Kilts and Catnip

by Zoe Tasia

  “No, you aren’t. You’re a young woman in a new place where large wolves roam. We’ve seen them out during the day around people. I think that’s highly unusual. Despite that, I’ve found being here restful. Well, it would be more so if I knew what was going on—but still much better than the hustle and bustle of adjusting to a new school, new grade, new class, new country—new everything. I thought we could get off the island tomorrow and go to town. See what movies are on. Do some shopping.”

  Jess threw her arms around me. “That sounds wonderful!”

  Jessica, your name should have been Quicksilver.

  “I picked up some more brochures from the visitor’s center while we were waiting for the ferry. We can look at those, and you two can decide what you would like to do and then we can see what we have time for. It’s kinda late, but you can stay up for another hour. We won’t catch the first ferry out.” I winked. “The brochures should all be in a pile by the phone, Tate. You go and start looking. We will be there in a moment.”

  Jess studied her fingernails. The sparkle polish was starting to peel off, and she picked at it.

  “Jess, you’re old enough to know how to act. Your outburst was that of a much younger, ill-behaved brat. I didn’t raise you to act like that. I’ve cut both of you a lot of slack this last year. Especially you. I hadn’t realized how hard it would be leaving your friends and your school, but you’ve had time to adjust. I’m not going to punish you. I am, however, going to expect behavior from you that’s appropriate for a well-mannered young lady.”

  Jess snickered. “Going to send us to charm school?”

  “Don’t tempt me. It would probably do both of you some good. So, are we clear?”

  “Yes, Mom.” She stood and trotted to the door, her shoulders rounded, and her feet dragging.

  I caught up with her and hugged her tight. “I love you, Jessie Jellybean.”

  Jess snorted. “I love you too, Mom.”

  I LET THE GIRLS PORE over the brochures. The town wasn’t that large, and I didn’t think they could pick anything that would be so far away that we couldn’t manage to get there or that was too expensive. I checked my phone and to my surprise, had internet, so I went to my email and opened the one from Mrs. Grant—the family tree. I wish I had a printer. The print was small and faded. She, or I am guessing a younger relative, scanned the pages and sent them. I was surprised to see that many of the women kept their maiden names. Mrs. Grant, however, had taken her husband’s last name. One of the last names looked familiar. It tugged at me. “Puldreach—I know I’ve seen that before, but where?” I paid more attention to the men’s names. I wanted to find Greg’s, but the print was so tiny, and I was so tired that I decided to look through it again tomorrow. Maybe I could find some of those magnifying glasses. Oh no! I’m going to be wearing glasses around my neck like a little old librarian if I’m not careful.

  I told the girls it was time for bed. They didn’t argue with me, thank goodness. I didn’t know if it was because they took what I said to heart, or they were tired from the events of the day. I should have talked a bit to Jess about Greg, but one step at a time. I didn’t know why it mattered. It wasn’t like I was dating, and even if I was, we would be leaving soon.

  Chapter 22

  HURRY UP, GIRLS, OR we’ll miss the ferry,” I yelled, rushing into their room and tripping over my untied laces.

  Jessie stood in front of the bureau mirror. She yanked a brush through her hair, sending the scarlet ends flying. “It’s not my fault. I set my phone alarm. It didn’t go off.”

  After I shoved the comforter and pillows to the center of an unmade bed, I sat and tied my shoes in double knots. “Where’s Tate?”

  “She’s in the bathroom.”

  “Tate, we’ve got to go now.” I didn’t stomp my feet, but I wanted to.

  Tate poked her head around the doorway. “I need to brush my teeth. Jessie hogged the sink.”

  “Forget the teeth. You can chew a piece of gum.” I herded the girls to the door and outside.

  “Mom, I want to get back in time to go to the library,” Jessie said as she walked backwards.

  “Let’s see how the day goes. Now turn around before you fall on your rear.”

  Thanks to our late start, we decided to explore the town and eat an early lunch since we skipped breakfast to make the ferry. Afterward, the girls opted to see a movie, the latest comedy from the States. We hadn’t wandered the cobbled streets for long before Jess spied Quaich Shopping Centre, and we had to go in for a brief look-see. The center housed a McD’s and it was nothing doing that we had to eat there. After our McMeals, we had ample time to find the Cine Theatre and purchase tickets and sweeties.

  I would have liked touring the ruins and seeing the circle, but Jess and Tate thought the aquarium would be cool, so we spent the rest of the afternoon staring at fish. Jess wanted to go on the ghost tour, but I vetoed it, for today, at least. I didn’t want to return to the island after dark. The trip to the mainland turned out to be a good break. We all needed some time away from the strangeness. When we got back to Thistle, Jess and Tate wanted to visit the library. Tate had finished two books and wanted to check out more, and Jess wanted to chat with Fiona about school and driving. While she and Tate went there, I popped into the grocer for dinner supplies.

  THE NEXT DAY, I VISITED Mrs. Nivens, the oldest living person in the town. I didn’t want to show up empty-handed. Conall insisted that she wouldn’t mind me dropping in, but I was glad that he promised to tell her about it on his way home. I remembered visiting David’s grandmother when she was in the nursing home. The trips always went better in the morning, so I would stop by around ten o’clock. I shopped at the tea shop for scones and biscuits. On a whim, I also purchased a vase of flowers.

  As I approached Mrs. Niven’s home, I admired the oak double entry door that featured beautiful stained glass at the sides and above. Seeing no doorbell, I lifted the knocker which looked like the head of a snarling wolf with a ring gripped between its teeth. I let it drop and waited. Soon the door opened, revealing an older woman with graying hair styled in a bouffant, that went out in the sixties.

  “Hello, you must be Mrs. Shaw.”

  “Yes, but please call me Becca.”

  “Come in, come in.” She ushered me in an entry way which held a coat rack and an umbrella stand with two lonely black umbrellas in one corner. On the opposite wall stood a full-length mirror beside a shelf filled with dusty figurines and vases. The spotted glass reflected a mottled image of us. I could have sworn I saw someone peeping from behind my shoulder. I wheeled around, but no one was directly behind me. Shaking my head, I turned my attention again to the woman.

  “My name is Dorcas Anderson,” she said. “I come over in the mornings and evenings to help Mrs. Nivens.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Anderson.”

  “Please—Dorcas.” She led me through another set of double doors into a large foyer. A beautiful staircase, marred only by a chair lift, curved upward. I followed Dorcas down a hall and into what must be the parlor. A fireplace easily big enough to cook a boar was centered on the back wall. Two groupings of chairs, sofas, and tables were arranged around it. A thread-bare Aubusson rug with a still-vibrant red floral pattern lay on the wood floor.

  “Please have a seat.” She gestured to two chairs and a sofa with matching faded gold upholstery grouped around a recently cleared-off table, judging from the spots clear of a light layer of dust. Dorcas shook her head, tugged a rag from her apron pocket, and wiped it down. “Housekeeping never ends, especially in a house of this size.”

  As I waited for Dorcas to tell Mrs. Nivens I’d arrived, I admired the wood carving along the upper left wall. Animals cavorted in a forest. The setting was so detailed that it was difficult to pick out the animals. The wolf family featured in the center of the carving were the only animals that I didn’t have to do a Where’s Waldo to find. I heard a shuffling and an elderly lady entered with Dorcas anxi
ously mother-henning her. I stood.

  “I told you, Dorcas. I am quite capable of walking to the parlor. Stop hovering like a hummingbird.”

  Dorcas reached for the lady’s elbow but drew back at her scowl. “I know you can normally, but these shoes you’ve chosen to wear are higher than your usual ones. I don’t want you to fall.”

  “Especially on your watch. Be missing that paycheck.” It took her a while to traverse the floor, so I met her halfway. “Hello, dear, you must be Rebecca. I am Mornia Nivens.”

  Though I felt the urge to curtsey, instead, I took her hand and gently shook. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  She gestured at the small vase. “Oh my! Are those for me?”

  “Yes, I also stopped by the tea shop and bought some scones and biscuits.”

  “Delightful. Thank you so much.” She turned to Dorcas. “Please add some of these to the platters and then bring the tea. The flowers will look lovely on that side table, the one with the Limoges boxes.”

  Dorcas bustled about to do her bidding.

  Mrs. Nivens gestured. “Sit down, sit down.”

  I took a seat on the couch while Mrs. Nivens sat on a large, upholstered chair. A pair of glasses and a pitcher of water sat on the side table beside a Tiffany lamp and a paperback book with a place marker in it.

  When the tea came, Mrs. Nivens asked me to be mother. I poured for each of us. We chose a cookie and scone to nosh. Dorcas remained and Mrs. Nivens encouraged her to get something. Dorcas sat on one of the chairs at the other grouping. Close enough to help if needed, but far enough to at least suggest privacy.

  “Conall tells me you are interested in the history of the island,” Mrs. Nivens said.

  “Yes, yes, I am.” Originally, I had intended to ask about Greg, but with everything else that had happened, I had more questions and wasn’t sure where to start. I decided to start with her family. Most people love to talk about themselves. “I noticed your unusual door knocker and the carvings. The wolves are quite realistic looking.”

  “This home has been in my family since the McNeils first moved to the island. My maiden name is McNeil. I suppose when I die, it shall go to Conall. He’s the only one left. The others have moved away or died.”

  “Is there a reason for the wolves—aside from them being attractive?”

  “There’s a tale. There were several reasons the first McNeil family moved here. One was the privacy. Another was the animals. There used to be more wildlife diversity before my family moved here, but my ancestor was an avid hunter. I shall take you into the trophy room when we finish our tea. The story is that he was out hunting one day and saw a beautiful, rare, white wolf. He was determined to have it. He finally cornered it in a cave and discovered the wolf had pups almost ready to be weaned. Hunters leave nursing mothers alone most of the time, so there will be more animals to hunt later, but my ancestor didn’t care. He wanted the pelt at any cost. The cornered wolf attacked the man so that the young pups could escape. He was able to get his gun up and shot the wolf several times, eventually killing it, but he didn’t come out of it unscathed.

  “Though the man had been wearing several layers of clothing and a thick coat, the wolf bit his forearm hard enough to pierce the skin. The man bragged of his prowess and decided to stuff the wolf, which we still have. The wound became infected, but eventually healed. I’m told that he was cursed to turn into a wolf at the full moon. I don’t know about that. I do know that his wife had one more child with him and then moved out. A nanny was hired to care for the children. The man remarried. Years later, he was found in the woods, dead from a gunshot wound. Some believe that he transformed into a wolf when he was in the forest and someone shot him.

  “I think its rubbish, of course. Conall and his nephew, Lundy are the first adult males in the family for a long time—at least the first to have remained on the island. The McNeil family has had mostly daughters and the few sons that were born died early, to the despair of most of the kin.

  “The wolf touches were added by the eldest McNeil son. He built onto this part of the house and incorporated many wolves in the décor—I am thinking more to scare the peasants than anything else. By all accounts, he was a grim man who eschewed company.”

  “Well, that’s some story. Did your ancestors keep any records or journals?”

  “Not really. As an exercise, one of the tutors had the children use a journal to write an entry a day about what they did. I believe they’re still in the nursery upstairs. You’re welcome to look for them. Dull things, for the most part. Childish and devoid of much detail.”

  “Incidentally, thank you for inviting us to the ceilidh. We got to meet most of the islanders there.”

  “Nae trouble. I had no idea anyone had moved in for the summer. The cottage has stood empty for many years, since Mrs. Grant moved out. Conall told me. The entire village was invited and since you now live here, the invitation was extended to you and your family too.”

  “A man chatted with me for a bit at your party, a Mr. Gillie. Do you know Greg Gillie? I had the impression that he and Conall weren’t on good terms.”

  “A handsome man, that one. I was surprised to see him there. He keeps to himself. Seems like there has always been a Greg Gillie in the forest, though of course, it must be a family name passed down to the sons. There’s some story about the Gillie family dying in a fire, but of course that must be a falsehood since a Gillie is still here. I’ve never been to the man’s home. I don’t know if anyone has. Like a hermit that man is. Wouldn’t surprise me if he has a wife and kids hidden there.”

  Now that’s a sobering thought. “How in the world would he even meet anyone if he never leaves?”

  “Goodness, you don’t imagine that the ferry is the only way on and off the island? Several people here have boats and make the trip when the urge comes. And there are people on the mainland who have boats and can boat over here if they have the urge. We don’t live on the moon, dearie.” Mrs. Nivens laughed then started coughing. Dorcas rushed over to pour her a glass of water. When she stopped coughing, I decided to move to another topic.

  “What do you know about the people who live near the cave and do tours?”

  “Oh my, you’re interested in the people more than the island. They arrived here sometime after my family did. I believe the Gillie family did too, but I’m not sure. The Oggs are a creepy family, all pale and quiet. I think they’re albinos or have some sort of hereditary skin disorder. They have their groceries delivered and don’t tend to venture into town at all. They were invited to my party, but they sent their regrets. No reason was given, just that they couldna come. The few others who couldna make it gave me a reason, but not them. Tight-lipped, they are. As bad as that Gillie, I’d say, though there are more of them, so slightly more likely to see them than Mr. Gillie. Could you pour me another cup of tea, dear?”

  I poured her and myself more. “Dorcas, would you like more?”

  Dorcas came and proffered her cup. “Just a half cup, please.”

  I asked about the hero-in-the-woods story, but Mrs. Nivens pooh-poohed it. “Children have been rescued from the forest many times over the years. There are always tales of that sort.”

  I chatted for another fifteen minutes but noticed that Mrs. Nivens’s head began to droop.

  Dorcas quietly went to her side and took the tea cup from her before it spilled down the front of her dress. “Mrs. Nivens? Why don’t you lie down for a bit?”

  She snorted. “Huh, what? Oh, no, Dorcas. I am not tired in the least.” She looked up at me. “Well, hello, dear. Now what were we talking about?”

  “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Nivens, but I do need to get going. Before I do, would it be okay if I looked in the nursery?”

  “Why ever would you want to go there? It is perfectly fine with me if you want to. Just be warned, it’s a dusty mess. No one has been in there in ages. Dorcas?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I think I will read a b
it on the chaise.”

  “Of course. I’ll get you situated and bring you your book.”

  “Now, Dorcas. What have I told you? I’m not an invalid.” Mrs. Nivens slapped Dorcas’s hand away and heaved herself off the chair. She wobbled a bit but found her balance and tottered off. “Goodbye, dear. Thank you for visiting,” she said as she left.

  “I’ll be right back,” Dorcas said as she snatched the book from the end table and hurried after Mrs. Nivens.

  I finished a biscuit and a short time later, Dorcas returned.

  “She’s already asleep. She doesn’t like to admit she needs more rest, and she was so excited that you were coming that she wore herself out.”

  “I noticed she was beginning to fish there.”

  “Aye. Now you wanted to go to the nursery?”

  “If you don’t mind, yes.”

  “I haven’t been in it, but I imagine it shouldn’t be too hard to find.” I followed her out the room and to the stairs. I admired the wood banister as I bypassed the chair lift and walked upstairs. We went down a long hallway lined with doors. She opened the one farthest from the stairs. “I think they put the children as far away from the rest of the family as possible. In those days, it seems like other people raised the gentry—nannies and tutors and such. I think they only saw the children once to say good morning and once to say good night and on the occasional special holidays or events. Sad that.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  We stepped into the room. Dingy sheets covered much of the furniture. There were so many boxes and trunks that there was hardly any room to move about.

  “Goodness. It looks like the nursery has been enlisted to double as a storage room.” She peeked under a few sheets. “Aha, a bassinet. We must have the right place. Well then, I’ll leave you to it. I’ll clean up and then be in the parlor reading. Just get me when you’re ready to go.”

  “Thank you.”

  Dorcas turned to leave.

  Well, Becca. What have you gotten yourself into? I peeked under sheets to see what the larger items were. I saw the usual furniture you would find in a nursery, plus some pieces from other parts of the house that needed repair. Nothing resembling journals lie there. I left one of the chairs uncovered to sit on while I tackled a box.