The Treasure of Stonewycke

by Michael Phillips

  Her attendant saw wakefulness coming back into her eyes, and spoke again.

  “I hope ye dinna mind bein’ here yer lain, miss,” she said. “’Tis the best spot we had where we thocht ye’d be comfortable.”

  “Yes . . . yes, this is very nice,” Hilary managed to reply, though her voice sounded weak.

  “Ye see, my man he built this extra room some years back. I hope ye dinna hae objection to a peat fire an’ a bed whose mattress be naethin’ but the stems o’ dried heather. ’Tis the auld Scottish way, I alloo, but folks like us, we grow accustomed to the auld ways.”

  “It’s wonderful,” said Hilary, forcing a smile. “I can’t remember when I’ve slept so well.”

  “Nae doobt!” exclaimed the woman. “Ye gave us quite a scare. ’Tis little wonder ye slept so sound; ye was maist likely deid, or so I thocht, when my man broucht ye here in his ain arms, hangin’ limp an’ wet ye was. Oh, dearie, my heart warms to see ye lookin’ at me oot o’ them big blue eyes o’ yers!” She leaned over the bed and gave Hilary an unexpected kiss on the cheek.

  “But, I don’t understand . . .” said Hilary. “Where am I?”

  “Ye’re in the but-end o’ oor tiny hoose,” answered the woman with a laugh. “Ye’re aboot a mile oot o’ Strathy, where my husband brocht ye last night. Brocht ye wi’ tales o’ heroism t’ tell me o’ yer leapin’ into the sea, an’—”

  Suddenly the events of the past evening came back into Hilary’s memory.

  “And the little girl?” she said in alarm.

  “Oor little Kerrie’s jist fine. She’s sleepin’ noo too, in the ben-end, and none the worse fer her spill. An’ ’tis you yersel’ we’ve got t’ thank fer her very life! But I’m fergettin’ my manners. The name’s Frances MacKenzie.”

  She thrust a fleshy hand toward where Hilary lay in the bed.

  “Hilary Edwards,” replied Hilary as she took it. She felt as though her entire hand were swallowed up in the grasp of the hardy woman’s affectionate handshake. “I’m from London.”

  “Ah, winna my little Kerrie be plumb beside hersel’! The first thing she’ll ask is if ye ken Prince Charles.”

  Hilary laughed.

  “She cuts oot his picture frae the magazines, an’ can tell ye all aboot when his grandmother stayed in Port Strathy. Though ’tis mysel’ who should be tellin’ ye that. I was here, ye see, an’ ’twas my ain aunt she visited wi’ Lady Joanna frae the Hoose. Jist yonder, o’er the valley a couple o’ miles. Oh, we didna talk aboot anythin’ else fer days an’ weeks on end!”

  Just then the door opened. In walked a large man whom Hilary immediately recognized. Squinting in the dim light, he spoke softly to his wife.

  “Is the lass still sleepin’?” Then as his eyes grew accustomed to the room, he saw that she was awake and looking at him.

  “Ah, lass,” he said, “I’m right glad to see ye lookin’ so fit! Karl MacKenzie, at yer service, mem,” he added.

  “Oor guest’s name is Hilary,” said Mrs. MacKenzie. “Hilary Edwards . . . all the way frae London!”

  “London, ye say! Weel, that is some way. But I’m jist heartened ye was on the Port Strathy dock last night, mem.”

  “What happened?” said Hilary. “I can hardly remember—”

  “I was a fool, that’s what happened!” interrupted MacKenzie in a passionate voice. “A blamed fool fer thinkin’ I could take the lass oot fer a ride in the new boat wi’ the storm comin’ like that!”

  He began to stride around the room. “What would o’ come o’ us if ye hadna come along, lass, I darena think!” he went on, wringing his hands.

  “I hardly was much help,” offered Hilary.

  “Na, mem, ’tisna true! Ye leaped into that water wi’oot thocht fer yer ain safety. When I saw wee Kerrie go ower into the water—”

  He stopped abruptly, hiding his face for a moment in his hands.

  “Then before I could think what was to be done,” he went on, “into the water ye went, divin’ an’ swimmin’ aroun’ till ye got yer hands on the wee bairn an’ pulled her up an’ tried yer best to hand her to me. I managed to get Kerrie back into the boat. An’ though I couldna lift ye, I got the rope tied aboot one o’ yer arms. In but anither two or three swells I was crashin’ in against the edges o’ the dock. I had but to get Kerrie oot o’ the boat an’ pull yersel’ in an’ then lug ye oot o’ the water an’ carry ye both t’ the truck.”

  “What about your boat?” asked Hilary in a concerned voice. “Were you able to save it?”

  “Hank Shaw was jist comin’ outta the inn. He saw ye run oot an’ jump in after the bairn. He came as fast as he could, wi’ a couple o’ men besides. They pulled the boat into the harbor while I was tryin’ me best t’ get ye back here where my wife could love the life back into ye.”

  “I’m so grateful,” said Hilary with a sigh. “You’re both too kind.”

  “Hoots, Miss Edwards!” exclaimed Mrs. MacKenzie. “Ye saved oor Kerrie’s life! What’s too kind alongside that?”

  “Well, in any case, I should be getting back to the inn.”

  “Nonsense!” exclaimed Mrs. MacKenzie. “Yer clathes arena yet dry. An’ ye already spent the night wi’ us. A few more hours willna matter.”

  “But Mr. Davies will wonder what became of me.”

  “My man’s already been to tell him. An’ I winna hear o’ yer leavin’ wi’oot joining us for midday dinner.”

  “We’d be honored, Miss Edwards,” added her husband. “An’ we’d be pleased if ye’d consider makin’ this humble room yer home so long as ye hae business in Port Strathy.”

  Hilary thought for a moment, then smiled up at the sweet couple from where she lay. “It is I who would be honored,” she said at last. “I would love to have dinner with you.”

  “And the room?”

  “I don’t know how long my business in Port Strathy will last. I have but one urgent matter to attend to, and that I must do, possibly this afternoon. Beyond that, I have no plans. But I will most gratefully consider your offer.”

  “Thank ye, Miss Edwards,” replied Mr. MacKenzie, “’tis all we can ask o’ ye.”

  “Then I’ll ask one more thing of you, if you don’t mind,” said Hilary.

  “Anythin’.”

  “You must call me Hilary.”

  The two nodded their smiling agreement, then turned and left her alone. As they exited the room, Hilary closed her eyes, a great contentment stealing over her. Something inside had begun to change, though Hilary herself hardly was aware of it yet. A gap had begun to be bridged, vague and undefined though it might be, in her heart.

  The God of her forefathers was slowly drawing her into the life of this valley, softening a corner of her heart toward these simple Scottish folk from whom her ancestors had come.

  18

  Allison and Logan

  Allison Macintyre, now matriarchal head of the Stonewycke household, carried a silver tray of tea into the family parlor. The warmth emanating from the bright fire in the hearth felt good, especially after making her way through the chilly corridors from the kitchen. Pushing aside a copy of the Daily Mirror and two or three magazines, she set the tray on the low table in front of the sofa.

  “I see you have given up on the newspaper,” she said with a sympathetic smile.

  Logan, who had been reclining on the sofa, leaned forward and helped her arrange the tray.

  He gave a disdainful glance toward the Mirror. “I don’t know what is worse,” he said, “when they rake Roy and the rest of us over the coals, or when they do it to Harold.”

  “At least it’s over now,” Allison replied. She poured steaming tea into two china cups. “The vote is done and everyone can move on to other matters.”

  “If only it were that simple,” sighed her husband.

  “It’s not?”

  “I had a call from Roy this morning. I didn’t have a chance to mention it to you yet. You were busy with your painting, and I was out looking over that ac
reage with Ferguson.”

  “What did Roy have to say?”

  “He said Harold laid out a pretty uncompromising agenda for repairing the so-called party split. Went public with it yesterday. No more maverick voting, no more abstentions. When the debate begins on the separate clauses of the Market legislation, we had better all toe the line. That sort of thing. In essence, he expects us to undo all we have risked so much for in the first place. At least that’s how it looks to me.”

  “Surely he knows you better than to think you’d agree?”

  “Roy is going along with him, and so are many of the others. I suppose if it hadn’t been for Mother’s death, Harold would be extracting a decision from me by now too.”

  Allison handed him a cup and saucer.

  “Thank you, Ali,” he said, laying his hand over hers and smiling.

  She picked up a spoon from the tray to stir her tea. Suddenly it dropped from her hand with a clatter.

  “How clumsy of me!” she exclaimed in frustration, clasping her right hand with her left and rubbing it. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately!”

  “Here, let me take a look.”

  “No, no, it’s fine. But I’ve been doing this too much this last week. A couple of my fingers have been numb.” She rubbed at her troubled right hand as if trying to stimulate the feeling back into it.

  “Why don’t we have Connally take a look at it?”

  “I’m sure it’s nothing but the cold. Still, I don’t like it.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” said Logan good-naturedly. “Winter is coming on, you know.”

  “I’m sure that’s it,” agreed Allison, sounding far from convinced. “It wouldn’t be so bad if I had more energy. But I just haven’t been myself recently.”

  “So tell me,” Logan went on, making an attempt to cheer up his wife, “how did your day go? I haven’t seen you since morning.”

  “Oh, it’s been a pleasant day. We painted some.”

  “She’s turning you into a regular artist!”

  “I don’t know about that. But after all this time it’s nice to have something to share, interests in common. And then did I tell you about Patty Doohan?”

  “No, what?”

  “She became a grandmother today.”

  “You don’t say! Well, that is grand.” Logan paused and suddenly a startled expression came over his face. “Ali, don’t tell me that you—”

  Allison’s merry laugh stopped him. “No . . . no midwifing for me. I paced outside while Dr. Connally delivered the baby. I haven’t had much stomach for such affairs since that day the elder Dr. Connally was out of town and my mother pressed me into service.”

  “Your many other talents more than make up for that singular lack, my dear.”

  “Thank you, Logan. I’ve often wished I could follow my mother’s footsteps as a compassionate dispenser of healing. How well I remember her being called out in the middle of the night with her little black bag in hand. What a team she and my father made—he tending to the cows and goats and pigs and horses, she to the coughing and feverish children of Strathy. I think the women of the community trusted her for some things over the doctor.”

  “Well, tell me about the new bairn.”

  “A sweet little girl, Logan. So tiny, so precious. And dear Patty was every bit as proud as the parents.”

  Allison brought her cup to her lips, steadying it with her left hand, and drank.

  “I did something else today,” she went on after a moment. “I decided to get out Mother’s journal. I don’t know why I hadn’t done so before now.”

  Logan reached out and laid his hand over hers.

  “I suppose I have been avoiding it,” Allison went on. “And perhaps it was still too soon.”

  “It was bound to stir up old memories no matter when you read it,” said Logan.

  “I know,” replied Allison. “But I thought, you know, with the way it’s all turned out these last two months, the changes, the reunion—I thought maybe it would bring tears of joy rather than sadness.”

  “So . . . which did it bring?”

  “That’s the strangest part of all,” answered Allison. “I couldn’t find the journal. I looked everywhere.”

  “Hmm, that is peculiar.”

  “But once I was thinking along those lines, about Mother’s posterity and what the future holds, I found it hardly mattered whether I was reading her words or not. Seeing the new baby made me think afresh about what lies ahead. I wonder what the future does hold, Logan? What will become of this place and the legacy it represents? For so long somewhere in the back of my mind, I had struggled to come to terms with the possibility of its ending with us. But now that my hope has blossomed anew all at once, I find myself so conscious of the present-day crumbling of long-established traditions. Oh, I don’t want Stonewycke to lose its sense of the past, of history!”

  “Those things that are truly precious and worthy of permanence will not crumble, Ali. But perhaps I’m not really the one to talk, since I’ve never been much of a traditionalist.”

  Allison let her serious expression soften into a smile and patted Logan’s hand. “But you know what things are worthy, and that’s what matters. I need to pray for that sense too, especially now. I don’t want to put on pressure. We might not all have the same expectations for Stonewycke’s future.”

  They fell silent for a few moments, each seeming to contemplate the blaze in the hearth. At length, not wanting this quiet time together to end, Allison spoke. “Would you like more tea?”

  “Yes, I would,” answered Logan, then added quickly as Allison began to lean forward, “Let me this time.” He poured a quick blob of milk into her cup, then added the tea, and finally dropped in one lump of sugar, stirred the mixture, then handed her the cup.

  “The past seems calling out to me every day now,” said Allison as she watched Logan prepare his own cup in like fashion.

  “Wishing you had a little granddaughter?” asked Logan.

  “I can’t deny that a spark of envy did try to intrude. But only for a moment. God gave us full and complete lives, and I am content. Besides, now the story may wind up with a surprise ending. But when I think of Mother and what we shared together during the years I was growing up—”

  Tears suddenly surfaced in Allison’s eyes and she hurriedly retrieved a handkerchief from her pocket. “I’m glad I keep this handy.” She dabbed her eyes and sniffed. “I should never have said anything.”

  “No, Ali. We decided long ago we wouldn’t wall up our memories. There can be no regrets. Remember Lady Maggie’s time away from Ian? The Lord always brings things full circle. As he is now doing with us.”

  He paused, musing to himself.

  “That word wall just made me think of Maggie’s nursery,” he went on thoughtfully. “Remember Mother describing how she and Alec cut through the wall?”

  “Nothing had been touched, and it was all covered with cobwebs and dust.”

  “Whenever I think of their adventure exploring this old place, and discovering that lost nursery, I can’t help but think of when our own little Joanna was a baby. You know that picture of her I have kept in my office all these years—her sweet little face? Sometimes I can almost still hear her small voice as it was back then, and feel the delicate skin of her cheek when I find myself glancing up at that picture. We can’t let ourselves lose such memories, despite all those years of loss. We mustn’t allow dust and cobwebs to swallow them. Those intervening years are part of the legacy too, as dear Maggie taught us all.”

  Allison slid over toward Logan and put her free arm around his shoulder.

  “Oh, Logan,” she said, “God’s greatest blessing to me is you! Everything is going to come out right, isn’t it?”

  “He has not failed us yet, Ali. Though I’ve long since learned that He doesn’t always bring things about in the way we might expect.”

  19

  Into the Future

  Hilary decided to walk
the mile to Stonewycke.

  Perhaps it was in part because of Joanna’s similar walk sixty years earlier. If she was to fulfill her own destiny, it seemed somehow fitting that she follow in the footsteps of the grandmother who had set this odyssey in motion.

  Also, she needed the time alone. Not so much to think, for her course of action was at last settled in her mind. Rather, she needed time to soak in the surroundings of this place, to tune herself in to them so that when she did reach her destination, she would not feel like such an outsider.

  The day with the MacKenzies had been so peaceful, just the tonic her turbulent spirit needed. Little Kerrie had endless questions about London and Prince Charles and the Queen and Buckingham Palace. Mr. MacKenzie quietly hovered about, shyly protective of the young lady whose life he had saved, and whom he credited with the saving of his own daughter’s. Mrs. MacKenzie bustled about the three-room little cottage as if the Queen herself was expected for dinner! A smile spread over Hilary’s face at the memory of that gathering around the plain pine table three hours ago. The beaming faces of the three MacKenzies, so proud to have her in their midst, the pot of steaming potatoes, the plate of cold oatcakes, the boiled cod. Oh, they were dears! thought Hilary.

  It was a fine afternoon as she walked through Port Strathy and on up the hill to the east. The sun was already low at her back, though it was not yet three o’clock. The air could not be called warm, yet there was in it a lingering whisper of the autumn now quickly passing. The storm had moved through rapidly as she slept, leaving behind only scattered patches of gray clouds that were now randomly distributed through the pale blue brightness of the sky. Within an hour the sinking sun would send out shoots of red and orange and pink and purple, lining these same clouds to herald the approach of sunset.

  Notwithstanding the sunshine, Hilary wore her coat, knowing she would need it later on. She had returned to the inn from the MacKenzies’ to change clothes. It would probably have been more practical to wear slacks and sturdy shoes, since she would be doing a good deal of walking. But instead she wore a brown tweed suit with gored skirt and coral-colored silk blouse, along with low-heeled pumps. Her feet would be sore by day’s end, no doubt, but she was meeting her parents after thirty years, and she couldn’t help wanting to make a good impression.