Angel Harp: A Novel

by Michael Phillips

  Chapter Thirteen

  Change of Plans

  The mellow mavis tunes his lay, the blackbird swells his note,

  And little robin sweetly sings above the woody grot.

  There’s music in the wild cascade, there’s love amang the trees,

  There’s beauty in ilk bank and brae, an’ balm upon the breeze.

  —“Morag’s Faery Glen”

  The next day I spent the latter half of the morning walking along Fordyce Street. At last my efforts were rewarded. I saw Gwendolyn bound out of a house about fifty meters ahead of me, followed a minute later by the lady I now knew to be her aunt. I didn’t feel that I should invite them to Mrs. Gauld’s, after what she had said. So I would invite myself to their house!

  I walked toward them. “Hello, Gwendolyn,” I said as I approached.

  “Hi, Harp Lady,” she said. “You don’t have your harp today.”

  “It is back where I am staying.—Hello, again,” I said as her aunt came up. I reached out my hand. “My name is Marie Buchan, we saw each other the other day.”

  “Yes, I remember,” she said, shaking my hand a little reluctantly it seemed and staring through me with a penetrating gaze. “I am Olivia Urquhart.” Her voice was different from before—slow, measured, almost mesmerizing. I almost had the feeling she was trying to hypnotize me with her eyes and voice.

  “Would you mind… I mean, I would like to let Gwendolyn play my harp again,” I said a little uneasily. “She seemed to take to it so quickly. Would you mind if I brought it over and let her play for a while?—That is, if you would like to, Gwendolyn,” I added.

  “Oh, yes!” she exclaimed, her eyes bright. “Please, Mummy, please, may I, please!”

  “I don’t suppose there would be any harm,” said Mrs. Urquhart slowly, obviously thinking the thing through. “We were just going out for a walk—Gwendolyn needs exercise and fresh air. She must get out of doors every day. Perhaps you could come this afternoon?”

  “Yes, I would like that very much.”

  “Can the harp lady come with us, Mummy?” said Gwendolyn. “Come with us, Harp Lady. We are going for a walk.”

  I glanced toward Mrs. Urquhart. She nodded though without a smile. She was obviously not eager to have me come along.

  Gwendolyn reached up and took my hand, and off we went toward the bluff and the sea.

  The time passed quickly. I learned no more about little Gwendolyn than Iain had told me. She chattered away, but her aunt volunteered no additional information. I had the feeling she was subtly examining me as much as I was Gwendolyn. The more I saw of the two, the more mysterious both girl and aunt became. On our way back an hour later, I left them and returned to Mrs. Gauld’s. Mrs. Urquhart told me to come to their house in about two hours, after Gwendolyn had had lunch and a rest.

  When I left the bed-and-breakfast carrying my harp in its case I didn’t tell Mrs. Gauld where I was going. I knew she wouldn’t approve.

  I reached the Urquhart house again and walked to the door. I didn’t even get my finger to the doorbell. Gwendolyn had been watching for me. She opened the door before I reached the porch, then yelled back into the house, “The harp lady’s here, Mummy!”

  “I’m afraid she didn’t have much of a rest,” said Mrs. Urquhart, a little more warmth in her tone as she walked forward and invited me in. “She was too excited about your coming.”

  “Hello, Gwendolyn,” I said. “Do you think you would like to call me Marie instead of the ‘harp lady’?”

  “I could if you want me to. But I like to call you Harp Lady.”

  “Then you may call me that, too. But my name is Marie.”

  Mrs. Urquhart showed me to a chair and I got out my harp. Gwendolyn’s eyes were alive as she watched me pull it from the case and attach the legs and set it on the floor. I could see her fingers twitching in anticipation. I asked her to get another chair and sit down beside me. I told her a few things about the strings and how to hold her fingers. I couldn’t help it—it was the teacher in me.

  But I needn’t have bothered. Gwendolyn was not going to be like any student I had ever had. With her, everything would be intuition. I might as well save my breath about elbows out, wrists in, thumbs up, and all the rest. She was going to play as she felt.

  After a minute or two, I placed the harp before her, helped her get her hands around it and her fingers resting on the strings, and showed her how to lean the harp toward her. Then I scooted my chair back and waited.

  Just as she had before, she began gently plucking a few individual strings, as if getting to know how it felt again. Within minutes she was beginning to play a melody and move her hands more freely. Across the room, Mrs. Urquhart stood watching. Neither of us said a word. When I snuck a peek at Gwendolyn’s aunt some time later, she seemed deep in thought.

  Gwendolyn played for an hour. It was absolutely magical. Not a hint of the former melody emerged in all that time. But I heard enough to convince me more than ever that nothing short of musical genius was at work. Something wonderful and mysterious was happening here. I sat mesmerized. The sound, the style, the intricate yet simple tunes and melodies that flowed in and out, appearing and disappearing like a constantly moving tide, were like nothing I had heard in my life.

  I asked Gwendolyn’s aunt if I could come back again the next day about the same time. She nodded. She seemed grateful but said nothing to encourage or discourage me. She was willing but not particularly eager. I hoped she had been touched, but she was a woman who did not allow her emotions to show.

  That night, with memories of Gwendolyn’s music swirling in my brain, I reached the decision I had been thinking about for two days.

  I could not go home now. I just couldn’t.

  I needed to stay in Port Scarnose awhile longer. I didn’t even know for how long. But suddenly I had a purpose. I would let Gwendolyn play on my harp every day if I could. I wanted to bring what joy was possible into her life.

  I would cancel my return flight and stay in Scotland for… well, for a while.

  The next day after making the call to the airline, I went out to the self-catering cottage I had seen. I had thought it vacant, but this time I saw a light in the window and a car in the drive. I went to the door and rang the bell.

  It opened a moment later. I saw standing before me a distinguished-looking man, perhaps in his late sixties, dressed casually and wearing blue jeans. He was holding what appeared to be a Bible in one hand, with a finger between the pages where I had apparently interrupted his reading.

  “Hello,” I said. “I wanted to inquire about the cottage for rent. Are you the owner?”

  “No,” he replied. “We have just been staying here for a time.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know whether the cottage was occupied. I didn’t mean to disturb you.” I turned to go.

  “We will be leaving day after tomorrow,” the man said after me. “Would you like to come in and have a look around?”

  “That is kind of you,” I said. “I suppose it would be nice to see the place from the inside.”

  “In fact,” he added with a friendly smile, “my wife will be back shortly. She just went down to the market. Why don’t you come in and have tea with us? My name is Stanley Jenkins.”

  He was so gracious and his invitation so warm, how could I refuse?

  “I am Marie Buchan,” I said as I shook his hand, then followed him inside.

  The next hour was one of my most enjoyable since arriving in Port Scarnose. When Mr. Jenkins’s wife, Wilma, returned, I found her as friendly as her husband. Both sang the praises of Port Scarnose. When I explained my situation they encouraged me to stay longer, insisting that I couldn’t do better for a place as long as I was there.

  “If you like it so well,” I asked, “why don’t you live here in Port Scarnose?”

  “We took this cottage only temporarily,” replied Stanley. “We returned to Scotland recently from New Zealand and will be living in Inveru
rie. But our place there wasn’t quite ready for us yet, so we took this cottage.”

  After an hour’s visit I knew that I had made two more dear friends for life. I left with the owner’s telephone number. I walked to a phone booth and called right then. The lady who owned the house lived about twenty miles away. I told her that I had met the Jenkins and would be interested in the house when they were gone. We made arrangements to meet.

  “You probably have no towels and linens?” she said.

  “No, I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t. I didn’t think of that.”

  “Nae bother. I will bring some for ye. Hoo lang will ye be wantin’ it?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “A week at least, maybe two… maybe even a month. I just don’t know. I have no definite plans when I will return to Canada. I hope that will be all right.”

  “Of course, dear. Ye hae my telephone number. Ye can let me know.”

  I told Mrs. Gauld that I had decided to stay and had booked a self-catering place. She was happy for me and told me to come by if I needed anything or just to visit.

  I had not seen Iain Barclay in several days. I had to tell him about my change of plans. But I felt strangely timid to see him. What would he think? Would he think I was staying because of him?

  And… was Gwendolyn the only reason I had decided to postpone my trip home? I couldn’t think about that right now!

  I went to the Urquhart house every day the rest of that week. Gwendolyn’s aunt, while not making a point of inviting me to come back, seemed willing enough for my visits to continue.

  Within a day, word about my teaching Gwendolyn the harp began to get around town. I wasn’t really teaching her. I wasn’t even trying to. But when I walked up Fordyce Street, I was aware of stares. And when I looked out the window when Gwendolyn was playing on the third day, I saw a few people clustered about the street. I opened the front door so they could hear. No one smiled, but they listened.

  As excited as she had been, I never heard from Adela Cruickshank again. Maybe she thought my harp was haunted now.

  Finally I got up my courage and walked to Iain’s house. It was Friday morning. Somehow I knew he would ask me to play in church again.

  I was nervous. What was wrong with me? I felt like a schoolgirl!

  I took a deep breath and walked to the door and rang the bell. It seemed like forever that I heard nothing. I began to hope he wasn’t home and that I could dash away. I would talk to him later.

  Then I heard footsteps inside and knew it was too late.

  The door opened.

  “Marie!” exclaimed Iain with a great smile on his face. “Come in!”

  My heart was beating. I’d forgotten how red his hair was. It was all messy and uncombed, and looked wonderful.

  “I’m so glad to see you,” he said, leading me into his sitting room. “I’m sorry I haven’t been by. I had to run into Aberdeen for church meetings two days ago. I spent the night at the home of a friend. We had meetings most of yesterday, then a dreadfully boring dinner last evening with speakers and presentations. I didn’t get home until after eleven. I’m afraid I only just got up. I haven’t even had my tea yet. Will you join me?”

  “I don’t want to intrude—”

  “Intrude!” he interrupted. “Good heavens, I thought we were beyond that! If I remember correctly, you’re leaving tomorrow, so this might be my last chance. Please join me.”

  “Well, all right. But actually—”

  I hesitated as I followed him toward the kitchen where he began filling a kettle with water for tea. He turned toward me where I stood in the doorway.

  “—Actually,” I continued, “I’m moving out of Mrs. Gauld’s this morning.”

  It hadn’t come out exactly as I had intended.

  “Oh, no!” exclaimed Iain. “You mean you’re leaving today? I had hoped we could have another visit, maybe this evening.”

  “No, that’s not exactly what I meant,” I said. “I mean, what I came by to tell you… the thing is, I saw a place down in the lower part of town, a self-catering cottage for rent. I called about it, and I’ve decided to take it. So I’m moving over there this afternoon.”

  “But, I don’t…” he began, staring at me with the kettle still in his hand and a look of bewilderment on his face.

  “I canceled my flight home,” I said with a sheepish smile. “I postponed my return. I decided to stay for a while.”

  His mouth opened in surprise. The next instant he bounded toward me in three great strides. Before I knew what had hit me, I found myself swallowed in an unexpected bear hug.

  “That’s great!” he exclaimed. “I’m so happy—”

  Suddenly I gave a little cry. A shot of wet cold had flooded my back.

  Iain stepped away, then, seeing the kettle still in his hand, he realized in the exuberance of his embrace that he had emptied half of it onto my dress.

  “Oh, no!” he cried. “What an idiot I am—I’m sorry!”

  He ran across the room, threw the kettle down and hurried back with a dishtowel in hand. He spun me around and set about patting me down. By now I was over the shock of the cold. Getting doused by a kettle of water was almost a relief. Now I didn’t have to deal with the aftermath of his sudden embrace!

  Poor Iain was embarrassed beyond words.

  “It’s all right, really,” I said, starting to laugh at his frenetic activity. “It’s a warm day—that’s why I didn’t wear a coat. I’ll dry out in no time. Put the kettle on and let’s have some tea.”

  Gradually he calmed down, muttering about what a clumsy oaf he was. But within a few minutes he was relaxing and setting the tea things on the table.

  “I am sorry,” he said for about the fifth time. “I was excited. It’s such good news that you’re staying! There’s so much I want to talk to you about.”

  “Like what?” I said.

  “I don’t know, nothing definite. I didn’t mean it like that. I just, you know—I hadn’t… well, I hadn’t had enough, I suppose.”

  “Neither had I,” I said. “I haven’t had enough of Scotland or Port Scarnose, and guess what? Since I saw you last I’ve been going over to the Urquharts every day. Gwendolyn’s been playing my harp. I can’t wait for you to hear her. You won’t believe it! Maybe you could come with me this afternoon. I usually go over around two o’clock.”

  He wasn’t as overjoyed about the prospect as I had expected.

  “I’m not sure that would be a good idea,” he said. The smile disappeared from his face.

  “Why not? I want you to hear her.”

  “I’m sure I shall. All in good time. There are, shall we say, some difficulties between myself and Mrs. Urquhart that would be best for you to remain uninvolved in. In the interest of your work with Gwendolyn, it would be expedient if you were not to mention me at all.”

  I stared across the table, puzzled. I could see that Mrs. Urquhart might be considered hard as a twenty-minute egg. Yet who would not like Iain Barclay? But I asked no more questions. His tone did not invite them.

  “But,” he added on a more cheery note, “now that you will be here, how about playing for church again on Sunday?”

  Now it was my turn to grow pensive.

  “I don’t think I will,” I said. “Not two weeks in a row.”

  “You said you enjoyed yourself.”

  “I did, very much. I can’t explain it, I just don’t think I want to again so soon.”

  “That’s fine, suit yourself. When you are ready, please tell me. I don’t want to pester you by asking you every week. The invitation is a standing one. Everyone will enjoy it immensely. As will I.”

  I nodded and forced a smile. Funny feelings were coming over me.

  “I hope you will feel welcome to attend the service,” added Iain, “even without your harp. Yours truly will be occupying the pulpit again.”

  I couldn’t help laughing.

  “I will feel welcome.” I smiled. “Though no guarante
es. I’m still not—”

  “I know, I know. You’re not a church person. Disclaimers duly noted!”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Mysterious Churchyard

  This is my Father’s world, and to my listening ears,

  All nature sings and round me rings, the music of the spheres.

  This is my Father’s world, I rest me in the thought

  Of rocks and trees, of skies and seas—his hand the wonders wrought.

  This is my Father’s world—the birds their carols raise;

  The morning light, the lily white, declare their Maker’s praise.

  This is my Father’s world! He shines in all that’s fair;

  In the rustling grass I hear Him pass—He speaks to me ev’rywhere.

  —Maltbie D. Babcock, “This Is My Father’s World”

  I left Mrs. Gauld’s about four o’clock on the afternoon of my move with hugs and well-wishes and promises to come by every day. She had not seemed as disturbed about my involvement with Gwendolyn as Miss Cruickshank, though I detected a slight pursing of her lips when I told her.

  After being in small bedrooms for almost three weeks, it was strange at first to have a whole place to myself. All my possessions were stuffed into one suitcase, and here I was moving into an entire house.

  To have a kitchen of my own again—for a while at least—and a sitting room with a wonderful fireplace! I couldn’t have been more excited. The first thing I did was move my few clothes into the dresser and wardrobe in the bedroom while the water was boiling on the stove. Then I made a fire, struggling a bit with the coal, fixed myself a pot of tea, and sat down with a book.

  I thought I was in heaven!

  After a while I went out for a walk. By this time I knew all the streets and lanes of Port Scarnose. It was like getting to know them all over again with a new place to come back to that I called home.

  My decision felt so right. I was happy!

  I had already decided to have a talk with Mrs. Urquhart. The next afternoon while Gwendolyn was playing, I got up from the chair where I was sitting and motioned her into the kitchen.