by Ruth Hay
She checked her watch for the umpteenth time. The bride was safely in her room and Jeanette was bringing one of the Canadian women to help her dress. The bride’s son, a late arrival, had been seen watching proceedings and taking photographs from the front entrance, but he was no trouble. She saw him rubbing his hands in front of the blazing fire, opposite her desk in the reception hall. A tall, good-looking lad, she thought. There should be some fine photographs.
She had set aside a room on this level for family pictures after the ceremony, while the ballroom was being prepared. At this thought, she turned and rushed to the room to make sure the florist had followed her directions and set up a stand with flowers as a background to the photographs.
In some ways she would be glad when this day was over, although she was certain it would be well into Sunday before the hotel settled down. Thankfully there were few other guests here this weekend as the noise would definitely cause complaints. Catriona had placed these guests on the top floor of the hotel, as far from the celebrations as possible. The views from up there were so spectacular they hardly noticed the extra stairs.
If all went as planned, she hoped she might even get to kick up her heels for a time. It was sure to be a great night.
The Canadian contingent were to talk about the wedding for years afterward.
Not one of them had ever experienced anything like it. From the moment the stirring sound of the pipes began and Bev was led down the hotel stairs on the arm of a very proud James, with Liam bobbing down to the altar before them, scattering white heather from a basket; all the way to the last, ferocious Strip-the-Willow dance, the entire event was exceptional in every way.
Not only was Bev absolutely glowing in the beautiful dress Alina had created for her, but Alan, also, was a sight to behold in his tartan kilt and black evening jacket with antique silver buttons and a froth of lace at cuffs and neck. It was hard to recognize him at first as the quiet, casually-dressed man they had met the night before at Anna’s. Lucy whispered to her mother about the dagger tucked into Alan’s knee socks and was hushed by Anna who said it was a skean dhu and required to defend his wife-to-be from danger of enemy attack. As Lucy looked around the crowded ballroom full of hefty Highland men in tartan kilts and sporrans, she figured there was no danger of that tonight.
The bride and groom made a handsome couple but what caused eyes to tear up, was not their appearance so much as the look of absolute certainty they exchanged at the simple altar when they said their vows. At this juncture, Fiona passed along the row, spotless, lace-edged handkerchiefs of her granny’s she had brought with her for just this eventuality, and all the women discreetly dabbed at their eyes, to Eric’s dismay.
As Bev and Alan had wished, the ceremony was simple and short and soon the couple were parading down the central aisle again, hand in hand and with matching smiles, as the guests stood, cheering and clapping madly.
Photographs followed to mark the occasion and in the small room, a refreshing glass of champagne was raised in the first toast. Alan saluted Bev’s friends who had travelled far to support her this day. He said he would never forget them and hoped they would not be strangers in the future. With one accord, all the Canadians assured Alan they would be back whenever they could.
Another ceremonial entrance followed, as the piper led them into the ballroom again for the wedding supper. Anna and Fiona were seated with a group of Kirsty’s relatives and Maria, Susan and Jake joined a table where local people warmly welcomed them as Anna’s friends.
James, Eric and Lucy were spirited away to a table where younger guests from Skye were assembled and they enjoyed the banter across the table after the Canadians had deciphered the accents enough to understand what was being said to them. Lucy was able to inform the other two that the odd burst of strange language was Gaelic but Eric surprised them by adding a toast in the language, which he had begun to learn at school.
The bride and her new husband sat with Kirsty and the senior members of her family from Skye at a table only slightly ahead of, and facing the rest of the guests. Both of them had requested the minimum number of speeches and so with James’ salute to the couple and a humorous anecdote or two from Alan’s cousin, the room was soon cleared to set up for the dancing.
The guests gathered in the reception area and enjoyed the scent of the peat fire while they got to know one another better. Lucy was assured she would have partners for the Scottish country dances who would lead her through the moves. She noticed a bottle of whisky being passed around and wondered if the partners would be fit to show her how to do the steps.
Mr. and Mrs. Matthews retired to their room upstairs and appeared after a few minutes in a change of clothing. Bev was now wearing a white full-length dress with a broad tartan sash across it which matched Alan’s mother’s tartan. He had removed his jacket and dress shirt and was wearing a plain white shirt with sleeves rolled up to show his muscular forearms.
The newly-married couple proudly led the way back into the ballroom where the lights were dimmed and a band of fiddlers, a harpist, a drummer and a pianist were already set up and playing merrily. A tall man in tartan trousers and waistcoat stood behind a microphone and invited everyone to take their partners for The Gay Gordons.
Maria rushed to her daughter’s side and handed her a pair of the new foldable ballet slippers she had carried in her purse. “Quick, put these on! I’ll take your high heels. Anna says these dances are wild!”
Lucy had no sooner made the switch than the music started and she was swept along with a cousin of Alan’s who introduced himself as Seamus Dhu, owing to his black hair, he said.
The dance was for couples and consisted of a march around the room with hands held above the shoulders for about eight beats. Lucy was just getting accustomed to this part when with a quick switch of arms, she was marching in the opposite direction around the circle and then twirled dizzily under Seamus’ outstretched arm for several more beats, ending up in both his arms for a mad, turning gallop to complete the sequence. Hoping that was all she was required to do, Lucy breathed deeply and set off again with Seamus’ expert guidance. Conversation was impossible owing to the whoops and cheers that resounded through the room and almost drowned out the music. She soon discovered it was all about the beat. The drum could be felt through the floor boards and as long as she listened to that rhythm she could keep up with the rest of the dancers.
A Dashing White Sergeant dance followed and this was designed to allow Lucy to meet all the other dancers. She stayed in position in the middle of two young men and progressed around the hall ducking under the arms of trios with two females and a man in the centre. The whole thing took enormous concentration and it was only when she sat out to catch her breath that she saw the intricate patterns made by the experienced dancers like Fiona and Jeanette with George in the middle. The scene was a blur of colour as the men’s kilts and women’s skirts flew by. Lucy sipped a cold coke and wondered if she would ever see anything like it again.
A slow dance, accompanied by the harp, gave everyone a chance to recoup their energy and allowed Bev and Alan to lead off together, then split apart to invite Susan and Maria, James and Eric to join them on the dance floor. Soon the floor was full of couples swirling around to the delicate sounds of the harp. Some of the dancers were singing.
The music the harpist played sounded familiar to Maria. She knew she had heard it before and after a moment she identified it as a waltz version of the old song;
“It’s now or never, come hold me tight.
Kiss me my darling be mine tonight.
Tomorrow may be too late
It’s now or never, my love won’t wait!”
As the words and melody of the chorus ran through her mind, Maria remembered where she had heard the music before. Her father used to play a record of Italian favourites for her mother when Maria was small. An Italian tenor sang the soaring melodies and her mother loved this tune in particular.
“Come
dance with me, Cara Mia!” her father would beg, and her mother would untie her apron and float into his arms to dance around the kitchen floor as the sentimental old song was played.
Now or never. There’s a message there for me, Maria thought. So many things and people we take for granted in life and none of us knows how long we have to appreciate them. She looked over at Susan and Jake chatting with local people and wondered what the future would hold for them.
She suddenly felt a deep pang of longing for Paul. Did he truly understand he was the love of her life? How wonderful it would be if he could be here with her tonight for this amazing occasion. Would they celebrate Lucy’s wedding together on some distant day just like they had when Theresa married?
Maria suddenly realized the separation from her husband and daughter had gone on long enough and she could not wait to get back home.
Chapter Nineteen
Angela had asked to be excused from the wedding celebrations at the hotel in order to make notes on the final days of her therapy treatment for Jake.
When Anna’s friends had left on Saturday afternoon with Fiona, Angela was glad of the peace of the old, stone building and she settled down in the kitchen with Morag for company.
She had not had much time to consider the implications of the combined massage and mindful
meditation she had developed for Jake, and it was important for her to get her thoughts down on paper before the experience faded from both her physical, and mental, memory.
The entire process had been experimental, but there was solid research to back up the individual elements. Angela had always believed that massage was most beneficial when applied by someone who, like herself, had what the old folks called “the healing hands”.
The meditation aspect was new to her but her reading on the subject indicated that concentration was the key. She would sit with Jake as he worked through the program and she learned with him each day.
Jake was an apt pupil. Angela had found those who had suffered pain or disability were already able to focus their minds to a degree far greater than the normal, healthy sector of the population.
The hours spent with Jake at the villa were unforgettable now. Her pen raced over the pages as she captured the details of their sessions. At first, Jake was heavily medicated and very tense from the stress of travel and the mental shock he had received at the clinic. It took a few days of hour-long massage and relaxing environmental sounds before he could release the tension in his muscles and begin to benefit. As he voluntarily dropped the medications and was able to respond to the muscle stimulation, his ability to support his weakened frame out of the wheelchair improved greatly. At this point the meditation therapy began. It was based very simply on positive thinking; a way of drawing healing into the mind to match the feelings of comfort engendered by the massage. To Angela’s amazement, the two therapies complemented each other in an almost miraculous way.
Of course, Jake was just one example, she cautioned herself, and the results he experienced could not be considered to be typical of all patients or clients. Much more research and practical application needed to be done before definitive statements could be made, but Angela was thrilled with Jake’s progress and for now that was sufficient.
She consulted her daily notes for confirmation that Jake’s improvement had begun to be evident from the fourth day of the program. Although such intensive time and attention could not be afforded by many MS sufferers, it had been most worthwhile for Angela to donate the time with Jake as he was able to identify for her the specific areas of his body where he felt improvement.
Susan gladly confirmed that her husband’s depression had lifted and he seemed more comfortable communicating with her. He could also move more freely.
The effects of the villa itself and its location above the peaceful vineyards and olive groves could not be discounted, but Angela agreed with Susan that vast improvements had been achieved.
Angela also noted that their short time in Scotland had demonstrated that the location was not the guiding factor as Jake had continued to improve and was even willing to try to stay for some of the evening at the wedding.
Angela wondered if she could find a journal that might publish her notes and share her discoveries with a wider audience in the professions.
She was just finishing the detail on the last few days when she heard Fiona’s van draw up at the garden gate and the voices of Anna, Susan and Jake could be heard laughing as they wheeled Jake’s chair up to the front door.
Angela gently removed a sleeping Morag to another chair seat and closed up her notebook. One final check with her patient and the main portion of her work would be completed.
“Now, what is all this hilarity about?” she asked, with a smile to match the faces that arrived at the door. “Have you been keeping my prize patient up too late?”
Jake replied with a snort of denial. “I could have stayed much longer but these two worry-warts insisted it was time to go!” He turned and blew a kiss to each of the ladies to show he was joking with them. Angela noticed how easy that movement was for him and made another mental note to include it.
“Angela!” he exclaimed, “I had a great chat with the local doc here and with the vet too. You won’t believe it but both of them are keen on massage for people and animals. I told them what we had been doing in Italy and they are immensely interested in the work.”
“Now, enough talking, Jake! You don’t want to overtire yourself and give Angela a poor impression of your health when she has done so much to help you improve.”
Susan wheeled Jake into the small washroom near the door and left him there to wash up before bed, confident he was now able to manage on his own for a minute or two.
She reached into her purse and brought out an envelope which she thrust into Angela’s hands before any protest could be registered.
“I know you don’t want any reward for your work with Jake, Angela, but I feel guilty because you have lost income with the time you devoted to him. Please accept this small token of our sincere appreciation. I truly don’t know what I would have done without your help, my dear.”
Angela could have refused, in light of the discoveries she had written about, and which she felt sure would lead to further work in the future, but one look at Susan’s sincere, almost pleading, expression and she realized she could not disappoint this kind lady.
“Thank you so much,” she said.
She turned to Maria for an especially close hug and kiss. “Tomorrow will be your last day here. I will stay on with Susan and Jake to complete his treatment. Anna will accompany them back to Canada and I will return to Italy then. It was so wonderful to see you at the villa, again. Please bring Lucy and Paul and your other daughter with the grandchildren next time.”
“Oh, I certainly will! It was a magical time for me too!”
Angela climbed up the stairs to her bedroom and left the friends in the kitchen discussing the wedding and whether it was appropriate after such a night to have a cup of tea or another dram of whisky to celebrate.
Sunday morning passed in a haze for the inhabitants of the McCaig Estate farmhouse.
Anna vaguely remembered the sound of Fiona’s voice early, when it was scarcely light, but as soon as the front door closed again, she drifted back to a lovely dream of Bev and Alan turning slowly to the strains of romantic music in the hotel ballroom.
Susan had risen early to add coal to the fire which Anna had banked down the night before. Susan had been given the instructions on appropriate feeding of the only heat source for the large room so she had trained herself to wake and check the fire’s temperature from time to time during the night.
Immediately after she could see the flames were in evidence again, she scurried back to the warmth of the down-filled duvet and cuddled into Jake’s back. He mumbled something indistinct and reached back to pat her leg before falling into a deep sleep.
For a moment, Susan lay, peacefully, listening to the c
rackle of coal. She felt drowsy but it had been such a wonderful night that she was reluctant to let the memories fade too fast.
There were no sounds from the rest of the house. Everyone would be sleeping late.
Her thoughts drifted to the lovely scenery around the farmhouse. They had not had much opportunity to explore this place where Anna had chosen to spend much of her time. Susan remembered Anna speaking about Helen’s Hill behind the house and the extraordinary views of the surrounding country from the summit. Perhaps she could venture up there today?
There were choices to be made. It was their last day before departing for Toronto. Would it be possible to ask Fiona to take them on a drive around the area, possibly ending up in Oban? Fiona would be the perfect person to show them the scenery and point out the wildlife she had studied.
Yes! That was the answer! Susan determined to phone Fiona and set up this journey as soon as she could, without disturbing either Jake or Anna.
With this decision made, she slipped out of bed and quietly enveloped herself in a dressing gown Anna had supplied. She felt the cold air as she passed the front porch and quickly ran through and opened the door to the kitchen. A wave of warmth greeted her. The Aga cooker/come heating system, belted out its constant comfort as was proved by the amount of time Morag spent curled up on the rug in front of it. Susan stood on tiptoe to see if the cat was in her usual position and found Lucy there with Morag on her knees.
“Oh, Lucy! I forgot Fiona was going to bring you here early. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, Aunt Susan, other than a bit stiff from all the dancing last night. Am I wrong or were those Scotsmen wearing black shorts under their kilts? I thought they went commando.”
“I think that’s one of those urban legends, Lucy,” laughed Susan. “Would you like breakfast?”
“I’ve already eaten breakfast,” came the reply. “There’s no lazing around at Fiona’s cottage, I can tell you. It’s up with the larks for that lady, believe me!”
