Mums and Mayhem

by Amanda Flower

  “Not a problem,” Bernice said quickly. She looked at the rest of us. “I think we all know what we should be doing. Let’s get to work.”

  The group agreed with Bernice’s plan, and it was clear that we were all more than a little relieved that we were being released early. I thought Barley arriving early and saving me from the rest of the meeting was just grand, as my Scottish friends would have said.

  Bernice led Barley away in the direction of the village, and I watched them go. He looked over his shoulder back at the trailer with concern on his face. Perhaps he wasn’t feeling as relaxed at Kenda’s outburst as he would have us believe.

  After the meeting broke up, I headed back into the village. As I walked, I passed the laundromat, the small Tesco, and a few other shops. Beyond those I could see the round sign with the fox face on it marking the location of the Twisted Fox, and beyond that was the cheerful yellow awning over the front windows of the Climbing Rose. Anytime I saw that awning, my spirits lifted. The awning had been an extra expense when I bought the building and renovated it to be my flower shop, but a much needed one. The shop faced south, and when the sun was bright, the entire shop filled with light. The awning broke up some of that light and saved the flowers in the front windows from being wilted in the sun’s rays. Also, it was a beacon for my shop. There were no other bright-yellow awnings in the village, perhaps in all of Aberdeenshire.

  I hadn’t even opened the front door to the shop before my younger sister, Isla, popped out of it like a child at a birthday party yelling Surprise!

  I jumped back. “Isla, you almost hit me with the door.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I wouldn’t want to do that. I need your help,” she shouted.

  If calm Presha had looked so panicked in front of me, I would have had reason to worry. However, with Isla, it was different. Isla had the tendency to be dramatic, and she would play a part even if I was the only person in the audience.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked in my most measured voice.

  “The mums are here! The mums are here!” She shouted with the same gusto Paul Revere had used to warn of the arrival of the Redcoats during the American Revolution.

  “That’s nothing to be panicked about,” I said. “That’s great news. We need to set them up. Did they deliver them to the store?” I thought maybe that was her reason for being so upset. It would upset me, too, because it would not be fun to haul sixty-some ten-inch pots of mums down the cobblestone streets of Bellewick.

  She sighed. “No, they said they parked by the tour bus. I didn’t have the foggiest idea what they were talking about. What tour bus?”

  “It’s Barley McFee’s bus,” I said.

  “He’s here?” she asked, and jumped up and down.

  “What on earth has gotten into you?”

  “I’m excited that Barley is here. I have been waiting forever for him to arrive.” She stopped jumping.

  “Isla, you grew up in Nashville. You saw famous people walking down the street all the time. You don’t even listen to Scottish music.”

  “Shh!” she cried, and looked around. “Don’t say that so loud.”

  I wrinkled my brow.

  “Seth loves Barley McFee. Like he’s a real superfan, and since Seth is my love, I must love Barley too. We love all the same things.” She sighed happily.

  “I know you two have a lot in common, but does it really count when you make yourself like something that he likes? You don’t listen to Barley McFee.”

  “Shh! I do. Seth has played me some stuff, and I really got into it.” She hugged herself.

  “Okay,” I said. “Name me one Barley McFee song.”

  “Do instrumental songs even have titles?” she asked dubiously.

  “Yes,” I said. “If you are going to be one of his number-one fans, you might want to know his songs.”

  She sniffed. “I don’t see why. I absorb the music. I like what I like and I know what I like.” She grinned. “Or in this case, I know what Seth likes. Same difference.”

  I sighed. “Let’s just work on placing the mums, okay?”

  Isla locked up the flower shop, and we walked back to where the stage was being set up at the end of the cobblestone road. There was a white delivery truck there from Aberdeen by the tour bus as promised. It must have arrived the moment I left the area. The driver unloaded the mums on the green space along the small creek that circled the edge of the village like a natural moat.

  I thanked the driver, and Isla and I helped him unload the truck. As the last mums were removed, he closed the back of his truck with a clatter. “Wish I could come to the concert tomorrow. It’s quite a thing to have Barley McFee back in Aberdeenshire to play a concert.”

  I raised my brow. “Why’s that?”

  He ran his hand under his bulbous nose. “You don’t know the old tale? I thought everyone in the county knew, but then again, I can tell by your voice that you’re a Yank. That explains why you wouldn’t know.”

  I wrinkled my brow. “Wouldn’t know what?”

  “That Barley swore he would never return to County Aberdeen after he left some thirty year ago.”

  I blinked at him. “Really?”

  “Oh yes, it was all over the county papers, and a lot of people said they wouldn’t listen to his music because of what he said.” He shrugged. “But a lot of time has passed. People forget the vows they make. Memories are short.” He sighed as if this was a great failing of the world. He slapped the side of his truck. “Well, good luck to you. I think you are going to need it for this concert.”

  Chapter Four

  Before I could ask him what he meant by that, Isla strolled over to me. “We have to place all these mums. There must be fifty.”

  “Actually, there should be sixty-four,” I said.

  The driver climbed into the cabin of his delivery truck, and I placed my hand on Isla’s shoulder, pulling her away from the vehicle.

  She shrugged off my hand. “I’m not a child, Fi. I can see the truck. I swear you still treat me like an eight-year-old at times.”

  I frowned. I supposed I did, and it was something I’d promised myself I would work on. Isla was eight years my junior, and I had spent most of my life watching over her. It was hard to change gears after twenty-some years of big-sister protectiveness.

  “Let me grab the wheelbarrow. That will make this job faster,” I said.

  I had thought ahead and asked for the village groundskeeper to lend the Merchant Society a wheelbarrow so we could move the mums easily around the concert area. I asked Isla to count them to make sure they were all there and went in search of the wheelbarrow.

  I found it right where I’d asked the groundskeeper to leave it behind the stage.

  “You said we wouldn’t have to deal with him anymore,” a voice hissed on the stage. The voice was so hushed that I couldn’t tell if it was male or female.

  I looked around and didn’t see anyone there.

  “You’re being ridiculous,” a male voice returned. “I can’t just walk away from Barley. He gave me my career.”

  I lifted the handles of the wheelbarrow and froze. I knew I shouldn’t be listening to this conversation, but the nosy side of me, which was a very powerful side, could not be tamed. I listened harder.

  “Barley, Barley, Barley. He’s all I’ve heard about for the last ten years from everyone, including himself. When will it be my time? I’ve worked hard, and I play just as well as he does—if not better. He’s trying to stifle me, and you are his accomplice in that.” The voice went up an octave when it said that, making me believe the first speaker was a woman.

  “Please. You need to think of what will become of you if you act too rashly. Barley has a lot of power in this industry. Look what he did—”

  “I don’t care what he did to someone else. I only care about me.”

  The male voice mumbled a response I couldn’t quite make out.

  “I deserve this, Owen,” the woman said. “And I’m going to get
it. Mark my words.”

  The voices faded away after that. Frowning, I rolled the wheelbarrow back to my sister.

  “Sixty-four,” Isla said. “It took me forever to count them. I hate math.”

  “Thank you,” I said, still distracted by the conversation I had overheard behind the stage. “Just place the pots wherever you think they will be out of the way of foot traffic and most enjoyed.”

  “You’re not going to tell me exactly where they should go? That’s not normal Fi micromanaging.”

  “I’m turning over a new leaf.” I smiled at her. “You’re a college graduate now, right? You will know what to do.”

  She grinned and filled the wheelbarrow with plants. We both set to work.

  A half hour later, Isla’s lovely heart-shaped face was flushed from exertion as she pushed the wheelbarrow back toward me. “We had better make this quick. Mom and Dad are going to arrive at Duncreigan anytime now.”

  I groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

  She grinned at me. “You aren’t looking forward to their visit?”

  “I want to see them. I miss them, but …” I didn’t say anything more, because then I would have had to tell Isla the story of my birth. I wasn’t ready to do that without talking to our parents first.

  “I’m excited for them to meet Seth.” She dropped the handlebars of the wheelbarrow, and it hit the ground with a thud. “I know they will love him!”

  I wasn’t so sure about that. Our mother was a hopeless romantic and did want both of her girls happily married—me especially, since I was over thirty—but I didn’t think she’d be enthused about Isla’s relationship with Seth because he was Scottish. Of course, our father was Scottish, but he had been willing to move to America and work on my mother’s family farm for the rest of his life. I couldn’t see Seth doing that or leaving Scotland. Having both of their daughters overseas would be tough for my parents. Our mother wanted one or both of us to take over the family farm. Unfortunately, neither of us wanted that life. I knew my mother would do her best while she was here to try to convince one or both of us to move back home.

  I knew I wasn’t going anywhere, not after I’d inherited Duncreigan from my godfather. Uncle Ian. My dad and Uncle Ian had been best friends at boarding school and then at university as well. What I hadn’t known, until a few months back, was that the old friends had been in love with the same woman, my mother. Nor had I known Uncle Ian was my biological father until I found evidence in the cottage in my godfather’s wardrobe. My mother later confirmed my suspicions over the phone. That call, which had taken place months ago, was the last time we’d spoken of my birth. It was a conversation Mom deftly avoided anytime I tried to bring it up. I knew my parents were busy, and my mother didn’t have much time for chitchat while running the farm, but it still hurt that she didn’t want to talk about what had happened when I was born or tell me why she’d left for the United States with my father instead of staying with my godfather/biological father in Scotland.

  What made it even odder was that two weeks ago, Mom and Dad had called Isla and me and said they were coming to Scotland for a short visit, which was out of character for them. It was autumn and the height of harvest season. It wasn’t the usual time my parents would be willing to leave home. I hoped that during this visit I would get some answers. In fact, I didn’t plan to let them leave until they answered some of my questions.

  I set the mum I was holding on a wooden plant stand by the stage. I filled the stand to the brim and stepped back, admiring my work. The mums were the easiest way to decorate for the concert. They would be vibrant throughout the event, and then the village could split them up afterward to plant in their front gardens. Hearty plants, with a good tolerance for colder weather, they would come back year after year. I planned to plant a few at Duncreigan as well.

  Isla pointed at the last few mums at our feet. “Where else would you like these?”

  Before I could answer her, Kenda Bay stomped out onto the stage. “I won’t stand for this. I have put up with too much! Gave up too many opportunities for Barley and for his tours. I deserve my shot.”

  A tall man in a button-down shirt and dress pants followed her onto the stage. “Kenda, I wish you would listen to reason. It’s just a few more weeks. I’m begging you to be patient for a little while longer, please.”

  “Patient? You want me to be patient? Haven’t I proved that over the last decade? I’ve given up my dreams for him!”

  “I don’t think you should look at it that way,” the man said with a slight whine in his voice. “You have traveled the world and played in grand concerts as part of the band.”

  She spun around and marched toward him. Then she jabbed her long red nail into his chest. The man winced.

  “You promised me, Owen,” she said. “You said Barley was going to give me a shot. You said and he said that I would co-headline at this homecoming concert, and everything just has his name on it! He lied to me. You lied to me.”

  Owen? This must be Barley’s manager, and Kenda and Owen must also be the two people I’d heard fighting behind the stage earlier. The woman in that conversation had called the man Owen.

  “Barley wants to give you that chance, but he believes this Coming Home Concert isn’t the right place. I think he’s right. You aren’t from this village. You aren’t even from Aberdeenshire. It would not make sense for you to co-headline here. We’ll find another concert, something bigger where you can have even more exposure.”

  “So it was his decision to cut me out of it. I knew it! That snake. He’s so selfish. I could just kill him!”

  Isla and I stood there, dumbly holding potted mums in our hands.

  “What are you looking at?” Kenda shouted at us.

  I jumped. “We’re just putting flowers out for the concert.”

  Kenda glared at each of us in turn. “This place is so provincial.” She ran off the stage.

  “You would think provincial was a swear word by the way she said it,” Isla whispered out the side of her mouth.

  “Maybe it is to her,” I whispered back.

  Owen removed a white handkerchief from the pocket of his charcoal trousers.

  “I should apologize for that,” Owen said. “The flowers look lovely.” He then ran after Kenda.

  Isla and I shared a look.

  “Who even carries handkerchiefs anymore? Is it 1930?” Isla asked.

  It was a fair question.

  “What was that about?” my sister whispered.

  I shook my head. “None of our business.”

  “Since when are other people’s problems none of your business, big sis? You make a point of poking your nose in everything.”

  “Consider my nose unpoked. I can’t take on any more stress, with our parents coming to town and with this concert. I can’t wait for it to be over. I think Bernice is at a real risk of collapsing from the stress.”

  “I wouldn’t tell her about what we just witnessed, then.” She set her pot on the corner of the stage.

  “I don’t plan to. Now, let’s finish up here, so we can beat Mom and Dad to Duncreigan.”

  She nodded, picked up the handles of the wheelbarrow, and walked it to the other end of the stage. I put the argument we’d witnessed out of my mind. Little did I know it would come back to me sooner than I would have liked.

  Chapter Five

  “My land! Duncreigan hasn’t changed one bit,” my mother declared as she opened the door to her and my dad’s rental car in front of my little cottage.

  Isla gripped my hand tightly as our parents climbed out of the rental SUV they had picked up at the Edinburgh airport. It was the biggest SUV I’d ever seen. I guessed that was my father’s doing. He was Scottish by birth, but when he moved to Nashville to marry my mother over thirty years ago, he’d immediately adopted the American habit of giant cars. He said it was something he needed as a farmer. I didn’t know why he would need it for his two weeks in Scotland, but that was the least of my worrie
s upon their arrival.

  Educated in British prep schools and then at St. Andrews for university, I wondered if my father ever thought that one day all that fancy education would lend itself to being a farmer. He was a good farmer. Since my father had taken the helm of my mother’s family farm, it had grown by leaps and bounds, and it pained my dad to leave it. When it was planting or harvest time, Isla and I knew to leave our father alone, as he stressed over getting the seeds in during the spring and getting the crops out during the fall, which again made me wonder why they were here and why now.

  I’d moved to Scotland to accept my inheritance of a cottage and garden in Aberdeenshire. I hoped that during their visit we would have a chance to sit down and talk about what had happened with Uncle Ian before I was born. But how could I ask my parents, “Why did you lie to me for the last thirty-some years, and why did Uncle Ian go along with it?”

  In general, my family wasn’t open with their emotions. Except for Isla, of course; she felt everything and said everything she felt. Everything was the best day ever or the pit of despair. There was no middle ground with her. Sometimes I wished I was more like her. However, I was more measured in my emotions, much like our mother.

  Isla rushed forward. “Mama, Daddy! I’m so glad you’re here. Fi and I have been looking forward to your visit so much!”

  I was glad my parents were distracted by my sister, so they couldn’t see my face when she said that. Not that I didn’t want to see my parents; I did, very much. Seeing them stand there made me realize how much I’d missed them. Before I moved to Scotland, I had seen my parents once a week, even though I lived in downtown Nashville and they lived an hour outside the city on the farm. Every Sunday, I would go back to the farm for Sunday dinner. The four of us and sometimes my good-for-nothing fiancé would sit down for a home-cooked meal made by my mother’s hand, which meant everything was dripping in butter and half of it was deep-fried. It was delicious.