Sand in the Wind

by Ruth Hay

  “Good! I’ll be in bed asleep before you start up those stairs. “‘Night, dear!”

  Chapter Thirteen

  A shrill sound startled Anna out of a deep sleep. Her heart began to thump with the shock of the sudden noise in the silent house. With eyes firmly shut, she fumbled for her cell phone on the bedside table.

  “What’s the matter?” she demanded, praying it was not a wrong number waking her so rudely.

  “Oh, Anna, I do apologize! I know it’s very early but I had to let you know. There’s a change of plans for today.”

  Anna’s mind clicked into gear at the sound of Fiona’s voice. “What’s happened, Fiona? I know you wouldn’t disturb us unless it was really important.”

  “I have been watching the weather reports since last night. The wind from the west is bringing in a bad storm from out in the Atlantic. I am thinking we need to get on the road much earlier to keep ahead of the rain and the gale-force winds they are predicting.

  Can you be ready to leave within the hour, if at all possible?”

  Anna was fully awake now. Fiona’s voice conveyed her concern and Anna did not want to add to the difficulty of the journey for her.

  “Absolutely!” she promised. “We’ll be waiting for you. I take it there’s no other way to get to Glasgow today?”

  “No, I’m afraid not, Anna. Even the trains will be delayed because of the threat of ice on the rails. I’ll be on my way shortly.”

  Anna put down her cell phone and looked at the clock. 6:45am. No time to waste.

  Regretting the decision to postpone packing, she nipped over to the door opposite and knocked sharply.

  “I’m awake!” came Alina’s sleepy response. “I heard the phone. What’s up?”

  “We are!” replied Anna. “We need to get going right away. The weather report looks bad.”

  It was a scramble, but the two women were ready, with two cases packed and locked, waiting in the porch. They drank hastily-made weak tea while watching for Fiona’s van to arrive.

  It was barely daylight but they could see how the strong wind was bending the line of fir trees to the right of the estate house. Fortunately, no rain had fallen yet.

  “Maybe the storm won’t be as bad as they said,” announced Alina with a hopeful expression on her face.

  Anna refrained from replying. She had seen storms from the sea before and knew how unpredictable they could be. She was mentally reviewing the choices they would have if they had to interrupt their journey south. Missing the London connection to the Jules Verne tour group was not an option.

  “Look! There she is!” Alina began buttoning up her coat and pulling on a felt hat, well-secured with a large hatpin inherited from her mother.

  Just then, Anna recalled an image that caused her stomach to clench with panic. Aunt Helen’s memoir pages were still lying on the desk in her office.

  What if someone, a cleaner or a guest, found the papers and read the story?

  The last thing Helen Dunlop, or her niece, wanted, was for the personal information contained there to be broadcast to the public. Anna stood stock still as she realized how close she had come to leaving the house without securing the pages.

  Panic turned into action. “I’ll be back in a minute!” she called, as she took the keys out of Alina’s hand and fled back into the lounge with Alina’s protests ringing in her ears.

  It felt to Anna like the dream where you are trying to reach something important and the sand beneath your feet slows your every step until forward progress is impossible no matter how hard you try.

  Time stopped for Anna. Every second seemed like a minute. Her fingers were all thumbs and she dropped the keys. Behind her she could hear Alina claiming that they were ready a moment ago before Anna took off like a rocket. A worried Fiona replied that she would load up the van and be right back.

  Anna finally got the stubborn office door open and snatched up the papers on the desk, stuffing them into the carry-on bag already in place across her chest. She paused for a mini-second to make sure no papers had been left on the floor, then slammed the door shut, locked it, and ran out to the porch almost forgetting to lock the house door behind her.

  Alina and Fiona were already in the van and the engine was running. Anna jumped into the rear seat with a hurried apology and the large car moved off. There was a chilly silence emanating from Alina in the passenger seat and Anna knew she would have to explain her bizarre behaviour later.

  As expected, the weather deteriorated with every hour of the journey. Fiona chose to drive north on the coastal A85 and until the road turned east towards Tyndrum, and away from the open Atlantic, the heavy vehicle was buffeted by the wind to the point where Anna worried they might overturn.

  The road followed in reverse the spectacular train ride that had first brought Anna to Oban but this winter trip was far different. The mountains were obscured by dark clouds drifting ever lower as their burden of rain grew heavier. She could hardly make out Loch Awe in the driving rain that blended with high waves to make the water and sky appear as one grey maelstrom.

  By Crianlarich, where the road finally turned south into the A82, they were far enough away from the sea that some of the wind effects were reduced.

  Anna insisted on regular coffee and food breaks for Fiona but when they emerged from a cafe beside the road at Crianlarich the temperature had dropped and the rain felt much more like ice.

  “I don’t like this at all, Fiona,” stated Anna, when they were back in the car. “You are a wonderful driver but these conditions are not good. We have a long way to go. I want you to stop and we will wait it out if need be. Alina and I can fly south later tomorrow.”

  “Now, dinna fash, Anna! Och! I have made this trip many times in all sorts of weather. I will let you know if it gets too bad. Just relax and listen to the radio. We’ll make a stop when we get to Balloch at the end of Loch Lomond. After that it’s a dual carriageway all the way. One bridge to cross and we’ll be in the airport afore you know it.”

  Anna had noticed that Fiona’s Highland accent got stronger whenever she was worried. Her road report did not soothe Anna’s nerves. Far from relaxing, she found herself watching the road as if she were the driver. Another pair of eyes could not hurt under these conditions, she was thinking.

  The narrow road alongside Loch Lomond was empty of travellers and that was a blessing. They made good speed to Dunbarton but once again the wind swept along the Firth of Clyde towards them with fierce power and the crossing of the Erskine Bridge was very slow going.

  Anna could see the gleam of ice on the slick surface and remembered cautions given to drivers in Ontario about the lower temperatures on bridges when freezing air passed underneath them.

  Once safely over, they began to see signs for Glasgow Airport and Anna breathed a sigh of relief.

  She took out her cell phone and, without asking Fiona’s permission, she contacted reception at the Holiday Inn Express and booked a second room. There was no way she would allow the girl to travel back to Oban until the weather had improved. Tonight they would all be together for a good meal, a restful sleep, and a filling breakfast.

  The two airline travellers need only pull their cases along a short, covered walkway to the airport in the morning and a brief plane ride would speed them south to Gatwick where the weather was frequently much milder than in Scotland.

  Fiona could complete her research at the Mitchell Library and take her time. Anna would make sure there were arrangements made if she should need another night’s stay at the hotel.

  Despite her assurance that she was fine, Fiona was very glad to hand her van over to the secure valet staff at the hotel. Getting out from behind the wheel was more than welcome.

  She felt, keenly, the responsibility of Anna’s safety whenever she was a passenger in the van. Anna had been such a positive influence in her life that the idea of causing her any accidental damage whatsoever was more than she could bear. She saw the common sense and cari
ng that Anna’s decision to book her into a hotel room was based on, and did not insult her by objecting in any way.

  She would have an opportunity to look over the papers she had brought with her so that her time in the busy Mitchell Library could be used more efficiently. She was preparing an essay on the historical foundations of Scottish wildlife services and sponsors over the last century, and the paper was a crucial part of her final marks.

  It seemed to the two older women as if they had been on the road for days but, in fact, there were several more daylight hours to go before dark.

  Alina collapsed onto a super-soft bed and insisted she was not moving until she had a nap, room service, and a hot bath. Anna had to agree that this was a sensible plan although she requested the food should come before the other two requirements. They ordered right away and Anna had to keep poking Alina in the arm as they watched television from their beds, to ensure she would stay awake until she had eaten.

  Alina excused herself as soon as she could and took her dessert pie into the bathroom to enjoy while she soaked away her weariness in a deep tub. She assured Anna she would leave the bathroom door open to be certain she did not fall asleep in there.

  “Come in right away if you hear any loud splashes,” she called out.

  Anna turned off the television, finished up the last crumbs from the American hamburger and apple pie, and drained the last drops from the coffee pot. It was as she was sinking back into the pile of plump pillows that she remembered again the panic she had felt at the beginning of their journey, so many hours ago.

  The pages from Helen Dunlop’s memoir were still in her carry-on bag. Intending to smooth them out and remove them from the place where the essential travel documents were stored, she tried to arrange the pages into two piles; those she had already read and those she had not yet seen.

  The familiar hand-writing captured her attention at once. It was necessary to scan a few lines to determine into which pile each page belonged. Reading Aunt Helen’s account of her marriage brought the whole issue to the forefront of Anna’s mind all over again. Although she did not feel the drama created by reading them in the dark, in the office of Helen’s home, she could feel a growing tension combined with a deep curiosity as she contemplated the discoveries still to be revealed.

  There was no point in waiting. She knew she would read these pages sometime, and now seemed as good a time as any.

  “So this is what you are up to? I could have drowned in there for all the attention you have been paying. Is that Helen’s writing I see? Don’t tell me you brought that stuff all the way from Oban! Anna Mason, what were you thinking?”

  Anna had jumped at the first word from Alina and managed to scatter the pages all over the bed. She had been so engrossed in the story that she heard and saw nothing else, other than the saga unrolling before her.

  “I......I’m sorry Alina! I completely forgot about you. I need to explain what happened earlier today and I want to bring you up to date with what I have learned about my Aunt Helen.

  Here! Sit down.”

  Anna patted the pillows on her bed and invited her friend to settle beside her. With a few grumbles, Alina did so. “This had better be good,” she threatened.

  “Well, I rushed back into my office this morning because I had forgotten to hide away the memoir pages and I couldn’t take the risk of anyone finding and reading them.”

  “I don’t get it! What could be so important?”

  “That’s just it! I don’t know yet, but I think there are going to be new revelations soon.”

  “What could it matter now? Helen Dunlop’s been dead for a number of years. Who would care?”

  “Ah! I have just read the part where Helen describes how the Fraser family bought her silence after Harold’s drunkeness caused the deaths of two of his workers on a building site.”

  “So that’s where the money came from to buy the McCaig Estate Farm House?”

  “Yes, and it must have been a considerable amount of cash the Frasers handed over to Helen, but, of course, such a bribe is completely illegal and Helen must have been worried that someone would track her down and claim the family money.”

  “But, she changed her name from Fraser back to Dunlop, didn’t she?”

  “That’s right, but there was a sister, Rhonda or Rachel or something, who had two sons. One was called Arthur, I think. They might have needed the money for business or to tide them over an economic downturn.”

  “Wait, Anna! Helen could always tell the authorities the truth about the accidental deaths, if she was threatened.”

  “Of course she could, and then she would be accused of lying to the coroner’s inquest and she might have gone to prison.”

  “I doubt that would have happened, but I can see how an older woman living alone might have been concerned about those things and it certainly explains why she chose to live outside of town, away from most normal contacts.”

  “Right! George McLennan, as her lawyer, was the only one who knew anything about her business and even he was told a limited amount. It wasn’t until I asked him to research her background that he discovered details about his former client’s life.”

  Darkness had fallen and the women drew a little closer and turned on the bedside lamps.

  “That’s not all,” said Anna, very quietly.

  “What does that mean? Are you trying to get me spooked?

  “Not really, but I just started to read this part. I’ll read it aloud if you don’t mind.”

  “By all means, continue! It’s already better entertainment than most of the TV here!”

  Anna shuffled a page or two until she found the right place. Then she wriggled around until she was comfortable and began to read.

  * * *

  I had been living in hotels for some months, never giving my real name and paying cash so my whereabouts could not be traced. The guilt was still with me. I dreamed about Harold most nights and woke in a cold sweat. His ghost reproached me with the distance I had deliberately created between us to avoid his sexual advances. This is what drove him to drink again. I felt responsible for everything that happened thereafter.

  It became clear to me that I would be punished by carrying this guilt and shame for the rest of my life.

  It was after this realisation sank deeply into me that I began to think of ways to reduce the guilt by doing something good in the world. I had always been focused on myself and my own survival. Perhaps now I could turn my attention to helping others?

  I pondered this new idea for many months. I went back over my miserable life looking for clues. It came to me in a restaurant in England. I was watching a woman with a young child seated at a nearby table. She spoke to the boy sweetly and gently, encouraging him to try the vegetables on his salad plate. For a moment, I put myself in the child’s place. The tender scenes I had once known with Mrs. Dunlop were almost erased by the later years when I was an unpaid maid in their home, but what if my birth mother had more children?

  What if I had half-brothers or sisters somewhere who knew nothing about me? I refused to consider the possibility that my true family did know of my story and had chosen to put me, and my unhappy fate, out of their minds. After all, I had never been approached by anyone seeking me as a lost relative.

  On reflection, I concluded that I had hardly made myself easy to find.

  I decided right then to pursue the notion. I contacted a private investigator through an advertisement in a local newspaper. He was tasked to discover anything at all about my background. I revealed my real name to him. The name I had kept close to my heart and murmured in secret to myself in dark moments as if it were a spell to eradicate my misery.

  Aileen Anne Knox.

  That, and my years in the Quarrier’s Homes in Scotland, was all I knew. He warned me there was not much chance of success with so little information, but I was encouraged by the very fact he was willing to try.

  In the period before the investigator’s re
port, I thought about what might be done to better the life of any relatives I found.

  I was reluctant to risk a face-to-face meeting and the possible rejection that might follow. I had had enough of that in my life. No, there must be other things I could do to benefit another’s life and assuage my guilty feelings.

  Months went by with no news. I had almost given up hope when I received a message to contact the investigator.

  I was in such a state of anticipation that I hardly heard the details of his search. One thing, only, stood out. I had the good fortune to be named after my birth mother. This fact led to the desired results.

  Clutching the report to my chest, I hurried away from the office in the city centre and rushed back to my hotel where I could steady myself with a sherry and try to read the actual report for myself. It took several readings before I could absorb the facts. My sheer excitement kept distracting me, but in the end I wrote down the chain that led through the generations.

  1. Aileen Knox, my birth mother, remarried some years after my father’s death, to a Samuel Jarvis.

  2. They had a daughter named Marion.

  So, I had a younger half-sister, Marion.

  The report included a phone number for the Jarvis family in Glasgow. I gazed at the number for so long that it was burned into my brain. Fears overwhelmed me. It was the war years and families were displaced or bombed out. The chances of finding the family I sought at this number were limited. What if I called and no one answered? What if I could not speak? What if someone heard my story and slammed down the telephone?

  I debated for days until at last I was forced to call and relieve the stress this was causing me.

  A woman answered at the third ring. She sounded young but also annoyed at the interruption. I gathered my courage and began by asking if I was speaking to the Jarvis household.