by Chana Keefer
“I don’t think it’s anything serious,” Mom assured me. “He insisted on trying haggis and some of the local brew as well as learning a Scottish jig all in one night. He’s been quite the life of the party on this trip.” I tried and failed to picture my dad jigging in a kilt. “I think he just needs some rest.”
I told Mom about Helena and our invitation to the Isle of Skye for her birthday celebration. She said they would see how things went for Dad before they made a decision. After hanging up, I bathed in the huge antique tub then fell into bed for a dreamless sleep.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The next morning, I woke before dawn, my inner clock still on Texas time. I took the opportunity to fill in some postcards and plan the day. The main thing I needed to accomplish was a visit to Stirling castle. My first real castle!
I went for an early morning stroll as soon as there was light enough to see. At the end of the street, the trees cleared and I was rewarded with the sight of the castle rising out of the mist. I squealed and hopped up and down with delight.
After a gourmet breakfast I could hardly eat due to excitement, I raced out the door. It was wonderful to be on my own when exploring the castle since I could gawk and linger to my heart’s content, pressing a hand to the ancient stone walls and reading of weddings, pompous ceremonies, conspiracies, and wars; the countless stories those aged stones had witnessed.
The fortress was like a small city with narrow, cobbled streets and space to grow food and care for livestock. I imagined hundreds of people under siege could live here without outside supplies for months.
Wandering from room to room through a mosaic of history and artifacts I lost track of time. Only my rumbling stomach brought me back to the present to seek out a sandwich at the visitor’s center.
It was late afternoon when I finally pulled myself away from the castle to peruse a few of Stirling’s other sites. The depth of history struck me as I passed buildings dating back five hundred years and more. Much of the architecture was similar to the castle, imposing aged stone where this or that person of historical significance had lived or died. I kept seeing the names “Robert the Bruce” and “William Wallace” and read of the battles they fought to free the Scots from English rule. It was strange to think I had the blood of these bitter rivals flowing in my veins.
As the sun lowered, I found a beautiful restaurant and sat surrounded by gardens and weathered-stone walls. A cloud of loneliness descended as I considered these amazing experiences I longed to share.
The candlelit atmosphere of the quiet secluded restaurant put me in a somber mood. This little holiday would soon be over and there were decisions to make. Life had led me to a tremendous crossroads and I had no idea which path to take. Follow my training into broadcast news? Pursue acting? Follow my heart to do more work with the poor? Would there be a way to follow my heart and make a living?
In the corner, a young couple murmured and held hands in the candlelight. Ouch. Couldn’t I just figure out the future without Sky shoving into my thoughts? I’d dreamed of this vacation for years and refused to waste it mourning a relationship that hardly even happened.
Main problem? Planning a life for myself when I wanted to be building a life with someone—the right someone that is. As Marti would say, why did I always want what I couldn’t have? All these opportunities before me and I longed for what wasn’t an option.
The bed and breakfast was just a few blocks from the restaurant so I walked the deserted streets trying to shake off thoughts of a certain musician. Soon, however, I realized a man trailed about a block behind me, stopping each time I did.
Before the incident with Devin I probably wouldn’t have even noticed but now, alone in an unfamiliar town, I felt vulnerable and foolish for walking alone at night. I strolled to the end of the street and turned on the road leading to my inn. When I knew I was out of sight of the stranger, I ran to the back of a neighboring residence to study the man’s reaction. When he came around the corner, he stopped and looked around.
He took a few hesitant steps then went back to the corner to peer up and down that street. His confusion would have been funny if I hadn’t been so scared as I hid behind a bush. Finally, he headed back to the main street as if giving up the search. I waited a few moments then crept out of my hiding place and made it the rest of the way to the B & B without seeing him again.
Upon entering the room I found a couple messages on the phone. My parents had made it to Edinburgh and wanted me to join them there the next day. They proclaimed there was so much to see and do in that city we just had to give it at least a couple days. Helena’s message invited my parents and I to join her on the Isle of Skye over the weekend before her birthday celebration.
Helena informed, “I’ll have guest rooms prepared for you to arrive on Saturday. You can then drive the other way back down to Glasgow and see those sights before flying home. See how I have it all figured out?”
I had to laugh at her pleasant bossiness but, since she offered such a generous invitation and knew the country much better, I had a feeling we would end up doing things her way.
I enjoyed the drive to Edinburgh, once again reveling in the beautiful countryside. Mom and Dad were eager to take me to many of the countless attractions in the city. The castle alone would require the better part of a day.
The history of Edinburgh was fascinating and multi-layered, much like the city itself. The Royal Mile leading from the castle to the Palace was lined with shops, restaurants, and street performers. As we strolled, my parents filled me in on highlights of their Ireland tour, brandishing photos and souvenirs from their adventures. I could understand why Dad had been in need of a rest.
Edinburgh Castle provided breathtaking views and, with its dungeons, a peek into the not-so-pleasant underbelly of living like a king. Royal intrigues were fascinating to read about, but it didn’t sound like a very fun life, hidden behind high, thick walls, not able to trust anyone, always on the lookout for the next attack. As I explored, I pondered how royalty compared to modern celebrity—dazzling from the outside, a bit claustrophobic from the inside. Edinburgh was fantastic, a tourist’s dream full of history and amazing architecture, but we were ready for a more leisurely pace, so we headed back into the highlands, lazily making our way toward the Isle of Skye as we took in a couple more castles along the way.
My favorite was Eilean Donan castle, a picturesque dream-come-true surrounded by water and accessed by a stone bridge. Compared to Stirling, Eilean Donan was downright cozy with ten-foot thick walls cutting majorly into floor space. It was a goldmine of information about medieval defense with its eavesdropping keyholes, and narrow, spiraling turrets. Several stairways were blocked to visitors making me sorely tempted to pull a “Jeremiah” and sneak up when no one was looking.
While reading about its history, I was surprised to discover the name “Gilstrap.” I would have to quiz Helena about a possible family connection.
As we crossed on the ferry from the mainland to the Isle of Skye, I sighed. Heather-covered hills surrounded us as we drove inland. Highland cattle and sheep grazed in the golden afternoon light. We were in a hurry to reach Helena’s home before dark, but the sight of the ruin of Dunvegan Castle was irresistible bathed in the golden glow of a setting sun. One moment’s pause in a wildflower patch, once a grand hall, had me expecting to see phantoms of those who had lived, loved, and died here. The feeling of history pressing close was strangely comforting. I definitely understood what lured Helena and her husband to build a home among these hills.
We continued on the narrow, one-lane road further inland, rising gradually into the sloping hills. Every now and then the land fell away and we glimpsed the sea in the fading light. The island was larger than I had imagined and full darkness had descended before our headlights shone on a large stone gate.
Dad spoke into a security box, received an answer, and the gate swung inward, allowing us to pass. Helena had said the drive was about four miles l
ong so we followed the meandering road. Peering up at the stars winking through tree branches and snatches of fleeting clouds, I felt the peace and isolation of the place working its magic.
One more turn and Mom exclaimed, “Oh my!”
I leaned forward and echoed her gasp at the sight of pale streetlights flowing down the path toward a haven of twinkling lights around a many-gabled Victorian mansion.
“So who is this lady again?” Dad asked as we gawked at the serene magnificence before us.
The home was expansive with numerous porches, verandas and balconies, yet the lights gleamed with homey welcome through sparkling, etched glass.
Helena came out to the porch to greet us. “Welcome, welcome! Quentin will see to your car and bags,” she announced as a man came toward us on the driveway. “Don’t give it a second thought.”
She introduced herself to my parents then drew us into the entryway lit from above by an immense chandelier. I had a quick impression of a gleaming, polished wooden staircase and stained glass windows on the landing above as Helena recounted the story of how I kept her from sleeping through our flight’s boarding. She guided us into the sitting room with overstuffed chairs and a couch facing a tremendous mantel and fireplace where a fire crackled and popped. After we washed, a light supper of meats, cheeses, and fruit was served there.
“I thought this would be cozier for us to chat while we ate,” Helena stated before arranging us to her satisfaction, Mom and Dad on either side of her and me on the couch facing them. I found it amusing to watch Dad handle the delicate lace napkins and fragile china since I knew he was more accustomed to large-handled steak knives.
Helena asked about their travels in Ireland and made comments about her favorite haunts in that beautiful country. Soon they talked about family and business as if they were old friends. Helena’s husband had been a bit of a real estate tycoon in the United Kingdom so she and Dad discussed his real estate ventures.
The topic turned to the festivities for Helena’s birthday celebration. She mentioned it was a formal affair and I groaned aloud since nothing I had would be appropriate.
Mom broke in with a sly smile. “I brought some evening wear for myself and thought to toss in Grandma Min’s blue velvet dress for you as well. We actually had a formal dinner on one of our evenings in Ireland.” She reached to thump my dad on the knee. “And you were giving me such a hard time about packing light.”
A pleasant hour passed before Helena suggested we get a good night’s sleep. “I would go up with you, but I find my old knees complain too much so I’ll send Kate. Just let her know if there’s anything you need.”
With that she bid us good night, reserving a sweet hug for me. “I’m so happy to have you here,” she whispered in my ear.
Kate, her sweet-faced helper, showed us to our rooms and kept up a lively banter about all there was to see and do on Skye. “Barn and raised here I was,” she informed us. “Never did find a good enough reason to leave.”
My parents were shown to a lovely suite facing the front of the house. I followed Kate back through the house to another hallway where we climbed one more flight of stairs. “The Missus thought ye’d be more comfy in these rooms that face the gardens. She hoped the extra climbin’ wouldna bother ye none.”
I asked a few questions, partly for the information but mostly because I enjoyed listening to her melodic brogue. She was eager to talk about the birthday ball. “Och! ‘Tis quite a sight it is,” she enthused. “Lots o’ the family’ll be stayin’ here on the morrow. Only Christmas can compare to when the Missus has her birthday celebration.” Kate gave me a grin and a sly look. “I’ll warrant the Missus’ll be introducin’ ya to her grandson, Lester. Now he’s a rare treat he is!”
I asked about permission to hike in the morning since a possible set up was not my favorite topic. “Ye’ll love the woods and paths around the house,” Kate replied. “An’ if yer really up fer it, there’ll be a cliff that looks down to the sea just about a mile away. It’s a lovely sight.”
We came to another landing and I followed Kate to the end of the hall where she threw open the last door on the left, revealing a four-poster bed with sheer pastel blue curtains and a cozy fireplace with an antique rocker pulled up before it. I squealed with joy at the French doors leading to a tiny balcony and rushed over to throw them open, letting in the chill night air.
“This room’s a sight ain’t it?” Kate said, obviously pleased with my reaction. “It was always Emma’s favorite.”
I searched my memory. “Emma is Helena’s daughter, right?”
“Was,” Kate corrected. “It’s been about eight years now since she passed.”
“I didn’t realize that. How did she die?”
“It ‘us cancer; very sudden-like. A painful time for everybody.”
I felt strange discussing Helena’s personal life without her so I left it at that. Kate assured she would be on hand if I had any needs, then I was alone to drink in the room’s charm. Many homes have a personality and this one had a happy, comforting feel as if pleasant memories left a sweet fragrance.
I threw on a jacket and stepped out on the balcony. The night sky was clear with occasional wisps of high clouds passing in front of the almost full moon. I guessed it would be full for Helena’s party.
I could hardly wait for morning to explore my surroundings. Several lights accented shrubberies and trees in the vast yard stretching to what appeared to be the beginnings of a forest. The sound of a fountain rose from below and I leaned over the edge of the balcony to see a stone walkway forming a large circle around the figure of a rearing horse rising out of cascading water. The walkway led into what appeared to be rose gardens and the delicate scent drifting up on the night air confirmed the fact.
Inside the room, I gazed around at a carved ceiling, flowered wallpaper, and an ornate mantle adorned with knickknacks and framed photos. I leaned closer, perusing unfamiliar faces. One showed a rather thick-necked young man with heavy brows and long sideburns. “Probably the famous grandson,” I muttered. Pulling out my journal, I sank into the rocking chair to try to capture the day’s experiences, but soon woke to a meandering line of ink trailing from my words. Peace engulfed me as I snuggled under the comforter and gazed up at the stars where I purposely left the curtains open. I gave a sigh of contentment and whispered, “Thank you, God.”
Next thing I knew, I blinked into the dim light of a misty morning.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
With a thrill of joy, I bounded out of bed and dressed in the morning chill, adding a waterproof jacket since the low-hanging clouds threatened rain.
I located the stair Kate and I climbed the night before and, after passing through a dining room with burnished wood furnishings, I came upon a hallway between a study and what appeared to be a well-stocked library. The library and a huge solarium with countless trees and plants under a glassed vaulted roof almost convinced me to stay indoors, but the thick Highland mist beckoned, an irresistible siren’s call.
The chill air chased the lingering sleepiness from my eyes as I stood for a moment, pondering a choice of direction. Until the mist lifted, I couldn’t risk straying too far or I’d be lost.
There was a low growl and a dog stuck his nose out of the bushes to study me with a brown and a gray eye. I knelt and reached out a hand and he slunk to me, as eager to be friends as I was. He was an Australian Shepherd with the customary mottled, silky fur of the breed and, thankfully, a sweet disposition.
After about five seconds, we decided to trust each other and “Buddy,” as I dubbed him, led the way. I followed as he made the rounds of the buildings surrounding the house. A beautiful house on a slightly less grand scale sat to the back and left of the main house. I resisted the urge to climb the stairs to the porch, contenting myself instead with a glimpse of rustic interior and large stone fireplace.
A road led to the left of that house and I hurried after my guide whose wagging tail disappeared into the
mist. Soon, we were flanked on each side by tall fir trees and a white wooden fence as our trail climbed around a hill. After about a quarter of a mile, we entered a cluster of trees and my heart skipped a beat as I saw corrals and an exercise pen for horses. Beyond the trees, a large barn came into view. I ran forward to catch up with “Buddy” who happily greeted each of the barn’s inhabitants.
In the first stall, a leggy, chestnut mare named “Flicka,” according to the nameplate attached to the stall door, nuzzled my arm as I stroked her nose. A little further on, I came to “Faust,” a tall, black stallion who, as I approached his stall, towered over my head with a dominant air. He did, however, allow me to stroke his neck before turning to plant his muscular rump toward me.
There was snorting and stamping a couple stalls over. I jumped back, startled, as a young horse raced to shove his nose in my face. He whinnied then grabbed the shoulder of my jacket with his front teeth as if to pull me through the opening atop the stall door.
“Hey!” I chastened with a shove to his nose. He stepped back and reared up in his stall, shaking his head as if with laughter. He was a golden buff color with chocolate brown mane and tail. The fitting title “Flibber T. Gibbet” graced his nameplate.
As he rushed forward again, I held my hand out, palm flat, to avoid those active teeth. He seemed thrilled to have company, so I glanced around for a handful of hay to distract his mouth in order to pet him. He responded well, even appearing to become calm but, alas, a moment of sanity was all he could spare. He aimed for my jacket sleeve once more.
I jerked my arm away, “Not this time, you stinker.” He bolted out the rear door of his stall and I moved outside to watch his antics.
“I know exactly how you feel,” I said to Flibber as my other furry friend joined me at the fence.
“Come on, boy!” I raced down the road with no idea where we headed, intoxicated by a sense of freedom as the dog once more took the lead. Visibility had improved since the mist rose with the sun. We passed a hay barn and a tool shed as the road climbed. My new pal steered through an open gate and bounded up the hill beyond its borders. I pumped up the steep grade behind him feeling like I was back in a college conditioning class where we ran the stadium steps until we were ready to drop.
