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Chapter One - Teaser

Watcher in the Woods

Cold fog lay all around like smoke in the hollows, and a cloud had settled on Mount Ben Nevis like a hen on a single egg. The late autumn air was thick and damp.

Jack MacIntyre was finishing securing his farm for the night. He loved this place, a picturesque square of land fallen to the bottom of the mount, the highest peak in Scotland. His property was enclosed by a variety of trees, now splendid in hues of red, orange, yellow, and brown. Birds chirping happily in the trees overhead filled the air with song. A mossy creek slithered through his land, the distant rush of water making a joyous chorus. Rocky crags and scented wildflowers dotted the countryside and the view of the mountain was spectacular.

Jack had become heir to the farm just five years previous when his father had passed away. Shortly after that, his mother passed too, God rest their souls. He, along with his wife, Lizzy, and their son, Duncan, had moved into the big house, and he immediately began to work the farm.

The well-traveled path from pasture to barn was strewn with fallen leaves, and he shuffled his feet through them as he walked. The air smelled sweet and crisp as he passed by an overloaded apple tree ready for harvest. “Maybe tomorrow,” he thought, as he looked toward the daylong chore. Making a basket from his shirt front, he reached up and picked a half dozen anyway.

The chickens clucked happily to themselves as he passed; cold as they were, they were reluctant to leave their little patch of sunshine and enter the coop.

Inside the barn, the geese seemed content; the pigs, worn out after days of rutting, were tucked safely away while mama pig munched at dinner while her piglets suckled theirs.

The horses, happy to be through with their labors, were busy eating their evening meal, glad to be inside where they presided over the rest of the animals. When they saw Jack, they all walked excitedly to the edge of their stalls and stuck their heads out, hoping and waiting for their evening treat. As he passed by each horse, he palmed an apple, and one by one each took it gently from Jack, and then eagerly chomped it away. He smiled at the horses. “Don’t be too greedy, one at a time,” he said, as one of his horses nosed his basket shirt, hoping for another treat.

Jack approached Old Famous, standing aloof in the corner of his stall. Old Famous was a grey Andalusian. Jack had purchased him as a young colt from a horse trader from Spain who had come to Scotland years ago. When he saw Jack approach, he sauntered forward with the air of a laird and sniffed Jack up and down, hoping to find his dessert. It had been a habit of Jack’s to tease Old Famous, hiding the apple in a different pocket each day, making him work a little bit harder for his treat. Old Famous was notoriously smart, which everyone knew, but today Jack didn’t have the heart to tease him. Old Famous grunted admiringly at Jack-old habits die hard-for the horse liked the game too.

Jack held out his hand as Old Famous nipped the apple from Jack’s hand and slowly began to chew. Jack watched as Old Famous ate. It did his eyes good to see the horse enjoy the snack. Old Famous had been ill of late with what he Jack presumed to be colic. The horse hadn’t eaten much of anything for the last few days, and Jack was deeply concerned, for he loved this horse like one of his own. They had a long history together, and seeing his horse take sick made his heart heavy. He had heard of this illness affecting horses before, and now it had nearly waylaid his favorite.

Jack let himself into the stall and picked up a curry brush, gently stroking his horse that in turn neighed quietly with pleasure. Old Famous was blessed with a long head and a convex profile, with strong fine legs and powerful hindquarters. As Jack brushed, he noticed in particular the weight loss. “You’ve lost a few stone, haven’t you?” Jack asked as he gently curried his horse. “There, there, old buddy, I’ll get you feeling better. You hang in there and eat, will ye?” Jack grabbed a handful of oats, and Old Famous sniffed them, then turned his head away. As Jack looked at Old Famous, a surge of grief passed through him at the thought of his favorite horse ill. “Come on, boy, you have to try,” and Old Famous, seeming to understand, smacked his big lips over Jack’s hand and nibbled the few oats away. “Good boy, good boy,” Jack said soothingly as he stroked the withers and continued. “I’ll come back later on tonight to check in on you. Finish eating, all right?” Old Famous’s brown eyes seemed to look vaguely through Jack to some distant place only he knew about. Jack closed the stall and turned back, calling to Famous, “Now eat!” Jack left the barn, past the other horses, who stood watching, waiting, and hoping for a bonus that didn’t come.

“Well,” he thought, “with the exception of Old Famous, all’s well barring.” His thoughts left his horse to dwell on Duncan and Miss Lilly, his award-winning cow, and her calf. Where could he be? What was taking the lad so long?

He had sent Duncan out over an hour ago to fetch them home. They were the last of the animals to be bedded down. A dagger of a thought suddenly pierced him. “Oh, I’m just feeling tired tonight.”

It had been a long day, up at dawn and now nearly dark at five o’clock dusk. He had spent the whole day outdoors except for a wee bite at noon. Jack sighed, as he was plum worn out and bone weary from his labor. But he smiled, for his particular work gave him the utmost satisfaction.

Jack paused and turned to look up the trail, expecting to see Duncan. Nothing. He scratched the bottom of his chin, his hair blowing in the wind that was stirring, and uttered, “Blast that boy; if he is just lolling along he’s gonna hear a few words, mind him.” Chancy stopped nibbling hay and gave a sloppy snort in reply. Jack patted the mule and said, “Well, I’ll just go up to the big house and wait. Everything’s finished here.” And the thought of his soft comfortable chair made him quicken his step.

Jack MacIntyre was a solid six-foot-four, lean and strong from years of hard labor. He was wide shouldered, dark haired, and fashionably rugged, and his face sprouted a five o’ clock shadow, which could quickly go to full beard in a few days time. His eyes were blue as the sky-when the sky wasn’t covered with rainclouds. His olive skin, usually tanned darker from years of farm work, had faded somewhat as fall had arrived. His wide smile displayed relatively straight, healthy teeth, something he had inherited, thank goodness, because Scottish dentists tended toward the larger cities.

He smiled to himself as he walked back up to the house where Lizzy would be occupied with the evening chores. Today her usually engaging smile was compromised by a toothache. Yesterday she had been working out in the field with him, and while driving the tractor she had come upon a leaking riser. It had begun to rust, and as she tried to unscrew it, cross-threaded it. Angry at herself and too proud to ask for help, she worked and tugged at it. Giving it all she had, she yanked one final time. Suddenly it came loose, flying upward and hitting her in the mouth, cutting her lip and putting a thin crack right through her front tooth. Jack smiled at the thought; it was a little funny. And although Lizzy did fix the riser, she swore she wouldn’t ever again.

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The Fall of Mist and Red

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