Gunns & Roses

by Karen Kelly

“Now we have to look really fast in these other tents.” Peggy pointed to a blue tent a few tents ahead of them. “Let’s try that one next.”

  While mother and daughter explored their side of the tents, Annie and Alice ducked inside the tent of a vendor of clan tartans and crests. The riotous colors gave the portable room a cheerful atmosphere, which matched the energy of the entire Highland Games and kept the two women from feeling discouraged in their search. Against one wall stood several collections of matted clan crests and badges, ready for framing.

  “We can each start at an end and work our way in,” suggested Alice.

  “Works for me,” Annie agreed and moved to the far end of the wall. “Hopefully, this place will give us more info to go on than Mr. MacTavish did.”

  Alice started flipping through the matted and plastic-covered prints, which began alphabetically with Abercromby. “He seemed like a nice guy, though. I suspect he’d be a hoot at a Robbie Burns Dinner.”

  “Have you ever been to a Burns Dinner?” Annie asked as she looked at the first clan at her end, Young. The badge for that clan was yew and the crest looked nothing like the hawk and rose on the ferrule.

  “Well, no,” Alice admitted. “But I’ve heard about them. The same group that helps put on the Highland Games hosts a dinner in Portland to celebrate Robert Burns’s birthday.” She moved swiftly past the first several clans, not seeing anything either. “You know, since you do have Scottish roots in your family, we should think about going to one some year.”

  “Maybe,” Annie began to answer. “Hey! I found a juniper! It’s the badge for clan Ross.” She lifted out the print to examine it closer. “But there’s no hawk or rose in the crest.” She returned the print to its place and pulled a small notepad from her purse, jotting down the name.

  Spurred on by the find, the two women stopped the chatter and picked up the pace of their search. Soon, it was Alice’s turn for discovery. “Here’s another juniper badge! It’s for clan Gunn. Hmmm, no hawk and rose here either.”

  Annie added “Gunn” to her list, and within a few minutes, they had met in the middle and added three more clan names—MacLeod, Murray, and Nicolson.

  “Well, we’ve narrowed down considerably the possible name for the owner of the sporran,” said Alice. “Not a bad half-morning’s work.”

  Annie was staring at her list. “But we don’t know if the owner was a man or woman. It may be a family heirloom passed down to a daughter. Likely, a daughter would marry and not be a Ross, Gunn, MacLeod, Murray, or Nicolson anymore. The owner could now be a Perez or Svingli for all we know.”

  “We’ve had less to go on with other mysteries, Annie,” Alice reminded her friend. “Somehow, a pathway always manages to open up. It’s a start.”

  Annie nodded, thankful for her friend’s perspective. “Yes, it is. And we still have plenty of time to explore before the end of the day. Besides, coming here wasn’t just about the mystery, and I don’t want to let it ruin a fun day with friends.”

  “The search for balance goes on!” Alice clapped a hand on Annie’s shoulder. “On to the next tent!”

  The two friends hurried to a tent with a sign that read “Kilt and Caboodle,” which featured every accessory one could need for a full-dress kilt.

  Annie’s eyes widened as she took in the range of merchandise. “Wow, the owner of this business has Mary Beth’s flare for packing in tons of stock without it looking like chaos.”

  “If we don’t find a match to your ferrule or sporran here, then matches may not exist!” Alice admitted, impressed by the selection. “Here we go!” She stepped up to a display of pins, cuff links, belt buckles, and brooches. Within seconds, Annie heard Alice muttering in turn as she scanned the display, “Lions … fish … knotwork … stags… swirls. No birds.” Alice picked up a pair of cuff links for a closer look. “Here’s some thistle, I think. But no juniper.”

  Annie was perusing a table with a sign bearing the words “Sgian-Dubh.” The surface was covered with daggers of different sizes and materials. “Quite a few thistle designs on these …” she pointed at the sign, “well, whatever that word means. They look like daggers to me.”

  “It’s pronounced ‘skeen do,’” a woman said as she stepped through a gap in the tent wall. “It means ‘black knife.’”

  “We’ve been admiring the range of your merchandise,” said Alice.

  The woman’s wide smile drew crinkles into the corners of her hazel eyes. “That’s what it takes to be a good and true kilt company. Is there any way I can help you?”

  Annie showed her the ferrule. “We’re looking for information about the design on this ferrule. Do you carry anything like this?”

  The woman studied it intensely. After a motionless pause, she answered. “No, I’ve never carried a design like this one. Our shop carries all the most popular designs.” She handed the ferrule back to Annie. “This must be a custom one.”

  “We suspected as much,” said Alice. “Thanks for confirming it for us.”

  “Always pleased to help.” The woman smiled again. “If you are interested in kilt making, by any chance, you won’t want to miss Brianna Kincaid’s demonstration. She does several sessions throughout the day.”

  Annie nodded and began to speak when she noticed a sporran hanging on the back wall behind the woman. From her vantage point it looked identical to the one from the attic. “Excuse me, I just noticed that sporran. May I take a closer look?”

  Startled, the woman’s eyes swung over to the sporran in question. The sealskin was almost identical to Annie’s, but it was the clasp design that had caught Annie’s attention. “The sealskin? I’m not allowed to sell them in the U.S.” She went to the wall and took the sporran off the hook. “The vast majority of sporrans used to be made of sealskin, but the Marine Mammal Protection Act changed that tradition. I like to display it as a nod to the past.”

  “Is the clasp design juniper?” asked Alice.

  The woman chuckled and touched the metal. “You mean the cantle? Yes, it’s juniper.”

  The two friends tried to tamp down their excitement. “I found a sporran with the same design in my grandparents’ home.” Annie reached into her bag to retrieve a photo and handed it to the woman. “Would it be from the same clan as yours?” she asked calmly.

  The woman looked at the photo and then shrugged. “Juniper is the badge for several clans. There’s no way of knowing which one of the clans it belonged to.”

  “Oh.” Annie’s smile faded a bit. “Well, thank you for the information. We’ll certainly try to make one of the kilt demonstrations.”

  The woman returned the sporran to its place. “You won’t regret it. Enjoy your day.”

  Annie and Alice stepped out of the tent and walked several yards away before beginning their discussion. They didn’t see the woman step to the entrance of the tent, gazing after them. Or how she pulled out a cellphone and made a call, following their progress until they were out of sight.

  7

  At 10:25 the female contingency from Stony Point met at the MacTavish tent and then wound their way through the crowd to a long, narrow field bordered with spruce, pines, and oak trees, where the falconry event was set to begin any minute. They paused at the edge of the field and scanned the people swarming around its perimeter.

  A whistle cut through all the bustle. Annie recognized it as Ian’s. She’d heard him use it to call Tartan often enough. Like ladies watching a tennis match, all four heads swiveled over to the left where Ian and Wally were waving at them.

  “I’d have something to say to our mayor about being called like a schnauzer,” said Alice, “except it does look like he and Wally have staked out a great location for watching the falconry demonstration.”

  Peggy swung Emily’s hand as they all made their way over to the men. “And we can’t deny it was effective. I think we could have heard that whistle over at MacTavish’s.”

  Ian wore an apologetic expression as the women came close. “Pl
ease forgive my method of communication. The multitudes were pressing in, and we were concerned you wouldn’t be able to find us.”

  “And we wanted to make sure there was enough room for all of us,” Wally added. He gestured at the chairs he and Ian had retrieved from the car and had set down right behind the flagged partition.

  “We’ll make allowances for today,” Annie replied as regally as she could while holding back a grin.

  Peggy put her hands on her hips. “Yeah. Just don’t try it in Stony Point if you ever want a hot cup of coffee at the diner again, Mr. Mayor.”

  “Ouch!” Ian clapped his right hand over his heart. “That’s a hard, hard punishment, don’t you think?”

  “That’s my wife for you, Ian,” said Wally. “Hard as nails … when she’s not serving folks.” His shy grin slid across his face as he looked at the love of his life.

  “And being their friend,” added Alice.

  “And making ’em soup,” offered Emily.

  “And —” Annie began.

  “And that’s enough!” Peggy was on the verge of blushing and didn’t intend to let that happen. “Didn’t we come here to watch the falconers?” She gestured at the field, where a man and woman had strode from opposite ends to meet in the middle and now stood back to back. A huge owl was perched on the woman’s well-protected forearm.

  Ian maneuvered his way next to Annie and leaned down to whisper, “Did you find out anything?”

  “A little,” Annie whispered back. “Nothing big. I’ll tell you later.”

  Nodding, Ian turned his attention back to the field, where the two falconers were introducing themselves to the audience.

  “Welcome!” The woman spoke first into the microphone that extended from her ear to in front of her mouth. “I am Master Falconer Brooke, and this is Gandalf, a two-year-old great horned owl. I should point out that falconry today generally refers to hunting with any trained bird of prey.” She gestured to the man with her. “Our other Master Falconer, Finley, will assist me in introducing you to the amazing hunting abilities of Gandalf.” The dark-haired man with a neatly trimmed beard bowed in response to the audience’s applause.

  Peggy turned to her friends. “Do you suppose those are their first or last names?”

  “Giving their first names makes sense to me, but it’s hard to tell,” answered Alice.

  Wally opened the Games brochure and skimmed through the information. “No names listed for the demonstrators.”

  “We can ask around afterwards,” suggested Ian. Nodding their agreement, the friends turned their attention back to the field. Annie had remained silent, her eyes riveted to the falconers. Were they related in any way to the hawk and rose symbol on the ferrule?

  “Gandalf has been with me since I watched him hatch in my kitchen,” Brooke told them. “I was the first thing he saw and the first source of his food. He feeds himself now, but he always looks for me when he comes in from the hunt.”

  As the falconer informed the crowd of Gandalf’s ability to carry animals several times his own weight in his powerful talons, the owl stood motionless on the gauntlet that covered her left hand and lower arm. Then she lifted her arm, and the owl extended his wings to glide across the field. The man stepped away from her as she pulled from a pocket a leather lure with a piece of meat attached to the end and began to swing it in circles around her.

  “Owls can see moving prey at an astounding rate of speed and hone in on their target.” The crowd struggled to keep track of the bird of prey, as it swooped silently closer and closer to the twirling bait. Then it wheeled, picked up speed, and extended its talons to snatch the bait at the end of the leather. Gandalf alighted gracefully on the grass several feet from the falconer to eat its catch.

  The audience broke out into cheering and applause. Emily hung onto her father’s arm. “Gandalf’s wings are huge! Could he carry me away?”

  Wally looked down at his daughter and grinned into her eyes that were round with amazement. “Nah, you’re safe, Em. Sure, he can carry several times his weight like the lady said, but those owls don’t weigh more than five or six pounds at the most. Now, if you were only twenty pounds of child, we’d have to guard you real close.”

  The owl returned to the falconer’s gauntlet. “I’ll need some help. Are there any children out there who would like to be a part of the next demonstration?”

  As children around the perimeter started jumping up and waving for attention, Emily asked her parents, “Can I?”

  “Of course,” answered Peggy. “Now that Daddy told us you weigh too much for an owl to carry away.”

  Emily jumped as close to the barrier as she could and waved hard at the male falconer who was walking along the edge selecting the helpers. He paused as he came near the bouncing youngster, waved her to him, and said, “You!”

  “Well, now we know what Em will talk about on the first day back at school this fall,” said Alice.

  “I’m so glad she got picked!” Peggy’s eyes followed her daughter as the falconer, Finley, had the children sit cross-legged in two rows, facing inward.

  With the children almost in position, Brooke made another request to the crowd. “I also need four adults to be trees for us, no branches required.” In short order four tall adults had taken their places at the end of the two rows of children, on the side opposite from where Brooke and Gandalf stood. Finley took his place behind the “trees” and held out his gloved hand and padded arm.

  “Children, each of you is a mouse who does not want to be Gandalf’s dinner. An owl can see the tiniest movement, so you must not wiggle, twitch, giggle, or talk. Try to sit so still that you can feel when Gandalf has flown over you.” The children glanced at each other and settled into their positions, nervousness on some faces and excitement on others as they became still.

  “And ‘trees,’” Finley said, addressing the adults next to him, “you also need to stay as motionless as you can. Tree bark can withstand owl talons better than skin and cloth.”

  Quiet settled over the crowd, each person fixing their eyes on the magnificent bird of prey. At the slightest of signals from his falconer, Gandalf leapt into the air, extending his four-foot wingspan to glide over the heads of the children. Obedient to the falconer’s instructions, the children sat as if frozen, the occasional lift of hair as the bird flew over them was the only sign of movement.

  It seemed impossible that the large bird could fit between the “trees” as they stood a mere twelve inches apart. But Gandalf rolled back slightly, extended his feet, and landed on Finley’s arm in a movement so graceful it could almost be called dainty.

  The children, adults, and audience drew in a collective gasp and broke into applause. Emily bounced up onto her knees and hugged herself, giggling with the girl next to her about feeling her hair lift when Gandalf flew over her. The falconers announced a brief intermission and dismissed the helpers. Emily danced across the field to her family and friends.

  “That was the coolest thing, ever!” Emily gushed as she ducked under the flag barrier. “Did you see Gandalf poof my hair when he flew by?”

  Ian pushed the stop button on his phone’s video camera. “Would you like to see it too, Emily?” He made sure the video was back to the beginning and waved the young girl over.

  “What a great idea, Ian!” exclaimed Annie. “I was so entranced, I completely forgot about photos or anything.”

  “So did I,” Alice laughed, pulling out her cellphone. “I’ll keep it out for the next part of the demonstration.”

  Emily stood close to the mayor, watching as the great horned owl glided so very close to the top of her head. “I knew he was close, but … wow!”

  Peggy leaned close and whispered to Wally, “Am I wrong or is this the first time Em’s been speechless since she spoke her first word?”

  “Just might be,” Wally acknowledged, proud eyes on his daughter.

  During the rest of the brief intermission, Ian passed his phone around so everyone c
ould enjoy Emily’s experience once more. When the demonstration resumed, this time the main attraction was Athena, a golden eagle. Raised by Finley, the eagle made Gandalf look puny in comparison. The falconer raised his arm, and Athena spread her wings, flying in a circle around the field.

  Ian raised his phone to video the giant bird of prey. “Now I really see why the falconers raise their birds from hatchlings. A bird that size could do serious damage.”

  “It’s breathtaking,” murmured Annie. “I’ve seen plenty of bald eagles from a distance, but what a wonder it is to see a golden eagle this close.” Her eyes were riveted to the majestic bird and its handler.

  “Did you hear what he just said?” asked Wally, amazement on his face. “That bird can dive at speeds up to 150 miles per hour! I’ve watched my share of fish hawks diving around the Gulf of Maine, but 150 miles per hour?” His mouth puckered, emitting a low whistle.

  The friends remained quiet for the rest of the demonstration, fascinated with the fluid efficiency of the raptor whose wingspan dwarfed the tall falconer. As the two falconers bid the crowd farewell, Annie’s mind once again turned to the hawk and the rose. Had Brooke or Finley ever seen the design? She tapped Ian on the shoulder.

  “Do you think we can catch the falconers before they leave the field?” she asked in a rush. “Maybe they’ll know something about the ferrule.”

  Ian nodded and held out his hand. “Quick! Give it to me.” As soon as Annie pulled it out of her bag, he grabbed it and ducked under the barrier. Annie and her friends watched the mayor stride across the field, his steps purposeful.

  Alice shared a grin with her friends. “With Ian Butler on your side, who needs a knight in shining armor?”

  “Or kilt!” Peggy added. She nudged Annie with an elbow. “Though, I think Mr. Mayor could hold his own in the Bonnie Knees competition.”

  Annie smiled but didn’t reply, too distracted as she tried to surmise what was being said between Ian and Brooke. Her smile faded when the female falconer shook her head after viewing the photo. “It looks like Brooke can’t help us.”