by Jill Barnett
“Why?”
“It’s really quite simple.” Georgina gave an airy wave of her hand. “You see, men see much better than they think.”
Chapter 32
Happy hearts and happy faces
Happy play in grassy places—
That was how, in ancient ages
Children grew to kings and sages.
—Robert Louis Stevenson
Bright September sunshine had the same effect on Kirsty and Graham that the full moon had on wild banshees. They screamed and hollered and chased things through the damp grass. They ran after marsh moths and bumblebees. They sped past the wild grapes that grew up a gray stone wall, over a small rock bridge, and up a grassy hillside where the golden-rod blazed and the blueberry plants were already turning as red as firehouse paint.
At the edge of the woods, they hid in the elderberry bushes beneath the bough of a fat crab-apple tree, disappearing into the low branches like sparrows with their tails flicking.
“Now be very, very quiet, Graham, or I’ll have to pinch you again.” Kristy pulled her knees tightly against her chest and locked her hands around them while she listened for Fergus.
“Do you think he’s lost?” Graham whispered.
“Shhh!” Kirsty shoved her fingers in front of his face and made pinching gestures.
His golden eyes grew wide. He clamped a grubby hand over his mouth and watched her like a dog that had something treed.
On the days when the fog was thick and wet and cold and they had to stay inside, Fergus set them near a toasty fire and told them of Scotland, of the Highlands and the places where their ancestors grew up and fought, lived and died.
He taught them so many things, better things than they learned at Harrington Hall. He taught them that the seventh child of a seventh child has the sight, that the Devil Himself once kept school in Scotland and taught the lairds and the chieftains to fight.
From Fergus they heard tales of the Picts and the Celtic tribes that painted their faces blue before they went into battle; and they found out that any Scot worth his salt knew the MacCodrums were descended from seals.
There were lessons like how to find a kelpie. Kirsty and Graham learned you have to be clever and look in cool streams and rivers; you have to remember that kelpies like to take on the shape of a beautiful horse. They found out that ghosts and witches, goblins and beasties can be warded off with even the smallest piece of rowan bark.
So when Graham had walked around waving a chunk of tree bark in front of his face whenever he saw Kirsty, she had gotten even by pinching him when he least expected it.
She figured she had trained him well over the days when they’d had to stay indoors, because now he couldn’t tell when she would really pinch him and when she wouldn’t.
Fergus came tramping up the hillside trail. He stopped at the crest. Kirsty and Graham were huddled so close together they were like pages in a book.
Kirsty could see Fergus’s big feet. Once when she had asked him why his feet were so big, he had said they were big so he could scare off the wee fairies that came to steal the tongues of little lassies who asked too many questions.
She peered up from beneath the twisted brambles and branches. With his long white hair and his big shoulders, Fergus looked like a giant against the big blue sky. He was almost as big as her father.
“Och! Come out with ye. I canna see ye wee rascals, but I ken ye’re in there.”
Silly old Graham started to move, so Kirsty socked him in the arm and raised a finger to her lips. She gave him her most ferocious frown.
Boys were so dumb!
Fergus was bluffing. He didn’t know where they were. Next time she would hide alone. No silly old boys, not even her silly old brother.
“Ouch!” Kirsty’s mouth dropped open. She scowled at Graham. “You pinched me!”
He crossed his arms just like Fergus and their father did, then he gave her a belligerent look and a nod. “Aye.”
“You can’t pinch me.”
“I just did.”
Two huge and tanned hands parted the bushes. Fergus squinted down at them. “Come out now, ye two. Quit yer arguing.”
Graham crawled out before she could, another first. But she was still trying to understand how she had gotten pinched. What was the matter with Graham? If she couldn’t bully him anymore, who was left to bully?
Did boys suddenly grow brains? She didn’t think so. Most of the boys she knew acted like they didn’t have a brain in their heads.
She got on her hands and knees and crawled out of the bushes, straightened, and dusted herself off.
“Weel, there ye be, lassie. Let’s get going, now.” Fergus patted her head like you would an old dog, and he turned and walked down the path.
Graham ran ahead of him so he could be first to “roll down the hill like a boulder.” As if she wanted to roll down the hillside.
Instead she skipped along and caught up with Fergus. “Are we going back home? Did Father finally send for us?”
She knew the answer when Fergus didn’t look at her, but stared straight ahead.
“No, lassie.”
“Why can’t we go home?”
“I told ye, yer father’s got business to do.”
She slowed her steps and lagged along behind him. He stopped and turned. He held out his hammy hand. “Come along, lass.”
She took two steps and slid her hand into his big one. “Where are we going?”
“To tickle a trout.”
“How do you tickle a trout?”
“I’ll be showing ye, lassie.”
“Where are the trout?”
“Up ahead. Near the bridge. Trout like to hide in the rocks. We have tae lure them out.”
She walked along with him. “Fergus?”
“Aye?”
“Why do trout have rainbows in their skins?”
He stopped suddenly and planted his hands on his hips. “Are ye going tae be talking me ear off again?”
“No. I just wondered.” She swatted a bumblebee, then stared at it for a long time.
Fergus stopped near the bridge over the stream and said to her. “Why are ye stopping?”
“I was just wondering.” She caught up with him. “Why do they call them bumblebees? If you listen really close and you can hear a bee hum. They don’t bumble. Shouldn’t they be called humblebees?”
Fergus just laughed and pulled both Graham and her into the stream. He taught them how to lock their fingers together and set them in the cold water, down just a few inches beneath the glassy surface.
He taught them to be very, very still—Graham failed at that—and showed them what every Scot knew was true: if you were gentle, if you were very still, if you had the wit and blood of the Highlands, then the fish would just settle right into your open palms and let you tickle them with one bent finger until they were senseless and ready to become your tasty dinner.
Kirsty had more questions. Lots more questions. Sometimes she felt as if she were just one big question. So often no one could answer her questions. They just ignored her or made a joke as if her questions didn’t matter, but they mattered to her.
Even Fergus, who had so many fine tales to tell, who knew how to tickle trout, could speak Gaelic and make a fire without a flint, couldn’t answer all her questions.
So she settled in and learned to tickle trout and tested new ways to intimidate her brother, but she never learned the things she really wanted to learn: like why do mothers die and why did her father not want them around?
Chapter 33
Time is
Too slow for those who Wait
Too swift for those who Fear,
Too long for those who Grieve
Too short for those who Rejoice;
But for those who Love,
Time is
Eternity
—Anonymous
Amy stood on the deck of the coaster and watched the hills of Portland come into view, large gray humps of
the real world that grew larger and clearer the closer they sailed to the mainland. The sea had been fairly calm and blue as they passed five or six other islands heading toward shore. To her it all passed too quickly, for before long the chalky weathered wharf with its busy side docks was standing before them.
Huddled in moorings around the west curve of the bay were fishing smacks and dories, coasters and sloops. Wooden lobster traps were stacked like teetering blocks along the sides of the clapboard wharf shacks, where spouts of steam and smoke drifted up into the blue sky from small rusty pipes that stuck out of the shingled shack roofs like pointing fingers.
Delivery wagons and teams were lined up along the busy street. Some were already loading barrels of fish oil, pine clapboards, and oak staves, all products from the nearby islands. Icemen dragged big blocks of shimmering ice speckled with straw into the wharf shacks where fresh seafood was weighed, cleaned, and sold.
Amy just stood there, a little undone, because she couldn’t believe they were in Portland already. It seemed to her as if they had just left the island.
Georgina stopped her constant pacing of the deck and came to stand next to her. “Well, that certainly took long enough.” She slapped some hair out of her face as if time were all too annoying to her. “I didn’t think we’d ever get here.” She scanned the dockside, her hands tapping impatiently on the rail. After a moment she glanced at Amy. “Will you be all right?”
“Yes.”
They didn’t speak for a bit, but both just watched the bustling dock, each lost in thoughts of their own.
Amy turned to her. “I wish you good luck in your marriage, Georgina. I hope John Cabot will be everything you want.”
“He is. Have you changed your mind?”
Amy shook her head. “I know what I want.”
Georgina nodded. “Then I hope you get it. Just don’t forget my advice.”
Amy smiled. “You don’t have to worry. I’ll not soon forget.”
Georgina offered her hand and they said goodbye.
Both brothers were busy tying down and she and Georgina had to stand there an awkward moment longer. She felt impotent, numb, and nervous. She didn’t know if she could be like Georgina, who had just marched over to Eachann and was harping at him about taking so long.
Those two were a queer set of rivals. Georgina stood there with her chin as high as someone who had no concept of fear at all. Her hands were planted on her hips and one foot tapped impatiently on the deck.
The more Georgina talked, the slower Eachann worked. She wondered if in her fit Georgina even noticed. Eventually he moseyed over to the side, with Georgina marching on his heels. He jumped onto the dock with long-legged ease and started walking away.
“Don’t you walk away from me!” Georgina called out. “MacOaf!”
Amy winced. Georgina was fearless. Or tactless. Or maybe both.
He turned so slowly it was like watching a week pass. He stood there eyeing Georgina from a face that was unreadable.
She stuck out her hand like a queen and said, “I need help down.”
Some of the men alongside the dock were leaning against the shacks, intently watching them. A few lobstermen had frozen in their moored dories, and a group of dock workers stopped talking and turned toward the coaster.
Eachann never said a word, but he walked back and stood there, looking at her hand for the longest time.
You could have cut the air with a knife. His stony gaze flicked from her hand to her face. Amy watched him take Georgina’s hand.
Amy could see it coming. But Georgina didn’t; she appeared too busy trying to look down her nose at him.
In less time than it took to blink, Eachann dipped his wide shoulder and flung Georgina right over it, clamping his arm around the backs of her legs.
She shrieked like mad, but Eachann ignored her and just strode casually down the dock to the cheers and catcalls of the fishermen. He gave them a salute and set Georgina down in the street the same way you would drop a load of rocks.
“It’s like watching two angry mules harnessed together.”
Amy turned at the sound of Calum’s voice.
His black hair was ruffled from the voyage and he had shed his coat and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to work the sails. His forearms were tanned and lined with snake-like muscles; his hands were strong and capable of working the sails. It seemed hard to believe those were the same hands that had touched her cheek so tenderly.
She raised her gaze to his jaw, which was shadowed like always, but she saw that his mouth was set in a firm and stubborn-looking line she hadn’t seen before.
He pushed his spectacles up his nose, a gesture that Amy had seen him do so many times she knew it was a nervous habit. The thought that he was nervous gave her a little hope. Perhaps he did care.
He looked at her with those dark blue eyes. “Do you want me to take you home? I’ll make any explanations if you need me to.”
“There’s no one to make any explanations to.” She could feel his gaze and squared her shoulders, but didn’t look to him. She thought she might start crying.
He shoved his hands in his pockets and stood there. “I have to meet with some people, then sail up to Bath.”
When she’d been healing he had come to her room, had told her about the ships from Scotland, in particular the one that was coming and how he felt he had a duty to see that the people on board were given clothing, shelter, and food. Calum gave people a new chance in a new land.
If she hadn’t been in love with him before, she would have fallen when she realized this man cared about someone other than himself. He actually cared about strangers. Calum MacLachlan was noble and honest and above all he was different from any other man she had known except her father. He was like him, because deep inside of him, he was a truly kind man.
Someone called out his name and they both looked up. A small group of tall and rugged-looking men were walking toward them.
Amy turned toward Calum.
“The MacDonalds,” he said.
“Those are the men you are to meet?”
“Aye.”
She squared her shoulders, then offered him her hand. “I guess this is goodbye.”
He was staring at her mouth.
Amy had a hunch that Georgina was right. He wasn’t thinking about her brain. “Thank you, for everything.” She flushed because she was thinking of those kisses. In an embarrassed rush she added, “For saving my life.”
He just nodded and took her hand in both of his. “Are you sure you don’t want me to take you home?”
“I’m sure.”
“I’ll go with you to the end of the dock.” They walked together. He jumped off the way his brother had, then placed his hands on her waist and lifted her down to the dock as if she weighed no more than a feather.
When they were at the end of the wharf they stood there in awkward silence. He looked as if he wanted to say something, but he didn’t.
She looked up at him. “Goodbye, Calum.”
“Goodbye, Amy-my-lass.”
She closed her eyes when he called her that. Her heart was pounding in her ears so loudly that she barely heard those men impatiently call out his name.
“I have to go.” His voice was gruff.
Amy nodded and just stood there watching him walk away.
Chapter 34
Always act the winner,
even if you lose.
—Anonymous
Georgina marched down the streets of Portland with proud and determined strides. She hadn’t a cent to her name, couldn’t even hire a coach, but that wouldn’t stop her. She’d walk all the way home.
She moved along the board walkways for quite a distance before she became aware of the continuing jingle of a wagon harness and the steady clopping of a team in the street alongside of her. She sped up. So did the wagon team. She slowed down and the team paced her.
She stopped. So did the wagon the MacOaf was driving.
&nbs
p; He grinned down at her. “I thought Joe Cabinet had a house up on the hill, one of those old brick places with the white columns and velvet knee pillows on the front steps for genuflecting.”
Georgina used every ounce of her concentration to keep walking. “John Cabot does live on the hill. I’m going home.”
“Interesting. I thought you’d race a path right to his golden door.”
She stopped. “Dressed like this?” She rolled her eyes. “I don’t think so.”
“You look just fine to me.”
“I can’t tell you how thrilled I am that you approve. Just makes me want to swoon with delight.”
“Don’t swoon. I don’t want you to stop walking, George. I like the way you walk.”
She was silent.
“Nice and fast . . . with just enough jaunt in your step to make your best parts jiggle.”
She ground to an immediate halt and turned.
He reined in the wagon and sat there with his arm resting on the back of the wagon seat while he grinned at her.
“Move over.” She grabbed ahold of the wagon seat and hoisted herself up. “Since you have nothing better to do, you can take me home.”
He snapped the reins and took off with a jerk. Her back slammed into the seat frame, but she didn’t say a word.
He began to whistle merrily.
She just sat on the wagon seat, her leg rubbing against MacOaf’s. It was immensely annoying, especially when her hip would butt into his at every bump.
Of course he managed to hit every pothole and rock in the road between midtown and her home. It got so bad that she was watching the road so she could grip the railing and not end up in his lap.
She did the natural thing and pretended she didn’t care. Only a few more minutes and she would be home, then she wouldn’t have to see the MacOaf again. Ever.
