Page 121 of Geordie

We walk through a path of trees, bowed over us like a cathedral. We have a wee bit more to go before we reach the summit.

“How are you?” I ask.

She pulls down the sienna-colored scarf, enough for me to see her smile. “I'm fine. I've been looking forward to seeing this place since you suggested we come. You worry too much.”

I check the wee one for signs of distress from the cold. Her blue eyes dart up to me. She looks content enough. “Then let's continue.”

The crunch of our boots on wet leaves and twigs mingles with the sounds of wildlife overhead, and plumes of breath rise from us as we walk. Connie abandons my hand to grab my arm as we take the last steps to the summit.

“This is your family's plot?” Looking below at gray limestone markers of people who have gone on to a better existence. The names and dates are faded on the stones of the first to take their place here.

“All that lay buried here claim their lineage to the MacTavish clan.”

With my feet planted in the earth of my home and with pride I reaffirm the clan's motto, saying it low to myself.Do not forget me after death.

Connie's arm slips from mine, she takes a few steps, then turns. She lowers her scarf, the wind whipping tendrils about her face, looking like something wild. “Are you coming?”

“Another time. The earth around the site is a bog down there. I want to do it here.”

She nods, then takes her place beside me.

I reach out to her. “I'll have the child now.”

She zips open her coat as the wind rises. I take a blanket fashioned in our clan tartan from my pack, hold it out to receive my daughter, pull the hat from her head, her hair a shock of red, a deeper color than Connie’s or mine. I hand the pink cap to Connie, who slips it into her pocket.

A corner of the blanket is over the child's head to give her a bit of protection. We need to do this, but I'll not be long. I cradle her in my arms with her face towards the place where a part of her family rests. I'm careful to shield her wee body, but it's important that she be here now.

This is not the sunny day I envisioned in my dream. Connie is not in a white dress with my clan tartan slung across her bodice. We are in hiking boots, puffer jackets, and thermal pants, hats, gloves, and scarves. It's a cold, gray, misty Scottish Highlands reality and it couldn't be much more perfect if I had ordered this day.

“Granny Bella, Innis and Douglas MacTavish, beloved parents” I bellow out in a clear voice to be heard in the next county. “I call to you to meet your newest kin, my daughter.” I hold her up, this little bundle that I fought hard to bring into my life. I display her with pride, the first of my family line. “We've named her Innis Bella Constance MacTavish to honor the women who came before her and for the woman who carried her. The clan commands, do not forget me after death, and I have not.”

There's no clap of thunder, no choir of angels rejoicing in the sky. It's just the cold wind that responds. I didn't expect the dead to rise from their graves to give us a blessing. That's not why I'm here. It's important we continue our traditions or create new ones to keep our past. I've traveled all this way to keep a promise.

“That was beautiful,” Connie says, placing Innis' hat back on, the child squirming, with no ill effect. She holds open the baby carrier for me to slip the child back in place, then zips Innis inside her coat. I take my gloves off, pushing them down into a pocket, then warm the cold cheeks of my daughter with my hands until I've infused enough warmth. I glance into Connie's eyes, the child between us, and whisper, “Thank you.”

The car pulls up to an ancient stone church, driving past a long row of cars. We enter through the back of the church, and we're shown to rooms to change and to get Innis ready for her christening. I take the baby with me to give Connie time to dress first. She'll do the same for me and then we'll dress Innis together in a white christening gown that was used at my christening and my father's as well.

A knock interrupts us while I'm enjoying time with my daughter. It's the curate we met when we made the arrangements. He only pokes his head into the room, as if that's all that's needed to deliver his message. He gives me a sympathetic smile. “Father Campbell says that your guests are assembled in church; unfortunately, we will need to begin the ceremony as soon as possible. He's performing a wedding next, and the wedding party will need these rooms and the church.”

I pull out my phone to check the time. We're late and there are no messages. The door swings open to Connie, in a bonnie pale pink dress of lace that almost matches the christening garment. Her hair is tucked into a neat hat.

The door swings back, and the head talks again. “I'll tell Father Campbell you're almost ready.” The door closes. The sound of his footsteps echoes down the hall.

“I heard him warn you about the time. I can dress her while you get ready.”

“No, it will not take me long, and I want to help. I'll deal with any Bridezilla that tries to mar my daughter's christening.”

Connie laughs, taking the child from me. “Just hurry.”

It's not much to do but get into my formal kilt. When I return, we take pictures while changing Innis. I take one of the three of us.

We enter the church as about forty guests stand. I nod to my granda, Lochlan, and Kenzie in the front pew. I search the rest of the gathering, meeting many with a nod. Nearly everyone that was invited is here.

We stand at the baptismal font as the priest begins the service. I'm not listening as I gaze at my child. The godparents are called to join us. Lochlan and Kenzie rise to stand with us. They're asked to be Christian role models to my child and help guide her in the faith and traditions of the church.

The videographer walks around capturing moments, something Innis will always have of this day. As we move through the rite, I think back on what might have been.

“What name has this child been given?” the priest asks.

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