Hell Transporter (Between)

by Tefft, Cyndi

  With an excited squeal, I flung my arms around his neck and he feigned stumbling backward, laughing. His smile was more relaxed than I’d seen it in weeks. Then he took my hand and gave me a tour of the little house, which had an open, airy feel to it, though it was not much bigger than my dorm room.

  A faded blue and yellow striped couch to my right invited me to curl up and stay a while. A wooden rocking chair draped with a handmade afghan sat facing the modest brick fireplace. To our left stood a knotty pine dining table with two chairs and a vase full of white daisies. He led me through a narrow hallway to the rear of the house.

  Sun streamed in through the bedroom window, which overlooked the creek out back, suffusing the room in a warm, yellow glow. A queen-sized bed dominated the space, which was fairly crowded with a chest of drawers on one wall and a nightstand in the corner. I smiled at the feminine bedspread: a country quilt of pink and blue squares. Aiden shrugged good-naturedly, reading my expression.

  It hit me all of a sudden that we were alone—really alone—and I gave him a sideways glance. A low, satisfied hum came from his throat. He ran a hand down the length of my back and bent his head to kiss my neck. I curled my fists in his hair while his mouth turned me into a pool of melted chocolate. I tried to pull him towards the bed, but he stopped me with a shake of his head.

  “Not yet, love,” he said. “I still have more to show you.” He threaded his fingers through mine and led me out of the bedroom, pausing to admire the little bathroom that now belonged to him. Just to the right of the dining table, white lace curtains gave the tiny kitchen a homey feel.

  “I thought you’d like to see this,” he said, sounding purposefully nonchalant. He stepped aside, revealing a utilities room, complete with washer and dryer. A whimper of joy escaped from my throat. On the drive from the cabin to the school, I’d bitched and moaned about having to take my clothes to the nasty laundromat downtown, where the homeless often spent their evenings. And now I could do the wash here, with him. Here, in his house. The idea just amazed me.

  “It’s perfect,” I said, and received a beaming smile in response. We wandered onto the grey, weathered back patio and sat on the deck chairs, listening to the water running by while I filled him in on my first week back at school. He listened patiently, but I could tell he was itching to keep moving.

  “Would you like to see the stables?” he asked, and I nodded. We walked through the field to the stables, which were clean and bright. He spoke softly in Gaelic to one of the horses, who whinnied in response.

  “You just arrived last night and already the horse seems to know your voice.”

  “Horses are very intelligent creatures. They can sense when you’re a friend. This one’s name is Amber, and she is a bonnie mare, aye?” He stroked her mane affectionately and Amber rubbed her head against his arm. “She belongs to Lady MacKinnon, but I don’t think she’d mind if we took her for a ride. Are you up for it, lass?”

  His eyes twinkled at me and I could tell he was remembering, as I was, the last time we’d been on a horse together. I blushed, thinking of the picnic when I’d dragged my finger down his chest and practically dared him to have his way with me. He laughed, seeing my reddened face, and drew me into his arms for a deep kiss. Amber snorted loudly behind us as if she were affronted by the display and we broke off, grinning at one another.

  He saddled the horse and led her out of the stables, then helped me up, and easily swung onto her back himself. I clasped my arms around his ribs nervously and he eased my grip, assuring me that he wouldn’t let me fall. Amber started into the countryside at a gentle pace and I relaxed at the rocking motion of her movement. The MacKinnons’ sprawling acreage felt like it was a million miles away from everything though it was only a few minutes’ drive from the college. The trees rustled and sighed as we ambled past, their leaves a symphony of color. When we wandered over toward the main house, a stocky white-haired man looked up from the hole he was digging and waved at us.

  “And that’ll be Ian.” Aiden spurred the horse on lightly and pulled us up next to Ian, who was wiping sweat from his brow with a handkerchief. His face was burnt a dark pink color, a telltale sign that he’d worked for years in the sun. Deep laugh lines etched his cheeks, and the corners of his eyes crinkled at me in a warm, welcoming smile as Aiden and I dismounted.

  “Ah, this must be the bonnie lass you were telling me about. I can see plainly now you weren’t exaggerating a bit, lad.”

  I lowered my eyes with a bashful smile, which seemed to please him greatly. He patted one big work-worn hand over mine.

  “Can I be helping you with the digging then, Ian?” Aiden asked, reaching for the shovel, but Ian batted his hand away.

  “Och, no. If I don’t do my share of the work, the missus will think I’ve gone soft and won’t feed me meat and potatoes for my supper. And we can’t have that, can we?” He patted his taut, round belly with a mischievous look and we both laughed. “Come to think of it, it’s getting to be about supper time. Would you care to join us at the big house for a bite? My bride would be honored to meet you, Lindsey.” He tipped his head to me in invitation and I felt completely unworthy of such formality. I started to stammer a response, but Aiden saved me.

  “We’d love to, Ian, and thank you kindly. Let us just go rub down Miss Amber here,” he patted the horse on the neck, “and we’ll be down to the house straight away.”

  The “big house” lived up to its name. It seemed even larger on the inside than it had from the road. The living and dining areas were combined into a sunny great room with high ceilings and gleaming wooden beams. Mrs. MacKinnon was working in the kitchen when we entered, but hastened to come meet us at the door, wiping her hands on her apron.

  “Well, my, my, who do we have here? Could it be Miss Lindsey? Come in, come in!” Her accent was soft, but her southern genteel manner came through loud and clear as she took my hand and ushered me inside, talking the whole time. “But look at me. I have completely forgotten my manners. Please forgive me. I am just more excited than an old hen should get! I’m Sarah MacKinnon, Ian’s wife, but please call me Sarah.”

  She had stark white hair piled loosely in a bun on the back of her head, crystal clear blue eyes and a swath of bright pink lipstick for color. And even though she was wearing an apron, complete with little gravy stains, her fingers were studded with jewels and huge diamond earrings peeked out from behind her snowy tendrils.

  Ian appeared from the hallway, freshly showered and looking very handsome in a canary yellow polo shirt and khakis. He gave Sarah a light squeeze, kissing her on the cheek as he passed, then pinched her on the behind. She jumped a little and snapped a dishtowel at his retreating form. The smile on her face made it clear this was a common ritual of theirs. Ian strode forward to shake Aiden’s hand again in welcome. He tipped his head to me with a smile.

  “Can I get you something to drink? Soda, tea perhaps?”

  I asked for an iced tea and Sarah caught my eye with a nod as she headed back to the kitchen.

  “Aiden,” he said, “I’ve a fresh bottle of 15-year Glenlivet, if you’d like to share a drop with me.” Aiden eagerly agreed and followed him into another room while I wandered around, looking at their photographs and admiring their home.

  Both Ian and Sarah looked to be in their sixties, so I expected to see pictures of grandchildren in the frames clustered on the top of the piano and over the mantle. And there were family photos, to be sure, but I couldn’t tell which ones were their children. Perusing the assorted photos, I found several of one boy at various ages. He was obviously their son, or perhaps a grandson who looked very much like them. He had wavy, brown hair, dark blue eyes, and fair skin. One particular photograph stood out among the others: of him in a high school football jersey, smiling into the sun with his helmet tucked in the crook of his arm.

  Sarah came up behind me and handed me my iced tea, which turned out to be very sweet and thick with lemon. She smiled at my puckered face w
hen I took a sip.

  “Ah, I should have warned you, honey. In the south, iced tea is sweet tea made with lemon simple syrup. Do you like it?”

  “Mmm-hmm. It’s good. I just wasn’t ready for it.” I gestured to the photo of the boy in the uniform. “Is this your son? Or your grandson? He’s very handsome.”

  She smiled softly, but her eyes held a distant sadness. I instantly wished I had kept my mouth shut. She laid her hand on my arm as she looked at the picture.

  “That’s our son, Johnny. He died when he was eighteen. He was our only child.” Her voice made it clear she was not upset that I’d asked, but I felt awful anyway.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Yes, well…” A shadow of long-endured pain passed over her face, but then she purposefully straightened and her lips spread into a bright smile. “Do you like chicken fried steak, my dear? I’m afraid I’d already started cooking supper before Ian told me we’d have the pleasure of your company, so I didn’t get a chance to ask what you’d like to eat. I do hope that’s all right.” My stomach growled in response, which made her chuckle, and the awkward moment passed as Ian and Aiden joined us with their glasses of whisky.

  Aiden put an arm around me as his eyes moved over the photographs. When he saw the picture of Johnny, he became very still. The smile slid from his face. Before I had the chance to ask him about it, Sarah called us over to sit down.

  She set out plates heaped with food as we settled into our seats at the large dining table in the middle of the great room, the ceiling fan circling lazily overhead. The chicken fried steak was covered with a generous amount of brown gravy, which also topped a healthy dollop of mashed potatoes. A pile of collard greens and a steaming buttermilk biscuit completed the meal. Ian and Sarah bowed their heads to say grace and we followed suit.

  I took a bite of steak and closed my eyes in bliss. “Wow, Sarah, this is incredible. You’re an amazing cook,” I said in awe. She smiled sweetly at me and Ian patted her hand, nodding in agreement.

  “Aye, she knows the way to a man’s heart, that’s for sure. I never stood a chance.” He winked at her and slathered a biscuit with butter and honey.

  “Yeah, she had you at that first forkful, I’ll bet,” I said.

  He laughed, a rich, full-bodied sound that echoed off the walls. “That she did, indeed. In fact, I remember that first bite like it was yesterday. I was going to university in Atlanta and her fried chicken won a blue ribbon at the county fair. I watched the judges’ faces as they tried her dish, and there was no question hers was the best. A pretty girl in a blue dress stood off to the side, her long brown hair pulled back with a shiny ribbon. I prayed that she was the one who’d made that fried chicken dish, because if she was, I’d marry her on the spot. Well, God answered my prayer and we’ve been married for 43 years now. Her hair’s gone white, but she’s still the bonniest lass I’ve ever seen.” He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.

  “Why, Ian MacKinnon, you’re about as sugary sweet as my tea, you old romantic, you.” She waved a hand at him as if to brush him away, but no one was fooled.

  I found myself drawn to the two of them, like I’d known them for years instead of just an hour. Sarah asked questions about how we met, and Aiden held my hand as he recounted the same story he told my father. Sarah clearly had a romantic streak to match her husband’s and her eyes twinkled as she listened.

  “And Ian tells me you’re engaged to be married. Congratulations! When is the big day?”

  To my surprise, Aiden answered “in December” without hesitation.

  “Oh, a Christmas bride,” she said with a contented sigh. “How lovely.”

  I smiled back at her and sent a message to Aiden in my mind. Why December? Where did that come from?

  He finished his meal and offered to help clean up, but Sarah waved him away, admonishing him to sit and relax.

  You remember that handfasting lasts for a year and a day? Well, you told Ranger Jim we’d wed in December last so that means we need to marry by this December, no? If you’d like to do it sooner, just say the word and I’ll find us a priest, my love.

  Sarah agreed to let me help clear the table and I talked with her while we cleaned up, thinking about what Aiden had said.

  The day had slipped away and the sunset painted the sky in a magnificent display of pink and purple streaks. When we walked onto their back patio, the cool, fresh air bit my cheeks. Ian made a fire in the fire pit and we settled into cushioned chairs to enjoy the view. Dahlias, foxglove and hydrangeas ringed a koi pond with a burst of color, scenting the air with their sweet perfume. A wooden bridge spanned the water, ending in a footpath of granite pavers through lush gardens. Beyond the grass, dense woods surrounded the house, with no neighbors in sight. Crickets chirping in the distance accompanied the relaxed flow of conversation as we sipped our drinks.

  “I noticed you have a beautiful piano, Sarah. Do you play?” I asked, but she shook her head.

  “No, Ian is the musical one in the family. He can play piano and guitar. You should play them a tune from your home country, sug.”

  He grinned and jumped up, returning shortly with a guitar in hand. His voice was deep and clear as he sang:

  It fell on a day, on a bonnie summer’s day,

  When the sun shone bright and clearly,

  That there fell oot a great dispute

  Atween Argyll and Airlie.

  Argyll he has mustered a thousand o’ his men,

  He has marched them oot richt early;

  He has marched them in by the back o’ Dunkeld,

  To plunder the bonnie hoose o’ Airlie.

  Lady Ogilvie she looked frae her window sae high,

  And O but she grat sairly,

  To see Argyll and a’ his men

  Come to plunder the bonnie hoose o’ Airlie.

  Sitting next to me, Aiden sang along softly. Firelight danced off the moisture in his eyes. When Ian finished the song, we all clapped and he made an elaborate bow. He started into another that he called “Scotland the Brave” and Aiden smiled, listening, but didn’t sing along.

  “Come on, lad, you know this one well, I’m sure,” Ian urged, but then stopped mid-strum as Aiden gave him something of a blank look. Ian cocked his head to one side, frowning. My heart caught in my throat. “You don’t mean to tell me that you don’t know Scotland the Brave.” Ian’s voice had a slight warning to it, like he wouldn’t put up with being made fun of.

  Aiden was quick to apologize. “I’m right sorry, Ian. I’d a terrible blow to the head a while back and I’ve had problems with my memory ever since, so oft times common things that I knew well before don’t come so easy to me anymore.”

  Sarah made sad, fussing noises over the thought of Aiden’s injury and the toll it had taken. Ian put down the guitar, the mood lost.

  I could tell Aiden felt bad, but I was surprised when he reached over and picked up the guitar, with a questioning look to Ian, who nodded his approval. Aiden settled the instrument on his lap.

  “Most of the songs I remember are in Gaelic, but my Mam used to sing this one to me when I was a wean.”

  Katie Beardie had a coo

  Black and white aboot the mou’

  Wasnae that a dainty coo?

  Dance, Katie Beardie.

  Katie Beardie had a wean

  Widnae play oot in the rain.

  Wasnae that a dainty wean?

  Dance, Katie Beardie.

  Katie Beardie had a cat,

  Sleek and sly and unco fat.

  Wasnae that a dainty cat?

  Dance, Katie Beardie.

  Ian laughed out loud, slapping his hand on his knee, then took the guitar from Aiden and did his own rendition of a song called “Donald, Where’s Your Troosers?” about a Scot’s preference for a kilt over pants. Ian’s eyes twinkled with merriment at the last verse:

  Well I caught a cold and me nose was raw

  I had no handkerchief at all

  So I hiked up my
kilt and I gave it a blow

  Now you can’t do that with troosers

  I laughed so hard that tears ran down my cheeks by the time Ian finished, a look of pure joy and satisfaction on his face.

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve sung a Scottish song for such a great audience. You make me want to play all night long.”

  Sarah laid a hand gently on his arm, her head turned up slightly to the sky, which had grown thick with stars. Sparks from the fire pit flew into the air between us like dancing fireflies, bright against the night sky.

  “Maybe another night, hon. I haven’t heard so much Scots tongue since we went to the MacKinnon clan gathering near on twenty years ago. But it’s getting pretty late, don’t you think? These two lovebirds probably need to get going.” She winked at me but Ian stopped, his face suddenly serious. He pinned Aiden with a look.

  “Aye, you’d best get your bonnie lassie back to the school before it gets much later, lad.”

  I groaned inwardly at this not-so-subtle hint that I wasn’t to be staying the night, my earlier visions of curling up next to Aiden in his bed disappearing like smoke from the fire.

  Aiden met his eyes and smiled with a nod, straightening in his seat. “Aye, sir. I will.”

  A connection between the two of them seemed to strengthen and I breathed a sigh of resignation. I hugged Ian and Sarah before we left, surprised at how quickly they’d become dear to me. They insisted I come back soon and I assured them I would. Aiden’s warm fingers intertwined with mine as we walked back to the cottage to retrieve my car.