The Inheritance

by Michael Phillips

  “Audney!” he said in surprise. “Is it really you?”

  “Aye, David,” she said shyly. “’Tis me.”

  “You’ve changed!”

  “As ye hae yersel’.”

  “I suppose you’re right!” laughed David, the sound of his cheery voice filling the pub. He pulled out a third wooden chair and sat down with the two men. “Bring me a pint as well.”

  The conversation was brief. Though the two exchanged but snatches of dialog throughout the summer, the few words that fell from David’s lips that day were enough. Audney’s heart smote her. David’s increased stature, his muscular build, his wild mop of curly light-brown hair, the intoxicating flash of his teeth when he smiled, his musical laugh, the sheer poetry of his tongue speaking in such civilized southern tones . . . they were enough to stir the blood of any Scottish girl.

  All summer Audney watched him with dark observant eyes. More often than was comfortable she found it necessary to glance quickly away to keep from betraying the tidal waves of emotion surging in her heart. When he went away again in the fall, alone in her room Audney wept. She knew she would never see him again.

  Her fears were unfounded. The following May, yet again David returned to his native Shetland isle. Those who assumed he would be ensnared, corrupted, and lost to the worldly pleasure grounds of England had misjudged their young chief. His southern sojourns only deepened his affection for his homeland. If possible, he considered himself more a Shetlander than ever.

  David had become a polished, erudite, well-spoken, and traveled young man. The doubts about how he would turn out were put to rest. The islanders were proud of their young chief.

  By his third summer home, now a strapping youth of twenty, his face maturing with the strong angular lines of manliness, at last David’s eyes were opened to the flower of womanhood that had been unfolding during his absence. At eighteen, Audney Kerr had become the most beautiful young woman on the island. Her bashfulness of sixteen was gone. She had grown comfortable with the changes evolving upon her. She was full of spunk and fun, again the spirited and gregarious girl David had known in childhood, and was a favorite at the pub and inn. She was no less in love with David than she had been for two years. That secret, however, remained locked away in her heart.

  The two friends of childhood were now young adults. Hope began to stir both in Audney’s parents and in David’s mother that they might in time become a good deal more. Such parental dreams, however, seemed unlikely. It was true that during the summer the two youths were often seen walking across the moors or along the sea together. Yet in spite of her obvious beauty, in David’s eyes Audney remained the friend of former days, now the friend of his young adulthood, but little more.

  34

  Rumors

  David slid off the counter and stood to face Audney, though he had to look down several inches to meet her eyes.

  “Keep yer seat, David!” she laughed. She handed the basket to her mother. “Ye dinna need tae be standin’ up on account o’ me walkin’ into the room.”

  “You’re a fine lass and woman, Audney. I can’t well show you less respect than I would any other.”

  “Hae it yer way, David.” Audney laughed again. “Ye always was a gentleman, e’en when I was a mere lassie. I’m nae aboot tae change ye noo.”

  “Would you change me if you could, Audney?” David asked with a mischievous grin.

  “No a hair on yer bonny chieftain’s head, David! Nae a hair. Ye’re a true gentleman, a man whose heart any lassie cud hope tae win.”

  David turned thoughtful. “Audney,” he said after a moment, “perhaps you will answer a question your mother sidestepped.”

  “What question wud that be?”

  “I asked her what folk are saying about me—the womenfolk of the village.”

  “An’ what should ye care what they’re sayin’, David? Ye ken weel enouch that their gossip is o’ no account.”

  “I need to know what’s in the wind, Audney. I must know how to carry myself and if anything’s needed from me. So, what are they saying?”

  “Hae it yer way then!” laughed Audney. “They’re worried, David.”

  “Worried?” repeated David. “About what?”

  “Aboot what’s tae become o’ us if it’s true aboot Hardy becomin’ laird and inheritin’ the haa* an’ not yersel’.”

  “Nothing’s going to come of it,” David assured her. “Hardy has as much chance of becoming laird as you do.”

  “I’m nae related tae the Auld Tulloch like yersel’ an’ Hardy.”

  “I’ll grant you that.”

  “They’re also sayin’ that ye shouldna be sittin’ idly by an’ let Hardy steal the lairdship fae ye.”

  David broke into laughter. “They think I’m sitting idly by!”

  “Aye—though I only heard it frae Grizel Gordon palaverin’ at the factory one day, an’ ye ken what an unco unconvertet tongue she’s got.”

  David sighed. “It’s a wonder, with Grizel for a loose-tongued mother, that Rakel is endowed with such a sound head and common sense. Grizel causes more mischief than any six women on the island . . . well, except for Coira, who is her equal. Why would she say such a thing?”

  “No one kens why ye dinna jist step into the lairdship yersel’,” put in Evanna, breaking her silence. “Folk are sayin’ it’s ye ain fault for givin’ Hardy the opportunity in the first place. Jist take it, they say, like ye ought tae do.”

  “What would they have me do?” said David. “You don’t just take an inheritance. There are legalities to be observed. Uncle Macgregor died without a will. It is out of my hands. If Hardy inherits, there’s nothing I can do about it. But that won’t happen.”

  “He’s older than ye, David,” said Audney.

  “That he is. But his only relation to old Ernest comes through the daughter who’s not in line to inherit.”

  “Unless it’s yer ain ancestor who isna in line,” said Audney’s mother cryptically.

  “What do you mean, Evanna?” said David. “None of my ancestors are in line with Uncle Macgregor. It’s only because he had no children that the line passes to me.”

  “But it mayna pass tae yersel’ at a’, if yer ain ancestors arena in line tae the Auld Tulloch.”

  “How could that be, when my daddy and his daddy before him, and his before him all came straight from him? In that regard, Hardy and I have an equal share of the Auld Tulloch’s blood in our veins. We are both his great-great-grandsons. My blood comes through the youngest son, his through the daughter.”

  “Aye, but what if one o’ the lines is legal blood an’ no the ither?”

  “I don’t follow your meaning, Evanna,” said David.

  Again Evanna retreated into silence.

  “What the auld wives are sayin’, David,” now said Keith, “is naethin’ more’n what Hardy’s been sayin’ oot in the other room for the past week—that yer daddy’s gran’father’s no in line on account o’ being illegitimate, born in sin, ye ken.”

  “What?” David turned to face his father’s friend.

  “That’s what he’s sayin’, laddie, that the Auld Tulloch ne’er married yer grit-gran’father Leith’s mither. She ne’er was Sally Tulloch at a’, but remained Sally Lipscomb a’ her days. So the evil rumor goes.”

  “And did Hardy spread it about?”

  “I canna say where it came frae. Folks was jist talkin’ aboot it one day. They say that the son born tae Sally and the Auld Tulloch—the man’s youngest an’ yer ain daddy’s gran’father Leith, was naethin’ but an illegitimate son. So the Auld Tulloch’s rightful inheritance, they say, wi’ auld Macgregor dead, noo passes doon through the daughter Delynn, an’ straight tae Hardy, nae yersel’.”

  David was stunned. At last the gossip—and Hardy’s legal claim—made sense. If the thing was indeed true, it would make Hardy both chief and laird of Whales Reef.

  David left the inn a few minutes later with much on his mind.

 
*Haa—Shetlandic for the laird’s house.

  35

  Do You Believe in Christmas?

  WASHINGTON, D.C.

  Winter hit with a major storm in early December, dumping several inches of snow on D.C., a foot in New York, and nineteen inches in Boston. The storm passed into the Atlantic, leaving behind it a glittering white winter wonderland with blue skies and sunshine from Virginia to Maine. The chilly bright weather was predicted to hold through the holidays.

  Loni Ford stood again at the window of her office and gazed down on the Capitol Mall blanketed by virgin snow. How beautiful it all was from high up where she stood. Though she hadn’t spent a Christmas at home for five years, she was enough of a sentimentalist to decorate a tree while listening to Christmas music and do some baking with favorite recipes from her childhood. She loved the season, though occasional pangs of guilt inevitably nagged at her. Such feelings notwithstanding, she had wonderful childhood memories of sledding, maple syrup and cream mixed with fresh snow and eaten with a spoon, decorating the house with greens, caroling, the school play—the one time a year she could pretend to be a real actress—the services at Meeting, the handmade gifts, so many other traditions. Though she had not yet found a comfortable way to reconnect with that past, it was still a heritage she treasured.

  These days she usually went somewhere else for Christmas. Skiing in the Poconos was one of her favorites.

  But the holiday had come upon her without plans this year. Hugh had invited her—three times, actually, cajoling almost to the point of begging—to join him for Christmas with his family in Connecticut. She had managed to put him off, but if she didn’t come up with an alternative soon, she would be left without an excuse.

  She liked Hugh. As she had mentally checked off his favorable qualities on her Husband List, it was obvious the pros outweighed the cons by a good margin. He was, by any standards, a “great catch.” She might even love him.

  Until she knew for certain, however, meeting his parents signaled something premature. The fact she had no parents for reverse introductions somehow heightened the potential awkwardness. Until she had a clearer picture of their future together, she did not want to spend a holiday in the home of his parents. Such an encounter would carry too many subtle undercurrents.

  An hour later, looking out the spacious windows of Maddy’s office, Loni’s mind wandered from the letter Maddy was dictating.

  As she stared at the Washington Monument, with white covering the city, a much taller skyscraping landmark came into Loni’s mind’s eye, one that equally defined its city’s skyline 225 miles farther north.

  Suddenly she realized that her fingers on her laptop had stilled.

  “Oh, Maddy, I’m sorry!” she said. “Could you back up ten seconds—my mind just blanked out.”

  A few minutes later, when they were done, Loni began to leave the office, then hesitated. She turned back to face her boss.

  “Maddy, do you have plans for Christmas?” she asked in a thoughtful tone.

  “I never have plans for Christmas.”

  “You’re not going home?”

  Maddy shook her head. “My mom’s taking a cruise. That’s what she usually does when the holidays come around. It keeps her from having to deal with any religious implications. She always invites me along. But the Norway fjords in winter—no thanks!”

  “How about coming with me to New York?”

  “Christmas in the Big Apple . . . it sounds fun! But I thought you and Hugh—”

  “Did he say something to you?”

  “Not in so many words. But I ran into him in the lobby a few days ago after he had been to see you. He implied that you and he were spending Christmas together.”

  Loni laughed lightly. “I’m afraid he is engaging in a little cart-before-the-horse gamesmanship. He wants me to meet his family.”

  “Ah,” said Maddy, “a serious step.”

  “Exactly. And one I’m not quite ready for, especially at Christmas. Too many innuendos lurking around the edges. Anyway, I’m going to New York. I just decided.”

  “So the invitation is for real?”

  “Absolutely!”

  Maddy nodded. “Then count me in.”

  “And if you see Hugh, not a word,” said Loni. “I’ll tell him in my own way.”

  “Got it. What are you thinking of doing in New York?”

  “I don’t know yet!” laughed Loni. “I just thought of it. I’ll look into what’s playing on Broadway . . . concerts . . . I’ll find out what’s going on. I would like to go to a Christmas Eve service.”

  “Now that would be a first!” laughed Maddy. “For me, I mean.”

  Loni’s expression asked the question she was thinking.

  “I’ve never been to church in my life.”

  “Really?”

  “Scout’s honor.”

  “But you’ll join me?”

  “Sure, why not? It will be a new adventure for an atheist.”

  “Now I know you’re joking!”

  “No, really.”

  “You’re an atheist?”

  Maddy nodded.

  “And you want to go to a Christmas Eve service?”

  “Might as well. I’m curious.”

  “But . . . do you believe in Jesus?”

  “I don’t know. I never thought much about it.”

  “Then do you believe in Christmas?”

  “How do you mean? Santa Claus with all the trimmings?”

  “No!” Loni laughed. “I mean the meaning of Christmas. The birth of Jesus.”

  “Oh, yeah, baby in the manger and all that. No, I don’t suppose I do. Just a myth like Adam and Eve and Noah’s ark, isn’t it? Why? Do you believe in the baby Jesus, come to save the world from sin and all that?”

  “Yes . . . yes, I do.”

  “Well, I won’t hold it against you!” laughed Maddy. “I guess everyone’s got to have something to believe in.”

  “What do you believe in?” asked Loni.

  “Everybody but me, I should have said.”

  “You continue to amaze me, Maddy. You are the most interesting person I know.”

  “You must lead a pretty boring life!”

  “In any event, I will do some investigating and see which of the cathedrals are having a Christmas Eve service. Maybe they all do, I don’t know. If you’re game, I am.”

  “You really want to do the church thing?”

  “I suppose I’m in the mood for a big-city Christmas service—choirs and organs and pageantry. We’ll both have a new experience. And maybe an ice show? I’ll see what I can find out.”

  “Can we go ice skating at Rockefeller Center?” asked Maddy excitedly.

  “You’re the boss, not me.”

  “Not for this trip, Loni. I’m just along for the ride.”

  36

  Bleak Mid-Winter

  WHALES REEF, SHETLAND ISLANDS

  As November gave way to December, the Shetland Islands were bound in the grip of subfreezing temperatures during most of their fifteen hours of daily darkness.

  The Christmas season on the small Shetland island of Whales Reef came sunless and gloomy. With but five or six hours of daylight in every twenty-four, and those hours often filled with stinging Arctic winds battering the islands, it was a time of year when many Shetlanders struggled to retain their optimism. Seasonal Affective Disorder could have been invented here.

  Still, Shetlanders were a hearty breed. Their Norse and Celtic roots had been nurtured and strengthened in Europe’s northern climes. Thus they made the best of it.

  As if intensifying the cold, there was no denying that this year uncertainty was in the air. At the center of it was the question of the chieftainship and lairdship. Respect for David was high. But would that be enough to preserve the island’s ancient heritage? Or would the idea of a clan chief, like a vanishing fragrance on the fading bloom of a romantic tradition, become one more abandoned relic of the past?

  Winter presente
d its own unique challenges for the fishermen. Besides the weather, a sudden decline had set in. Whatever fish may have been in the ocean, it seemed they weren’t running anywhere near Whales Reef this winter.

  Only Hardy Tulloch with his inexplicable sixth sense seemed to know where to find them. He bought the boats of several local fishermen who were struggling financially and put the men to work for him. That he also could afford to engage one of Edinburgh’s most prestigious law firms to prosecute his claim against Macgregor Tulloch’s inheritance gave yet further evidence that finances were the least of Hardy’s worries.

  Meanwhile, he hauled one full load after another to the fish market in Lerwick and continued to receive top pound for his labors. How Hardy managed such catches when all the other boats were riding high in the water with empty holds, grumbled Rinda Gunn in the hearing of select ears only, he owed to closer acquaintance with the powers of darkness and the deep than was healthy for any human being who cared for the eternal destination of their souls. In truth, Hardy’s success had more to do with state-of-the-art sonar equipment than the forces of darkness.

  One thing was as clear as the gloom hanging over the island—Hardy was enjoying himself these days. He carried himself with such obvious gusto and with perfect confidence in the outcome of his claim to Macgregor Tulloch’s money and property that by now most were forced to acknowledge the reality that it might in fact be true. No one doubted, as Hardy promised, that all the necessary documentation would be forthcoming in due course.

  In the midst of the dismal fishing and the frigid weather, the idea of the island’s fortunes winding up in the hands of one like Hardy Tulloch was enough to doom any hope for the future.

  Everyone knew exactly what he would do the moment he became laird. He would instantly double everyone’s rents. Those who couldn’t pay, he would evict. No one had any doubt about that. He would probably shut down the wool factory as well.