“I spoke ill of yere mother,” Abraham said. “It was wrong. A parent should never do that. I’m so sorry.”
“But she left us,” Robena said, defending the father who had given her and Richard a roof over their head when their mother had abandoned them.
He patted her hand. “Aye, but I clung to my bitterness like a damned barnacle to a ship. I said things about women I never should’ve uttered.”
Robena remembered him once damning all women to hell.
Abraham wiped at his eyes. “I regret every word of it. While I’ve been sick and unable to do anything, I had lots of time to think. While I was still, I began to recognize all the damage I’d done. Especially to ye.”
She looked into her father’s withered face. She saw kindness and love. Shock kept her from reacting.
“Forgive me,” he said hoarsely.
“Ah, Da.” Tears sprang to her eyes and rolled down her face.
Abraham put his arms around her, hugging her. “I was a damned fool. I’m so proud ye’re my daughter. The best of us all, ye are.”
As he patted her back and Robena cried, she felt the pain of her childhood begin to slip away. “I love ye, Da. I really do.” She’d never said that to him before, because she never thought she could.
“I love ye, too, daughter. Ye’re loyal and trustworthy. Ye make me proud to be yere da.”
* * *
Leap Year Day was a big deal in Gandiegow. Rachel was sitting next to her sewing machine, listening to the women around her who were scheming and planning for tonight’s dance. Rachel was trying to keep her head down and stay out of the fray.
The last seven weeks had been hard on her as she moved on with her life. Baby steps, she kept telling herself. She saw Brodie here and there, but never close enough for them to speak.
She’d kept busy with Hannah, always staying focused on this new phase in their life. She was determined to heal her broken heart, and on good days, she thought she was making progress.
Rachel gazed down at the nearly completed Gandiegow by the Sea quilt, as Brodie had named it. The old Rachel would’ve been making the quilt for him because he’d shown such interest in the drawing. But new Rachel was finishing it for herself. She’d come a long way, learning to focus on the blessings instead of what she’d lost.
She glanced around at the women of Quilting Central and was grateful for every one of them. Even Deydie. The old woman was becoming much easier to get along with since she and Cait had made up. But poor Cait; Deydie wasn’t letting her lift a finger to do anything.
There were many blessings for Rachel to count, too. Tuck had become a good friend, spending time with her and Hannah a couple times a week, and bringing Glenna along when he did. Tuck didn’t have a crush on Rachel; he’d been using her and she didn’t mind . . . not at all. Andrew and Moira, being newlyweds, needed alone time. It was easier to claim he had plans with Rachel than to admit he was getting Glenna and himself out of their hair for a couple of hours.
Rachel knew the town was gossiping about her and Tuck, but she didn’t care. It was for a good cause. But she did worry about him. Tuck had a long road ahead to win over the villagers as they still didn’t accept him. She suspected that teaching at the quilt retreats had greased her way into the community.
Her greatest blessing, though, was her daughter. Hannah was healthy and happy, and her little girl loved being part of Gandiegow. Harry’s mural depicted exactly how much her daughter belonged here. Hannah’s latest accomplishment was to join Sadie’s book club for kids, as she was beginning to read. Hannah adored the Gandiegow Fish quilt when Rachel finished it. Guzzy was given a new home—a decorated shoebox that sat next to Hannah’s bed in case she needed a guzzy fix in the middle of the night. Her Gandiegow Fish quilt had taken guzzy’s place and was now dragged all over town.
Rachel looked down and smiled as she pulled the needle through the last stitch of the Gandiegow by the Sea quilt. There was no fanfare for it being done, but there should have been for the journey the tartan scraps had traveled.
The fabric had been transformed from a pile of leftovers from the generous quilters into something beautiful and meaningful. Rachel had sewn in her own journey—putting her love and loss into every stitch. In the process, she had been transformed, too. Much wiser than the woman who’d come to Scotland for Christmas. More mature. Much more realistic. There was only one thing left to do to make her transformation complete . . . return the locket. Maybe she shouldn’t have held on to it for the last two months, but she was feeling stronger . . . and ready. She’d stuck the locket in her pocket this morning, intending to find Brodie today and give it back. This last act would free Rachel from her shattered dreams.
Bethia approached with a huge smile on her face. “Och, lass.” She took a corner of the finished quilt and held it up. “’Tis amazing what ye did with a few scraps.” She looked Rachel square in the eye. “A million others might have given up on the bits of fabric, but a true quilter believes in second chances. For the fabric . . . and the quilter.”
The words hit Rachel in the stomach . . . like the swing coming back and walloping her when she wasn’t looking. But I’m done with second chances! She wanted to tell Bethia that quilters believed in moving past the pain of the pricking of the needle and the cut from the scissors.
Deydie waddled over and took another corner, examining the stitches. “It turned out well. So have ye, Rachel. Ye’re quite the quilter.” Deydie gazed at her as if she was proud.
Rachel’s mouth hung open. Surely she hadn’t heard correctly. But Bethia seemed as shocked as she was.
“Stop yere gaping.” Deydie bobbed her head. “We better get to the grand dining room. I put Bonnie in charge of the decorations and she might need our help.”
Rachel smiled as the old softy propped her broom by the door and left.
Since coming to Gandiegow, Deydie had made Rachel jump through a lot of hoops, but now it felt worth it. The two of them seemed to have reached an understanding, and now Rachel felt like one of Gandiegow’s quilting ladies.
“Ready?” Bethia said, pointing at the door.
Sinnie was retrieving her jacket from a hook. She handed over Rachel and Bethia’s as well. The three of them headed to the restaurant, too.
The entrance overflowed with people heading inside to help with preparations for tonight’s dance. Rachel and her companions took their place in line for their turn to carry items upstairs.
“The New Year’s Eve dance wasn’t this busy. Is this dance a big deal?” Rachel asked.
“Oh, it is,” Sinnie said. “The Leap Year Day céilidh is grand fun. It brings all the men together in one spot.” Sinnie, normally quiet, acted as if she liked to watch the men squirm.
“Leap Year Day in the States isn’t really celebrated,” Rachel said to Sinnie and Bethia. “Unless, of course, it’s your birthday that only comes around once every four years.”
Sinnie gawked at her and laughed good-naturedly. “I can’t imagine. As you can tell, in Gandiegow it’s a huge affair. Some of the women have been planning for months.”
“There’ll be lasses coming in from the countryside,” Bethia said. “Even some lads who work at Spalding Farm and live in the outlying crofts will head into the village; nice blokes who want to marry.”
Rachel nodded. “I’ve heard talk of the marriage proposals at Quilting Central.” The gulf between the sexes, over the last several weeks, had widened, men and women settling into their own separate camps. “Did anyone else notice that the men are scarce today?” Rachel was curious if the guys would boycott the dance and the only ones left would be the disappointed women.
Brodie fluttered through her mind, just like her wishful thinking from the old days, but she pushed his image away.
“Aye. The men are hiding out.” Sinnie laughed again. “Staying off the radar.”
Rachel had observed as the single women’s anticipation had grown, the bachelors had been grumbling more than usual.
Bethia nodded sympathetically. “The poor dears. They’re trying to avoid the marriage proposals.”
“And paying the lasses when they refuse,” Sinnie interjected.
Their turn came up and they each grabbed a covered dish and headed for the stairs.
“How much money are we talking about?” Rachel asked.
“Five pounds a refusal,” Bethia answered. “It’s our tradition, ye see.”
“It’s a bit of fun,” Sinnie exclaimed. “Some of the lasses look at it as a way to pad their pockets.”
“But ye have to be careful,” Bethia warned.
Sinnie glanced toward the head quilter and nodded. “If the man surprises ye and agrees to marry, tradition says we have to go through with it.” Her tone was serious. “Ye can’t go asking willy-nilly, if ye see what I mean.”
“But hiding out won’t do the poor dears any good. All the single men have to come to the céilidh whether they want to or not.”
Once again, Brodie crossed Rachel’s mind. This time she let him linger in her thoughts as she imagined returning the locket to him.
Bethia smiled at Rachel. “It’s going to be quite a night.”
Yes, it will, but Rachel wasn’t feeling the giddy eagerness which hung in the air. Returning the locket would close the door forever to this chapter in her life.
Rachel turned to Sinnie. “And you? How did you make out on the last Leap Year Day?”
She shook her head. “I was only eighteen. A bit shy. I asked no one to marry me.”
“What about now? Are you going to pop the question?” Rachel had seen Sinnie dancing with Colin at the New Year’s Eve céilidh before Hannah got sick.
Sinnie shook her head. “Heavens no. I’m not ready to marry. Besides, I’m a bit old-fashioned when it comes to things like that. My sister Rowena thinks I’m daft, but I want the man to do the asking. Ye know, claim his woman and all.”
Bethia smiled at her fondly. “Aye.”
Rachel nodded, too. She knew exactly what Sinnie meant. Rachel wanted the same thing, but it hadn’t happened. She kept assuring herself the pain would dull over time.
She also kept the vision of her new beginning ever present. There was no rule that said she had to have a man in the picture for her to be happy. Her family portrait was complete with Hannah and herself . . . and of course, Abraham and Vivienne. Brodie’s connection to Hannah had nothing to do with Rachel. With a smile plastered on her face, she would continue to endure Hannah recapping her adventures with Brodie—like walks to the cemetery, more picnics on the parlor floor, and Brodie helping her catch her first fish. Brodie was doing an excellent job of being a good relative to Hannah, and at the same time, he was doing an exceptional job of arranging his days so Rachel’s path never crossed his.
What we had is in the past, Rachel told herself. Their time at the ruins of Monadail Castle six years ago, the stolen kisses since she’d arrived, and the one night of them making love were tucked away in the farthest reaches of her mind. Memories like those were not to be pulled out and examined a hundred times a day.
Besides, hadn’t she kept very busy over the last eight weeks? The Kilts and Quilts retreats were a godsend—one in January and one last week. Rachel had taught her Gandiegow Fish quilt at each, but her main responsibility was to care for the quilting dorms and their occupants. The work felt familiar and good; also, it made her more a part of the community. But Rachel’s other activity was the one which caused her the greatest excitement.
Local contractor Mr. Sinclair would break ground on her B and B in April—the actual day would depend upon the weather. The supplies were ordered and laborers lined up. Gandiegow had really gotten involved. Everywhere Rachel went, this person or that was sharing their opinions on what her place should be and how she should run it. Especially the quilters with whom she spent the majority of her time. Rachel appreciated their input, but in the end, she would have the business she wanted, plus she would have the home she always dreamed of for her and Hannah.
“I’ll head back downstairs for another load,” Rachel said to Sinnie and Bethia. But when she reached the restaurant, she never expected Brodie to be there, sitting by the window, gazing out at the setting sun.
She paused to take him in, the features she knew so well—the breadth of his body, his hair the color of mahogany curling at his shoulders, and the solemn dark expression encompassing his face. She could get lost staring at him. She could get lost loving him forever. But that time in her life was over. Without giving herself a chance to change her mind, Rachel reached in her pocket, pulled out the locket, and approached the man she had mistakenly believed would be her future.
Chapter Twenty
Brodie never took for granted the beauty of a setting sun. Every fisherman understood the meaning behind a sunset. The Almighty was reassuring them, delivering one last message before putting them into darkness for the night—the sun would indeed rise again tomorrow. This evening’s view was extraordinary. Extra bright, full of deep shades of orange and yellow, a spectacular splash of color across the sky. As if for visual interest, a low thunderhead partially covered the sun. Maybe it wasn’t for visual effect at all; maybe He was giving them all another message. The clouds and storms were what made life meaningful, for without them, we wouldn’t know beauty at all.
Hell, Brodie thought, I’m being awfully maudlin.
Truthfully, he’d been in a foul mood for weeks. He’d settled into it the way he’d settled into the other undesirable mind-sets he’d acquired. It was as if all his unforgiveness had stacked up, one upon the other, and was crushing him.
When he came in, he was the only man in the restaurant. All the single blokes didn’t think it was safe to be out in the open today. But Brodie didn’t give a shit about Leap Year Day, the dance tonight, or the four proposals he’d received already. Bonnie had knocked on Abraham’s door first this morning. Brodie had given her a fiver and sent her on her way.
He shut his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. Could a man live like this forever? He honestly didn’t care about anything anymore. He could no longer hear Rachel’s plea, Love me, Brodie. It was almost as if it had never happened.
“I—I . . .” came a most familiar voice a foot away.
He spun around and Rachel was there. For one crazy moment, less than a split second actually, he wondered—or hoped?—was she going to take advantage of Leap Year Day and make this proposal number five?
But then he took in her face—every line, every nuance—and saw the pain pour out of her. He wanted to erase the hurt by holding her, but he had no right. She was with Tuck now. He stood, not sure what to do next, but then his eyes fell on the black velvet bag in her hand, the one the locket had been in . . . is in. For she hadn’t worn the locket in two months.
She held it out. “I need to return this to you. I should’ve given it back a long time ago.” Her wounded eyes and the regret in her voice spoke the unspoken . . . I never should’ve taken the locket in the first place.
For a moment, he was paralyzed, the locket in between them. He couldn’t stay like that forever, but he couldn’t stretch his hand out to her either . . . for that would mark the end.
Finally, with the strength of a hundred fishermen, he unclutched his fist and offered his palm. She didn’t drop the locket in, but gently placed it in his hand, as if it was a baby bird.
Stupidly, he left his hand out as if he was offering it back, or giving her a chance to change her mind. He didn’t know which. They both stared at it for a long moment.
“Rachel . . .” His whispered plea came too late. She was hurrying out the door.
* * *
Bonnie stepped into the grand dining room’s restroom, not for a breather, but to check her list. She sat in one of the
comfortable chairs and pulled the paper from her cleavage. She marked off Wylie, Mac, and Kolby and added their pounds to the total for the day. Aye, she’d lined her pockets, starting with Brodie first thing this morning, but her list was dwindling . . . and she wasn’t getting any younger. A lass wanted a man to take care of her in her old age. She wished Kit the matchmaker had some foresight to bring her bachelors in this year instead of mentioning it would be fun to do it for the next Leap Year Day.
Bonnie tapped the next name on the list and grinned. Though Lochie had been sweet on her since they were teens, she hadn’t given him much notice until one of Kit’s clients from America chose Lochie to be hers. It was amazing how his positive attributes had become clearer when another lass wanted him. He was pretty good on the guitar and his voice wasn’t half bad. He could dance better than most of the fishermen in the village, and he always made Bonnie laugh on even her worst days. Of course, Lochie didn’t have Brodie’s good looks or Graham’s fortune, but he was a decent fellow. Bonnie had thought Lochie and the American lass would get married for sure, but then she’d left and Lochie was back to staring at Bonnie as if she was the prettiest lass in the world. Aye. The man definitely has some good attributes.
“Bonnie! Git out here!” Deydie hollered from the other side of the restroom door.
Can’t a lass get a moment to herself?
Bonnie secured her list between her breasts and stood. The decorations were nearly done, the room magical, so the old quilter shouldn’t have any complaints. More than anyone, Bonnie wanted everything to be perfect tonight to prove she’d done a good job of being in charge. To that end, she had to be perfect as well. She’d make it clear to Deydie that she needed to get home to doll up for the céilidh . . . so when she returned, Lochie would be there, setting up with the band.
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