Kilts and Catnip

by Zoe Tasia

  “In a few, honey.”

  Jessie flounced off to her room. I also apparently needed to speak to Jess about trying to restrict my social life. Social life? The poor man had never asked me out. I didn’t know why I was being so silly. He was handsome but hadn’t shown any more interest in me than anyone else. Not really.

  Greg slipped round me and shut the door. “I am interrupting something. Sorry.”

  “No, no you aren’t. Have a cup of tea.” I busied myself at the sink. “I’m glad you’re here. I have a question.”

  “I willna take much of your time. I wanted to see how you were. I expect where you come from, you rarely have power outages.” He said the last two words slowly, as if he wasn’t accustomed to the term. I supposed if he lived in the rough in the woods, he wouldn’t have much experience with it.

  Greg looked at me expectantly.

  I realized I had missed the last thing he said. “Sorry, I was gathering wool. Could you repeat that?”

  “You said you had a question. What’s on your mind?”

  “It’s nothing really.” Perhaps I can get him to talk about this. “Actually, it involves you, in a way.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Yesterday, when you got rid of that thing that was hurting Tate, it made Jess curious. So, she went to the library to try and find more information about it. I told her I would help her with her research. In fact, I should thank you. She never reads unless she has to for a school assignment. It’s nice to see her reaching for books without being coerced into it.”

  “These are not creatures that appear many places or very often. Places less populated, as this island, tend to draw the fae. Even here—”

  “Even here what?”

  “There are constraints in place to prevent men from seeing or having contact with them.” I wanted to ask him more about that, but he quickly continued. “The storm and the odd weather we had earlier—I came to check and see if you and the lasses were all right.”

  “We’re fine, but thank you for checking on us.” I brought the sugar, cream, cups, saucers, and spoons to the table. “The tea shouldn’t take long.”

  “You really didna need to trouble yourself, but thank you.”

  “It’s okay. I’ve lived in Scotland long enough for the practice to grab hold.” Unable to stop myself from asking, I said, “I’m curious about your home. It is unusual for someone to live alone like you do—off the grid.”

  “Off the grid?”

  “I mean, without the usual conveniences of electricity, plumbing, and the like. Kay mentioned your living circumstances.”

  “Aye, I suppose so, especially to someone from the New World like you.”

  “Do you think...” In for a penny, in for a pound. “...do you think I might be able to visit some time?” His face went blank, and I was afraid I had insulted him or been too much of a brash American. I continued. “I mean, I know you like your privacy. I wouldn’t dream of imposing. I just thought—I used to camp quite a bit.” Great, Becca, way to sound like a blonde.

  The tea was ready, so I prepared the pot and strew some biscuits on a plate to give him time to compose himself.

  “Well, I supposed I could take you to my place.”

  I noted he did not say his home.

  “I havena had many visitors. I’m not sure what you would think of it. ’Tis quite rustic and simple.”

  I want to see if you’re a crazy survivalist. “Oh, I was curious to see how much your home differed from...say...the cabin we stayed in during our last camping trip. What kind of permanent arrangements have you made? How do you minimize the ecological footprint?”

  “That term is unfamiliar to me.”

  “How you take care not to harm the earth or the animals around you.”

  “Oh.”

  There was an awkward pause. I poured the tea, put the kettle back on the stove, and picked up the biscuits. “Cookies,” I said over-brightly. I spun back to the table too fast and several of the shortbreads flew off the plate. Almost faster than I could see, Greg’s hand snatched all three from the air.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, flustered.

  “No harm done.” He placed the cookies in a circle around the edge of his saucer and sipped his tea.

  “You’re a leftie,” I noted. “So is Tate.”

  “Aye, cack-handed. Though my mother tried to train it out of me, I just couldna write as well with the other. Finally, me mum just let me be about it.”

  “Well, it can be difficult in a world set up for righties. Perhaps your mother thought it would make life easier for you if you were like everyone else.”

  Greg sipped his tea. “How has your visit been?”

  I chuckled. “You mean outside the weird weather, the energy leech, a come and go horse, a ghostly lady by a pool, and large wolves in the grocery?” I was not going to mention the creatures in the pool that tried to drown me. I wasn’t sure I didn’t imagine that myself, and Greg had been pulling my leg with the grindylows explanation.

  He added a teaspoon of sugar to his tea. “Aye. I guess this has been a visit full of surprises. Did you see the wolves again, only in the village?”

  “Kay, the girls, and I went to the grocery to pick up some things. Two huge wolves came up from the basement. Maybe they were just scared and looking for a way out, but they came at us, growling. Before, they’ve always shown up near the forest. You seem to have some sort of power over them.”

  “Not power, exactly. They just have a healthy respect for me. How did you get away?”

  I stirred my tea to cool it. “We were close to the door, and Jess distracted them with some tuna.”

  Greg rubbed his chin. “An odd time to see wulvers, that.”

  “What did you call them?”

  “Wolves.”

  I let it go, but that wasn’t what he said. I shook my head. “We think they escaped out the back door because when Conall and Lundy came back from checking on their aunt, the wolves were gone. I’m not sure I believe that.”

  “I’ll look into it. Though we are not on the best of terms, I may check on the grocer and his nephew.”

  “Do you think Conall and his nephew are—”

  Before I could finish the question, Greg interrupted. “I said I would look into it. Dinna fash yourself.”

  So much for getting anything out of him about it.

  “What happened between you and Conall, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “Ancient history. I married the lass that a McNeil wanted.”

  “He was interested in your wife? A Mr. McNeil?”

  “He was and was quite mad about losing out, even though the lass never gave him reason to think the attraction was mutual. Scots have long memories and Conall continues to begrudge me.”

  “Seems to run in the family,” I muttered. He tilted his head. I shrugged. “I mean the pursuit of a woman who doesn’t return the man’s affection.”

  “Oh? How so”

  “Conall’s nephew seems to be hot for Jess, and she isn’t interested. He won’t take the hint. I wonder if some men never get over not getting the woman of their dreams, and it makes them socially awkward, or maybe they are socially awkward and that’s why they didn’t get the woman of their dreams,” I mused.

  “Perhaps,” Greg agreed.

  Jess poked her head around the corner. “Mom, are you coming?”

  Tate appeared beside her. “Yes, Mom. I need help with...” She looked at Jess.

  “You need help with that word you don’t know the meaning of and I don’t either,” Jess filled in as she nudged Tate. I could tell that Tate had been put up to it.

  Greg ate the last bite of his last cookie and finished his tea. “I thank you, Rebecca. I’ll think about your request. I value the sanctity of my home.”

  “I hope I didn’t offend...”

  “Not at all.”

  I opened the door for him.

  He took my hand again, and I think he was going to kiss it, but c
aught sight of my no-doubt-glaring oldest and just squeezed it. “Ta.”

  “Goodbye.” As soon as I shut the door, I turned to Jess. “Okay, what do you have against Greg? You were just talking about how he helped us earlier with the soul leech thing.”

  “I don’t have anything against him. I just think it’s a little too early for you to be—”

  “Be what?” Tate asked, oblivious to what Jess was about.

  “Greg’s a friend and, though I’ll admit he’s a bit strange, he’s done nothing to warrant your distrust and hostility.”

  “Well, sometimes he seems a little too friendly.”

  I realized that I hadn’t had another male in my home other than the relatives after David had died. I guess Jess was protective and seemed resentful of my replacing her father. I would have to address that. I wasn’t sure how I felt about Greg, but I did like him, despite his strange ways. A summer flirtation may be just what the doctor ordered. It wasn’t as if I could have anything more. We would leave in time for school to start. But for the first time in a long time, I felt attractive and desired. It was time for me to shed the metaphorical widow weeds.

  I PORED OVER TRACTS from the tourist agency. I read about a park opened to the public, which had guided cave tours. Over dinner, I discussed it with the girls, and we planned to visit it the next morning if the weather was nice. When I told Jess I could help her with her research, she shoved the books into her backpack and told me she would continue it another day—probably to punish me. I had hoped to peruse the books in the evening after she slept, but Tate wanted to play a game. One game turned into several and, by the time the girls were in bed, I was more than ready myself.

  I slipped into my short sleeved, V-necked nightgown, the bottom of which had small slits on each side and the skirt floated down to just above my knees. On the front was a large book case with the words “I’d rather be reading.” I sighed as I looked in the mirror. I could barely read the tee’s faded letters and the hem sagged on one side. I used to have some beautiful gowns and teddies, but when David died, I couldn’t stand wearing them. The girls bought me this nightie for Mother’s Day a few years back. It was my summer nightie. I had flannel pants and shirt pajamas for winter that were so generic that a boy could wear them and be totally secure with his masculinity. Maybe I’d do a little shopping on the mainland later in the week. The girls could go to Mickey D’s and we could see a movie. We tried to watch movies online, but with the internet problems, it proved to be too much trouble. I would ask the girls about it or maybe I would just tell them we were going. Ever since I made the executive decision to move to Aberdeen without consulting them first, I’d been trying to make it up to them. I thought my time of atonement was over.

  Chapter 19

  THE NEXT MORNING, TRUE to her word, Jessie was up and out the door in time to catch the bus, aiming to be on the library steps waiting for Courtney and Fiona Campbell to open. Hopefully, not a long wait. I assumed they kept regular hours, but from my visits to the grocery store and the doctor’s, I quickly discovered that popping out for a bit and leaving a sign was quite acceptable. If Jess had to cool her jets and wait, maybe she could aim her annoyance to that inconvenience, instead of keeping me in her crosshairs. For some reason, Jessie’s phone failed to charge, so she left it plugged in at the cottage. I didn’t like her being out of touch. The land lines continued to work, so I called Kay. Kay said she would be at the tea shop working if Jessie needed anything and that Jess was welcome to join her for lunch there. Then I called the library. After Fiona assured me that Jess could use the phone there, if necessary, she put my daughter, Jessie the Grouch, on the line so I could relay the news.

  When I finished, Jess grunted and mumbled, “Sure.”

  Jess had left with a granola bar and a bottle of Coke—Breakfast of Champions. Though I’d planned a leisurely meal of French toast and milk, Tate bounced on her chair and barely finished one piece. She’d never been in a cave before. We’d take the bus to the cave formation which was located near the shore on the other side of the island. The bus dropped tourists off near enough to walk to a small museum which contained artifacts from the cave.

  The cave tours, which started at ten a.m. with the last one at two p.m., were scheduled every two hours. The tour had two sections, one accessible to people with less mobility and another section that went farther into the cavern that was more rigorous. I warned Tate that we may not be able to go as far into the cave as all the other tourists, but she was excited just to get to go in one at all. I sighed. I loved both my girls very much, but I related more with Tate. I knew that a part of it was age. Teenagers tended to test their limits. Jessie lost her dad, who she adored, during this stage of her life and was stuck with me as a single parent. I fully admitted that I stank at it. Focused on my own grief and taking on all that David had done, perhaps I hadn’t addressed her loss as well as I should have. One of the reasons I chose to travel to the island cottage was to mend this breach.

  The full bus disgorged many riders as we trundled through the cobblestone streets of the village, but we also picked up a few tourists bound for the cave. Two students from Spain, several older German couples, and an American family, who latched onto us as soon as they heard our accents, joined us. The American mother, like me, was of Scottish descent and the family was traveling throughout Scotland during the summer. The mother’s professionally bleached hair hung just below her shoulders, and she wore a gray Patagonia hoodie. When her husband handed a brochure to her, I noticed his manicured nails. Prior to the birth of their children, the couple had visited the UK but never ventured as far north as Scotland. Though the children, two boys, were younger than Tate, they seemed well behaved, thank goodness. Tate immediately regaled them with her stories of getting lost in the forest and being attacked by the energy sucking creature. The parents spoke to me, but I could tell that they were listening to Tate too.

  “My, your daughter certainly has an imagination. What a story!” the mother, whose name I had already forgotten, said.

  Tate overheard her and paused. “Oh, it isn’t a story. It really happened. Didn’t it, Mom?”

  I wasn’t sure about how to address this and since I had been on the island with all the eccentric people, it hadn’t dawned on me that people outside the island would think her accounts were made up. I wished I’d thought to talk to her about it beforehand.

  One of the boys—Timmy, I think—asked, “Will the monster get us too?”

  Tate had, unfortunately, told her tale as effectively as a certain individual on his one hundred and eleventh birthday and, like the children there, the boys were convinced of what she said. The mother played with the clasp on her purse, flipping it open and shut, open and shut, with her eyes on me.

  I chuckled. “She’s very imaginative. She is correct, though. She was very ill and had to see a doctor.”

  “Oh, but she didn’t have some creepy creature attached to her that a Scottish gentleman banished, now did she?” asked the husband, whose name was Matt or Mark...something that began with the letter M, I thought. The two boys sat on the edge of their seats, goggled-eyed.

  “She was very sick and bacteria can be considered a monster banished by our Scots doctor,” I whispered to the parents then more loudly said, “Tate, honey, why don’t you talk about something else? I think you’re frightening the boys.”

  “Okay, Mom.” She turned to the two boys. “You don’t need to worry. You won’t go near the woods, because it isn’t safe, and there’s something special about me and my family that attracts strange stuff.” Then she told them about one of her field trips in Aberdeen, thankfully. I guess she realized that she needed to change topics. Goodness, my little girl is growing up.

  The couple didn’t press it and seemed to accept what I said. After the bus pulled to our stop, the door wheezed open. The bus driver informed us the time he would be back to pick up everyone and advised us not to be late. “I won’t wait, and I won’t be held respons
ible for anyone who neglects getting here on time,” he cautioned.

  We thanked him and, once the last passenger stepped out of the bus, he drove off.

  “Rather dour, wasn’t he?” the husband said.

  His wife shrugged and smiled. “Well, he is Scottish.”

  The walk was as advertised—short, but rocky, and overgrown with wild flowers and nettles. I warned everyone to stay far away from them, but one German lady toddled into a thistle. She shrieked, and her arm soon turned bright red. I hoped the museum had a small medical kit. She complained the rest of the way there, sounding like a snarling Schnauzer. Her husband pulled a linty toffee from his pocket and gave it to her. The caramel stuck her teeth together, and the husband slyly turned to wink at the rest of us.

  Our timing was perfect. I assumed that the various tourist sites consulted with the bus service to make sure they could keep to their schedule. A short woman with fair skin and wispy hair, who introduced herself as Greer Ogg, greeted us. She ushered us inside the building and took her place behind a desk labeled Admissions. I paid our entry fees, and we sat on a bench as we waited. Once everyone had paid, Mrs. Ogg announced that a tour guide would be with us shortly. We hadn’t waited long when a young lady opened a door marked No Admittance. Her hair was white and, when she closed the door, tendrils curled and uncurled like fog about her shoulders. I would have thought she was an albino, so fair and pale, except her eyes were a blue-gray, so dark as to be almost black. She seemed flustered and spoke to Mrs. Ogg for such a time that I worried that there was something wrong at the museum. Mrs. Ogg seemed to be reassuring her. Eventually, the young lady stood in front of the desk to address us.

  “Hello, my name is Davina Ogg please call me Davina.” She gestured to her name tag. “And yes, this is a family-run establishment. You’ve already met my mother. The displays are under glass, but I ask that you look only. I’m almost out of Windex.”

  We dutifully laughed at the comment.