TITLE:  Water Lullaby

    The postman came every afternoon around teatime---lately he came clad in 
his rubbers and mackintosh, for it drizzled every afternoon in the late 
summer in Edinburgh.   Neil would sit under the eave just outside the south 
entrance of the Royal Infirmary and wait for the post to come.  

    On Fridays, Mrs. Middleton, the jolly but fidgety widow of the late Dr. 
Middleton, brought Neil tea and cakes.   Mrs. Middleton had practically 
adopted Neil as soon as he had taken a room in her boarding house, but she 
became even more benevolent toward him after he had saved her little 
granddaughter from choking on a piece of hard candy the previous winter.  
Ever since, she insisted on doing little things for him, here and there, as 
payment for her "unpayable debt" as she called it. 

    "Do you like your cakes today, Neil?"  She asked.   She stood under the 
eave beside him with her umbrella still open.  The skirt of her black dress 
was turned under.

    "Yes, I like it very much, Mrs. Middleton."  Neil said.  "But you 
shouldn't be out in this rain.  It's pouring today."

    She chuckled and fiddled with her collar.  "Oh do go on lad--you treat me 
like a queen, you do."  She laughed merrily.  "Well, are you sure you 
wouldn't like for me to wait with you till the post comes round?"

    "No, I'll be fine.  I'm in an especially good mood today,"  Neil said 
with a grin.  "My anatomy class was canceled today, which means that I only 
have three more till graduation."

    Mrs. Middleton laughed again.  "I am glad of that."  She said.  "Do you 
have rounds tonight then?"

    "No that is the other reason for my good mood."  Neil said.  "This is 
John's weekend."

    "Well, should I expect you for supper then?"

    "Yes, a real sit-down meal would be very nice."  Neil said.

    "Lamb stew and parsnips."  She said.

    "I can not wait."  He said with a smile.

    She left Neil while he was still eating his whiskey cake.  He watched her 
walk down the steps and then turn the corner onto Meadow Street, then he 
turned his attention back to the rain.  It collected in the streets and 
glimmered there like white gold.  Edinburgh castle sat exalted on its hill in 
the distance and beyond that were the hills.

    The rain smelled different in the city.  In the Smoky Mountains, the rain 
smelled freshly evergreen and new.  Neil could never decide what the smell of 
city rain reminded him of, but it always made him miss Tennessee.

    Before he had come to Scotland, he had longed to explore the highlands 
and the Island of Barra from which his ancestors had come, but medical school 
had stranded him in the city.  Classes, tests, labs, papers, and patients 
crowded his schedule so much that he could never seem to find anytime to get 
away.

    "Two letters and a package for you today, MacNeill."  Ian, the postman, 
said.  Rain had accumulated in his wiry mustache and dribbled down his chin 
when he spoke.

    "Two and a package?"  Neil said with surprise.  He gladly took the 
letters from Ian.  "Thanks."

    Ian tipped his hat and walked up the two remaining steps to the hospital. 
 Though Ian's rubber bag had protected the letters from the sheets of rain, 
they were still well worn from their long journey.  Neil waited till the door 
closed behind Ian before he began opening them.  The package was from Dr. 
James Healy--one of his New York benefactors.   The letters were from Dr. 
Michael MacDougall and Grandame Spencer.   

    Neil opened the package first.  Inside was a colorful card.  The card 
read:

          "Happy Birthday, Neil. We hear
         that it will be less than a
         month before we can finally call
         you Dr. Neil MacNeill,"

 signed by James Healy and family.   Neil found beneath the card, wrapped in 
a New York Newspaper, a shiny new stethoscope.  He chuckled, squeezed the 
stethoscope apart with his hand, and put it to his ears.  

    Neil had only been sixteen when he first met Dr. Healy in Cutter Gap.  
Five physicians-- James Healy, William Paget, Michael MacDougall,  John 
Kinnigan, and Starr Gatlin--had come to Cutter Gap to hunt the Smoky 
Mountains.  They had hired Neil's uncle Timothy MaCabe as a guide, and Neil 
had come along to help carry the hunting gear, set up camp, clean fish, and 
dress any deer that were killed.  Neil's life had been changed forever by 
that hunt.  That first day in the woods, after everyone had gone hunting, 
Neil ventured to look through the strange bags that belonged to the 
physicians.  Dr. Healy had come back to camp early for dinner and caught Neil 
inspecting his stethoscope.  Neil had been so embarrassed that he spent the 
rest of the afternoon and into the night apologizing to Dr. Healy.

    "Dr. Neil MacNeill."  Neil said aloud to himself. A doctor at long last, 
he could hardly believe it.  He smiled and found it strangely satisfying that 
he should be becoming a doctor so near his birthday---it had always been such 
a hard time of year for him.

    After putting the stethoscope back into the box, he opened the letter 
from Michael MacDougall, another one of his benefactors.  MacDougall had come 
with Healy to Tennessee on that hunt; he was a big, burley Scotsman, whom one 
would not expect to smile, but soon Neil found that MacDougall was never 
without his large and lopsided grin.   Inside the envelope, Neil found 
another card; it read:

        "This may reach you a bit before 7 September, lad, 
        but I wanted to make sure you got it.  I know you
        are not one for celebrating your birthday, but
         I could not help but think of  you.  It is what made
         you who you are.  Not a 7th of September goes
         by without my thinking of it and you. Happy
         Birthday, Neil.You are a dear friend, and  from
         what I hear from  the professors there in Edinburgh,
         a great Doctor.  I hope this card finds you  well
         and happy,"

signed, Michael MacDougall.  A bundle of Scottish money was tucked within the 
card-- too much money to be sending as a gift and too much to be sending 
through the post over seas, but that was just Michael MacDougall, always 
trusting.  Neil shook his head at his friend.  MacDougall had been the first 
person that Neil  ever told about his dream to become a doctor.  

    The stars had been unusually bright that night so long ago, the first 
night of the hunting trip.  Low humidity and the cold air made the sky lucent 
and crisp.  Neil had not been able to sleep, for he was still embarrassed 
about being caught going through the doctors' bags and thoughts and dreams of 
becoming a doctor swirled around in his head.  But his dreams seemed so far 
away to him, as far away as the stars over his head and too far for him to 
reach.  He was not like these strange men.  He did not have a great mind like 
them.  

    Everyone slept soundly in their tents; Neil could even hear the familiar 
gurgling snore of his uncle, but he remained by the fire and stirred the 
embers with a stick. He played his old game of listening for things in the 
dark---first his Uncle's snoring then the swish of the river, then the wind 
in the trees, and then the fainter sound of a whippoorwill in the distance.

    "Don't worry about that stethoscope, lad."  A voice called from behind 
him.  When Neil turned around, he found Dr. MacDougall, the big Scotsman, 
behind him.  "You are welcome to look at any of our things."  The burly man 
sat down on the log beside Neil. 

    Neil cocked his head in wonder at the man's strange accent.  "Thank you 
sir."

    "Where are your shoes and coat, lad?  It's cold out here?"

    "Don't have any."  Neil said but did not look up at Dr. MacDougall for 
fear that he would find pity in his eyes.

    "Your uncle tells me you walk seven miles over these hills to go to 
school in El Pano and then seven miles back and still get your chores done."

    "Yes sir."

    "Do you like school then?"

    "Yes."  Neil paused and looked at the man.  He had a kind face with fine 
calm eyes that reflected the glow of the fire.  "I like it very much. I want 
to know why things happen---what makes the sun shine, why the sky is blue, 
what causes people to get sick."

    "So you want to be a scientist or a doctor eh?  Well that explains the 
interest in the stethoscope."

    Neil looked at MacDougall; the orange firelight wavered over the man's 
cheeks.  "I never knew my mother, sir."  Neil said.  He swallowed, not 
believing that he had spoken at all.  Something about the man made Neil feel 
comfortable, and so he continued.  "My pa said that she had red hair and big 
blue eyes.  He said that she wasn't afraid of anything."  Neil stirred the 
glowing embers with his stick.  The ashing logs crumbled into the fire.  "He 
said that she had a passion for life and that she loved history.  She used to 
ask my pa to read for hours from a book about Scotland.  He knew every 
chapter by heart because of her.  I still have that book.  She loved this 
river.  She used to sit at its edge and sing.  She loved children too--Pa 
said that she wanted children more than anything in the world.  But she never 
got to have any children because she died.  She died on September 7, the day 
I was born.   You see, I killed her."  Neil had tears in his eyes but he did 
not turn his face for fear that the stranger might see them.  "Pa said that 
if there had only been a doctor, she might have lived.  I might have been 
able to know her. I wish more than anything I could have known her.   I don't 
want anyone else to know that pain---not ever.  But people die uselessly all 
the time in Cutter Gap.  That's why I want to be a doctor.  I want to be a 
doctor, so I can stop people like my mother from dying."

    All was silent but for the crackling fire.  Neil could not believe he had 
just told a stranger about his mother.  What had come over him?

    "And your father?  Where is your father, lad?" MacDougall finally said, 
breaking the bitter silence.

    "Dead--- I don't want to talk about him."  

    Neil looked up and caught Dr. MacDougall staring at him with pity in his 
eyes; he threw his stick down and walked through the darkness to his beloved 
river.  But it was too late, MacDougall had already been touched by the young 
Neil MacNeill and his passionate dream to be a doctor, therefore, when the 
hunt came to an end, he and the other doctors-- Healy, Kennigan, Paget, and 
Gatlin--convinced Tim and Hattie MacCabe that  Neil should return with them 
to New York for an education.  Tim and Hattie consented, and Neil left Cutter 
Gap on a train just after Thanksgiving.  He spent a year of tutored study in 
New York with MacDougall and then attended college.  He returned to Cutter 
Gap only for holidays and summers.

    "Good news today, I hope, MacNeill." Ian, the postman, said and brought 
Neil back to his present situation on the steps of the Royal Infirmary.

    "Yes, good news,"  Neil said.

    The postman tipped his hat again and went back out into the rain.  Neil 
watched him go and then proceeded to open the last letter from Grandame 
Spencer.

    He recognized the handwriting as belonging to Uncle Bog, for Mrs. Spencer 
did not know how to write.
        
        Dear Neil:
        I am writing this here letter fer your Aunt Hattie.
        She is too taken with melancholy to write you herself.
        Typhus broke out in the cove. Everyone has lost at least one
        family member.  It was beyond my power to do
        anything--it was God's will.  Your aunt Hattie 
        has lost your Uncle Tim and all three of her
        beautiful young'uns.  Oh Neil, if only you had been
         here, maybe the Lord would have seen fit to spare
        them.  But now our dear Hattie is alone. I done all
         that I could, but it wasn't enough. I am so
        sorry fer you.  You are all alone in a place that I can
        not even imagine. I wish I was there for you
        my dear boy.    Hattie encloses these scrapes of cloth.
        The plaid piece is a cutting from one of your Pa's
        shirts, the blue is a piece from your Mama's dress, the
        white stripped is from your Uncle Tim's vest. She
        is making a quilt for you.  A birthday present, she says.
        She will sew these last few squares into the quilt when
        you return to us. We miss you.
        Your faithful,
        Mrs. Earl Spencer. 

    Neil crumpled the letter in his hand.  "God's will indeed!"  He said to 
himself.   He rubbed his thumb gently over the three squares of cloth.  His 
throat closed up and ached with the news.  He held the squares tight in his 
hand. A sugary sweet taste hung in the back of his throat, as he fought off 
the impulse to cry.  Tim had been like a father to him, and those dear 
children, they had all been round cheeked and blue eyed.  Uncle Tim had 
called Felicity his sweet angel, and John and Seth were boys full of 
mischief.  They were always filling Neil's pocket with spiders and crickets 
on his Holiday visits.  He wanted to curse and scream, but scream at what and 
who?  There was no one. 

    He tucked the squares into his vest pocket.  He had to get away from 
everything.  He could not face responsibility--he didn't want to.  Everything 
in his soul told him to leave it all behind--like his father had done, so he 
gathered his things abruptly and ran down the steps without taking care to 
guard anything from the rain.  His emotions far out-raged the storm.  Neil 
ran all the way down Infirmary Street without stopping until he reached the 
livery stable.

    "I need a horse."  He told the young blacksmith.

    The blacksmith, a tall lean boy no more than eighteen, stood bent over 
and shoeing a large bay mare.  He wore a heavy apron and his straight hair 
fell forward over his eyes when he looked up at Neil.  "Are you buying or 
letting?"  

    The boy's matter of fact tone racked over Neil's nerves.  He was out of 
breath and in no mood to consider things practically or rationally.  
"Buying!"  

    "Well, I don't have much to choose from right now, sir, only these five 
here."  The boy pointed to the stalls that ran in a row just behind him.  
"Plus this mare, if you can wait for me to finish shoeing her."

    Neil brushed passed the boy and walked along the line of stalls, stopping 
at each one to look at the horses inside.  In the third stall, he found a 
dark gray, Irish Hunter gelding.  The horse appeared to be in good health; 
its eyes were bright and blinking.  Neil opened the stall gate and stroked 
the horse's sleek neck gently; the horse rubbed its head against Neil's wet 
shirt.  He pulled the horse's mouth open to inspect its teeth; Neil estimated 
that the horse was around 5 to 6 years old and in fine shape--head and body 
were well proportioned and the animal was not overly husky as some Irish 
Hunters tended to be.

    "How much for this gray here?"  Neil asked.

    "I can see you're a man who knows a good horse when he sees one." 

    "How much,"  Neil asked impatiently--his anger still whirled inside his 
belly, making him anxious and short tempered.

    "One hundred pounds."  The boys said.

    "Seventy five?"  Neil said.

    "Ninety-five."  The boy retorted.  "And I will throw in the tack and 
these saddle bags."  

    Neil squinted through the dimly lit barn to see the saddlebags that the 
boy held up for him to see.  They looked well made, which was more than could 
be said of the tack that hung on the wall.  Still, the tack was good enough 
to get him to The Highlands, which is all Neil wanted. "Done!"  Neil said.

    "You aren't from around here are you sir?"  The boy asked with his head 
cocked in an expression of curiosity.  "You talk kinda funny, like you're 
from here but you're not." 

    Neil smiled remembering when he thought MacDougall's accent sounded 
strange.  "I'm from America."  Neil said and watched the deeper expression of 
wonder fall over the boy's face.

    "From the Wild West?"  The boy exclaimed.  "No wonder you know about 
horses.  I read novels about the Wild West all the time.  I bet you're a 
cowboy---have you ever seen any Indians or Gunfighters?"

    "Mainly I've seen Scotsman, who have found a new home in Tennessee, and 
there are a few Indians still around those parts, yes.   I have a friend 
named Billy Longfeather who is part Cherokee.  And I know a 
gunfighter---well, I guess you could call him a gunfighter.  His name is 
Bird's Eye Taylor.  They call him that because he can hit the eye out of a 
raven at 30 yards."

    The boy looked at Neil with admiration and astonishment, and Neil, who 
was too preoccupied to notice, saddled and bridled the horse, packed his 
stethoscope and letters into his new saddlebags, paid the boy, and mounted.

    "Has the horse got a name?"

    "If he does, I don't know it.  His last owner was sloshing drunk when he 
sold him to me."

    With that said, Neil rode away.  He sneaked into Mrs. Middleston's 
boarding house, and managed to creep up the stairs and pack his things.  Mrs. 
Middleton sang loudly in the kitchen, and Neil could hear the pots being 
shuffled about.  He left a note on her writing table.

        Mrs. Middleton:
        I will not be here for supper.  Something has come up, 
        And I have to go away for now.  I am not sure if or when
        I will return.  Thank you for your kindness.  I
        Have enclosed the rent for September.

        Neil MacNeill.

    
    As he rode out of town in the direction of Inverness, the mist surrounded 
him.  Edinburgh lay behind him, and he thought only of his Uncle and cousins. 
 He would never see them again.  He had no family left but Hattie.  Why had 
he not finished school sooner?  Why was he in Scotland while his family 
suffered and died?  He had abandoned them and his stomach was raw with the 
guilt of those who had died.

    The hills amassed before him---the terrain grew rocky, gray and rolling.  
The Highlands and the Isle of Barra were his destinations and not even the 
rain would stop him.

******************
 
    Neil rode for several days without stopping for anything more than a 
drink.  He didn't eat--he didn't feel like eating.  His horse, which he had 
named Highlander, drank from streams and grazed on the short grass that lay 
in abundance all around them.  Together, they saw glen after glorious glen 
and mountains that were barren and rocky and rounded--they were beautifully 
desolate.  After several hard days of travel, they came to a large rushing 
river, and Neil was so tired that he slide, rather than dismounted, from 
Highlander's back.  When his feet hit the ground, his legs crumbled under him 
because they had gone numb from riding so long.  He crawled to the river and 
drank thirstily, and after he had drunk his fill, he closed his eyes and did 
not care whether he lived or died; he just wanted to rest in the twilight and 
let what ever was to be to be.

    In his dreams, Neil saw a red-haired woman who sang a lullaby softly; her 
voice rolled and undulated like the sound of the river---rocking, trickling, 
and sweeping.  She sat upon a mossy riverbank and smiled as she sang.  And 
with the lovely music, Neil slept deeply.

    "The water demons could get ya, lad, if you're not careful.  They'll drag 
ya right down to the bottom with them and leave only your heart and lungs to 
float upon the surface with the leaves."  A voice called out and roused Neil 
from his sleep.

    Neil opened his eyes and found the morning sun twinkling in the golden 
mist, and an older man stood in the river just before him, submerged up to 
his hips in water.  The man was fly-fishing.  Neil was so sore that he could 
hardly push himself up from the dewy ground.  He was covered in the mud and 
moss, which he had slept upon, and he had slept so deeply that he had to 
think for several minutes before he knew where he was or what had happened to 
him. 

    "My horse!"  Neil said as soon as he remembered what had happened.  He 
jumped to his feet, in his distress, and forgot all pain.

    "Relax, my boy, he is there--just over the hill.  But are you all right?  
You look very ill."

    "No, I am fine."  Neil said.  He plopped back upon the ground weakly, for 
it had been more than two days since he had eaten Mrs. Middleton's whiskey 
cakes. His head could feel the rush of his low blood pressure.   He rubbed 
his hands over his stubled face. 

    "You sure? No water demons or silkies came visiting did they--no fairies 
or little people---for you look like you've been warring with the water 
demons, my boy."

    "Where am I?"

    "You're on the River Ness just below Loch Ness." The old man looked 
confused and then moved from the water to the bank and then put a hand on 
Neil's back.   "I thought I was in bad shape today lad, but it looks like 
you've got it worse."  The man laughed.

    "What day is it?"  Neil asked.

    "The 7th of September, lad."  The man scratched his head.  

    "My birthday," Neil muttered to himself but had not realized that he had 
spoken aloud.

    "Your birthday?"  The old man exclaimed.  

    He started to say something more, but Neil interrupted him, for he did 
not wish to discuss his birthday.  "My name is Neil MacNeill,"  he said to 
the man and extended his hand.

    The old man took his hand and said.  "So, Neil MacNeill is it?  No doubt 
you are on your way to the Isle of Barra to see Castle Kisimal."

    "Yes, I am,"  Neil said.

    "Well, Neil MacNeill, I am Kirk McLennan.  It is a pleasure to meet you." 
 The man then shook Neil's hand firmly and then let go.

    "I was going to say that you should have some of the breakfast my wife 
packed ---you look like you could use a spot of breakfast, and I think that 
the tea is still warm.  My wife always makes more food than even three men 
could eat."

    The old man gathered his wicker basket and teapot from down the bank and 
brought it to Neil.  He sat upon the ground and together they ate soda bread 
and apple butter jam.  "You gotta lassie?"  The old man asked.

    "No."  Neil said.

    "My wife's a feisty lass, she always has been.  Most men'll tell ya to 
marry a woman who's mild mannered and somber, but I tell you, marry a feisty 
lass. For They'll keep you young and on your toes.  They'll push you to be a 
better man and keep you up and fishing."  The old man winked and laughed.  
And after his fourth biscuit, Neil felt the energy coming back to him and he 
laughed right along with the man.

    "Do you fish lad?"  The man asked after they had eaten the last morsel of 
food.

    "Aye, I do love to fish.  Only, my father had just begun to teach me to 
fly fish before he---well before he died.  He loved the river."
    
    "I have an extra pole just there--see."  The man pointed down the bank 
where the wicker basket had been.  

    So Neil took up the pole and stood just up stream from Kirk McLennan and 
began getting accustomed to casting again.  He remembered his father's 
teaching him the rhythm and the pole positions at ten o'clock and two o'clock.

    After a long silence, Kirk said.  "Now these are wet flies--see the soft 
hackles there?"  He pointed at the fly that he held between his fingers.  
"It's a nymph.  You've gotta let them sink so they can do their job.  Use the 
current lad.  Let it work your fly along and down the river and bend it 
round."  The man slid along the river bottom toward Neil.  When he stood 
beside Neil, he made a perfect roll cast so that the line would not catch 
Neil, and it landed perfectly into a deep pool.  He let the current bring the 
fly down and back to him, puling the ling in as it came.  "There you see, 
just like that. Cast up stream--you don't want the fish to see ya.  Trout 
have the keenest eyes of any fish in the water."

    Neil nodded and made a nice underhand cast that hit its mark at the top 
of an eddy.  As the fly sank and bobbed through the deep pool, a trout 
snapped it up and Neil reeled him in with a smile.  

    The two men fished until midday; they talked about Tennessee and Scotland 
and legends and Indians, but it was in the silence that the men became old 
friends--both were immersed in the beauty of the mythical highlands and in 
the reflective waters, which sang a river lullaby that could soothe even 
tormented souls.  The two men found unity in the musical beauty and the 
colors of nature.  Something about that kind of beauty makes human hearts 
beat in harmony.  And both men understood, without words, the deeply 
meditative peace that was the river's gift.

    "Since it's your birthday, we have to get you home in time for my wife to 
fix you some cake, for you'll be staying with us tonight, and tomorrow, I 
shall take you to The Isle of Barra myself."

    "Oh, I don't celebrate my birthday."  Neil said, with his head bowed, for 
the river's song had made him forget the dreadful day.

    "Why not?"  Kirk asked.

    "My birthday is also the day my mother died.  She died in childbirth."  
Neil said. 

    The old man did not speak but sloshed through the river and placed his 
hand on Neil's shoulder.  "Neil MacNeill, your mother gave her life for you; 
that is the most beautiful act of all.  You should celebrate the strength and 
beauty of that love rather than mourn its loss.  Your mother would not want 
her sacrifice to turn into a patch of  briars, which is what you'll become if 
you let rage rue your life.  Your mother would want your life to be like a 
field of wild flowers, beautiful--make your life something beautiful in her 
honor.  Celebrate her love for you on this day."

    Neil was taken aback by the man's candid comments, for Kirk did not know 
Neil well enough to bravely offer his opinion as he did, but the man had a 
point, and thus Neil could not think of anything to say.

    "Now come on lad, let's fetch your horse and head for home."

*******

    As they walked up the path to Kirk McLennan's whitewashed, stone cottage, 
Neil heard a woman humming a familiar song.  

    "Who is that singing?"  Neil asked.

    "That's my wife, Kitty."  He said proudly, but Neil focused on the song. 
And at last he recognized it from the dream he had had the night before.  It 
was the same lullaby that the red-haired woman had sung as she sat smiling on 
the riverbank.

    Kitty McLennan appeared in the open doorway.  She wiped her hands on her 
white apron.  She was a robust woman with silver hair and rosy cheeks. 

    "We have a guest for dinner Kitty?"  Kirk said.  "This is Neil MacNeill 
from America, he's come to see Castle Kisimul."

    Neil bowed politely and she nodded.  "What song were you humming just 
now?"  Neil asked.

    "Oh, why I don't know---it was just a little tune that popped into my 
head this morning."

    "That's my Kitty," Kirk said.  "She's always coming up with songs.  The 
grandchildren love it."

    Neil found it quite odd, but passed it off as a coincidence.

    They ate dinner in the open room that served as kitchen and living area.  
They had roasted trout, potatos, yeast rolls, and turnip greens.

    After dinner Neil and Kirk smoked their pipes beside the fire; while 
Kitty cleaned the supper table and fed the animals the scrapes.  

    "So are you related to the Neil MacNeill's who lead the Scottsman away 
from here after Culloden?"  Kirk asked.

    "Yes, he was my great grandfather."  Neil said and puffed on his pipe.

    "Well you know the legend of Neil MacNeill's father don't you, Lad."

    "No, I do not,"  Neil said and moved to the edge of his chair with 
interest.

    "Well Neil MacNeill's grandfather died while hiding out from the English, 
but his father disappeared into the mist and was never seen again.  No one 
knows what happened to him."

    Neil felt a hot wave roll over his face and his stomach lurch.

    "Are you all right lad?"  Kirk asked.

    "Yes,"  Neil said.  "It's just that---well that  is what happened to my 
own father."

    Now it was the old man's turn to draw to the edge of his seat.  "You're 
father?"

    "Yes, when I was thirteen, my father got an eye infection.  We rode to 
Knoxville to get a doctor to look at his eyes, and the doctor told  him that 
he had Trachoma."  Neil puffed at his pipe and tried not to let the memories 
become too powerful.  "The doctor said that my father would lose his sight 
within six months.  I've never seen my father like that---it ripped him 
apart.  He did not sleep and did not eat.  I would hear him talk to my mother 
in the night.  His eyes grew painful and worse until he only saw blurred 
objects and light.  I had to be with him.  I had to help him because he 
tripped over things. He refused to eat.  I didn't know what to do, and one 
morning, I woke up and found him gone.   I never saw him again."

    Kirk shook his head.  "Do you forgive your father for that, Lad?"

    "I don't know."

    "I think that's why you are here, Neil.   You didn't ride all the way out 
here to see a castle, You came to forgive your father and to love your 
mother.  You are here to make peace with the past."

    Neil was amazed by the man's deeply perceptive mind.  Neil wondered how a 
stranger could know his thoughts so well.  But Neil had always found a friend 
and solace in the face of a stranger.  The old man's kind eyes curved with 
his knowing smile--the wrinkles tucked and folder all around his face and 
told a tale of wisdom and of age.

    And as Neil walked across the ancient bridge, which crossed the moat, and 
stepped on the soil of Castle Kisimul, he knew that the old man had been 
right. He HAD come to the highlands and Castle Kisimul  to make peace with 
his past so that he could go on with his future. The erie, gray castle sat 
rugged and alone on its small Isle.  Neil tried to picture his great 
grandfather Neil MacNeill searching the sweeping glens for his lost father.  
The wind blew softly, and the water sang all around.  Neil knelt on one knee 
before the great castle and spoke for the first time in years to his parents.

### Link to photo of Kisimul Castle: 
http://www.castles.org/Chatelaine/KISIMUL.HTM 

    "I miss you."  He said.  Tears filled his eyes.  "I love you both so 
much, and I promise to make my life of use to others so that it may be 
something beautiful for  you both to be proud of."  And Neil listened and 
smiled at the soothing sound of the water lullaby.


THE END