Give me back my Geordie: A Writing Snippet

Those of you on my email list have heard me discussing my newest writing project, one that I feel has a lot of potential. As of this post, I am about 28K words in, and I am really starting to enjoy the characters and plot. I have passed the initial barrier presented by writing in a different genre (one that you can't make up things in 😬). As anything does, my story has become easier to write as I've spent more and more time with it.

Before I share a snippet of the story with you, I want to share how I came up with the idea. I enjoy listening to the Baltimore Consort with Custer LaRue, a Renaissance group that was (in my opinion) at its height in the 90s. I have been wanting to write a collection of short stories based on several of my favourite ballads for quite some time, but I have never gotten around to it. Instead, I had another idea. 😏 In November or late October, I was listening to a song that I had recently become acquainted with. I had first become attracted to it because of its tune, but out of the blue, I suddenly realized what a good story it was! After all, it was one of the few ballads I was familiar with that ended happily. As a matter of fact, it is a translation of a poem by the famous Scottish poet Robert Burns.

Here is the song:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vCIjw-EZePU

I hope you do listen to this song. It's one of my favourites currently, and if you like Scottish or Renaissance music, this is quite authentic and intriguing! Without further ado, you can read the first few pages of my book (currently being called Give me back my Geordie) below!

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Chapter 1

     “Why would this land ever want to change?” Eleanor leaned against her husband’s arm as he pulled the carriage to a stand still at the top of the hill. Today, the clouds were high and wispy, and she could see miles into the distance. As far as she could see, there were rolling hills of wheat and barley, here and there tinged purple with heather. Tiny white sheep dotted the lands, and becks sparkled, catching the sunlight as they rushed over thousands of little rapids on their journeys down to the loch. No matter how many times she’d been here, she never grew tired of seeing it.

     Beside her, Geordie shifted, putting his arm around her. She turned to look at him, wondering at how sad and tired he looked these days. “I have had word from a colleague in Edinburgh” Geordie said at last, turning to look at her. His dark eyes were sad and almost a little afraid. Against his deep brown overcoat, he suddenly looked quite pale. “He says that King James II has intensified his threats to disband Parliament. Eleanor, it seems as though he really will. And Britain will not stand for that, I know. His Majesty is too much like his father. And we all know what came of that…Eleanor,” he turned suddenly, taking her hands in his as if they were his lifeline. “Eleanor, I could not stand for another Civil War.”

      Eleanor’s heart ached for her husband. She knew she could say nothing that would change the way the future was unfolding. “Nothing is certain yet, my dear. And today we have Edmond’s birthday. The poor lad has struggled through a week of lessons to reach today. That is something to celebrate. He is starting his seventh year, hale and hearty.”

      Geordie turned to her, and the ghost of a smile had become a real one. “Aye.” A sad glow momentarily touched his eyes, and she knew he was thinking of the two children they had lost. She exchanged a sad smile with him and squeezed his hand. “We are blessed here, George Robert Charles Hamilton. What a marriage and a family we have. And what a Father we serve.”

      Geordie leaned forward and gently kissed her. “You are right, dearest. Let us return and rescue Edmond from Master Applegate.”

      Eleanor smiled. “Geordie, don’t. He is a good man.”

      Geordie clucked his tongue and twitched the reins. With a light spring, their horse began to trot across the turf. “He is a learned man. He knows his letters and his Latin. I suppose we should be grateful to have him.” 

      “Aye, we should be,” Eleanor said, mustering a disapproving tone, “and I won’t stand for you to scold him. Without him, we would have to send our sons to Edinburgh—or London.” She glanced quickly at him, wondering if he had heard the slight falter in her voice.

     Apparently not, for he turned to her, a teasing expression in his eyes. “Ah, mother hen,” he said. “Your chicks will yet learn to fly. You cannot keep them here forever.” He shrugged and turned back to the road as they bounced over the uneven dirt. 

     But Eleanor felt her eyes burning suddenly, and she wondered when Edmond had suddenly become seven. 

*

      The fire crackled warmly beside Eleanor’s chair as she set down her embroidery and looked around. Geordie was sitting across from her in his large armchair. He seemed dejected and faraway. The gleam in his eyes was tired, very tired. Edmond’s birthday had not alleviated the weight that had recently been on his mind.

     Anne put down her own embroidery and glanced at Geordie, a smile on her sweet face. “Father, can you not play us a tune tonight?”

      Geordie looked up, startled out of his trance. Eleanor glanced between him and Anne. It did not take much to see that he did not want to sing or play his lute tonight. She turned to Anne. “Not tonight, dearest. Your grandfather and grandame are worn from their travels, and we had best be quiet.”

     Anne inclined her head slightly, agreeing. “Some other night then, Father?” she asked. “It seems such a long time since we heard you play.”

     Though the flickering shadows tried to hide it, Eleanor could see that the smile on Geordie’s face was forced. “Of course, darling. But your mother is right, we daren’t wake the Baron and his Lady.” There was a teasing tone in his voice, and Eleanor knew he didn’t really think playing a tune or two would wake his parents. But he had latched gratefully onto the excuse she had provided him with. After all, they had traveled all the way from the north of the shire to be with Edmond for his birthday. 

     There was silence as the fire popped in the grate and tried to warm the large, dark room. Eleanor pricked herself and then almost lost the needle in her skirt when she dropped it. The little clock on the hearth was moving towards eleven o’clock and the previous conversation seemed completely over when there came a low laugh from the darkness. 

     Eleanor turned in surprise. She could not see across the dark room, but she knew who was there. “Auric, I thought you had gone to bed.” She glanced at Geordie and saw that he had nodded off. Anne turned and looked behind her, searching for the shape of her twin brother. 

     “I merely saw my brothers off to bed,” Auric said, his voice drawing closer. He strode out of the shadows, and leaned on the top of Anne’s chair, his arms folded. “I came back in while you were talking about waking Grandfather and Grandame with a mere tune and a few plucked strings.”

     Eleanor eyed her son, her eyebrow slightly raised. She could hear the tinge of sarcasm in his voice. At seventeen, he appeared to think of himself as a man in every way. “Think you not that we should err on the side of caution?”

      Auric shrugged. “I suppose so, but do you think that a melody by William Byrd, perhaps a verse or two, would wake them? They are two floors up and on the northside of the house. They would never hear us down here.”

      Eleanor glanced at Geordie. He was still asleep, but how she wished he wasn’t! She never knew what to say to Auric. “Auric, your father doesn’t need to justify his reasons,” she said, trying to keep her voice quiet and calm. “If I recall, you were not even a part of this conversation.”

     Auric bowed his head slightly. “Yes, Mother,” he said. His voice was respectful, but slightly cool. He came forward, drawing up a small wooden stool to sit on. The light from the fire illuminated his face and dark hair as he turned and watched Geordie sleeping. “I suppose,” he said, turning to Eleanor, “that you have heard what men say about Parliament and His Majesty?”

      “Auric,” Eleanor said quickly, feeling her heartbeat hammering inside her corset. “We will leave off such talk for the morning. Tell me, what did you two think of the sermon Sunday?”

     “You asked me already,” Auric said, his eyes falling from his father’s face. His voice was straying towards weary frustration.  

     “I cannot remember what you said. I asked all of you children.” As Eleanor looked into his dark eyes, at his brown, auburn-tinged hair, she could hardly reconcile him with the little baby she had once held. 

     “I suppose you could not help but forget,” Auric said, slightly angrily, “when there are such a lot of us children.” Her eyes widened as she startled. Very seldom had he crossed into blatant disrespect, but his voice was heavy with it now. 

     “Auric!” Anne exclaimed, her embroidery dropping from her hands and landing on her dress. “For shame!” 

     Auric turned to her, perhaps a little surprised by the outburst. Eleanor watched as her two children held each other’s gazes. Often, Anne was more comfortable calling Auric out than Eleanor herself was. She seemed to sense what emotion was behind his—oftentimes—unreadable face, and as a result, he appeared to respect her more than he did his mother. 

     The thought of this caused a deep ache to spring into Eleanor’s heart. It only grew as Auric dropped his eyes and turned to her. “Forgive me, Mother,” he said. “I thought the sermon was very good. Father was lucky to find Mr. Lamb.”

      “I agree,” Anne broke in, picking up her embroidery again. “I thought the message was fine. And I do believe everyone in the parish enjoyed it.”

     Eleanor was the one forcing a smile on her face now. She nodded. “Just so. When Father and I went out this morning, we saw several families, and they said the same.”

     “Anne fancies him, I do believe,” Auric said. The cool tone in his voice was gone as he turned and grinned at his sister. Now, he seemed like any of her other three sons. Honest—not brutally so—and adoring of their only sister. But when the full import of his words sank in, she could not help but laugh. 

      “Nonsense. A clergyman? Auric, don’t tease your sister.” The clock struck eleven, and she placed her embroidery in a drawer in the small table beside her chair. When she rose, she realized how stiff the back of her neck was. Her eyes ached as well. It had been a long day, and she was ready for sleep. Geordie, apparently, was as well. 

     She went over to him and brushed straggled hair from his face. He drew in a sudden breath, and his eyes flickered open. “It is eleven, dearest,” she said. Geordie’s eyes widened as he sat up and stretched. “Why we’ve just barely sent the little ones to bed. Did Edmond really work that late of a time out of us? Never mind.” He stood up and offered her his arm. The security of slipping her arm into his was comforting. “Oh, Auric,” Geordie said as his eyes fell on his oldest son. “Decided to join us?”

     “Yes, Father,” Auric said, bowing his head. His eyes glowed with respect now as they rested on Geordie. “But I’m off to bed now—after, of course, I see that no sprites are waiting at the stairs to spirit my fair sister off.”

     Anne laughed lightly, putting her own embroidery away on top of Eleanor’s. Her dark golden hair flashed in the light of the fire as she closed the drawer. Auric offered her his arm, and the two couples exited the room. 

     It was not until Eleanor was in bed, listening to the sighs of Glenloch House as it settled down to rest, that she realized Anne had not denied fancying the clergyman. 

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What did you think? I've struggled to really like Eleanor, since she's one of the British "bluebloods" of the time period...one of the nobility who has been around forever, doesn't want things to change and thinks she's too good to be intimate friends with anyone under her. However, she's a loving mother, caring wife and generally sweet person, and I've gotten used to the fact that this fault of her isn't necessarily her. It's the way she's been brought up to think.

As you can see, she faces some struggles with her son, Auric, and her daughter Anne who spoiler alert does in fact grow to "fancy the clergyman." I'm still toying with the beginning, because I don't want Auric to come across as horrid. He grows to be a pretty main character, and a likeable one, at that.

Well, I hope you enjoyed today's post. Definitely let me know what you thought.