Hell Transporter (Between)

by Tefft, Cyndi

  The next day, Dad took Aiden to the indoor driving range at his private golf club while Mom and I hit the mall. Finally able to talk openly about the wedding plans—since Aiden wasn’t around—she grilled me on some final details.

  “The clock is ticking, Lindsey,” she said, her tone laced with worry and anticipation.

  “I know, I know. I swear I’ll tell Aiden soon so you don’t have to keep it secret anymore.” He had asked a few questions about the wedding but so far I’d kept my answers vague. He knew something was up, but didn’t press me, probably figuring I’d tell him when I was ready. And that was exactly what I’d hoped.

  Ian and Sarah invited us over for dinner the following Tuesday, November 30th, for their St. Andrew’s Day feast. I wasn’t exactly sure what to expect, but I’d tasted Sarah’s amazing cooking before, so my mouth was watering before we even set foot through the door.

  “Saint Andrew is the patron saint of Scotland,” Ian explained to me later as we sat down to eat. “He was one of the twelve disciples of Christ and when he was martyred, he asked to be crucified on an X instead of a cross, saying he wasn’t worthy to die in the same manner as Jesus. The Scottish flag, which we call the saltire, is blue with a white X in honor of St. Andrew. The Irish have St. Patrick’s Day and we have St. Andrew’s Day. ‘Tis a time to remember all that’s great about being a Scot.” He winked at Aiden and raised his whisky glass in tribute. “To Saint Andrew and to Scotland!” We joined in the toast, clinking our glasses of scotch together.

  “That reminds me,” I said, addressing my hosts. “I’ve been meaning to thank you for the birthday gifts. It was very sweet of you.”

  Sarah patted my hand, heavy diamond rings dotting her fingers. “You’re very welcome, sugar. We’re sorry we couldn’t be there. Did you have a nice birthday?”

  Thinking of the night I’d spent with Aiden, I struggled to hide my grin. “Yes, I had a very nice birthday. Thanks,” I murmured, hoping she wouldn’t notice the color I knew was staining my cheeks. I changed the subject in an effort to distract her before she could ask any more questions. “So, this is quite the spread you have prepared. What is this?” I pointed at an unfamiliar dish on the table.

  “Oh, that’s a venison casserole with chestnuts and vegetables, made from the deer the boys took when they went hunting.” Sarah nodded proudly at Aiden and Ian. “There’s also Finnan haddie, which is haddock with cheese,” she pointed at one dish after another, “kailkenny, which is potatoes with cabbage in butter, and fried herring rolled in oats.” She shook her head with a resigned smile at Ian. “And what Scottish meal would be complete without haggis with neeps and tatties?”

  “Neeps and tatties?”

  “Yellow turnips and mashed potatoes.” She scooped a spoonful onto my plate and handed it back to me. I took a tiny sliver of the haggis and put it in my mouth. “Just don’t ask what’s in the haggis, dear. You don’t want to know,” she said as my lips closed around the fork. My mind conjured up all kinds of disgusting ideas of what could be in haggis. I had to force myself to swallow. Ian let out a full belly laugh while I choked it down.

  “What do ye think, lass?” Aiden asked, fighting to keep a straight face.

  I sucked down some ice water and did my best to be polite. “I think it’s… um… an acquired taste,” I replied and Ian slapped his knee, hooting with laughter. Sarah admonished him to be nice, though she was grinning herself.

  Aiden piled the haggis on his plate. “She doesn’t like parritch, either,” he said to Ian, whose mouth dropped open in feigned outrage. He then proceeded to tell me how good it was for me, just like Aiden had done before.

  Sarah came to my rescue. “Don’t you worry about it, honey. I’d rather have fried chicken and a buttermilk biscuit any old day, but I think you’ll like the cranachan we have for dessert. It’s toasted oats in whipped cream made with berries and splash of whisky.”

  I put on an innocent face and turned to Sarah. “Do you suppose they drink so much whisky to drown out the flavor of the food?” She gave in to a fit of giggles while the boys made indignant remarks about my lack of respect for Scottish cooking, and on St. Andrew’s Day, no less.

  Once the blustering settled down, Ian winked at me. “Aiden, you’d best keep an eye on that one. She’s right quick,” he said.

  Aiden squeezed my hand under the table. “Och, aye. That she is, indeed.”

  After the meal, I helped Sarah clear away the dishes. As she rinsed the plates and stacked them in the dishwasher, she said, “You were a really good sport tonight, Lindsey. Lots of girls wouldn’t even try haggis, so I’m proud of you.” I flushed under her praise and she continued, talking almost to herself. “Having you and Aiden around these past few months has been like a breath of fresh air. I can’t remember the last time I saw Ian this happy. You know that Aiden’s just a few years older than our son was when we lost him?”

  I nodded, remembering the photo of their son Johnny in his football jersey.

  “What was he like?” I ventured, sensing that she wanted to talk about him.

  “Oh, Johnny was such a handsome boy. So sweet. And he loved Scottish food.” She laughed with a faraway smile in her eyes. “When he was happy, it was like the sun itself shone in front of you. He never met a stranger; he loved everyone. After his first day of kindergarten, I asked if he’d made any new friends. He said, ‘Mom, I made ALL the friends!’” She seemed to glow from the inside out as she remembered him, but then her smile faded and she grew quiet. Wiping the same spot on the counter again and again, she stared at the kitchen cabinets. I stood, watching her, not sure what to say. Finally, she stopped and put a hand out as if to steady herself.

  “But on his sad days, it was like he was someone else altogether, with no joy at all. The shadows would begin to darken his eyes and shut him down. It broke my heart every time, but there was nothing I could do to help him. There was nothing any of us could do.” She shook herself and put on a brave face. “I miss him every day, but I pray he’s happier now, that all of his sad days are over.” She didn’t sound at all convinced, though, and I put my hand on her arm in support. Her smile faltered a bit, and we hugged each other close. She smelled like flowers and baking bread, scents that seeped into my heart and made themselves at home. When we pulled away, she dabbed at her eyes with the dishtowel.

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I shouldn’t burden you with my troubles. It’s just that today is the anniversary of his death and it’s the first time in a long time that Ian and I have had someone to share it with. Thank you.”

  I felt my own tears welling up and I hugged her again.

  The guys had gone outside to get the fire pit going while Sarah and I did the dishes. It was a cold night but clear, and the orange flames danced against the dark backdrop of the sky. I grabbed my coat and wandered out to join them. Ian had his guitar out and his rich baritone voice wrapped itself around us like a warm blanket. When he finished, I clapped and he tipped his head to me with a smile.

  “Aiden wrote me a song for my birthday,” I said.

  Ian’s eyes lit up. “Aye, that’s right, I knew he’d been working on it. I meant to ask you about that when you brought back the guitar,” he said to Aiden. “Well, let’s hear it then!” He pressed the instrument into Aiden’s arms.

  He took it graciously but gave me a look that clearly said, “I’m going to get you for this.” I giggled and settled in, excited to hear the song again. His fingers moved over the strings effortlessly. When he finished, we broke into resounding applause.

  “Why, I do believe you’d give Rabbie Burns a run for his money, lad. You’ve his way with the lassies.” Ian wiggled his eyebrows at me and Aiden smiled, but his eyes betrayed a hint of confusion. “You don’t mean to tell me you’ve never heard of Rabbie Burns.” Ian’s voice had a distinct warning tone to it. “Robert Burns? The poet laureate of Scotland? Auld Lang Syne? Burns’ Night, for God’s sake?” The pitch of his voice increased with every question. He sat for
ward on the edge of his seat, fully agitated now.

  “Ian, remember his head injury…” Sarah offered in a soothing voice from beside him but Ian scoffed.

  “Aye, I remember well enough this mysterious head injury. I’ve never met anyone with a clearer head on his shoulders, and yet sometimes ‘tis like you don’t know a damn thing about Scotland! I might think you weren’t from the homeland at all, but you’ve got the Gaelic as if it were your mother tongue.” He threw his hands up in the air, exasperated.

  “So I told myself that maybe you’d been raised by a primitive clan out on one of the isles away from civilization. But then I learned you bloody speak French and I’ll be damned if you don’t act like a gentleman being presented at court half the time!” Anger and hurt marred his features as he stared pointedly at Aiden, trying to divine his secret.

  I squirmed in my seat, my gut twisting into knots. Ian’s line of thinking was a runaway train and we had to divert it. My eyes darted between the two men as the fragile house of cards we’d built began crashing down all around me.

  Stop him, Aiden. Say something! I pleaded in my head but Aiden’s gaze was locked on Ian.

  “Maybe we should—“ I started, desperate to change the subject, but Ian pressed on, drowning me out.

  “When I took you hunting with Paul, you tracked deer through the woods like you’d been hunting game all your life. I’ve never seen anything like it. But when I told you to show your mate the safety on the rifle, you had no idea what I was talking about! When I took you to the kilt maker, he asked how you felt about the SNP. You hadn’t a clue he meant the Scottish National Party. You don’t talk like any of the lads in Inverness I’ve ever met and you’ve never been to Gellions. That bar has been there since before I was born! In fact, I’ll bet my shirt ye couldn’t even tell me the name of the Queen of bloody England right now if I asked ye!”

  He got to his feet, his face glowing red like the fire. Sarah jumped up as well, protesting and trying to calm him down, but he cut her off with a roar.

  “Nae, Sarah!” He pointed a finger at Aiden’s chest in accusation. “There’s something wrong with the lad and his story, and I don’t know what it is. But I’m not a fool, and I will not be lied to.” His voice came out in a low growl. “I’ve opened up my home to you and I’ve trusted you, Aiden. But if ye don’t come clean and tell me the truth this minute, ye can take your bonnie lassie and get the hell off my property.”

  Sarah gasped but held her tongue.

  This was it. It was all over.

  Why did I think everything would work out, that he could come forward three hundred years into the future and no one would be able to tell? What on earth made me believe that just because God granted him new life that people would just blindly accept him? I searched my heart to find the answer to this ludicrous assumption. And there it was.

  Faith.

  Hope.

  Love.

  There was no alternative. Aiden wouldn’t have a place to stay, a job to do, or a friend to count on in Ian anymore. I don’t know how but we’d make it work, I told myself and knew it to be true. Swallowing hard, I closed my eyes and allowed myself to bask in the memory of what these people had meant to us. Ian and his easy laugh, Sarah and the way she fussed over me...

  Dammit!

  It gutted me to think of losing them, but we couldn’t risk it. We’d told Father O’Malley the truth but not only was I certain he’d believe me, I knew he wouldn’t dare speak a word of our confession to anyone else. This was different.

  A tear slipped down my cheek and I brushed it away. Disappointment pressed me down into the stone patio but now was not the time to cry.

  Beside me, Aiden was completely calm, like he’d been expecting this for some time. He took a deep breath and squeezed my hand as we both got to our feet. When he spoke, his voice was clear and strong.

  “You have the right of it, Ian. I haven’t been completely truthful with you, and I’m fair sorry for it. You’ve been more than a friend to me. Nae, you’ve taken me in like family and I owe you both a debt I cannot repay. I’ll tell you the truth, the whole truth, right now. All I ask is that you let me finish before you say anything.” Ian crossed his arms on his chest and frowned at Aiden, considering. Finally, he nodded. Aiden tipped his head in acknowledgment.

  Shock slammed into me, nearly bowling me over. I thought we were leaving, that we were saying goodbye. He was going to tell them the truth? He couldn’t!

  Aiden, no... I pleaded.

  Faith, Lindsey, he replied without looking at me.

  I sent up a silent prayer like I was on the Titanic and the waters were closing in.

  Aiden continued, his voice unwavering. “I was born in Scotland, at Eilean Donan Castle on the first of May, the year of our Lord sixteen hundred and ninety-nine. And I died there twenty years later in a battle against the English, during which the castle was completely destroyed and my entire family killed. ‘Twas my fault the English knew of the gunpowder they used to blow up the castle.”

  I made a strangled noise of protest at his side, but he cut me off.

  “It was my fault, Lindsey and I will not deny it. I was so ashamed of what I’d done that I put a bullet in my head before anyone could find out.”

  Ian’s mouth gaped open in a soundless O. Sarah’s eyes were larger than our dinner plates and her hands shook as she gripped the hem of her coat.

  “I spent nearly three hundred years transporting souls from earth to heaven, but I was not allowed entry myself because of what I’d done. Then Lindsey died and met me there in that place in between. She became my wife and her love redeemed my soul. But when she was called back to earth, I couldn’t go on without her and God saw fit to bring me new life again. So here I stand before you, three hundred years away from my time with only my wife at my side and the two of you to call my family. I know it’s hard to believe, but I ask your understanding and forgiveness, Ian. Please.”

  Ian’s eyes flickered over to me for confirmation and I nodded silently, my heart in my throat. Emotions crashed over me in an endless wave—fear, worry, nervousness and a heady feeling of relief at having gotten the story out in the open. There was no taking it back now. I waited breathlessly, praying they would believe us.

  They didn’t.

  Ian exploded in a fit of rage. “I asked you to tell me the truth and THIS is what you come up with? Do you think me a bleeding moron?”

  Hope died in Aiden’s eyes at his words, slicing my soul. I started to respond to Ian, but Aiden put a hand on my arm, silently asking me to be still.

  “I don’t know what you’re hiding,” Ian snarled, “but you can do it somewhere else. I never want to see you again.”

  Aiden only nodded, then took my hand and walked away. I couldn’t believe we were just leaving, that he wasn’t going to fight back. It wasn’t like him. Frustration at his complacency burned inside me, but it wasn’t my fight. It was taking everything I had to keep my mouth shut.

  A few steps away, Aiden turned and addressed Sarah.

  “Your son, Johnny,” he began, his voice kind and soft. She flinched. “He spoke with a lisp, didn’t he?”

  She sucked in a sharp breath.

  “Ian, did you—“ she began.

  “No, I didn’t. I don’t know where you heard that, lad, but it’s a low blow.” Ian’s voice was cold. And, I realized, afraid.

  Aiden stood motionless, a sea of calm in the middle of a raging storm.

  “‘Tis what I thought. I didn’t recognize his photograph at first, since he introduced himself to me as J.J., not Johnny.”

  Complete silence followed his words as if time stood still. No crickets chirped, no one breathed, and the fire didn’t even hiss and pop while we stood, staring at one another.

  All of a sudden, Sarah burst into tears and covered her mouth, her eyes filled with a desperate hope that I didn’t understand. “All of his friends called him J.J. We were the only ones who called him Johnny. Oh my goodness, Ian
. He might be…” She leaned against him like she was going to faint and he put one arm around her. His face registered her meaning and he began to tremble himself. His voice was hoarse when he spoke again, a single tear sliding down his cheek.

  “Johnny killed himself when he was eighteen. He had a mental illness and in a fit of depression, he hung himself. We didn’t truly know what would… happen to him. After.” He dropped his head and took a deep breath, trying to draw the strength to continue.

  Sarah implored Aiden with eyes flowing freely with tears. “Do you think… he could be transporting souls like you did?” Her voice cracked with hope at the end.

  Aiden moved forward and took her hands in his own. “God is merciful, of that you can be certain. But no, he is not transporting souls. I took him to the gate myself and watched him go through, wearing a shirt that said ‘Cougs Rule,’ if I recall.” A great encompassing sob erupted from her, echoing in the woods behind us. Aiden drew her into his arms and held her while she spilled decades of pent-up worry and grief on his shoulder. I went to Ian and hugged him close. His arms enveloped me as he wept against my hair.

  When the four of us pulled apart, we wiped our eyes and collected ourselves. Ian held Sarah for a moment and then stepped forward to place his hands on Aiden’s shoulders.

  “Thank you for telling us, son. I can see how difficult it was, and I am proud of you. I can’t say I completely understand, but I do believe you. ‘Tis the only thing that makes sense!”

  At that, he gave a shaky laugh, breaking the tension. The waters that had threatened to drown us disappeared in a rainbow of happy tears. One glance at Aiden—and the relief on his face—made my chest ache with joy.

  Ian’s eyes shone with fierce determination as he reached out to take my hand as well. “And from this day forward, I swear an oath before God that you’re a part of this family—the both of you. We’ll take care of you kids, like you were our own.” And then the four of us were hugging and crying again, buoyed by hope and thankfulness.