A Beacon to the Heavens

“Hullo! How ye daein?” Agnes greeted Robert through her mobile phone using her playful American-English-Scottish accent.

“I’ve got some bad news,” answered Robert. “Great Gran Mary had an accident, and she wasn’t able to pull through. A ceremony will be held at the Old and St Andrew’s Church in Montrose this week. It’s time for us to make that trip.”

Devastated, and not surprised, by Great Gran Mary’s death, Agnes obliged without hesitation. “Wow. It’s just us now. I suppose now is the time to go tie up any loose ends.”

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Agnes and Robert’s biological parents had both tragically passed away when the two were young. Their only remaining relative known to them was Great Gran Mary Bell, a skilled sweater-knitting enthusiast and faithful church-club crafter. Other than that, they only knew that she lived off the coast of Scotland, where the patches of farming fields meet the rustling waves of the North Sea.

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Growing up in the United States, Agnes embodied the American dream. Thinking if she pledged allegiance, studied hard, and amassed enough debt to pursue a practical degree in business that she would achieve it all. Robert, on the other hand, is a perpetual aspiring novelist. Always crafting short stories and then moving on to the next big idea, he never focused deeply enough on his subjects to bring any of his work to fruition.

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“Robert!” shouted Agnes as she nearly dropped her luggage running up to give her older brother a big, comforting hug. “It’s so great to see you, even under these circumstances.”

“It’s great to see you too, Agnes. It’s been a while.”

As they boarded their flight to The Silver City, Agnes recounted the limited interactions she’s had with Gran Mary. “Until this moment, I never realized how much I don’t know about Gran.” she confessed.

Agnes, who didn’t pay any attention to genealogy, was more focused on studying hard to build a better future. Robert, who became curious with age, shared the few details he knew.

He went on about how their eighth great grandfather sailed to the US from Scotland back in the 1700s. The emigration was most likely due to him searching for a better life after a severe crop depression. However, Robert entertains the idea of an ulterior motive.

“Legend has it that back in Scotland, if you’ve seen a ghost-lit candle flicker in the night with no reasonable explanation for where it came from, then you’ve just witnessed a premonition of darkness to come,” Robert shared. “Wives from long ago say this means that someone close to you is about to cross over from life to death.”

Robert went on about an old Scottish tale of a man who saw a flickering light off the coast of the North Sea. The man became so fearful of the impending doom that he had his family pack their belongings and emigrate to avoid this predestined fate. It turned out that the light was the erection of a lighthouse! A traffic light for the sea, this new glimpse of light had been constructed to protect the coast and its seafarers navigating its booming ports and the beauty of Scotland.

“Could you imagine moving your entire family across oceans because of a superstition?” remarked Robert.

“I can’t even imagine moving down the block right now,” laughed Agnes.

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Landing a little after 9 pm, Scotland’s dark northern coastal waters reflected the string of lighthouses built many centuries ago along its shores. The yellow-carnation hue hit the midnight blue waters, guiding the way. And about an hour south, traveling down long, windy roads cut through fields of farmland expanding far beyond what is visible, they arrived at the outskirts of Montrose where Gram Mary lived out the remainder of her life.

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The house was filled mostly with art material, half-finished projects and fixture restorations, and a unique taste in antiques and tchotchkes. Amid the myriad items, Agnes homed in on an unstained, wooden box kept high up on a shelf isolated from everything else.

As she opened the box, she exclaimed, “Jackpot!” Robert rushed over to see what she had discovered.

The contents included files filled with government-issued paperwork, outdated credit cards, and local church pamphlets. On top sat a small, black notebook tied together with a string in the shape of a Celtic knot. To its right sat a smaller, wooden box. Inside the box was an envelope.

Agnes slid three gold coins out from the envelope. A sword and scepter on one side and a coat of arms on the other. Whipping out her smartphone, she inferred, “This looks ancient! I’ll check it out.”

Robert gravitated to the small, black notebook. Feeling half-guilty for going through his late Great Gram’s personal notebook, he slid the string out around the edges, careful not to unravel the beautiful knot, and turned to the first page.

“To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven. A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted…” Ecclesiastes 3:1-2

The crisp, white-lined pages aged into a russet shade, telling Robert this book goes back far beyond Great Gram’s time. Carefully scanning each page, he realized it was an old farming diary from long ago. The small, black notebook tracked farming yields from the land they were standing on. There were records from abundant years and many barren ones as well. The pages were filled with details about where the crops went after the farm to the volume generated by seed per acre.

As a writer, Robert felt that he was the one who truly scored the jackpot. This book provided a wealth of information on family history that he had questioned for decades. Taking a closer look at each page, Robert discovered something gripping. Amid the copious records, each entry was not only linked to the moon cycle, but how each crop cycle was optimized by combining other astrological hints such as which zodiac sign the moon was in during planting.

Robert found years where seeds sown when the moon was in Cancer, a water sign, provided 65 percent more yield with a 97 percent survival rate, compared to years before when the moon was in impatient, fiery Sagittarius. He next noticed a trend. Where his ancestors needed a firm, sturdy crop, they turned to planting when the moon was in Fire signs. When they required rich, prolific fruit from flowers, they turned to planting when the moon was in Earth signs.

Robert thought to himself, this must be how our ancestors survived. They used astrology and farming to make it through the famine.

--

“Robert, Robert! Check this out,” shouted Agnes from across the room. “These coins date back to the pound Scots, a currency used back before the union with England.”

Robert’s jaw nearly hit the floor. “How can you be so sure?”

“Look,” said Agnes as she pulled up an image on her smartphone. “The words SALUS POPULI SUPREMA LEX and the year 1601 match these records of the pound Scots.”

“These must be worth something. Could be $20,000, could be millions! Let’s take these down to Edinburgh to get them authenticated tomorrow,” advised Robert. Agnes agreed.

--

Stepping outside to admire the land that fed their ancestors for generations before turning in for the night, they took in a deep breath of the fresh Scottish air complimented by the symphonies of the night critters spread far and wide into the depths of the darkness unfolding before them.

Far out into the grasslands, past where the tree lines meet the meadow, a rose-pink light flickered in the night. Ignoring the Scottish tale from long ago, they followed the light up to the tree lines. From there, a faint tune and the muffled sound of laughter emerged from the forest. Again, curiosity got the best of them as they made their way into the forest.

“Hullo!” shouted a short, elder man. “I haven’t seen you two in over 300 years!”

Puzzled, Agnes and Robert inched closer. “Come again, 300 years? I’m not sure we’ve met. I’m Agnes, and this is my brother Robert. We are the only remaining great-grandchildren of the late Mary Bell who lived about a mile back. We’ve come here to settle her estate.”

“Well, isn’t that something. Glad you’ve finally made it back home. Now come, join us!” welcomed the elder, as he opened space around the small fire where the fairies danced, drank, and sang the night away.

As they stepped inside the circle, they suddenly disintegrated into dust. Swirling up, up, and away, following the smoke from the fire up into the heavens.

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