Return to Oban

by Ruth Hay

  She could not see anything other than the hump of a shoulder under the bedclothes but she had the definite sensation of a third person in the room. The thought of a ghost occurred. It was unthinkable.

  Ghosts were for dark, ancient times and foreign places, not this bright and airy home surrounded by beauty and love.

  And so, love must be the key.

  The love between Anna and Lawren was something she had seen with her own eyes.

  It was real. It was true.

  If that love in some way survived his death, would it be so impossible to believe?

  She was beginning to think not. She had been eavesdropping on a very private moment, occasioned by illness perhaps, but nonetheless real. She had been the unwitting observer of a strange and mystical experience.

  As a journalist who wished to tell their love story, she could not ignore the opportunity presented to her.

  In the morning, Anna was still fevered but somehow, she felt better. Had she dreamed? She could not remember anything specific. Her throat still hurt when she swallowed although the thought of some warm, light broth had an appeal that had been missing for some days.

  When Ashley arrived to open the drapes and scrape out the ashes of the fire, she noticed signs of improvement and hastened to make tea, heat soup and prepare the patient for the doctor’s visit.

  She said nothing of the night’s events.

  * * *

  Edmund Jansen found himself eager to return to the McCaig Estate house. In the few days since his first visit, he had enquired of the senior doctor if he knew anything of the inhabitants.

  During lunch, consisting of sandwiches and mineral water consumed at Connor Williams’ desk, Edmund’s question was given due consideration between thoughtful munching and frequent wiping of the doctor’s heavy grey mustache.

  “Well, laddie, despite my age, I don’t go back as far as the original family although you may find their history in the Oban Library.

  I mind plenty gossip about Miss Helen Dunlop, however. Now, then, she’s the previous occupant, supposed to be some relative of the current lady, Anna Drake.

  Are you keeping up, Ed?”

  “I believe so. You said the Dunlop person was supposed to be a relative?”

  “Aye. There’s a wee bit of a mystery there. Some in the town think they know more than me but most are saying little about it.”

  Edmund had hoped for a simple answer to his enquiry. Now he recognized the old, sing-song tone of a Gaelic storyteller in full mode. There was no stopping Connor Williams at this juncture. Edmund sat back with drink in hand, a surreptitious glance at his watch revealing a full thirty minutes before his next appointment.

  Connor continued.

  “So, Helen Dunlop arrived in town without any fanfare. The only one who knew a thing about it was George McLennan the solicitor, and he was keeping his cards close to his chest. It was his wife, that Canadian woman Jeanette, who let slip the McCaig property was bought outright. With cash.”

  Edmund’s mind was drifting already but he knew the significance of the last statement. Few houses in Scotland were purchased this way, prices being what they were. He was currently renting a small room

  and looked forward to the far distant time when he could afford a dwelling he could call his own.

  “When I said Helen Dunlop arrived in town, that was not quite accurate. She never showed her face in Oban at all. She lived out in the country like a hermit, most nearly. It was years before her actual presence was known and even then it was her actions that drew the town’s attentions.”

  “What did she do? Strip off all her clothes and run around McCaig’s Folly singing madly?”

  Connor Williams put aside his glass of water and lowered his beetling eyebrows until his gaze was centred on his colleague.

  “Ah wouldna be making jokes like that laddie. Folks around here are verra proud of our town’s landmark and, by the way, proud of Helen Dunlop herself who did a number of good things for the town before she died. Have a wee bit respect for your elders and betters.”

  Edmund was duly admonished. Doc Williams remarks were intended to be a caution. He sat up straight and summoned more attention to what was developing into a long tale.

  When would it get to the part about that Ashley girl?

  “So, as I was saying how Helen Dunlop made her mark. First of all she set about improving the old estate house. She had local workers mend the chimneys and repair the drystone walls. The men brought back stories about the handsome older lady with generous ways who cared about her property and asked sensible questions that showed a deep interest in the community. It was known she employed a local taxi driver to take her to George McLennan’s office and she was always dressed smartly on those occasions. George wouldn’t reveal much about his client but the detective he employed made enquiries in Glasgow and Canada and those phone calls went through George’s secretary for payment.”

  “Wait a minute! How did a detective get into this?”

  “Are you sleeping again, Ed? Did I not say how Mistress Dunlop was looking for lost family members?

  Well, to cut a long story short, since your attention span is ridiculously brief my boy, the missing relative turned out to be Anna Mason.”

  “I thought she was Anna Drake. That’s the name I was given.”

  Connor clicked his tongue several times in annoyance. “The lady is Anna Drake now, and I can only hope you recognize her surname. She was married to the famous artist Lawren Drake, of course. Now don’t you even start on asking about the Mason/Dunlop connection. If you are so curious about it, you can ask for yourself.

  Are you not booked to see a patient this afternoon? Get a move on, Laddie!”

  Edmund’s mouth opened and closed, somewhat like a fish. There was no useful purpose served by stating Dr. William’s long tale had prevented him from leaving.

  He cleaned up the remains of his lunch and beat a quick retreat.

  Chapter Six

  When the young woman answered his knock, Edmund immediately noticed her fair hair. On his previous visit it had been twisted up at the back of her head but now it was framing her face and falling below her shoulders in soft waves.

  Touchable, he thought, before his professional training asserted itself.

  “How is our patient today, Miss err…. Stanton?”

  “Ashley. Please call me Ashley.”

  Well, that was painfully obvious! Grow up and get on with the business.

  He busied himself with his medical bag to hide his embarrassment. Ashley went ahead into the bright kitchen and signalled for him to follow.

  “I wanted a word with you doctor, before you see Anna. She’s downstairs now as you suggested and that is much easier for both of us. She’s still feverish off and on even with the medicine you prescribed. The calamine helps with the itching but there seem to be more spots.

  How long will this last?”

  “She’ll be over the worst in two weeks or so. Try to keep her comfortable. It’s always harder on adults, as I said before. I will take a look, if that’s all right?”

  “Please do. She’s awake. It’s wonderful of you to make house calls. This doesn’t happen in Canada, I can assure you. May I offer you tea or coffee?”

  “Tea would be great, thank you.”

  He probably shouldn’t accept the offer but Ashley had given him a conversational opening and he wanted to take it.

  * * *

  Anna was sitting up against the pillows Ashley had piled at her back. She was wearing one of the voluminous, white cotton nightshirts that buttoned from the neck down.

  Most of her energy lately had been diverted to the task of resisting the itch on each and every lump, bump and blister on her skin. The original ones on her chest and face were drying up at last but Ashley had looked online and warned her sternly not to scratch as the scabs would come off leaving a scar behind.

  The anti-itch treatment regimen they had devised together consisted of applic
ation of pink calamine lotion which cooled the itch nicely until it dried. After that, Ashley brought cold water from the fridge and facecloths to be dipped into the bowl then wrung out and dabbed onto the worst areas for further temporary relief.

  This process left messy pink streaks on the nightshirt and meant a trip to the nearby washroom where Anna had a wash down in a sink of warm water after which, she usually managed a nap until the entire cycle began again.

  When the pleasant young doctor arrived, Anna was waking from the most recent nap and felt pleased she was both clean and dry for his visit.

  “Hello, Mrs. Drake. How are you feeling? I see your face is looking better. What about your throat?

  I’ll take a quick look, if I may?”

  Anna opened her mouth for a dry tongue depressor which was removed just before it made her cough.

  “Those will be the most bothersome, I suspect.”

  “Yes, it still hurts to swallow.” Her whisper proved how difficult it must be to talk.

  “That’s not surprising. Your throat is coated with pustules. Keep drinking any liquids you can tolerate and don’t worry about solid foods for now. Jelly works for some patients, particularly the little ones.

  The fever should diminish soon. It’s good that you are close to the downstairs lavatory. A little walking is helpful if you feel up to it.”

  “I do need to get up for the washroom. I see a bit of improvement daily.”

  It was about as much as she could manage to say and her voice cracked on the last words.

  “Good! I’ll ask your nurse to bring in some tea for you before I go.”

  Anna nodded her thanks and sank down again into the bed.

  * * *

  Ashley was pouring tea from a large, round brown betty teapot into china cups. She immediately took a cup and saucer into Anna and invited the doctor to help himself to sugar, milk, and a plate of what looked like macaroons.

  The whole set up reminded Edmund so much of his mother’s kitchen in the little east coast fishing village of Rosehearty that it brought a lump to his throat. Seldom nowadays were the times someone poured tea for him. He thought it might be a good idea to plan a quick trip back home again before the weather turned.

  At this particular moment, however, he felt relaxed for the first time in ages.

  It was just then when the phone began to ring. He jumped up and spilled his tea into the saucer while reaching for his mobile phone.

  Ashley rushed into the kitchen and bumped into him on her way to the handset now jangling every nerve he had.

  “It’s ours! Sorry, please sit. I’ll be just a minute.”

  It felt awkward listening in as Ashley answered what sounded like a series of questions about her aunt. He tried not to listen but, obviously, she was going to be involved for some time.

  No chance for a cozy chat then!

  He slipped out before she noticed and was half-way to his car still hearing her voice.

  “I know, and I apologize, Jeanette. It’s been all go since Anna arrived. She needs constant nursing and I have been so busy. I didn’t think anyone knew we were here so no one could be worried.”

  “Well, my dear, you can expect lot of worried friends on the phone now the word is out. Cameron told his dad you were here and he was sent to collect prescriptions for Anna.

  Chickenpox? Unbelievable! Poor Anna, and poor you, Ashley. You are going to be continuing in isolation I’m afraid. I can’t risk my two getting it again with our move to the bigger house coming so soon. Fiona is only days from giving birth to her third. I guess it’s good luck you were here at all. I don’t know how we would have coped with Bev and Alan in the States.

  It’s bad timing, but good that you have Doc. Jansen on the case. Old Doc Williams is getting a bit past it, I think.

  Keep in touch, Ashley. I presume you have already had the pox?”

  With that, Jeanette was gone to spread the news.

  Ashley turned around and discovered Dr. Jansen had left without a word and without drinking his tea. She rinsed his cup and saucer in the sink then took a breath, twisted back her hair with an elastic band she kept on her wrist when not in use, and slipped back into the darkened lounge, now the bedroom where Anna was fast asleep again.

  She inspected her patient them dropped down into a fireside chair. She took a notebook and pen from the table realising it might not be needed. It was not every time Anna slept that she also spoke aloud. It seemed to require a particular type of deep sleep to produce the effect.

  This afternoon, Ashley was in luck. The same disembodied voice floated upward.

  * * *

  Are you there?

  Always. Are you feeling better?

  A little better now.

  Good.

  Tell me a story. I love your stories.

  You know all my stories.

  Tell me anyway. Tell me how you learned to paint.

  I loved colours. On our street in London, Ontario, there was a house with a big garden.

  The owner worked in his garden spring through fall and he didn’t object to a kid staring over the wall at all the plants. I would go home and try to draw the flowers using my crayons.

  I took the broken pieces and mixed them together to make the tints and shades I needed. I melted the wax together with a match on an old plate I found in the garbage. At school I drew only with pencil. Colours were for my private time.

  When did you know you had a special talent?

  My father wanted me to be an artist like Lawren Harris, the famous Canadian. He sent me to lessons. I hated the teacher. She told me I was no good and I believed her. So I continued to draw and paint when I was alone. It made me happy. That was what was important to me.

  You made many others happy with your work, my darling.

  And you too?

  Especially me. Will you stay with me always?

  Always.

  Ashley could recall some of the stories of Lawren’s early years with Anna so it was not difficult for her to fill in the blanks.

  She made quick notes which she could expand later. For now, there was another load of washing to do. A brisk breeze had sprung up. It would be a good drying day. Later she would make custard and jelly for Anna.

  The moment to discuss the private conversations she had overheard could safely be delayed until Great-Aunt Anna had fully recovered.

  Chapter Seven

  “Ashley, it’s Fiona. Jeanette called me. I am so annoyed that I can’t be with you to give a helping hand. How is Anna doing?”

  “She’s coming along. She’s a little better each day, I believe. Dr. Jansen is advising me about meds and diet but she’s not up to talking on the phone as yet. She’ll be so glad to hear you called, Fiona.

  May I tell her how you are feeling?”

  “Oh, I am eager for the new baby to arrive. It won’t be long now. Tell Anna the house is almost finished. I am so happy she will be here in Oban to meet the new baby in our new home. Lots of new things arriving!”

  “It sounds like it! I’ll pass on the news. I know she would ask me to tell you to be careful, if you don’t mind me saying it?”

  “Ha! I don’t mind one little bit, Ashley. I think of Anna Mason Drake as my heaven-sent mother, you know.

  Oh dear! I can hear the school bus arriving with the children so I’ll say goodbye for now. I am hoping to see you and Anna as soon as she is well enough.

  Bye for now!”

  Ashley put down the phone and looked at the kitchen wall clock. 4:30pm already!

  The day had flown and she had done nothing to advance her writing project. If she sat down at once and focussed, perhaps she could work on a provisional outline before supper.

  Is it a biography or a memoir?

  Is it all Anna, or some of my memories as well?

  Dare I include the fever dreams?

  Is it about Lawren Drake or Anna and Lawren?

  Is it to be set in this house?

  The last question s
eemed to be the only one to which she had an answer. Something about being here in Oban where the couple was so happy had the ring of authenticity. It might be possible to write an article based on the estate house events and then, if approved by her publisher, it could be extended to include other locations relating to Lawren’s life as an artist.

  She began to scribble down ideas. All the paintings in this house would have to be referenced as well as any others in Oban itself. Didn’t she hear about a family portrait the artist had done for the McLennan family? And was there not a painting in the local Library gifted by Lawren or Anna? What others might there be in the area? She must ask Anna about that as soon as she was well enough.

  A sense of excitement was growing in Ashley despite her tiredness. From previous experience she knew this feeling was the precursor to good writing material. Without the excitement, nothing other people would want to read was possible.

  Perhaps the isolation Jeanette had predicted would be beneficial for the writing she had to do. She could at least form the basis of the work and fill in the detail when Anna was able to participate.

  For now, she must make sure Anna recovered in full spirits. So many in Oban were looking forward to seeing her fit and well. She was glad the doctor was supervising. Nursing was not Ashley’s strong point.

  She hoped she was doing everything that was required. Anna was a precious person but she was not young any more. The responsibility weighed on Ashley. If, God forbid, Anna did not recover well, the blame was sure to fall on the shoulders of her caregiver.

  With this dire prediction in mind, Ashley set aside her laptop and went to make custard and jelly to tempt her patient’s appetite. It was increasingly clear to her how much depended on Anna Drake’s recovery.

  * * *

  Anna awakened with a slight headache, aching eyes and the usual itching all over her skin. From this, she knew it must be time for a re-application of the calamine. She was getting impatient with the amount of time it was taking for her to feel well enough to begin to do everything for herself. Ashley was doing a wonderful job of nursing but it was not what she had come to Oban to do. That task was one that Anna had committed to although they had not had any real discussion about the shape and content of her story about Lawren. Real discussions would have to wait until she could speak more than four words without pain in her throat.