MacAllister Read online

Skye kissed him, and the others in the pub laughed and applauded.

  Before stopping by the White Horse Pub, Duff had picked up his mail. Not wanting to read it in the pub, he waited until he got home. Now, settled in a comfortable chair near a bright lantern, he looked through the mail.

  Dear Cousin Duff—

  My name is Andrew MacCallister, and yes, we are cousins, though I’m certain that you have never heard of me. I have heard of you only because I hired someone to research my family’s past with particular emphasis on any of my family that might remain in Scotland. That brought me to you.

  You and I share a great-great-great-great-grandfather, one Falcon MacCallister from the Highlands of Scotland. You might be interested to know that I have a brother named after him, and, I am pleased to say, Falcon has done the name proud.

  My twin sister Rosanna and I are theatrical players, and on the fifth of April we shall be appearing at Campbell’s Music Saloon on Argyle Street in Glasgow. It would please us mightily if you could attend the performance as our guest.

  Sincerely,

  Andrew MacCallister

  White Horse Pub

  “I thank you for the invitation, Duff,” Skye said in response to Duff’s invitation for her to accompany him to the play. “But ’tis thinking, I am, that you should go by yourself, for they are your kinsmen.”

  “And soon to be yours as well,” Duff said. “For when we are married, my kinsmen are your kinsmen.”

  “Aye, but we aren’t married yet, so they are not my kinsmen now. And they dinnae invite me. They invited you.”

  “That’s because they know nothing about you,” Duff said. “I will introduce you, then they will know you.”

  “I think it would be better if I dinnae go,” Skye said. “Besides, after we are married, I will no longer work for my father, so I feel I should give him all the time I can.”

  “Then if you won’t go, then I won’t as well.”

  “Duff Tavish MacCallister, how dare you do that to me?” Skye said. “Don’t saddle me with the responsibility of you not going.”

  “I just meant—”

  “I know what you meant,” Skye said, interrupting him. “Duff, you must go to the play. I would be very upset with you if you did not. Go, then come back and tell me all about it.”

  “I’ll do better than that,” Duff said. “If you won’t go to meet my kinsmen, then I shall bring them here to meet you.”

  Skye smiled. “Aye, now that I would like. I have read of them in the newspaper. They are quite famous in America, you know.”

  “Are they?”

  “Aye. ’Twill be a grand thing to meet them, I am thinking.”

  Campbell’s Music Saloon, Argyle Street, Glasgow April 5

  Duff MacCallister was a reserve captain in 42nd Foot, Third Battalion of the Royal Highland Regiment of Scotts. As such, when he arrived at the theater he was wearing the kilt of the Black Watch, complete with a sgian dubh, or ceremonial knife, tucked into the right kilt stocking, with only the pommel visible. He was also wearing the Victoria Cross, Great Britain’s highest award for bravery.

  He went inside the theater to the “will call” counter.

  “The name is MacCallister. I am not certain, but I believe you may have a ticket for me.”

  “Indeed, I do, sir,” the clerk replied. “Just a moment, please.” The clerk called one of the ushers over. “Timothy, would you be for taking Captain MacCallister to the green room? Introduce him to the stage manager, Mr. Fitzhugh. He will know what to do.”

  “Aye,” the usher said. “Come, Captain.”

  Duff followed the usher down a side corridor to an area behind the stage.

  “I heard Mr. Service call you MacCallister. Be ye a kinsman to Andrew and Rosanna MacCallister?”

  “I am told that is so, though I confess that I have never met them,” Duff said.

  “They are quite famous in theater,” Timothy said. “We are very lucky to have them come to Glasgow to perform.”

  They came to a large room with chairs and sofas, also tables with tea and biscuits on them.

  “’Tisn’t green,” Duff said.

  “Beg pardon, sir?” Timothy asked.

  “He said take me to a ‘green room.’ This room isn’t green.”

  The usher laughed. “It’s what they call the room where the actors can gather offstage. I think the first one must have been green. Now ’tis the name for all.”

  “Makes no sense to me,” Duff said.

  “Aye, nor does it make sense to me,” Timothy said. “There is much about the theater that makes no sense to one who is not in the business. But ’tis a good job to have.”

  There were several men and women standing about in costumes and stage makeup, talking among themselves in words and phrases that were unique and exclusive to their profession.

  “George was out on the apron, corpsing while we were working out the blocking. He had me so flummoxed that I didn’t know whether to go stage left or stage right,” a young woman was saying.

  “Had it been me, I would have just given my exit line and stepped behind the backdrop,” a young man said, and they all laughed.

  “Mr. Fitzhugh, this is Captain MacCallister,” the usher said, introducing Duff to an older, bald-headed man who was wearing square-rim glasses situated far down on his nose. He was looking at notes he had fastened to a clipboard.

  “Ah, yes, Captain,” Mr. Fitzhugh said. “Mr. MacCallister was hoping you would come. If you would wait here, sir, I shall summon him.”

  “Thank you,” Duff said. He moved over to one side of the room, providing some separation between himself and the players in costume and makeup. He noticed that one or two of the young women seemed to be paying special attention to him, and he looked away self-consciously.

  Suddenly all the conversation stopped.

  “Mr. MacCallister, can I do something for you?” someone asked.

  Duff looked up, thinking the person was talking to him, but saw that they were talking to another person, a man who was in his early fifties and carrying himself with great dignity. Like the others, he was in costume and makeup.

  “No, thank you, relax, relax,” the man said. Spying Duff, a broad smile spread across his face. “Cousin Duff, how good of you to come,” he said, extending his hand.

  “It was good of you to invite me,” Duff replied, appreciative of the man’s firm grip. “You would be Cousin Andrew?”

  “I am,” Andrew replied.

  “Ma’am,” someone said and, as they had with Andrew, all stood in respectful silence as a very attractive woman, also in costume and makeup, came into the room.

  “Sister, come and meet our Scottish kin,” Andrew called to her. “Cousin Duff, this is Rosanna.”

  Rosanna stuck out her hand and Duff bowed his head slightly, then raised her hand to his lips for a kiss.

  “Oh, my! How gallant!” Rosanna said. “Andrew, do pay attention to our young cousin, perhaps you will learn a thing or two.”

  “Timothy?” Andrew said.

  “Yes, m’laird?” the usher replied.

  “Please take Mr. MacCallister to the orchestra, row five, center seat,” Andrew said. He smiled again at Duff. “I may have just sown the seeds of my own disaster. That is the best seat in the house. If I stink up the stage with a poor performance, there will be no hiding it from you. The play we are presenting tonight is called The Golden Fetter by Watts Phillips. I do hope you enjoy it.”

  “Oh, I am certain that I will greatly enjoy the performance,” Duff replied.

  When Duff was escorted with great pomp and circumstance to his seat in the theater, he was aware of the reaction of the others when he, a Highlander in the uniform of the Black Watch, took the best seat in the house.

  “Who is he?”

  “Perhaps a relative of the Queen?”

  “He is someone of great importance, of that we can be certain.”

  “Aye, he is wearing the Victoria Cross. That alone should b
e enough to warrant the best seat in the house.”

  The lights in the theater dimmed, but were brightened on the stage. Before curtain rise, the sound of a storm was heard, and as the curtain drew up a flash of vivid lightning was seen, followed by a loud clap of thunder. Onstage was the interior of a village barber’s shop, fitted up with the usual paraphernalia.

  Duff enjoyed all three acts of the melodrama, feeling a sense of pride in that his kinsmen were indeed the stars of the performance. After escaping many perils and dangers, Andrew and Rosanna were now the last two actors on the stage.

  Andrew (as SIR GILBERT): Look up—look up, dearest! With his own hands he has broken the fetter, and you are mine now, (embraces her) you are mine!

  Rosanna (as FLORENCE): (as her head sinks on his shoulder) Forever, Gilbert, forever.

  The curtain came down to thunderous applause. Then it rose again so that the players could take their curtain call, in groups for the lesser players, then singly for the more principal roles. Finally Rosanna curtsied, then left the stage for Andrew, who bowed, then held out his hand to call Rosanna back so they could take the final bow together as, once more, the curtain descended.

  Duff remained seated as the others in the audience began to exit the theater. He wasn’t entirely sure of what was expected of him now. Was his only obligation to come and see the show? Should he go back to the green room and wait? Or would that be too presumptuous on his part?

  Not until he was the only person remaining in the auditorium did he stand and start to leave. That was when Timothy appeared from the same side door Duff had gone through when he visited the green room.

  “Captain MacCallister?” Timothy called.

  “Aye?”

  “Mr. MacCallister’s compliments, sir, and he asks if you will join him in his dressing room.”

  Duff followed Timothy along the same path he had traversed earlier, but this time they passed through the green room, which was even more crowded now than it had been before. All the cast and the stagehands were gathered there, babbling in excitement as they came down from the exhilaration of the production. Timothy led him through the green room and down a long hall to one of two doors, each of which had a star just above the name. The sign on one door read: MISS MACCALLISTER. The sign on the other door read: MR. MACCALLISTER. It was upon this door that Timothy knocked.

  “Mr. MacCallister? It is Timothy, sir. I have Captain MacCallister with me.”

  The door opened and Andrew stood just on the other side, his face white and shining with some sort of cleansing lotion.

  “Thank you, Timothy. Come in, Duff, come in,” Andrew said. “I shall be but a few minutes longer. Then perhaps you would honor Rosanna and me by allowing us to take you out to dinner.”

  “No,” Duff said.

  “No?” Andrew had a surprised expression on his face.

  Duff smiled. “I was your guest for the wonderful play. Now I insist that you and Rosanna be my guests for dinner.”

  Andrew smiled and nodded his head. “We would be delighted,” he said.

  Duff watched in fascination as Andrew sat down at his dressing table and, using a towel, wiped his face clean of the cleansing lotion. Gone, also, were the dark lines that had been around his eyes, and the dark outline of his lips.

  “You must wonder what kind of man would put makeup on his face,” Andrew said, glancing at Duff in his mirror.

  “No, I . . .”

  Andrew’s laugh interrupted his response. “I know, I know, my own brothers tease me about it. But one must outline the eyes and the mouth when onstage for, next to the voice, those are the most important instruments in an actor’s profession. With them, we exhibit surprise”—Andrew opened wide his eyes and mouth—“anger”—he squinted his eyes and drew his mouth into a snarl—“sadness”—he managed to make his eyes droop and his lips curl down—“and happiness.” Again his eyes were wide, though not quite as wide, and his mouth spread into a wide smile.

  Duff laughed, and applauded. “That is very good,” he said.

  “Yes, you could see it because you are here with me, in the same room and but a few feet away. Onstage, however, the audience member in the farthest row from the stage must be able to see those same reactions, and in order to do that, we must use makeup.”

  “I can see how that would be so,” Duff said.

  There was a light knock on the door and a woman’s voice called through. “Andrew, are you decent?”

  “Why, Sister, I am one of the most decent people I know,” Andrew replied.

  “That had better be more than a joke, because I am coming in,” Rosanna said, pushing the door open and stepping into the room. Her makeup and costume had been removed, but she was still, Duff saw, a very attractive woman. She smiled at Duff. “Did Andrew tell you we want you to be our dinner guest tonight?”

  “I told him, but he refused,” Andrew said.

  “What?” Rosanna replied in surprise.

  “It turns out that he wants us to be his guests.”

  Rossana laughed. “I hope you accepted.”

  “Of course I did,” Andrew said.

  Chapter Three

  After the show Duff took his two cousins out to dinner at the King’s Arms restaurant.

  “It is Scot you are, so Scot ye shall eat,” Duff said.

  “We defer to you, cousin,” Andrew said.

  Duff ordered a rich, Scotch broth to start the meal, then a hearty pot-roasted chicken with potatoes as the main course, and he finished it up with clootie dumplings covered in a rich custard sauce.

  During the meal Andrew explained how they were related.

  “Our father, that is, mine and Rosanna’s, was Jamie Ian MacCallister the Third. He was captured by the Shawnee Indians in 1817 on his seventh birthday and raised among them so that he was more Indian than white. He learned the warrior’s way, and when he was only nine, he shot a deer with a bow and arrow he had made himself. And if that wasn’t enough, he fought off two wolves for the carcass. That earned him the name Man Who Is Not Afraid.”

  “Father was at the Alamo,” Rosanna added. “He was the last courier Colonel Travis sent out before the final battle.”

  “There is a statue of him in the town of MacCallister, Colorado. The statue was made by the noted sculptor Frederic Remington,” Andrew continued.

  “My, with a history like that, a statue and a town of the same name, your father must have been quite a successful man,” Duff said. “I’m sure you are very proud of him.”

  “We are,” Rosanna said. “He was one of the true giants of the American West, and founder of the city that bears his name.”

  “His father was Jamie Ian the Second,” Andrew said, continuing the narrative. “He was one of the early settlers and a successful farmer in Ohio. My great-grandfather was Jamie Ian the First, and he was truly a giant. He made the trek West with Lewis and Clark, and he became a mountain man, living and trapping on his own for many years before returning to civilization.

  “My great-great-grandfather Seamus MacCallister, was a captain during our Revolutionary War. He was with Washington at Valley Forge, crossed the Delaware with him, and was at his side at the final Battle of Yorktown. In doing family research, I came across a letter written to him by George Washington in which he praises Seamus for his military skills and courage.

  “My great-great-great-grandfather, Hugh MacCallister, was a captain in the service of Governor Joseph Dudley of Massachusetts during the Queen Anne War. Hugh MacCallister was the first of our family to emigrate from Scotland, and was the brother of Braden MacCallister, your great-great-great-grandfather. Both were sons of Falcon MacCallister, and that, my dear cousin, is where our family lines cross.”

  “You said in the letter that you have a brother named Falcon,” Duff said.

  “Indeed, we do,” Andrew said. “And I hope you will forgive the familial pride, but Falcon is one of the most storied people in our American West. Have you heard of General Custer?”


  “Of course, I have read much of him,” Duff said.

  “Falcon was with Custer on his last scout.”

  “But how can that be? I thought all who were with Custer were killed.”

  “Custer divided his forces into three elements,” Andrew explained. “All who were with him were killed, that is true. But most of the other two elements survived.”

  “I must confess that when Uncle Hugh took the MacCallister name to America it sounds as if he, and all who followed, have done the name proud,” Duff said.

  “Do you know much of our mutual ancestor, Falcon?” Andrew asked.

  “Aye,” Duff responded. “On February 7, 1676, Fingal Somerled and his clan set out to destroy the MacCallisters and steal all their cattle. But our mutual grandfather, Sir Falcon MacCallister, Earl of Argyllshire, learned of the threat and set a trap for the Somerleds. When Somerled and his men entered Glen Fruin, he encountered a large force of men led by Falcon MacCallister. Somerled tried to withdraw, but he found his exit blocked by a strong force that Falcon had put into position for just that purpose. The Somerleds were trapped with MacCallisters in front and at the rear, and the walls of the glen on either side. They were completely routed, many were killed, and Fingal barely managed to escape with his life. That was the start of a feud between our two families that continues to this day.”

  “You mean you are still killing each other?” Rosanna asked.

  “Oh, no, thankfully we have put that aside.” Duff thought of the recent fight he had with Donald, Roderick, and Alexander Somerled, and he chuckled. “But we do still have our moments,” he added.

  “Do you know the history of any of your other ancestors?” Andrew asked.

  “Oh, yes. We have kept an oral history as part of our lives, so much so that I feel I actually know ancestors whom I never met. Duncan MacCallister is an interesting ancestor, but I’m afraid my great-great-grandfather, Duncan, fought against your great-great-grandfather Seamus in your revolutionary war. He was with General Cornwallis at York-town. As a result, he was part of an ignoble surrender. I am proud to say, however, that he fared much better at Waterloo, where Napoleon was defeated. Duncan was a sharpshooter with the 95th Rifles, part of the Duke of Wellington’s army.