She left him standing between the buildings as she rushed back to the cottage with her brain spinning . . . Casper MacGregor wants to court me!
But in the next second, rational thinking returned. She had to set an example for her family.
She was too old to feel like this. What would her sons think about her pining for another man? Love, like she’d shared with her husband, didn’t come around twice.
Nothing would change her mind. Nothing.
* * *
The next morning at Thistle Glen Lodge, Rachel helped the quilters get packed. The retreat-goers, after one more quilting session this morning, were heading home today. She located a lost phone, a missing hairbrush, and a pin cushion which was hiding. As the ladies zipped up their luggage and pulled them into the living room, Rachel went around straightening up as much as possible, while making mental notes of things to do this afternoon when the ladies were gone. Before she left for Quilting Central, she was able to get a load of towels in the washer, planning to start the sheets after lunch.
As they walked to Quilting Central in a group, Rachel wondered why Gandiegow didn’t have a bed and breakfast. The lot next to Thistle Glen Lodge seemed to have plenty of space to build a fairly large house. Since arriving in town, the thought of owning a bed and breakfast kept crossing her mind. She laughed, the idea both funny and strange. When Rachel was growing up, she didn’t want their family hotel—though everyone expected her to take over one day. The Sunnydale Hotel had been too small and quaint for Rachel’s big dreams. For her to be thinking of owning her own place now felt so foreign, but something was happening to her. Suddenly she wanted more than a hotel room and a lobby to call home.
At Quilting Central as Rachel was ready to take the stage to deliver the final instructions on the Gandiegow Christmas Tree quilt, her phone blipped. She checked: a text from her mother.
I have arrived and checked into a hotel.
“What?” Rachel said aloud to her phone. Deydie and Bethia glanced over at her. Rachel read on.
Christmas shopping in Edinburgh. Will see you soon.
Her mother changing her plans wasn’t completely unexpected. Besides, it made perfect sense to shop in Scotland instead of bringing presents across the Pond. The news was good for Rachel in that it gave her more time—time to finish putting her mother’s present together and time for the all-important mental prep she would need before Vivienne Granger invaded Gandiegow.
Rachel silenced her phone, stepped on the stage, and began her final instructions for finishing the top of the quilt. “The last thing to do is to trim the leftover triangle pieces from the side. Just hold your straightedge at an angle like this”—she demonstrated with the quilt she’d been making along with the group—“and cut off the extra bits.” Lastly, she shared how she’d hung her Christmas Tree quilt at her room in the Winderly. By eleven, when the retreat was over, everyone had pieced their quilt tops with some further along, who had already started pinning the three pieces together—the front, the batting, and the back.
Deydie told the retreat-goers to put their things away. Rachel was surprised when men—most of them wearing wellies—came filing in the door and leaned against the back wall. Her breath caught when a certain fisherman stalked in and took his place among the others.
Amy gently elbowed her. “They’re here to help load the quilters on the bus. Our men have already taken their bags from the dorm to the coach.” Amy raised her hand, waving at her husband, Coll. He worked at the pub, both bartending and cooking the occasional sandwich and soup.
Rachel wished she had the right to wave to Brodie, as if he were her man. But then he surprised her when he looked in her direction, staring straight at her. He wasn’t frowning or anything, and hope surged in her heart.
“Okay, everyone, let’s line up.” The Gandiegowans went to the stage, forming three lines, the men included. But Deydie pulled Brodie to the front. “Use yere God-given talent and lead the group.”
Brodie did frown then . . . at Deydie. Resigned, he turned to the makeshift choir. “Comfort and Joy,” he announced and then started singing. “God rest ye merry gentlemen . . .”
His voice was deep, rich, and his pitch perfect. The rest of the choir didn’t join in right away as they were as mesmerized as Rachel was. When they did start singing, she only had ears for Brodie, hearing him above the others, his voice resonating with every cell in her body, from her heart to her soul.
An old memory came back to her. Six years ago, Brodie was scheduled to sing at her wedding, but when the time came, he hadn’t. She’d been relieved.
“Oh, tidings of comfort and joy,” rolled over Rachel as Brodie’s beautiful voice complimented the voices around him.
She knew now that not hearing Brodie sing before had been her loss . . . only one of the many losses Rachel had experienced on her wedding day and beyond.
When the song ended, Deydie bade the quilters farewell and shooed them toward the door. The Gandiegow men gathered sewing machines and bags and followed them out.
Brodie was near the back of the line, watching her. Rachel gave him a smile with a shrug.
His eyebrows pinched together and he looked away.
She wanted to run to him and tell him how well he’d sung. How much she loved his voice. How much she still loved him. How sorry she was for not listening to her heart, but relying on the counsel of others.
If only he’d walk by her sewing machine, he would see his Christmas gift in progress—a pillowcase designed just for him with a partridge as the centerpiece. The partridge was a private matter for her and Brodie alone. Just another way to let him know she cared.
After the quilters and the men left, Rachel hurried to the schoolhouse to retrieve Hannah. Back at the cottage, she was on pins and needles, wondering if Brodie would show for lunch or not. She made an extra sandwich and left it in the refrigerator. When she took the tray into the parlor, Abraham was holding the iPad in front of his face.
“Smile,” he said.
Rachel didn’t get a chance before she heard a click. He set the iPad in his lap, grinning.
Hannah hopped up and down. “Let me see. Let me see.”
“See what?” Rachel asked.
Hannah laughed. “I taught Grandda how to take pictures.” She was so proud of herself. She leaned over to look at the image. “But, Mommy, ye’re frowning. Do it again, and this time ye better smile.”
Rachel raised her eyebrows at her daughter, who was acting like a miniature Deydie. But when she opened her mouth to chastise Hannah, Abraham beat her to it.
He patted her girl’s tiny hand, but his words were firm. “Watch how ye speak to yere mum, little one.”
Hannah stared up at Rachel. Grandfather and granddaughter had gotten along so well up until now. Rachel wondered how his scold would affect their bond.
Hannah turned back to Abraham, and then dropped her head. “Sorry, Mommy.”
Rachel set the tray down and squeezed her daughter’s shoulder lovingly. “It’s okay, but your grandfather’s right. You don’t want to get too bossy for your britches. Now, come get a plate for your grandfather and tell us what you have planned for this afternoon.”
Hannah bounced around, explaining the game. Rachel had to remind her more than once to attend to her lunch. After they ate, Hannah set up the parlor to play volcano and hot lava with washcloths and hand towels laid out on the floor as the only safe places to stand without getting burned.
“I’ll be back. I have Christmas presents to work on,” she said as she slipped on her coat.
“For me?” Hannah asked.
“No. For Grandma Vivienne and a few others.” One person in particular. “Now, be good and have fun.”
When she returned to Quilting Central, once again, the room was buzzing with the latest gossip.
Pippa, who had recently had twins, filled Rach
el and Amy in. “Deydie was griping that her paper scissors aren’t where they’re supposed to be. She swears they were on her desk when she left yesterday.”
Rachel cringed. She’d used the scissors last night, but she felt certain she returned them to their spot.
Pippa continued on, “Mrs. Bruce told me this morning that she made Mr. Menzies two loaves of bread. She left them on the window ledge to cool, and when she returned, one was missing. That’s two things that have been taken from her. First the flannel shirt on the line, now the bread.”
“Does she think it was Tuck?” Amy asked.
“Yes. Everyone does. But it doesn’t make sense,” Pippa said.
“I know.” Amy nodded. “Moira believes he’s getting plenty to eat at their house. But who could it be? We never had a theft problem in Gandiegow before he came.”
Rachel thought about the figure she’d seen last night in the shadows. It could’ve been anyone, but mentioning it would only add to the gossip.
She worked on Brodie’s pillowcase, making French seams, wanting his present to be perfect. When she was done, many of the women admired her work, asking questions, but Rachel successfully threw them off the scent. I like partridges, she answered, making it sound simple and convincing.
As the dinner hour approached, Quilting Central emptied. Rachel left, too, but stopped by the General Store to pick up the remaining items for her mother’s Christmas present.
As luck would have it, Amy was at her post, manning the store. “Ye found us. I was wondering when you might make it in for a few things.”
“I was afraid you wouldn’t be here and I meant to ask earlier if you could help me.” Rachel pulled out her mother’s new shopping bag, which she’d quickly sewn together after finishing Brodie’s pillowcase. “I want to fill this for my mom, make her a Scotland Survival Kit. Do you have any wellies?”
“Aye,” Amy said. “And warm socks, too.”
“Good. Let’s fill it up. She’ll be here tomorrow and I want this under the tree before she arrives.”
Amy put in all the essentials and a few indulgences. “My auntie made these Christmas ornaments, if ye’d like to buy one of those also.”
The knitted ornament was in the shape of a miniature red and green baubled sweater with tiny bells sewn on.
“Perfect.” Rachel thought about the simple patchwork quilt she’d cut out and started for her mother, also.
Amy totaled the survival kit, Rachel paid, and they went their separate ways outside the store. Rachel headed to Abraham’s, anxious to see Brodie at dinner, maybe talk to him afterward. But he never showed. When she asked after him, Abraham shrugged.
“I don’t know where he is, lass. He comes and goes. But he certainly isn’t around much lately.”
“I’ll make him a plate and put it in the oven. Can you let him know it’s there?”
“Aye. Now, Hannah, come here and show me how to play music on the iPad. Ye said this thing will do it, didn’t ye?”
“Aye, Grandda,” she giggled.
Rachel went into the kitchen and pulled down one of Abraham’s stoneware plates. But she didn’t fill it right away, instead digging around in the pantry until she located a paper plate and aluminum foil. She filled both plates with the roast, potatoes, carrots, and leeks. She covered them, putting Brodie’s plate in the oven, and taking the other with her to round up Hannah.
“Are ye ready to go, sweetie?”
Hannah kissed her grandfather on the cheek. “See ya later, alligator.”
Abraham chuckled and this time he didn’t end it with a coughing fit.
“Night,” she said.
As she and Hannah walked through town, they counted the number of buildings which glowed with holiday lights. Many more than yesterday. Everyone was getting into the Christmas spirit. Rachel was, too, but there was only one present she really wanted. And he hadn’t bothered to show up for dinner.
At Thistle Glen Lodge, Hannah ran in first. As Rachel stepped in, the smell of pine needles, or something like it, filled her nose. It was sweet and distinctive, and all of Rachel’s Christmas memories came flooding back. Her grandparents always had a fresh tree in the lobby of their small hotel. Her mother, too, when she owned Sunnydale. Nice memories. Great Christmases.
“Oh, Mommy!” Hannah exclaimed from the other room.
Rachel dropped her bags, but kept the plate, and rushed in to see. In the corner of the living room was the source of the wonderful smell. Someone had been thoughtful enough to set up a Douglas fir just for them.
“Looky,” Hannah squealed, clapping her hands and jumping up and down. “Isn’t it grand?”
“Yes. Very.” And a great surprise. Rachel moved farther into the room and noticed the two boxes of decorations which sat nearby. Next to them on the couch was a small opened box. Rachel leaned over to see the tree topper nestled in the tissue paper.
She gasped and her heart picked up several beats. It wasn’t a star or an angel, but a carved wooden partridge!
“What?” Hannah said. “Let me see.”
“Be careful.” Rachel handed her the box, keeping her hand underneath so it wouldn’t fall.
“Oh, it’s bee-oot-iful.”
Rachel laughed. “Here. Let me put it on the mantel. It’s for after we get the rest of the tree decorated. If you hurry with your bath, we’ll have time to do it before bed.”
Hannah’s eyes bugged melodramatically as if she was a child star hamming it up for the director. “I’ll be so fast.” Then she tore off for the bathroom.
While Hannah was undressing, Rachel found a piece of paper and wrote:
Help yourself.
She set the covered plate on the front porch, along with the note, and turned off the light. She also locked the front door, something she’d started doing when they went to bed at night since she’d seen the man in the shadows.
Hannah had the quickest bath on record. Rachel found some Christmas CDs and loaded the player. They sang along as they decorated the tree, but the whole time, she felt as if the tree gifter should be here as well . . . singing along with them.
When they were done, she carefully placed the partridge on top. They turned out the lights, except the tree’s multicolored strings, and cuddled on the sofa with “O Christmas Tree” playing in the background. When the song ended, Rachel carried Hannah into their bedroom and tucked her in. They said their prayers and then she kissed her daughter good night. Before leaving the room, Rachel grabbed her thick robe and slipped it on, leaving Hannah to fall asleep.
Back in the living room with the conifer front and center, Rachel felt restless, unable to keep her mind off the man who’d put up the Christmas tree. She peeked out the front window, looking for Brodie, but only noticed the plate was still there. She traveled into the kitchen and put the kettle on, before sitting down to sketch a new quilt in her notebook.
After a couple of minutes, she laid her pencil down. If only she could’ve seen Brodie tonight and talked to him, she would feel more settled. She touched the locket, wishing it was a summoning device.
But he’d been here. The wooden partridge was evidence. It has to mean something. Doesn’t it?
The kettle whistled. She left the new quilt design on the table, filled her mug, but the kitchen felt too confined for her thoughts. She wrapped her robe around her tighter and padded outside to the back porch to cool her tea.
The snow-dusted bluff loomed only ten feet away. The sloshing of the waves against the embankment walkway could be heard, even though the quilting dorms sat farthest away from the North Sea. The surety of God’s creations—the bluff and the ocean—calmed her. She began humming “Comfort and Joy.” Being outside, like this, pulled her from her own head. She leaned over and gazed at the empty lot next to the cottage, and as she did, her mind began to lay the stone, wood, and windows as if constructing th
e bed and breakfast she’d thought of earlier. If the front porch was positioned just right, the North Sea could be viewed between the buildings. Even better, Rachel would put a balcony on the second floor, so her guests would have an unencumbered panorama of the ocean.
She inhaled sharply. What am I doing? Am I really considering this?
Her life was back in Chicago at the Winderly Towers. She had to admit she was being fanciful, and truthfully, she was kind of a mess. Everything she believed to be true was in a massive upheaval. From the moment she saw Brodie again and wanted them to be together, she’d been certain it would all work itself out. She hadn’t given any real thought what that life would look like, though . . . where they would live, and how they would carry on. But apparently her subconscious had been mulling over the problem and making plans. Like the B and B.
She shivered and turned around, ready to go back inside. But she wasn’t alone. Her breath caught and her hand flew to her throat. She had the odd thought that her only constant was her reaction to the man on the other side of the porch. Brodie looked both masculine and ridiculous with her red polka dot purse dangling at his side.
He frowned at her. “Ye’ll catch yere death.” He reached for the door and held it open. The look he was giving her was a clear command.
“You scared me.”
“Sorry.” Though he didn’t seem contrite, not one bit. “I saw ye from a distance. What are ye doing out here?”
Without answering, she did as he wanted, returning inside. He wouldn’t understand that she felt safe here in Gandiegow, even with someone lurking about, and that she needed open spaces to think. He marched in after her.
The kitchen’s interior shined brightly, but everything looked different now. A while ago, she’d been restless for something to happen. Now Brodie was here. His presence changed the context of the room from boring to brooding. Not exactly what she’d hoped for. But at least now they could talk.
He glanced down at his load and sighed heavily as if her purse didn’t match his black wellies. “Ye forgot something.” He held it out like a bucket of spoiled bait. “Here.”
It Happened in Scotland Page 15