“Oh no,” Annabelle said, “I was so exhausted I could have slept in a suitcase!”
“No doubt,” Roger said, looking over at the ornate clock on the center of the mantelpiece, “It’s well past eleven.”
“Would you like some breakfast?” Bonnie asked sweetly.
“I’d love some, Bonnie!” Annabelle said. “Lead the way.”
Annabelle sat at the kitchen table as Roger prepared some tea and toast. Bonnie sat beside her, pleased as punch to be in the company of her exotic aunt.
“Are there girls like me in Upton St. Mary?” Bonnie asked.
“Of course,” Annabelle replied. “There are plenty of girls around your age there.”
“And what do they do?”
“Hmm,” Annabelle said, musing over the question, “Well… They play, they go to school, chat with their friends, and some of them go to church. They’re really very much the same as you.”
Roger placed a mug of tea and a jar of marmalade beside Annabelle’s toast and butter. Then he said, “Speaking of church, or kirk as we call them up here, I hope you don’t mind, but you’ll have to check out St. Kilda’s on your own this morning. I have some urgent work I need to do.”
“Of course, I don’t mind. I don’t want to impose at all.”
Roger turned around and slid open one of the kitchen drawers. From it, he took a large iron ring containing three keys and a small, battered notebook. One of the keys was big, black, and heavy. It looked very old. The other two were small, modern, and brass-colored. He placed them on the table in front of Annabelle.
“The keys,” Annabelle smiled. “And the notebook. How is Father Boyce?”
“I imagine he’s lying on a hot, sunny beach having the time of his life.”
Annabelle laughed. “I always enjoy performing Sunday service here. It makes a nice change. I hope the islanders don’t find it too different.”
“Not at all,” Roger said vehemently. “Frankly, you could turn up and give the service in Greek, and the locals would still appreciate the change. Father Boyce is a good man, but he does have a habit of repeating himself. As the only minister on the island, he can get pretty tiresome year after year. No, I think most of the locals look forward to your visit as much as Bonnie and I do. They wouldn’t miss your service for the world. Harry told me on Thursday he’s really looking forward to it.”
Annabelle looked up at Roger.
“Harry?”
“Have you not met Harry before? He’s the publican. He goes back and forth between his pub on Fenbarra and the one he has on Blodraigh. He’s here at the moment. You’ll meet him tomorrow.”
“Can Bumble take me and Felicity out somewhere later?” Bonnie asked quickly. Roger looked at Annabelle for her reaction.
“Bonnie’s friend comes over every other Saturday. Her aunt works from home – like me – so the girls often have play dates together so that at least one of us can get some work done,” Roger explained.
“Please, Bumble, please,” Bonnie implored. “It gets so boring at home.”
“Well,” Annabelle said, “how about you and Felicity take me for a walk around the island? We could get some fresh air and exercise, and it would give your dad a good opportunity to get some work done in peace. What do you say?”
“I say yes!” Bonnie squealed, clenching her fists excitedly.
They both looked at Roger, who nodded his approval.
“That’s settled then,” Annabelle said, before popping the last piece of toast in her mouth and drinking the rest of her tea. “I’ll get ready and check on the church, then we’ll go when I get back.”
After receiving directions to St. Kilda’s from her brother who, mindful of her nature, was worried she’d forgotten them, Annabelle set off in search of the kirk. She had been to the island many times, but the simple rolling landscape that stretched endlessly all around her was so different from that of Upton St. Mary that it was as unfamiliar to her as that of an alien planet.
With her fingers wrapped around the big iron key ring in her pocket and her other hand holding the notebook, Annabelle strode across the empty landscape toward the kirk. As she walked, dark grey clouds formed overhead. She looked up at them anxiously. They looked ominous.
Eventually, Annabelle saw the church, a simple structure made from local stone with a pointed roof, and the ground surrounding it littered with gravestones haphazardly planted in the earth. Now that she could see her destination, she relaxed. She slowed her step and gazed around at the view. The church stood isolated but proud on the edge of the island, close to the cliffs beneath which was a rocky beach and beyond that, the Atlantic Ocean.
She turned off the road to a path that wound its way up to the church like a long yellow-grey ribbon. As she got closer, she could see that it was set with loose gravel. Annabelle passed a small cluster of crofters’ cottages, the one on the southern end distinguished by its overgrown garden and old apple tree to one side.
She took a rest and inhaled deeply as she soaked up the magnificent view from the upper reaches of the hill, savoring the crisp, fresh air. All around her were wide open, green, undulating spaces, dotted with trees, some clustered together, others standing in pairs or alone. They looked lonely, and they were certainly weather-beaten. The wind swished the ground covering, beating the tall weed grasses and rustling the heather. The dark blue ocean was empty save for choppy waves and a light gray, squally sky overhead.
Finally, she reached the large, wooden doors of the rudimentary kirk and took a second to marvel at their age and ability to endure the harsh weather. St. Kilda’s was not as big as her own St. Mary’s, but its impressive location made up for it. Annabelle could not resist taking off her glove to run a finger against the deep wood grain of the heavy weather-beaten door.
“Marvelous,” she said to herself. Inside, she was struck as always by the diminutive size of the church. She estimated that no more than fifty people could seat themselves comfortably inside it. The pious sanctuary of this small space offered a far more intimate and private atmosphere for worship than the typically grander and more resplendent larger churches on the mainland. St. Mary’s could seat around two hundred, although only rarely, perhaps on a particularly popular holiday or festival was it pressed into such service.
She made her way to the front of the church and stood, turning back to look at the pews. Two displays of heathers and bluebells had been placed at the front of the church and on either side of the door. Posies were attached to the end of each pew. She suspected these were touches that had been made in honor of her visit.
Tomorrow she would give a sermon here, one that she had been preparing for weeks. She had considered and discarded many topics before finally settling upon those of judgment and acceptance, but as she stood near the altar, she realized that anything she said in this tiny church would assume a sense of importance.
“How now brown cow,” she said aloud, testing the acoustics. “The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog.”
After giggling to herself and nodding approvingly at the timbre the church walls lent to her voice, she turned to her right and slightly behind her. As she did so, a loud, high-pitched squeak pierced the silence of the church. She fair leaped two inches into the air and let out a big yelp. She spun in the direction of the noise and to her surprise, a broad-shouldered man with scraggly red hair and wearing full Highland dress was standing at the back of the church. He cradled a set of bagpipes in his arms.
The bagpiper strode over to Annabelle with a big smile on his face. He clasped the bagpipes to his chest with one hand as he shook Annabelle’s with the other.
“How ye daein?” the man said, his voice quick and loud.
“My, my! You gave me a fright!” Annabelle gasped.
The man bent over her, looking at her carefully, “Och, you’ll be alright, just a bit of fun. No harm done. What was your name again?”
“Annabelle,” she replied, gently trying to pull her hand from the man
’s grasp. He was wearing a black jacket with shiny silver buttons. Underneath it was a red waistcoat. A black and white sporran hung at the front of his green kilt while knee length socks with black flashes and brown lace-up shoes completed his ensemble.
“Aye. Good name, Annabelle. I’m Harry Anderson. I own the Pig and Whistle – best pub on the island. And the worst. Cause it’s the only one! Ha ha!”
“I see. Well, pleased to meet you, Harry,” Annabelle said, unsure of what to make of this lively man and still trying to calm her rapidly beating heart. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Nah. Thought I’d pop in to see you and say hello. I was just passing. What are you doing here?”
“I’ve just arrived on the island. I’m covering for Father Boyce who’s on holiday. I’m checking on things in time for tomorrow’s service. Will you be coming?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Annabelle. Don’t you worry I’ll be there, large as life.”
“I don’t doubt that for a second, Harry. Will you be bringing your bagpipes with you?”
“Och aye. Go everywhere with them.”
“Then I’ll be on full alert. See you tomorrow.”
“See you, Annabelle.” The man put the blowstick, or chanter, in his mouth and took a deep breath before letting out a long, low drone on his bagpipes. Annabelle suppressed a wince and guided him out of the church. She listened as the noise got quieter and quieter as he walked away. She let out a sigh of relief.
At the front of the kirk was a doorway so small it required her to angle her body sideways in order to slip through it. Past the threshold, there was a tiny office, sparsely furnished. A recess that had been built into the wall, originally to display a church artifact no doubt, now housed a small safe behind a roughly hewn oil painting of Jesus Christ tending a flock of sheep.
Annabelle pulled the rattling keys from her pocket and peered at them. After some experimentation, she found that one of the two smaller keys opened the desk drawer. The other, she knew, opened a box that contained a crucifix necklace and ecclesiastical ring. That box was stored in the safe. Also in the safe were the goblets, candlesticks, and other valuables used during church services. Annabelle consulted the notebook in which Father Boyce left messages for her including the list of the safe’s contents and its combination. She dialed the number and the safe door clicked open. She looked inside to check everything was present and correct. Satisfied, she closed it back up.
Annabelle took a minute to gaze out of the small window in the office. Three upright bars obscured her view, but she could see the cottages she had passed on her way. Happy that she had seen everything she needed and eager to get on with her day, she locked everything back up and left the church, using her long strides to hurry her way back home to Roger and Bonnie. There was no sign of her earlier visitor – neither sight, nor sound.
CHAPTER SIX
THINGS WERE IN full swing when Annabelle returned to her brother’s home. Bonnie and Felicity had turned the living room into a classroom and were playing “teacher.” Stuffed toys and dolls were lined up the length of the sofa facing a stool that acted as the teacher’s desk. A magic wand served as a pointer. Bonnie and Felicity were standing in front of the “class,” haughtily explaining why red was the best color of them all and the right way to combine white and red crayons to make pink.
Annabelle, recognizing the game instantly and in good spirits after her walk, slunk around the back of the sofa and sat cross-legged on the floor next to the other “students.”
“Sorry I’m late, Miss!” she said, cheerily.
The girls giggled.
“Okay. Listen carefully,” Bonnie said, pompously in between fits of laughter.
“Yes Miss, I promise I’ll be— Ow! This unicorn just poked me with its horn, Miss!”
The girls once again fell about in uncontrollable bursts of giggles.
“And, oof, this giant rabbit poked me with his ruler, Miss!”
“That’s it!” Bonnie shouted happily. “You’re both getting put on the naughty step!”
Roger emerged from his workroom with a frown on his face.
“What’s all this uproar?” he said, before noticing that Annabelle was sitting on the floor. “Ah. I see.”
Annabelle stood with a mischievous grin.
“This is Bumble, Felicity. She’s a vicar! That’s what they call them in England,” Bonnie said proudly, pulling Annabelle by the hand toward her friend. “I told Felicity all about you,” she added to Annabelle.
“Hello,” Annabelle said, looking down at the black-haired, delicately-featured girl. “We haven’t met before, have we?”
“Hello. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Felicity,” the young girl replied, with a startling amount of poise for her age. She even offered her hand.
Annabelle shook it warmly.
“Can we take Annabelle out now, Daddy?” Bonnie said.
Roger looked at the eager expressions of the young girls, and then at Annabelle who looked out of the window at the sky.
“The dark clouds seem to have moved on, for now. I can even see a patch of blue,” she said. “Why not? Let’s risk it. We’ll take our hats in case it rains.”
“Okay, then,” Roger said to the girls. “But go put on something warm. It’s chilly. And no sweets while you’re out. Mrs. C. will have prepared a good meal for us by the time you come home.”
Without a word, Bonnie ran out of the room.
“That goes for you too, Bumble. Are you sure you want to go out again? It’s rather cold.”
“Of course,” Annabelle replied. “I can’t think of a better way to spend the day.”
Roger nodded. “Try to get them back before six. Dinner should be ready by then. I’ll ask Mrs. Cavendish if she’d like to eat with us.”
“That would be lovely,” Annabelle said, before frowning a little. “But will it be alright to go roaming the island with the girls? I don’t want us to get lost.”
Roger grinned. “Don’t worry, the girls know the island like the backs of their hands. Navigation is Bonnie’s second language, I always say. They couldn’t get lost if they tried – and believe me, they certainly do try. You’ll be alright.”
Reassured, Annabelle watched as Roger returned to his workroom, and then accompanied Felicity to the front door in order to put on their boots and gloves.
“Vicar,” Felicity said slowly, carefully smoothing her gloves over each of her fingers and once more surprising Annabelle with her maturity, “May I speak with you about something?”
Annabelle stopped pulling at her boot to look at her.
“Of course. What is it?”
Felicity opened her mouth, then closed it again, as if reconsidering her request. She glanced over her shoulder toward Bonnie’s room anxiously.
“It’s… I have something to show you. Will you be at church tomorrow?”
“Yes. I’m conducting the service.”
Felicity nodded and walked over to the coat rack to retrieve her jacket, signaling that the conversation was over. Annabelle frowned for a few seconds at the bizarre exchange, before returning herself to the unexpectedly difficult task of pulling on her boots.
When they were ready, the three of them set off, each of the young girls clutching one of Annabelle’s hands. To her right, Bonnie skipped with enthusiasm across the grass, while Felicity strode purposefully and gracefully to her left. Annabelle felt it was a wonder that these two girls had become friends. They seemed almost perfect opposites. Her niece, brown eyed, fair-haired, and round-cheeked, was rarely other than excited and smiling. Felicity, with her bright-blue eyes and dark hair, was much more serious and composed, although she was clearly prone to Bonnie’s influence, falling into fits of giggles and utter silliness alongside her.
“So where will you girls be taking me today?” Annabelle asked.
Bonnie looked at Felicity, then up at Annabelle.
“Wherever you want, Bumble!”
“Ho
w about we give you a tour of the island?” Felicity suggested. “To the spots we like to go. We can get around the whole island in an hour and a half. We’ve got loads of time.”
“Oh yes, that sounds nice. Lead the way then!”
“Let’s take her to see where you live first, Felicity.”
“Okay,” Felicity nodded, as she quickened her step.
Pulled by the singing, dancing, inquisitive pair Annabelle found herself traversing paths and surroundings that seemed familiar, and after half an hour of brisk walking, the Vicar once again saw the elegant spire of the local kirk.
“That’s my house over there,” Felicity called out suddenly, pointing toward the small cluster of cottages that Annabelle had noticed earlier.
“Hers is the one with the apple tree in the garden,” Bonnie added.
Annabelle looked again at the overgrown thistles, vines, and weeds surrounding the old apple tree, and the small, weather-beaten cottage that sat next to it. She found herself surprised to discover that the simple cottage was the home of this well-spoken girl. Something in Felicity’s poised demeanor had led Annabelle to assume that she was from a more comfortable and privileged background than the modest cottage with its neglected yard suggested.
“It’s lovely!” Annabelle said politely. “And so close to the church, too!”
“I go there every Sunday,” Felicity smiled. “Sometimes even alone when my aunt has to work.”
Annabelle smiled, though she couldn’t help but feel a tinge of sadness at the idea of such a young girl going to church alone.
“But it’s okay,” Felicity added quickly, sensing Annabelle’s concern, “my aunt watches me from the kitchen window. It looks out along the whole path.”
“Where shall we go next?” Bonnie interrupted, already eager for a new distraction.
The girls looked at Annabelle.
“How about Clannan Castle?” she suggested.
“Yes!” Bonnie enthused.
“No,” Felicity said, “that’s all the way on the other side of the island. It’s too far.”
Bonnie shrugged, before lighting up with another suggestion. “I know! Let’s show Bumble the abandoned house!” Her eyes were wide and her expression roguish.
Horror in the Highlands Page 3