by Ruth Hay
“Don’t worry about that, Alina. I’ve also been busy lately. You wouldn’t believe what’s been happening!”
“More news about Helen?” Alina’s eager voice reminded Anna of her vow to get to the bottom of the Helen Dunlop Mystery.
“No, I haven’t made any progress on that front, although I have found some of her personal things in the barn here.”
“Is there a diary, or some letters?”
“Not so far. I am really getting to know her by living her life here.”
“But it must be so different for you, Anna. Don’t you miss all the comforts of your familiar life in Canada with 24-hour shopping and everything so convenient? Don’t you miss your job at the library?”
Anna recognized the real question Alina was hinting at, and she took a moment to frame her answer.
“My dear friend, I miss you every day, of course, and, in many ways this is not like my real life at home, more like an adventure holiday with challenges at every turn. A holiday always comes to an end sooner or later.”
“Does that mean you have made a decision about the farm house?”
“I wish I could say yes, Alina, but I am not ready yet. I think I will know when the time is right. Now, enough about me! How are the girls and what have you been up to?”
“Bev is busy. James is doing very well at high school and is running a computer club. Maria is in the States buying clothes for the summer season, and I am up late every night completing orders for knitwear. Twin sets are back in style and my hand-knits are doing very well. Susan calls from Florida and tells me Jake is better recently. Everyone sends their love. Oh, I almost forgot.......Joseph said to tell you he is keeping an eye on your apartment and the sub-let tenant is quiet and clean, but he misses the Samba nights!”
Anna dissolved in laughter on hearing this, and had a flash of nostalgia for that simple life with good friends and no major decisions to make.
“Alina, you do me good! It’s lovely to talk to you but I have to go and feed a kitten in a minute, so I must say goodbye.”
“You have a cat, Anna?”
“Well, in a manner of speaking, I do. It’s a long story, Alina, and not yet concluded. I’ll fill you in when I see you.”
“That sounds promising! Take care please, my dear.”
* * *
When Sylvester was settled for another two-hour nap, Anna thought about preparations for the coming night. She needed more firewood, coal and peat and she wanted to look into the third crate in the barn, now that the area was no longer out of bounds.
The sun was sinking through clouds in the west and she knew darkness would fall soon.
The torch was still in her coat pocket so, as soon as supplies for the fire had been moved inside the house, Anna made her way to the barn.
She hoped the owls were off hunting as she opened the doors and approached the crate.
Alina’s comment about Helen’s possible diary or letters came to mind when she saw the piles of books stacked inside. She could not carry all of them so she used the torch and picked out those that might be of interest. Most of the books were classics, such as Sir Walter Scott’s Ivanhoe or historical novels about Mary Queen of Scots, but nothing that looked like a diary was visible. She pulled out a slender telephone book and one or two cook books and was pleased to discover illustrated guides to local plants, birds and animals. No photograph albums or souvenirs of holidays were in evidence.
It is almost as if Helen’s life started when she bought this farm house, Anna thought.
She propped the torch on top of the crate while she gathered the books together and when she looked up from the floor again, she saw something metal shining in the torch light against the opposite wall of the barn.
Of course, she remembered, Helen rode a bicycle. Alan Matthews had mentioned it. Anna promptly took possession of the cycle and loaded the books into the handy basket on the front of the handlebars, wheeling it back to the house through the gate and propping it against the kitchen window where it would get some protection from the inevitable rain.
She hoped there was a bicycle pump strapped to the leather bag behind the saddle. If so, freedom was at hand. Although she would never attempt to ride into Oban, at least she could ride around the farm area and explore some of the terrain she had seen from the top of Helen’s Hill. The lack of a car was beginning to be a nuisance, but then, she would never have met Fiona if she had been able to drive herself.
* * *
The second night of cat-sitting passed more quickly. Anna adjusted to the need to sleep between feeds when the kitten did, but when she could not fall asleep fast enough, she gave up and thumbed through the books she had rescued from the barn.
By breakfast time she had identified the colourful chaffinches she had seen on Helen’s Hill and discovered they were very common birds in Britain; confirmed that the bold bird with the red breast was, indeed, a tiny version of the North American robin, and read about the rowan tree in her back garden, a species that claimed to protect the household from witches. She had also found a number of recipes that might vary her bland diet somewhat, and consequently, she had compiled a lengthy shopping list.
The Scottish equivalent of the Yellow Pages had provided some of the most interesting reading of the earlier part of the night. Anna learned that Tesco would deliver goods to customers who lived outside the Oban area and the grocery list could be established through their internet web site. The same document listed a variety of useful services available in the wider region. There were also adverts seeking people who would be willing to do knitting and fabric ‘piece work’. This sounded like the kind of thing Alina did at home and Anna made a note to ask Fiona exactly what was required.
Anna found a coal delivery company that would provide ‘chopped sticks for kindling, and dry logs’, and even an architect located in Inverness, who specialized in ‘modern, custom renovations for traditional homes’.
With all this mental stimulation, Anna was wide awake and full of ideas when Fiona arrived with a bag containing a series of baby bottles in graduated sizes.
“Excellent idea!” exclaimed Anna. “Now we can feed Sylvester in a quarter of the time! He’s a hungry little guy.”
“Have you heard anything more from the vet?” Fiona enquired.
“Nothing at all. I suppose it could take some time to track down a suitable nursing female cat.”
“Well, if anyone can do it, Callum Moir would be the very person. A few years back he found new homes for a whole collection of animals when a nearby Rare Breeds Farm Park closed down. There was everything from goats to llamas left homeless and he scoured the country until he had a place for every one of them.”
“I see what you mean about his reputation as an animal lover, Fee. That was quite a task he set for himself.”
Turning to the phone book on the kitchen table, Anna quizzed Fee about the services she was interested in.
“I can see this phone book is a couple of years out of date, but it is a fund of useful information, Fee. I have learned so much about this area and it is amazing how much goes on in a small place like Oban. Have you ever been to the Peace and War Museum, for example? They have a Royal Air Force flying boat model there and the history of McCaig’s Tower.”
“I was there years ago on a school trip but not since then. It’s along the Corran Esplanade and you could easily find it on your next visit.”
“I’ll do that, if I ever get a chance to leave the house. About that, Fee.............I see I can have groceries delivered to the farm house. I’ll go to the library in Oban and return my books and use their internet to place an order for the food basics, then I can spend more time getting to know the town better.”
“Surely! Was there anything else you wanted to know about?”
“Well, I saw this advert for people to do ‘piece work’. Would you know what might be involved, Fee?”
“Ah, there’s a tradition in the Scottish Highlands of women working from
home while they looked after their families. In the old days they would card and spin wool from their sheep, weave the tweeds and knit the Fairisle patterns that are famous all over the world.”
“Oh, Fee, I think my mother had a sweater with that pattern. Was it a band of intricate coloured designs around the shoulders of a sweater?”
“Yes, that’s right. No one today has the time now to do such detailed work. It’s all mass-produced in China these days.”
“Well, then, why would someone be advertising locally for workers, Fee?”
“I think there is still some demand for very expensive hand work. Americans usually buy it nowadays. I can ask about the company. Did you want to buy something Anna?”
“Not for me. I’m thinking of a friend who makes beautiful knitwear designs and I’m wondering if there might be a market here for her crafts.”
“I’ll ask around for you.”
Before Anna could thank Fee, they both stopped in amazement and watched as Sylvester climbed to the edge of his basket and flopped over the edge onto the floor.
“Would you look at that?” said Anna. “His eyes are not even focused yet and he’s off to explore.”
“It must be feeding time,” laughed Fiona. “I’ll try out one of the new bottles.”
The conversation was at an end for a time, as Anna set about catching and feeding the kitten.
Later in the evening, when Anna was sitting thinking by the fireside, she began to acknowledge that something had happened in the last day and night, fundamentally altering her mindset.
The Canadian phone calls had forced her to seriously consider the decision she had been postponing. Then, something as simple as a phone book had opened up possibilities for her. For the first time, she found herself thinking of a future life here in Scotland.
She could not yet see the details of that life but an image was beginning to form.
It could just be an illusion caused by lack of sleep, she thought to herself, or possibly cabin fever. Time will tell, of course, but my time here is flying by.
Chapter Twenty-One
Easter came and went in the middle of April. There were no chocolate eggs for Anna but an even better treat was on its way. Winter had vanished after a two-week period of daily downpours that soaked the ground, filled streams and lochs to overflowing, and drenched Anna every time she ventured outdoors.
Helen’s Hill was off limits, for the time being, so Anna concentrated her attention on the interior of Helen’s farm house. Anna realised she was no architect, but she had lived in a number of homes over the years and knew what she liked and needed in a residence.
Sylvester’s feedings were now further apart and interspersed with periods of activity in which the rapidly-growing cat had to be confined to the kitchen to save the soft furnishings of the house from his claws. While he slept during the day, Anna roamed through the rooms and imagined what might be done to transform the space.
The south-facing front aspect was the obvious place to start. To capture the elusive sunlight, she envisioned removing the kitchen wall and replacing it with a pair of French doors or a patio window leading out to a new, glass-paned room, with a raised roof in the conservatory style often advertised in Scottish newspapers.
The monster stove would go, of course, in favour of a more modern, fuel-efficient appliance, and the kitchen would be remodelled, with an island to provide more counter space, a direct link to the pantry, and a separate exit to the back garden.
By reducing the size of the porch entrance, Anna thought she could create a small downstairs washroom.
The upstairs was a difficult problem because of the sloped roof, so Anna thought more sleeping space could be devised by dividing the large sitting room into an office/workroom and a family room with two convertible couches.
Most of this fantasy planning was done in rough sketches to occupy the evening hours while Fiona was studying in the single bedroom upstairs. With her exams fast approaching and the schools on Easter Break for two weeks, Anna had invited Fiona to spend the night, while she did intensive revision for her A levels.
Without interruptions or distractions the studying was going well. Fiona would ask Anna to grade the trial exam papers she was completing, and they discussed these while watching Sylvester’s antics or sharing a meal by the fireside.
Fiona saw Anna’s drawings for the farm house renovations and they laughed as they added more imaginary improvements like elevators, laundry rooms and hot tubs, and played guessing games about the exorbitant costs of such fripperies.
When Fiona was driving during the day, Anna imagined how the interior of the house could be made more comfortable with drapes, rugs and bright paintwork. She had already replaced the electric light bulbs with a higher wattage and added shades to soften the look.
The better lighting had revealed dirty walls over the fireplaces and spaces here and there where paintings must once have been displayed. She wondered if these paintings belonged to an occupant prior to Helen, or, if not, where the paintings had gone.
* * *
When the rain finally stopped, it was as if the world woke from a winter slumber and a new season emerged, like a child, bright and eager for the longer days ahead.
Anna’s day began with the dawn chorus. A blackbird serenaded her daily from the rowan tree and her first task, on waking in the larger bedroom, was to go to the window overlooking the garden and reward him with pieces of bread. Wood pigeons and collared doves cooed seductively from the hedges and invited Anna to step outside as soon as possible.
She did this with a coffee in hand, after taking one in to Fiona, and then she could wander in the garden until the morning light flooded the land and dried up any lingering wisps of mist.
Plants were springing up through the earth at an alarming rate. Anna made good use of Helen’s nature books to identify the species and find out what she could do to encourage their growth.
A clump of bluebells appeared under the rowan tree and the underlining in Helen’s book informed Anna that she should appreciate their fragile beauty as they would fade once the tree was in full leaf. Violets covered the shady ground under the east-side hedge and its partner on the opposite side had a fringe of blue forget-me-nots.
Near the stone wall, a bush that had looked like a tangle of dead sticks, was identified, after a considerable search of the sources, to be a camellia with large pink flowers.
As this plant would be a summer exotic in North America, Anna was amazed to see it and risked cutting a few blooms for a vase in the house.
The low tufts of grass would never make a lawn, by Canadian standards, but they were the perfect cover for wild flowers. Yellow celandines and white anemones, which normally appear in woodland, popped up here and there, and tiny wild daffodils arrived in clumps.
A kitchen garden still survived near the pantry exit. Anna used the herbs in cooking the recipes she had chosen from Helen’s cook books. Fiona helped with this task, and between them they devised a variety of meals that could be made on their limited facilities.
“I have never eaten so well in all my life,” remarked Anna after they had enjoyed a particularly good lamb stew that had been simmering all afternoon on the warm stove top. “And I don’t think I have spent so much time out of doors for years. The climb I did today and the bike ride yesterday, gave me so much energy, I feel fitter than I have in ages. I might even need to have some clothes taken in before long.”
Fiona agreed that Anna looked well. Secretly, she was dreading the announcement that Anna would be returning to Canada soon. They had spent more hours in each other’s company since Fiona had been studying in the evenings, and Anna had become a valuable ally who sometimes had more faith in Fiona’s career ambitions than did Fiona herself. Before Anna’s arrival, there were times when, after she traded over the car in the evening to her partner, and facing the prospect of opening books and studying for three hours, she could hardly summon the courage or the energy to begin.
<
br /> When Anna left for home in Canada, everything would change. But for now, Fiona determined to make full use of the opportunities Anna had so generously provided.
* * *
Anna was washing dishes and listening to music on the radio when her cell phone began to ring. Thinking it might be Canada calling, she picked it up with wet hands and sang out a cheery, “Hi there!”
A hesitant voice replied, “Is that Ms. Mason of the McCaig Farm?”
“Yes, it is she.” Anna modulated her voice to a more sober tone as she deduced the caller could be the formidable Callum Moir.
“Fine, then, I am calling to inform you I have found a foster cat for the wildcat.”
“Oh, that’s excellent news! Where will Syl...the kitten be going?” Anna swallowed and coughed, to conceal the fact she had almost revealed her forbidden personal connection to the little orphan. She was sure the vet would not condone such a lapse in behaviour.
“Excuse me for a moment. I must turn down the radio.” Anna took a moment to think.
Dr. Moir continued without acknowledging her apology.
“I will collect the wildcat tomorrow if it is convenient. It is to be weaned in a litter with a hybrid mother.”
“Just a minute, Dr. Moir, what is a hybrid mother?”
“That would be a cat which is the progeny of a wildcat father and a standard cat mother.”
The vet’s impatient tone of voice indicated that only a moron would not know this fact.
“I did not realize such a thing was possible,” responded Anna. “This would presumably give the kitten a better chance to survive.”
“Well, that remains to be seen. Hybrids are unusual to start with. I will be seeking an approved zoo or an animal sanctuary to house the animal eventually. When its natural characteristics emerge, it will be unsuitable for a human household.”
“I must thank you, sir, for taking all this trouble. I appreciate that this situation has added to your workload, and I do apologize for acting impulsively.”
