by Chana Keefer
“You tryin’ to kill me?” I gasped when I reached the top and flopped down on the ground beside him. He panted and licked my face then sat staring, nose pointing back the way we had come. I followed his gaze, then gasped.
The sun’s brilliant rays illumined the mist, wrapping the barn and other buildings in a glowing cloud. Tiny diamonds of dew clung to grass, flower, and limb while a prism of rainbow projected against the white like a glimpse of heaven itself.
I froze, drinking in the awe of the moment, scarcely daring to breathe lest I break the Scottish spell. As we watched, the mist pulled back and disappeared in degrees revealing the path we had traveled—inch by inch—until finally I glimpsed the main house like a mirage in the desert, becoming more real with each passing second.
Tears ran unchecked down my cheeks. I remembered the day my nephew, Charlie, had been born. When Charlie’s little fist closed around my pinkie, I melted, sensing a gift straight from God’s heart. This scene and this moment filled my heart once more with that sense of being handed something pure and precious.
We sat there at least half an hour while the sun burned away the morning fog until the entire valley was in view. I stretched in the sun’s warmth, noticing I now had a very wet patch from the dew on my backside. Whatever. It had been more than worth it.
Buddy decided our nature appreciation was over and bounded down the hill so I jumped up to follow, feeling reckless and childlike. It was a funny thing about those hills. From a distance they appeared smooth, but highland hooves had trodden the grass-camouflaged rutted ground. My left foot wedged in one of those ruts.
I tumbled head over heels into the thick grass and heather until I lay in a dazed heap at the side of the road.
After a stunned moment, I assessed the damage. My ankle was a bit sore, but seemed to be in working order. I would be bruised and stiff later, but mostly I was just plain filthy, sitting in damp earth with twigs sticking out of my hair.
My companion returned and licked my cheek. “At least I’ll have one clean spot.” I laughed and winced at the same time as he located a scratch. I probed it gingerly. Yep, it bled but wasn’t deep. Considering my velocity at the time of the fall, I fared well.
“Well, Lassie,” I addressed him, “aren’t you supposed to run for help or something?” He tilted his head in sympathy for the uncoordinated human.
Twenty minutes later, I limped into the house, hoping no one was up to see my sorry state. I thought I was home free until a Scottish brogue declared, “Good Laird! Wot happened ta you!” There was Kate taking in my appearance with wide eyes.
I grinned. “Just a lesson in gravity.”
“Are ya hurt bad?” she queried as I made my way up the first couple steps of the staircase favoring my ankle.
“Probably nothing a good soak in the tub won’t cure.”
“We’ll see about that,” she proclaimed, striding over to take my arm. “Come with me, pet.”
She led me back toward the kitchen, where she helped me remove my left shoe and sock. “I declare, I haven’t seen a body show up in such a state since Master Lester was young. That boy knew how ta take a tumble he did.”
She assessed my swelling ankle. “Ye’ll need ta give this a bituva rest I’m thinkin’.” She kept up the pleasant chatter as she inspected and doctored my face. “I guess young Lester mustabeen about eighteen the last time ‘e stumbled in here covered with bruises an’ blood from head to toe. The missus felt so bad ‘cause ya see he got the motorbike from her on ‘is birthday.” Kate set about boiling water on the stove. “’Had ta take ‘im ta the ‘ospital on the mainland’ for that one we did. Broke ‘is collarbone an’ a leg.”
Her pleasant voice prompted me to ask questions just to keep her talking. “So this Lester is Helena’s grandson?”
“Oh yes. Ee’s been the light of ‘er eyes since the day ‘e was born.” Her eyes took on a warm glow as she spoke of him, “Kep us all on our toes I ken tell ye that. Oy thought me ‘art would stop the day I walked out tha house an’ found ‘im danglin’ from the roof!” She gave an earthy chuckle. “Many a time we thought that boy ‘ud never make it to manhood I ken tell ye!”
We continued to chat as she fixed me a cup of tea containing her own special herbs, a tasty blend with a hint of cinnamon.
She insisted on helping me up the stairs and brought more herbs to add to the bath. “Nothin’ better after ye’ve ‘ad a bit of a shock.”
I showered off the mud and grime, then added a long soak in the tub, with the Kate’s herbs. The fragrance was wonderful and the warmth did seem to chase away much of the soreness.
The scratch on my cheek wasn’t deep, but I put some of Kate’s special ointment on it nonetheless. “I’d hate ta see a scar on such a pretty face,” she had advised.
Hobbling down the stairs later, I found Mom, Dad and Helena laughing at the table like old friends. “Here’s our adventurer!” Helena proclaimed. “You’ve had quite a day already.”
I told them of my morning romp and found out the dog’s name was Maximillian. “Lester bought him for me a few years back for protection,” Helena laughed. “Protection? Pah. That dog would hand over the house keys for a belly-rub.”
“He was a good guide,” I agreed, “but certainly not intimidating.”
Helena informed us a few more guests would be arriving that evening for the next night’s festivities. “None of my relatives want to miss it. They’re probably just afraid they’ll be cut out of my will,” she added with a wink. “This year, I requested the Mask. It’s much more fun to have a party where you have to figure out who everyone is. Cuts down on the family bickering that might be going on. Besides,” her eyes twinkled, “at my age, I adore anything that covers as many wrinkles as possible.”
I felt myself getting excited about the fun and mystery of the party although everyone would be a stranger to me anyway.
After breakfast, Helena insisted on giving us a tour of the house. It was slow going on the stairs for her, but as we both hobbled I observed, “I actually think you’re doing better than I am.”
I fell in love with her home as we strolled the elegant corridors with antique ceiling fixtures casting a golden glow to the polished wood floors. Helena showed us many of the bedrooms numbering in the twenties. “Most of them will be full tomorrow night since many will stay after the party. I love having a full house, although it means extra helpers. And goodness gracious, the food to feed them all! Poor Kate and Quentin have a time of it to keep things under control.”
When Helena flipped on the light in the library, I sighed with delight as its musty potpourri scent washed over me. It was everything a library should be, clear down to a tiny, wooden spiral staircase in the far corner, the access to the second level. The multi-colored spines of countless books rose in tiers to a lofty, carved ceiling.
I imagined curling up before the stone fireplace in one of the deep cushioned chairs with a book in my hand, not wanting to ever leave that amazing place. The others moved on to the solarium, but I hung back. There was something about the place, like I was greeting an old friend.
I moved slowly around the room touching the burnished paneling and reaching out to inspect a couple particularly tempting volumes. I finally went up the spiral stair and surveyed the large room from my high perch. What a wonderland this would have been for me as a child. I remembered the long summer days spent in complete joy with a book in my hand touring the south of France, visiting the cliffs of Cornwall, or treading the lofty heights of Middle Earth while never leaving the comfort of home. Reading was my own personal flying carpet.
Did Helena’s family still enjoy this haven or was it taken for granted, ignored like an old hat?
Closing my eyes, I held my arms wide, breathing deep as if I could draw the library’s brilliance into my being.
“Esther? Are you coming?” Mom poked her head back in the doorway, breaking the reverie.
“Be right there,” I answered, reluctantly coming down
the stairs and hobbling to join them.
We finished with a tour of the grounds and Helena handed us over to Kate’s husband, Quentin, to show us around the barn, officially introducing us to each horse and even a few chickens and goats in an adjoining shed. He chuckled when I asked why all the horse names began with the letter F.
“Now that was the Master’s doin’,” he recalled with a smile. “Musta been well nigh thirty years ago when he stumbled inta the house tired from muckin’ out the stalls and limpin’ ‘cause one of the horses had stepped on ‘is foot. ‘Those F-in horses are more trouble than they’re F-in’ worth!’” Quentin chuckled. “Good Laird he was fit ta be tied he was! Ever since, the Missus has kept up the tradition of givin’ all the horses a name that begins with F.”
When Quentin returned to his regular duties, we took a leisurely stroll through the rose gardens, enjoying the cool breeze and the soothing sound of the fountain. The large solarium at the back of the house received lots of attention that day since the following night’s festivities would take place there. Already much of the furniture and plants had been moved back to line its glass walls. I imagined how magical the solarium would be lit by countless candles and overflowing with flowers as Helena described.
Since Helena insisted all attendees be costumed and masked, the masks would remain on until midnight when costume prizes would be awarded. I was excited at the prospect of dressing up and only hoped I could walk a bit more gracefully by then. As we were about to head back into the house, I noticed my ankle had swelled to twice its normal size. Mom and Kate agreed I should stay off it if I entertained any hopes of dancing the following evening, so the rest of the day I lounged or read on the balcony. From that vantage point I observed the progress on the solarium that promised to be a wonderland of lights and foliage.
Later in the afternoon, Helena knocked on my door and entered with Kate who carried a large box of masks for me to choose from for the party.
“What are you doing climbing all those stairs again?” I exclaimed.
“More than one invalid in the house is a bore!” She collapsed into the rocking chair as Kate displayed their wares.
A wide variety of sparkling festive masks, ranging from simple to elaborate Mardi Gras carnival style, soon covered my bed.
We finally settled on a peacock blue sequined opera mask with long feathers curving around the left side, obscuring about three quarters of my face. It served as the perfect compliment to the deep blue velvet of my dress.
“I’m at a disadvantage since I don’t know any of the guests,” I said. “How will I recognize them?”
She spent the next hour entertaining me with descriptions of her relatives and clues on how to recognize them, such as her cousin, Rupert, who was a portly gentleman with a bellowing laugh.
“Watch out,” Helena warned. “He’s a pincher.” Also, her niece Inez was an extremely buxom woman who favored plunging necklines. “Kate believes Inez utilizes duct tape to keep them in place.”
Helena laughed as she continued the tutoring. “I’m afraid you’ve entered a household full of crackpots. But we do know how to have fun.” She giggled again and let me in on her secret. “I’ll be Scarlet from ‘Gone with the Wind.’” She sat back with a satisfied smile, “There’s no fool like an old fool.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
I became so fond of Helena I already dreaded our departure. She spoiled us that evening stating, since the formal dining area hummed with preparations for the celebration, we might be more comfortable dining in her little suite of rooms on the first floor. Her bedroom, sitting room, and little private dining area were like a charming home within a home with windows looking out on three sides of the house. A lovely view of the rose gardens glowed through a large bay window with a cushioned seat. Helena ordered me to sit there and propped my foot on a pillow, ignoring my protests.
The late afternoon light bathed the roses in gold, so I settled in with a sigh of contentment. As I took in the view and listened to Helena’s pleasant chatter, I plucked at the ruffles of a cushion at my elbow. The cross-stitched pattern of roses caught my eye. I picked it up to study the tiny “Les” stitched in the corner.
“Your grandson did this?”
“Oh goodness.” Helena laughed. “He was no more than twelve. I found if I kept his hands busy, he tended to stay out of trouble, so I taught him a bit of needlework. That Christmas, he gave me the pillow. He was always embarrassed by it so I agreed to let it be our secret.”
In honor of our visit, Helena ordered a meal of Southern fried chicken with all the trimmings. “I love the way they cook in the south,” she enthused. “Plenty of fat and sugar.”
Later, over dessert of blueberry cobbler that made Dad reminisce about his childhood in Arkansas, Helena spoke further of the next night’s celebration, asking if we would like to go through any of her things in the attic to put together costume themes. “You wouldn’t believe the assortment of odds and ends. Forty years of plays, pageants, and parties left us with costumes enough to open our own boutique.”
She gave directions but couldn’t join us due to arriving guests, so we made our way up through the house until we stood before a narrow wooden door. I forgot my throbbing ankle when I viewed the wooden stairs leading up into the gloom. Excitement mounted as we climbed the creaking dust-covered steps and peeked into a long slant-ceilinged room full of yesterday’s treasures. Oh, the fun Marti and I would have had here as children.
Trunks, hanging racks, and wardrobes surrounded us on all sides. In one corner I discovered a collection of old toys ranging from a red wagon, rocking horse, and tricycle to a delicate tea set and surprisingly realistic miniature kitchen appliances. A few antique dolls sat around a child-sized table and chairs as if interrupted in the midst of afternoon tea. I regretfully pulled myself away from the toys to address our current mission.
“Ooh!” Mom exclaimed from a wardrobe on the other side of the room. I hurried to her side as she drew out a long, red, fur-trimmed cape. “How would I look as the Queen Mum?” she asked with a grin as she wrapped the cape around her shoulders.
I caught sight of Dad by the far window surrounded by antique guns and weapons. He gave a low whistle. “A Winchester rifle.” He held the weapon up to his shoulder, taking aim at a dartboard on the wall. “What a beauty.”
“That’ll keep him happy for a while,” Mom commented as I discovered a low dresser with old jewelry strewn across the top. We sorted through bracelets, earrings, necklaces and countless other baubles. From a bottom drawer, we brought out a rhinestone tiara, the perfect accent for Mom’s Queen ensemble.
In another wardrobe I found a collection of men’s clothing and called Dad over to have a look at a buckskin coat complete with long leather fringe. The coonskin cap we discovered on the wardrobe shelf settled Dad’s costume dilemma. For his part, Dad was thrilled to escape the chore of wearing a tuxedo.
Mom and Dad headed downstairs. Ah! Free to explore to my heart’s delight. I found a number of costumes that must have been used for a Christmas pageant. Behind shepherds’ crooks and staffs, not to mention the woolly clothing for sheep, I uncovered white-feathered wings inlaid with sequins. These far surpassed the customary foil-covered angel fare. They flared wide and high. Most impressive; also sturdy and quite comfortable after I adjusted the shoulder straps. Now this was promising. I dug back in the wardrobe and spied a glimpse of white inside a long zippered bag. I opened it carefully and found yards of white satin. Fascinated, I drew a long gown from the bag. The material of its train cascaded to the floor.
Someone’s wedding gown. Whoever they were, they had exquisite taste. I fingered seed pearls on its antique lace collar and countless buttons stretching from neck to hips. Other than the pearled collar, it was unadorned. I held it up to me and turned toward an oval standing mirror. Most wedding gowns made a bride look like she belonged atop a cake, but this one was sleek and… perfect. Feeling a bit guilty to be handling something so preciou
s, I returned the gown to the zippered bag and tucked it back into the wardrobe.
Okay, now I needed to get creative. I had the blue velvet dress of Mom’s that fit like a dream and the sturdy wings, so I wracked my brain for inspiration and recalled craft odds and ends I saw in one of the dressers. I dug through the odd lace, fabric pieces, buttons, and threads, finally discovering a pouch containing a collection of sequins in varying shades of blue. Now we were getting somewhere. I returned to the jewelry assortment where we had found Mom’s tiara and located a large sapphire-colored broach and matching earrings. There! I now had plenty of costume potential.
Securing needle and thread, I returned to Helena’s rooms, hoping to ask permission to do a few alterations on the wings. When I showed her my treasures, her eyes filled with tears.
“I can put them back if it’s a problem.” What had I done?
“Oh no, my dear, I just haven’t seen that broach in so many years,” she explained. “My Emma wore that to a formal when she was, oh, I guess fifteen. She looked so pretty that night.” Helena took it from my hands and studied it a moment before handing it back. “I would be honored for you to wear it.” She smiled.
When I asked about the wings, she looked thoughtful, “Strange that, of all the items in that attic, you chose two that had been hers.” She stroked the white feathers, “Emma was so proud of these. She was chosen to be the angel in our church’s Christmas play so she and her father made these together. I never asked Vincent where he got the feathers, but I’m pretty sure we had a couple less ducks on the pond that season.”
