The Arms of Death

by Maggie Foster

  * * *

  “Mackenzie.” Ginny stood in front of the old man, her back straight, her gaze steady.

  “Aye, lass?” He set aside what he was doing.

  “I’ve a wee question I’d ask of ye, if I may.”

  “Aye? And is it about my grandson, maybe?”

  “Well, it is and it isn’t. There’s another man involved.”

  “Ye may ask.”

  “Will you walk with me?”

  The old man rose without question, picked up his cane, and the two of them made their way out onto the grounds. It was very pleasant walking along under the centuries old live oaks. The breeze was cool and the ground dry. When they were well out of earshot, the old man spoke.

  “And what is this question, then?”

  “How does a woman know she can trust a man?”

  The old man raised an eyebrow and looked over at her. “That’s quite a question, lass.”

  “It is. That’s why I’ve brought it to you.”

  “And yer mither canna’ help ye?”

  “She tells me she and my father fell in love at first sight and neither gave the other cause to doubt, not for a moment.”

  “But ye’r nae so lucky.”

  “I am not.”

  “Tell me.”

  Ginny took a deep breath, then laid out her concerns. It was several minutes before the Laird spoke. She waited patiently, walking beside him, trusting him absolutely.

  “Weel, some o’ it may be coincidence.”

  “Yes.”

  “But some o’ it sounds a’ purpose.”

  “He deliberately didn’t tell me he was an infectious disease specialist.” Ginny frowned. “It made me feel like an idiot, and it hurt that he assumed I wouldn’t understand, but after I got over being mad, I started to wonder what else he might be hiding.”

  The old man looked over at her. “Ye’ll no have forgotten he’s feeling a wee bit unsettled hisself?”

  “I know that.”

  The Laird walked a few more paces, his eyes on the vista ahead. “Even as a wee lad, he was intent on those as needed help. He would put bandages on the animals, and set the baby birds back in their nests. He used tae listen to the auld folk talk, wi’ eyes too knowing for one sae young, as if he understood what wasna’ said.”

  Ginny waited for the Laird to continue, listening carefully.

  “I wasna’ there fer him, after his father left. He was too young before and now he’s too auld and verra much a man. I think it’s no verra surprising if he’s a mite secretive wi’ all o’ us.” He looked over at Ginny. “He’ll be wonderin’, can he trust us.”

  Ginny nodded, feeling some sympathy for a man thrown into an unfamiliar world where he knew almost no one and was quite likely to make mistakes.

  “All right, he can have the benefit of the doubt. What about the other?”

  “Ah, now there ye’ maybe have some cause tae worry.”

  Ginny frowned. “It sounds very much the same, a man who’s keeping secrets from me.”

  “Tis a matter o’ degree. Some o’ wha’ yer seeing may be his custom, o’ course. He’s nae one o’ us, ye ken.”

  Ginny nodded.

  “But consider how long ye’ve know young Williams. It would be expected he would be tellin’ ye about his work and sharing troubles wi’ ye, if he was thinkin’ of asking ye to share his life wi’ him.”

  “I don’t think he was, though. Not until Jim came back and he saw us together.”

  “And tha’s another thing. If he was nae interested, until he saw he might no be having ye all tae himself, tha’s no the way a man should be, wi’ a woman he loves.”

  Ginny squirmed. She was equally guilty of that. Hal’s mother had wanted the match and Ginny’d had no objection to marrying her son. So she’d waited, patiently, not insisting that Hal declare himself, expecting him to get around to it eventually.

  The Laird fixed her with a sharp eye.

  “Ye asked me how a woman can tell if a man is trustworthy, aye?”

  “Yes.”

  “Weel, I’m no suggestin’ a lass should try a man a purpose, but she’d be a fool no tae be payin’ attention.” He stopped walking, turning to look across the exercise grounds where a mock battle was in progress.

  “Th’ lads oot there, they know men died on that field, but none o’ them expects tae die this day.”

  Ginny’s mouth twitched. “Let’s hope not.”

  The old man smiled at her, then went back to his point. “Nonetheless, they are tested. ’Tis part o’ what makes them strong, tae face another man with a gun pointed down yer craw and stand yer ground.” He looked back at her. “Ye must watch them. See how th’ twa o’ them behave under pressure.”

  He started walking again and Ginny fell in beside him, leaning close to catch his words. “For the one or the other ye ask yerself, is he nae interest’d in any but himself, or does he care aboot th’ people around him? Does he keep his promises? Is he respectful o’ others?”

  The Laird lifted his eyes to the skirmish taking place on the ‘battleground’. “Is he violent? Does he resort tae fisticuffs or can he resolve a difference o’ opinion wi’ his mind? Is he willing tae be manly, tae be brave and bold and fight for what he believes in? Does he understand wha’s worth fightin’ for?”

  His eyes drifted back to her. “Does he know how tae be gentle? And true? Can he control hisself or does he gi’ in tae impulse?” He sighed. “All o’ these things can gie ye clues to a man’s heart, but it takes time.” He turned to face her. “Understand me, lass. It takes but an instant tae fall in love. It takes a lifetime to prove ye love.”

  Ginny nodded slowly, then turned and dropped a graceful curtsy.

  “I thank ye, Mackenzie,” she said. “And, now, will ye come and have some Apple Amber? I put some aside for you. And I might just be able to lay my hand on a wee dram to go with it.”

  “Aye, lass. Willingly!”

  * * *

  Ginny went back to her post troubled by her talk with the Laird. He seemed to have a very high standard of behavior and neither Jim nor Hal seemed to be living up to it.

  Hal condescended to her on a regular basis. When he wasn’t wooing her, or playing with her, he was talking at her, rather than with her. Except for last night, of course. He seemed to be paying very close attention last night. But then he pulled that male thing, telling her he wanted her to give up her investigation, that he was worried about her safety, as if she was helpless. She frowned at the implied insult. On the other hand, wasn’t that one of the things the Laird had said was a good thing? That a true man wanted to take care of the people around him?

  And here was Jim, tracking her down and watching her, as if he expected her to burst into flames and need to be rescued. Male ego again. How much of that was care and how much conceit? And speaking of conceit, she still wanted to prove to him she had a brain. Or was that prove it to herself?

  He was no longer in the kitchen when she got back, which was a relief, but she had no doubt he would reappear, sooner or later. She settled down to the afternoon’s task, making apple and ginger jam, with an uneasy heart.

  * * *

  Chapter 24

  Friday

  Jim wandered across the grounds, watching the reenactors resurrect frontier life for the paying customers. It was interesting to learn how one’s ancestors had coped with weather and hostile neighbors and the sheer physicality of survival in a new and not-so-friendly part of the world.

  He had seen Ginny walking with Himself and wondered what they were discussing. She had slipped out when he wasn’t watching and he still needed to talk to her. He would have to try to catch her somehow, to speak to her. He hoped she would listen. He also hoped she would cook for him again. Those small tastes of frontier lunch had been delicious!

  His brow furrowed as he looked across the fields and buildings and people of this community. Had it been a mistake to leave Virginia? It had been so long since he had lived in Te
xas. Did he really belong here anymore? How did the clan handle newcomers, or defectors, for that matter? Did the children here grow up and go away to college and move out? Or did they stay tied to this land, these people?

  He found himself in front of a modern-looking structure that turned out to be the information center and gift shop. He followed a family of four inside and looked around. The counters held a variety of souvenirs; plastic farm animals, erasers and bookmarks imprinted with Lonach Homestead, and books that traced the history of the area. There were also items that seemed less commercialized. He picked up a package that turned out to be Scottish soap, made on the premises, and sniffed experimentally at the paper wrapping. It smelled fresh and clean and faintly of heather. He put it back on the shelf, noticing as he did so that there were edibles for sale as well; honey, jams and jellies, individual cakes and cookies, and whisky. Whisky? On closer inspection, it turned out that The Homestead boasted its own distillery and label. Jim smiled at the thought. This he would have to try. He picked up a bottle and took it to the checkout counter.

  “May I help you, sir?” The child behind the counter could not have been more than ten, but regarded Jim with the steady gravity of a much older person.

  “Yes, please. I would like to buy this.” He handed over the bottle. The child scanned the barcode and made an entry in a ledger, then processed Jim’s credit card, all without turning a hair.

  “Thank you sir. I hope you are enjoying your day at The Homestead.”

  Jim collected his bottle and smiled. “Thank you. I am.” He looked at the boy, then frowned slightly. “Are you here all by yourself?”

  “Oh, no, sir. That would be against the law.” He gestured toward a display of calendars and seed packets. Jim turned and saw the child’s mentor watching them. She smiled at him and nodded and Jim smiled back.

  Taking time to deposit his purchase in his car, Jim returned to the grounds, thinking about what he had seen. Himself had said something about teaching each generation survival skills and Jim had assumed that meant farming and hunting. It was clear the survival in question also included merchandising, customer service, and the creation of luxury goods for sale to the public. He would be interested to hear what else the children were being taught.

  Without conscious thought, he found his steps heading toward the kitchen. He entered on the heels of a largish tour group and hung back, letting them look around, exclaim, and ask questions, then wander outside, to be gathered up by their guide and herded off to the next spot on the tour. When he turned around, he found Ginny alone, her eyes on him.

  “Good afternoon.”

  “Good afternoon,” he replied, then looked with interest at the work in progress. “What are you doing now?”

  “Making jam.”

  “Where are your helpers?”

  “In school.”

  Jim watched her work for a few minutes, finding it hard to reconcile this woman with the one he had seen in the ICU three days before. She was alternately stirring a large pot and fishing glass jars out of another that seemed to be filled with boiling water.

  She saw his eyes on the jars and explained. “We sterilize the jars before filling them. It cuts down on the chance of contamination.”

  He nodded. “Is there something I can do to help?”

  She looked at him for a moment, then seemed to make up her mind. “You can get the rest of the jars out of the bath and set them on the towels over there.” She pointed at the sideboard. “Mouths up and gently. They break very easily when they’re this hot. Oh, and please don’t burn yourself. Use the tongs and the towels.”

  Jim nodded, then focused on the task. It was not as easy as it sounded. The jars tended to move as the bubbles rose from the bottom of the pot, and more than one slid off the tongs as he tried to empty them of the boiling water. The steam got in his eyes, making it hard to see the clear glass, and the roiling water hit him twice before he learned to wrap the towel around his arm.

  Ginny looked over at him. “The well water is cold and there are vinegar and old tea in the cupboard, but I prefer to use the aloe vera for scalds.” She pointed at the plant over the sink and Jim recognized one of the better home remedies. He broke off a leaf and rubbed it on the burns, then turned to her.

  “Where did you learn so much about first aid?” Every one of her suggestions was based in proven fact. The tea was probably the least well known of the emergency treatments for kitchen burns, but the tannic acid in it stopped skin damage on contact, minimizing both the injury and the scarring.

  “Here, on the Homestead. Many of the things we use in modern healthcare have their roots in alternative medicine.” She glanced up and gave him a chilly look. “But you already know that.”

  Jim swallowed hard, then opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the entry of another group of visitors. He faded into the background and waited while Ginny dealt with them. When they had gone, he took up the thread of the conversation.

  “Yes. I admit it. I know quite a lot about emergency medicine. But I do not know much about you and I want to learn more. Will you forgive me for making up an excuse to spend an afternoon in your company? I’d like us to be friends.”

  Ginny kept her eyes on the work. She was ladling jam into the jars, filling each to an exact level, working very quickly and very precisely. When the last jar was filled, she picked up another pan, and Jim saw her pour a very small amount of a thick, milky fluid into the top of each. As he watched, it cooled and solidified.

  “Paraffin,” she said. “To seal the jars. You can help put the lids on.”

  Jim rose swiftly and watched as she demonstrated how to drop the lids in place and close the jars, not tightly, since the heat would dissipate and the bands shrink as they cooled. They finished the batch, working side by side in silence.

  “When these have cooled, we can label them, and add the caps.” The caps, it turned out, were for decoration only. Made of fabric and yarn tied in a bow, they recalled the original method of sealing jams and jellies, with paper on the surface of the contents and fabric wrapped around the top to keep the bugs out.

  When the last pan had been washed and set to dry, the surfaces all scrubbed, and the floor swept, Ginny took two cups from the cupboard and poured each of them a glass of cool spring water. She set one down in front of Jim, then opened a ledger and entered information about the jam she had just made, using period ink and a quill pen.

  “You keep records?”

  “Yes. These will be transcribed into the computer later. Because we sell to the public, we have to keep track of lot and batch numbers, in case there is a problem.”

  “I had no idea.” It was more evidence that whatever was going on here was well organized and professionally managed.

  She finished her entry and closed the ledger, then looked across the table at him. “Your grandfather seems to think I should cut you some slack, because you’ve been gone so long.”

  Jim nodded. “I hope you will.” How on earth was he going to tell her what he’d found out about Hal?

  “What can I do for you, Jim?”

  He took a deep breath. “I wanted to tell you about GeneTech. Do you remember the irate client?”

  “Samuel Adams, yes.”

  “Well, it turns out he owns that company.”

  “I know. I looked him up.” Her manner softened just a bit. “It took me over an hour to track him through the company reports, but he not only owns that factory, he has visited it.” She frowned. “I wasn’t able to pin down exactly when he was there, but he had access to the virus.”

  Jim licked his lips. No help for it. It had to be said.

  “He wasn’t the only one. When they realized they had a death on their hands, the lab had to file a report with the CDC. There was a list of people who responded to the incident.” He swallowed hard. “Hal’s name was on that list.”

  Jim watched as the color drained from her face, then flooded back, dark red.

  “And y
our point is?”

  Jim shrugged. “I don’t know that I have one. It’s just that I know Hal is big on genealogy and the dead man was a genealogist. So I wondered if there might be a connection.”

  Ginny stood up suddenly. “Was there anything else?”

  Jim had risen as well. “No.”

  “Then you will excuse me,” she said, turned on her heel, and was gone.

  Jim followed her across the field, at a distance, long enough to see her reach the center compound and let herself in. He sighed. There was no telling how long it would take her to cool off.

  He leaned against a handy tree trunk and considered his motives in telling her. First and foremost was her safety. There was still a murderer out there, someone connected to the genealogical community. Even if the news was unwelcome, she would have sense enough to see it would have to be taken into account.

  Next, he wanted to detach her from Hal Williams. He had taken quite a dislike to his old school chum. After finding Hal’s name on that list, Jim had pulled out the yearbooks and photos from their time together and been reminded of some of the less savory stunts Hal had pulled while an undergraduate. Jim’s conscience pricked him to think that he, Jim, had gone along with some of them. Maybe he needed to tell Ginny about the follies he and his med school classmates had committed under the influence of alcohol and testosterone. Maybe not, at least not yet.

  Third, Jim wanted her for himself. He frowned. Stated baldly, that sounded pretty crass. What did it matter what he wanted? Removing his rival wouldn’t guarantee she would switch her affections to him. His grandfather’s influence didn’t extend that far.

  What he wanted was a chance to get to know her, for her to get to know him. That meant both giving her some space and being available. Well, he could do that. It would take time and patience, but he had both. He pushed himself off the tree and headed for the parking lot. It would be interesting to see whether she showed up tonight at the ceilidh, and what she would say if she did.