I stood alone at the edge of the massive stone-and-concrete harbor facing the sea and the yacht, with the eyes of the village on my back thinking whatever they might be thinking. Slowly the Fiona inched away, then gradually moved with the outgoing tide into the firth toward open sea.
I stood until I could no longer see Gwendolyn’s bright hair and her hand waving to me. After waving back, I continued to stare after them until, forty minutes later, the white yacht had disappeared from sight.
If Olivia Urquhart had been trying to prevent Gwendolyn’s going, it was too late now.
I turned and walked back along the quay to the shore, relieved to see that most of the townspeople who had gathered to watch the sailing were gone.
The two people most conspicuously absent from the morning’s memorable event were Olivia Urquhart and Iain Barclay.
Mrs. Urquhart had not spoken to me since my visit to her with Iain. I knew I would not soon, if ever, be forgiven for what I had done. But I had done it, and I was glad.
With the Fiona on her way toward Peterhead, my own future suddenly loomed in my thoughts.
Gwendolyn and Alasdair would be gone for what might be as long as three or four weeks, sailing south into the Mediterranean and back. Everything was quiet and empty as I walked back to my place.
What was keeping me here now? If indeed I had done what I had been sent here to do, was it now time for me to return home?
Summer was about gone. Signs of approaching autumn were in the air. Occasional gusts of colder, harder rains fell. Leaves were fluttering earthward more regularly.
As Iain had said, was it time?
But then what about Iain? And what about Alasdair?
I had been so preoccupied with Alasdair and Gwendolyn that I had seen Iain only once since our visit to Olivia Urquhart. That was from the pew in church the previous Sunday. Now all at once questions about my future and Iain Barclay and Alasdair Reidhaven merged together into a single giant looming uncertainty.
The first thing I wanted to do, even as I walked up the hill fromthe harbor, was to go see Iain. But suddenly I felt shy about doing so.
Why?
I wasn’t sure. Somehow something had changed.
The first thing I did instead after returning from the harbor was walk to the Urquharts.
“Hello, Mrs. Urquhart,” I said when she appeared. “I would like to pick up my harp.”
She opened the door without a word. I went inside. She disappeared somewhere. I removed the legs from my harp, put it in its case, and left.
I saw nothing more of her.
I hadn’t played for a couple of weeks and was having withdrawal symptoms. After getting the harp back to my rented cottage, I played for two hours, went out for a walk, came back and played again.
I felt unaccountably lonely. As the day was winding down, I went out once more, this time to the grocery co-op for some fruit, yogurt, and fresh croissants, and I was about out of milk for my tea. As I approached the co-op from about half a block away, standing outside I saw Cora MacKay in her blue co-op smock talking to someone who looked like the lady from Mrs. Gauld’s, Tavia Maccallum. I shouldn’t be surprised that they knew each other—they were about the same age, and everybody here knew everyone else.
As Cora seemed to see me out of the corner of her eye, she turned so that her back was to me. The two spoke for another few seconds, then parted. Cora went back inside, while Tavia turned and hurried down the pavement. I tried to speak to her as I approached, but she looked at me strangely, as if we had never met, then turned into the computer shop without a word.
When I had collected my things at the store and walked to the counter, I greeted Cora as I had many times before. But she neither smiled nor returned my greeting, nor once met my eye. She rang up my items, put them in a bag, then looked past me saying, “Next, please,” and I drifted toward the door feeling as much a stranger as the first day I had come.
Did this town have even more secrets that I knew nothing about?
I saw no one else the rest of the day.
Chapter Fifty-five
Failing
Oh I’ve heard the liltin’ at our ewe-milkin’,
Lasses a-liltin’, before the dawn o’ day.
But now they are moanin’, on ilka green loanin’,
The flow’ers o’ the forest are a’ wede away.
—“The Flowers of the Forest”
The next few days went by slowly and drearily. As the time passed, I felt more and more reluctant to appear at Iain’s door. I longed to see him. But I wanted him to come to see me. But he did not come. I did not understand why. It was a question I could not ask him.
I visited every other day or so with Ranald Bain. We played together and began to make some decently good music, if I do say so myself. Mostly we talked about spirituality and the Christian life. Now I saw what Iain had said—that Ranald did not care about theological agreement on issues, but rather about the shared unity of seeking truth. I began to look to Ranald as a spiritual mentor just as he had been to Iain—as a spiritual father.
How peculiar it was that when I had come here I knew no one, yet had been so excited. A mere passing smile from a grocer or baker had been enough to lift my spirits for the entire day. Now, after all that had happened, with all the memories, the new friendships, I was feeling lonely.
It made no sense.
I suppose human emotions often don’t.
Slowly, through my doubts, the conclusion began to come to me that the reasons for this trip were nearly completed. Perhaps the reason I was feeling at loose ends was because the end had come.
A little sadly I realized that it was probably time for me to go home. Even Iain’s silence contributed to it.
About a week after Alasdair and Gwendolyn’s departure—much of which I had spent going through the recordings of Gwendolyn’s harp playing and trying to pick up some of the haunting melodies myself—I finally reached a decision. I would make a few calls the next day about flights and see what I could arrange.
Usually making a decision is a good feeling—putting uncertainties to rest. But the decision to leave this place was an incredibly sad one.
I woke early the next morning. I might not leave immediately, but this would be the day of transition, the day of decision. If I booked a return flight, I would not change it again.
Today was the day I would decide what to do. This was it.
However, I didn’t get around to it that day.
It was a bright sunny morning, though chilly. After tea and an hour of reading, I bundled up and went out. I suppose in a way I was thinking that the time had come to begin saying good-bye to this special place. I intended to walk out along the headland and sit down on my favorite bench, and maybe have a good cry.
I got about halfway to my intended destination. I had been absorbed in my own thoughts and prayers, not paying much attention to my surroundings. I chanced to look up and out to sea, then glanced back toward the town and the harbor below.
There sat a white yacht in the harbor, glistening in the morning sun!
It was the Fiona.
I turned and ran back the way I had come. I ran all the way down the steep road to the harbor and out onto the quay.
Everything was silent and still. There was no sign of life. But the gangway was down, and I ran straight up it onto the deck.
“Alasdair… Alasdair!” I called. “Gwendolyn—are you back?”
I hurried toward the cabins and the galley, calling as I went. No reply came from anywhere. Finally I slowed and walked about, remembering that it was early. Maybe everyone was still asleep.
Suddenly a sound startled me. I spun around. There was the captain, a man named Travis whom Alasdair took with him to command the yacht on long trips. He was walking along the deck toward me. From the look of it, I had probably awakened him in his cabin.
“Captain Travis,” I said. “When did you get back? Where is everyone?”
“Mornin’
tae ye, ma’am,” he said, rubbing his stubbly face. “They’s up tae the castle, far as I ken. We come in late in the nicht.”
“Why did you return so soon?”
“The wee lass took sick, ma’am. We was off the coast o’ Spain. The duke gie orders tae turn aboot an’ make for home wi’ all the speed I could gie him.”
Even as the last of his words were out of his mouth I was running back toward the gangway.
By the time I reached my cottage I was panting and sweating. I hurried inside to get the car keys. Moments later I was on my way to the castle.
Alicia answered the door, looking haggard.
“Alicia… is Gwendolyn—” I began.
She nodded and smiled thinly. “The doctor was here,” she said. “They took her to hospital in Banff.”
“Is she…”
“I cannot say, Marie.”
“And the duke?”
“He is asleep. He only just returned from the hospital after Gwendolyn was settled and sleeping.”
“Then don’t disturb him,” I said. “Tell him I was here. I will drive to the hospital. If I am not at home, tell him that’s where I will be.”
Chapter Fifty-six
Humility to Look Inside
When I look to yon hills and my laddie’s nae there,
When I look to yon high hills it makes my hert sair.
When I look to yon high hills and a tear dims my e’e,
For the lad I loo dearly lies a distance fae me.
—“A Peer Rovin’ Lassie”
I dozed off in the waiting room of the Banff hospital. When I woke up, Alasdair was sitting beside me.
“Alasdair!” I exclaimed.
“Hello, Marie,” he said wearily.
“How long have you been here?”
“Not long, ten or fifteen minutes,” he replied.
“Any word on Gwendolyn?” I asked.
“She’s better. The doctor says he would like to keep her until tomorrow.”
“What happened?”
“At first I thought she was seasick,” replied Alasdair. “The first day or two out she was fine. We had the most wonderful time. She was radiant. I could not stop her talking. She wanted to be with me constantly. I never realized how fatiguing fatherhood can be!” he said, laughing. “Then she began to complain of not feeling well. She vomited twice. The sea was calm, but I thought it must be seasickness. But when she fainted and I could not rouse her for an hour, I ordered us about and we made for home. The doctor thinks she probably became dehydrated. He says also that it could be a sign that her condition is advancing.”
“Oh, Alasdair!”
“Not to worry. She is recovering. But we have to be realistic about the future. In one way I am heartbroken that it has taken so long. Yet on the other, I am so enormously thankful even for this week I have had with her. It almost makes me begin to forget the years I was by myself. Those were lonely years, my ‘Eleanor Rigby’ years,” he added, looking at me with a sad smile. “Perhaps they were necessary to ready me for this, to purge out of me things that needed to go. I will probably never understand it all. For reasons maybe I cannot know, this was the right time. Perhaps I would not have been ready sooner. Suddenly you came into my life and the sun came out… then Gwendolyn. You and Gwendolyn have brought so much joy into my heart, there are no words to tell you what I feel.”
He reached out and took my hand. I smiled.
“And about what you said, before,” he went on. “You know, the night before we sailed. I have been thinking long and hard about it. I behaved very badly to you. I am so very sorry. Can you ever forgive me?”
“Of course, Alasdair,” I said.
“Perhaps I shall always—”
Alasdair paused. “Shall we go for a walk outside?” he said. “I don’t want to talk in here.”
We rose, left the hospital, and were soon walking in a residential part of the city.
“As I was saying,” Alasdair resumed, “it may be that I shall always have to struggle with my temper. I hope not, but I was shocked at what I said to you. I spent several sleepless nights at sea terrified that you would be gone when we returned and I would not have the chance to apologize.”
“As you can see, I am still here.”
“I am so glad. And I do apologize, a second time. And I think… well, perhaps I am ready to see Iain again.”
“Oh, Alasdair!”
“I did some hard soul-searching aboard the Fiona,” Alasdair went on slowly. “The very name of my yacht brought into focus all my resentments. I realized that I had never been honest with myself. I allowed my irrational anger toward Iain to fester for years. It has been a cancer inside me. I don’t even know why. Why do people hold on to resentments against people they once loved? It makes no sense. But that is exactly what I have done. I treated Iain no better than Olivia treated me. I have been filled with the same silent anger and bitterness. How am I any different from her?”
He grew thoughtful a moment.
“I have not been a religious man,” he continued, “but I think I remember something in the Bible about people who are like whitewashed tombs, clean on the outside, presenting a respectable image, but full of ugly dead things on the inside. I realized I have been telling you things about Olivia, but how am I any better? In the same way that she has not forgiven me, I have not forgiven Iain.
“And for what? What am I holding against him? Being a man of truth, being a friend?
“His only sin was setting me a higher example of character than I was capable of perceiving. In my heart I knew he would never betray me. I knew he and Fiona would never have done that to me. She told me she had asked him to call, and why. But I was too arrogant to believe it. The anger that was in me was just looking for an excuse, something to latch on to to keep from looking inside myself at its root cause.
“All these years I have nursed an animosity over an imaginary offense. What kind of a fool would do that? Who nurses a grudge over something that did not even happen? Especially toward a friend! What kind of man behaves so irrationally?
“And even had there been cause, can a man not forgive in spite of it? Even if Iain had done everything I accused him of in my mind, what was to prevent my forgiving him anyway? I saw that his sin, or his perceived sin, really had nothing to do with it. The ball of reconciliation was in my court no matter what the circumstances.”
I could not believe what I was hearing. Suddenly Alasdair… he was almost sounding like Iain himself!
“Does not the reestablishment of relationship,” he went on, “outweigh by far any cause of grievance a man can harbor against his friend, his brother? Not even the love of a woman should separate men, if they are true men. You were right in everything you told me, Marie. And you were right when you said I was being stubborn. God forgive me for not being man enough to admit it then. But I admit it now, and I admit it to you, my dear Marie. I thank you for having the courage to challenge me to my face. Not many people are willing to challenge another with the truth, knowing that it may cost them rejection or an angry retort. But you did, and you received an angry retort for your trouble, which I regret more than I can tell you. It will not happen again. I think I learned my lesson. Or at least I learned one more in what may be an ongoing life of lessons painfully learned. Thank you for speaking to me as you did.”
He stopped and drew in a deep breath.
My eyes were filling. I had no words of reply.
“Would you go with me?” asked Alasdair after a moment.
“You mean—”
“Yes, to Iain’s,” he answered. “I am ready. I would like to go see him this afternoon, once we know that Gwendolyn will be asleep for several hours.”
“If you like,” I said hesitantly. “But don’t you think you need to talk… just the two of you?”
“Perhaps. Then at least take me to him. It is not that I fear I will back out or that I need moral support. I would just like you with me. Actually, though,” he added w
ith a sardonic smile, “probably I do need moral support—part of me is terrified to face him after all this time.”
“You are not really afraid, are you?”
“Of course. Eating crow and apologizing—that is not easy for a man.”
“But you are not afraid of Iain’s reaction? You do not think he will be angry?”
“No. When I am honest with myself—a new sensation—I know exactly what he will do. But still it is hard for men to be open and honest with one another. And humble—that is the hardest thing to be of all. Humility does not come naturally to the male ego, you know. You are such a part of all this, I would like you with me.”
“Of course,” I said. “Nothing could please me more.”
Chapter Fifty-seven
Brotherhood
Then let us pray that come it may,
As come it will for a’ that,
That sense and worth, o’er a’ the earth,
May bear the gree, an’ a’ that!
For a’ that, an’ a’ that,
It’s coming yet, for a’ that,
That man to man, the warld o’er,
Shall brithers be for a’ that!
—Robert Burns, “A Man’s a Man for All That”
We remained at the hospital until Alasdair saw Gwendolyn again. The doctor assured us that she was in no danger, but thought it best that I not see her, to keep her agitation and emotions from getting keyed up.
I drove back to Port Scarnose. Alasdair said he would come for me as soon as Gwendolyn had drifted back to sleep. After his business with Iain, he planned to return to the hospital and spend the night until they released Gwendolyn the following morning.
Alasdair appeared at my door about three o’clock that afternoon. The lack of sleep and anxiety over Gwendolyn were evident on his face. But he wore a determined expression. It was clear he was a man who knew what he had to do. I went with him. We left the village hardly speaking a word.
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