?” asked one of the hikers.

“Oh no. They were married. And then the great war came. Like all strong young lads Angus and Bryan were sent to the front. They fought very valiantly too. Bryan was wounded in his leg. He still limps around to this very day.”

“But what about Maggie? Why is she on the cliffs?”

“I was getting to that. Patience. As I was saying…”

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After the great war was done, Angus returned to the village and he and Maggie were married. They bought the house on Breaker’s Point, and soon Maggie was great with child. Our people don’t like wasting time, ya ken. Anyway, Maggie gave birth to twins, a lad and lass all bonny and beautiful. Just like their mother. The McGuires began farming and received their first spuds from their good friend Bryan.

That summer was bountiful and Angus made some money by selling some of his cuttlings as seed for other potato farmers in the area. Those first years were the happiest time any of them had. The children grew up so fast in that time that soon they were helping their father plant the fields while their mother watched contently as her family worked from her kitchen door.

At night, Bryan would come to their farm and would sit by the fire, the children on his lap, and would tell them tales of all the places he had seen in the war. Then he would bring out his old fiddle and would play tunes until they were ready for sleep. And Angus would draw Maggie near and whisper to her.

“Maggie, give us a song. Sing of Scarborough Fair.”

And Maggie would sing like they had when they were all children as Bryan played. And Angus would look at his work worn hands and feel the soft happiness the music brought his heart. Then he would carry his children to their bed, their small hearts beating against his. And then he and Bryan would walk back to his home in the cool evening and speak of their days in the war and of comrades lost but never forgotten. But he returned home quickly, and would take his darling wife in his arms and simply stand there in the moonlight and let his heart speak to hers.

But in life, happiness is such a fragile fleeting thing. Recognize it, brush against it, simply breathe its name, and it shatters. And after five years of this wonderful life, the happiness too was broken, not just for them, but for us all. It was in the late summer, when Maggie was once more along with child and the fields were ripe and green when the blight came. In a day and a night all that they had worked so hard to build was destroyed.

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“Was that the great blight that went across the whole country?”

“Aye. The same. But in our small village it had a special curse. You see, we only grow potatoes and we’re so far and out of the way from any other villages that there was no way we could feed our children.”

“The great famine.”

“Aye.” was all the old man could say, years of age suddenly showing on his face. “Those who died, died terribly, but for those who survived it was much worse. No parent should ever have to burry a child. Never.”

Silence hung in the tavern as all had stopped to listen to the old man, some who knew him better removing their hats and looking down. The silence was deafening and seemed endless before he began speaking again.

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“What will we do?” asked Angus as he counted the last sacks of potato flour they had.

“We can forage in the forest.” Maggie said hopefully. “I’ve already taught the children how to find acorns and rosehips and mushrooms. We’ll be able to last till winter.”

“But what then? What will we do when winter comes and the forest is empty?” asked Bryan shaking his head.

“I can climb down to the sea and fish. It’ll be dangerous but I’ll manage.” said Angus taking one of the few metal nails they had and beginning to form it into a hook.

“I’ll ration our flour. We’ll make it. I know we will.” Maggie said smiling. “But what of you Bryan? You can’t climb down to the sea with your leg.”

“I’ll share my catch with you.” Angus said smiling, “if you promise to do the scaling.”

“Thank you friends. But I couldn’t. I would feel like I was taking the food out of their precious mouths.” He said motioning to the sleeping children.

“What will you do?”

“I will travel to Edinburg. From there I will find a way to get to America. I hear the blight did not reach there and that they are seeking workers. I can lay aside my fiddle for a while and work in a factory or maybe somewhere else.”

“Well then friend.” spoke Angus sadly, “until then, pick up your fiddle one more time and remind us of old time when things were sweet.”

“I could not sing of love or happiness tonight.” Maggie spoke softly.

“Then sing of the sea. It will save all of our lives very soon.” Angus said as he worked further on the hook.

And sing she did. She sang her song with a bittersweet smile as she remembered all the times that had been so happy and close and how they might never again have the joy they once had. And so Bryan left for America while the McGuires tried to survive.

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“What happened to Bryan?”

“Oh, he tried several jobs but his leg always caused him to lose them. He even worked on the large statue of a lady they were building in the bay for a while. But eventually his fiddle playing made him the most money. He would play in the snow in the large parks and avenues, his songs of the old emerald island and of home and loved ones. Any extra money he made he sent back to Angus and Maggie.”

“Wow, he was a really good friend.”

“Well, it was nothing really. He had only himself to take care of. Angus had Maggie and the three children to care for. Wouldn’t anyone have done the same in his place?”

There was silence as all thought of how they would have responded in Bryan’s position. The old man pulled out his pipe and lit it carefully before he continued with his tale.

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That first winter was rough. The fish were barely enough and the flour soon became rancid and infested by weevils. But they survived and by the time spring came they were ready to begin the work of planting again. But the blight was still in the soil and no plants would grow. The children still gathered whatever they could from the forest and Angus began setting traps at the base of the cliffs while he worked on the farm during the day. But it was useless. The farm had failed.

“Angus. What will we do? The money we have left from what Bryan sent us is barely enough to keep food on the table. Soon, something must change.” Maggie said wearily.

Angus held her close and whispered to her, “Take heart my love. The fish may not be biting anymore and the forest have been so depleted that they are dying, but we still have hope.”

“What hope?” Maggie asked as she buried her face in Angus’ shoulder crying.

He looked ahead and spoke with pain as he said, “There is always America.”

“What? No! We can’t leave our home.” Maggie said with fear.

“Not all of us. Just me. I can send the money I get back to you. The children know how to check the traps and set new ones. I spoke to Eric up the lane and he’s leaving too. He has a young boy too that could help with the farm. You and his wife would remain here and keep the farms going while we sent money for food. It would be just until the famine is over.”

This entire time Maggie had said nothing. She knew they had no other option but for Angus to leave was more than she could bare. Her heart felt like a small piece was dying. She simply held him closer and cried some more.

“There, there my love. It will not be long before we will see each other again.”

“When do you leave?”

“The day after tomorrow. But for now we are together.”

“Everyday, I will climb the arrowroot path to the cliffs and will sing you a song. Will you listen for it? Will you remember to look for it?”

“I will, my love. Every morning I will stop and wait for your song.”

“And every morning.” she spoke through tears, “I will sing you a song. I will sing of how the farm is green. I will sing of how the children have grown. I will sing of my love for you.”

“And I will sing back, even though it may sound like something dying, I don’t care. I will sing back to you. I will sing of the things I am seeing, of the people I meet and places I go and of how I miss you so much!”

“Everyday, until we see each other again.”

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“And they did.” said the old man softly.

“How would you know that though?” asked a skeptical hiker.

“Because lad, Angus went and stayed with Bryan. There he worked his hand as many things. But every morning he would wake Bryan with that racket of his, he called singing, afore he left for work.”

“Aye.” said an older woman nearby, “My family was the one who lived with the McGuires. I remember every morning we would wake up to the sound of an angel singing as Mrs. McGuire went to the cliffs to sing to the west.”

“True, true. And it was on one such morning that it happened…”

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Maggie stood upon the very edge of the cliff and closed her eyes, the strong winds pushing her hair, dress, and shawl back behind her. She imagined Angus, somewhere across the sea in a far away land also standing quietly like she was, waiting for the sunrise and the song.

And as Maggie McGuire stood there upon the very edge of the land, and as the sun breathed color into the morning sky she began to sing. She sang with all her might, with all her breathe. She sang letting her broken heart and weary soul spill forth into the coming day. She sang as loud as she could, so that every word of her heart would reach the distant shores and the heart of her love.

And as she stopped singing she closed her eyes again and imagined she could hear his song from across the waves. She imaged he was trying in vain to keep the melody of Scarborough Fair as he had done so many times. She smiled slightly and listened. And then very faintly, she heard it. A violin singing softly on the morning air. A fiddle playing Scarborough Fair.

Maggie’s eyes snapped open and looked down at the docks far below. There a small boat had pulled up. And standing on the dock beside all the passengers was Bryan, playing his fiddle. Her heart beamed and filled with unimaginable joy as she scanned the crowd for Angus. But she did not see him anywhere. As she watched with confusion she saw them bring three black caskets off of the ship. And suddenly all joy drained from her face.

Maggie ran down the path, through the forest where they had danced, past the home they had built and through the town they loved. She ran and tears ran down her face as she ran. Her heart was breaking, her soul felt torn from within her. As she came to the docks she ran up to Bryan and threw herself against him, sobbing violently. She beat her fist against his chest as she cried out loudly.

Bryan had dropped his fiddle and was saying her name…

“You mean he died!?!” said a hiker.

“Stop interrupting! Now as I was saying, she was crying when she looked up at Bryan’s surprised face…

“Bryan! What happened? Where is Angus?”

But before he could begin to speak she heard a distant voice. It sounded like a man singing. Or trying to at least. He was horribly off key. She spun around and looked towards the town, then the house, then the forest. And then she saw him. He was standing on the very edge of the cliff, where she had stood so many times, singing of his love for her.

She turned and ran to him, and he did too. They both ran with all their might, every cell in their bodies willing them on faster and faster. Forest and village passed in a blur as they met at the stream. She threw herself in his arms and he spun her around as she cried and laughed all at the same time. He kissed her long and hard and then they both fell back into the water.

“Angus! Angus, you’re home! Oh! I thought when I saw the coffins….”

“Shh. Shh. Its okay love. I’m back now. I’m home. And I’ll never leave again.”

As they kissed again, there in the running stream, the children came running up too, crying for their father. They threw themselves upon him and the family sat there soaked in the stream, as they all laughed and splashed, feeling the weariness and sadness of all the years of hardship washing off of them.

“But, how do you know all this?” asked the hiker.

“Because, I came up behind them, and began playing my fiddle again as I had all those many times before. And they danced there in the stream with the sun shining down on them. Ah, to have been there in that moment. That was the thing dreams are made of.”

“You mean you’re…”

“I’ve always been who I’ve always been. And now you see why Maggie sings.”

“But if Angus came back why is she still singing?”

“Well, many years and children and grandchildren later, Angus became ill. And as he lay there upon his deathbed, he and Maggie spoke, as they had so many years before:

‘There, there my love. It will not be long before we will see each other again.’ He had said.

‘When do you leave?’

‘The day after tomorrow. But for now we are together.’

‘Everyday, I will climb the arrowroot path to the cliffs and will sing you a song. Will you listen for it? Will you remember to look for it?’

‘I will, my love. Every morning I will stop and wait for your song.’

‘And every morning.’ she spoke through tears, ‘I will sing you a song. I will sing of how the land is green. I will sing of how the grandchildren have grown. I will sing of my love for you.’

‘I will sing back to you. I will sing of the things I am seeing, of the people I meet and places I go and of how I miss you so much!’

‘Everyday. Until we are together again.’

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That night, the hikers had heard a commotion in the village. They had awoken to see villagers in boats looking urgently in the cold waters at the foot of the cliffs. And as they looked they saw Old Bryan walk up to the spot where his two best friends had stood and begin to play the old tune as the large white moon appeared behind the clouds behind him.