by Karen Kelly
“The tents look so cheery against the green trees,” Annie said. “I see three yellow-stripe tents, two green-stripes, and one blue-stripe over there.” She pointed to the blue tent positioned near the center of the field lengthwise. “Anyone see another blue-stripe tent?”
After a minute of scanning around the whole field, Alice shook her head. “I don’t.”
“Neither do I,” agreed Ian, “and it’s near the center of the field, making it a great vantage point. Let’s meet the Carsons there.”
As they made their way toward the blue-stripe tent, the mayor called Wally to tell him where they would meet. “Wally’s just parked,” he informed Annie and Alice after returning his phone to its case attached to his belt. “They won’t be long.”
When they arrived at the blue-stripe tent, a lot of people had already set out chairs behind the colorful flagged barrier, but there was still room for the Stony Point contingent. Ever the gentleman, Ian opened the camp chairs and made sure the two women were comfortable; then he strolled back and forth over the adjacent square of grass to keep it free for the Carsons.
Annie’s eyes sparkled as she watched the activity around her and felt the cooling breeze flow across the field to caress her. “I still can’t get over the difference between Maine and Texas Augusts,” she said. “There was no way I would go to an all-day outdoor event in August back home. OK, maybe I would go, if I had to, but I wouldn’t enjoy it.” She leaned back in her chair with a happy sigh. “Here I can people-watch all I want without sweating; I like that.”
Alice looked sideways in Ian’s direction. “I think Ian wants to person-watch.” She leaned closer to Annie and dropped her voice. “Did you notice how he looked at you while you were putting on your hat? Rarely is our mayor so entranced by headgear.”
Annie opened her mouth to deny Alice’s observation, something she’d begun to do instinctively over the prior few months, but she saw the Carsons making their way toward them. “Oh, there they are.” She waved vigorously at the parents and daughter.
Peggy had slung a large bag stuffed with an old quilt from her shoulder, her wrist now free of any bandaging. Alice called out to them, “Come stake your claim. Ian’s been working hard to keep that patch clear of squatters.”
“Thanks, Mr. Mayor,” Peggy said as she approached Ian. “The crowds are growing fast.” She lowered the bag to the ground and pulled the quilt free to spread it next to Ian’s chair. “Even Em won’t have any trouble seeing everything from here.”
Emily jumped up and down, pointing across the field. “Mom, look! All those people are in skirts, I mean, kilts.” She ran over to her father, who was talking to Ian. “Look, Daddy! Those are the kilts I was telling you about. Would you ever wear one?”
Annie consulted her brochure. “Wally, if you and Ian can each buy a kilt before noon you could enter the Bonnie Knees contest.”
The face of the quiet handyman flushed, but he laughed at the suggestion. “Annie, you’re one of my best customers, along with Ian, but there’s no way you could get me in one of those things. No matter what fancy word you use, it’s still a skirt.”
“I guess it’s a good thing you’re not Scottish then,” Peggy said, straightening a corner of the blanket and sitting down. She looked across the field to see the bands arranged in neat lines. “Looks like it’s starting soon.” She patted the blanket beside her. “Come relax after your busy week.”
“Do I have to sit?” asked Emily. “Can’t I just stand right here?” The ride from Stony Point had been more than enough sitting for the young girl.
Understanding, Peggy looked behind them to make sure her daughter wouldn’t be blocking the view of other people. “It’s all right, as long as you don’t forget and dance in front of folks so they can’t see.”
“I won’t,” the girl promised. She reached down to hug her mother and then stood beside the blanket swaying like a young sapling in the breeze. “Here they come!” she squealed as the stewards gave the signal and the first bagpipes-and-drum band marched onto the fields playing God Bless America, led by three flagmen.
It had been several years since Annie had heard bagpipes being played. As the following bands joined the first, and the sound swelled, her attention was captured by the unique sound. She reached into her bag and fingered the solitary ferrule. Had any of her family members played the haunting instrument?
“They have funny shoes,” Emily commented, holding back a giggle. “Or are they funny boots?”
“They’re called spats, Emily,” answered Ian. “They are made from thick canvas, usually, and attached over boots or shoes.”
Emily’s eyes were trained on the bands, but her slim body kept moving to the rhythm of the drums. “Spats. I like that word. Snazzy spats.” She did giggle that time. A moment later she gasped and pointed to the band that had just stepped on the field. “Look at the band in red and black. See that kid? He looks about my age!”
Wally shielded his eyes with a hand as he peered at the band. “He sure does, Em.” They all watched as the pint-sized piper moved smoothly across the field in perfect step with the rest of the band.
“He’s got a good sense of timing, you can tell,” said Annie. “I wonder how heavy those bagpipes are. Do you know, Alice?”
Alice shook her head. “Not really. I’ve never held one, but I suspect they come in different weights, especially since they can be made from different types of wood and with plastic or metal parts.”
“Sounds like a good question to ask those vendors you’re planning to visit, Annie,” Ian suggested.
A gust of breeze threatened to snatch Annie’s hat off her head. She grabbed it just in time and settled it more snuggly. “If I remember, I’ll ask. Or maybe Alice and Peggy can do that while I concentrate on the sporran and ferrules.”
“I love watching the guys with the bass drums,” Peggy declared. “Em, see how they twirl the mallets in between the beats?”
Having lost sight of the boy when the band turned to position themselves behind an earlier band, Em moved her attention to the drummers of a band closer to where they were sitting. “I wonder if they ever hit themselves with all that twirling and whirling.”
“The beaters look kinda puffy to me,” said Wally. “That might soften the blow if they mess up.”
Emily laughed at that before turning her attention back to the finale, as all the bands played Scotland the Brave and then marched smartly off the field.
Alice nudged Annie as the bands turned about-face and moved away from them. “Look at all those sporrans out there. Never thought about them being worn in the back, but it makes sense with the pipes and drums. Ian’s suggestion to come here for information was spot on.”
Annie smiled over at Ian. “Well, you know our mayor, Alice. He’s always one to serve. We may have to treat him to a haggis lunch.”
“What’s haggis?” asked Emily.
Ian pictured the traditional Scottish savory pudding that includes some of the internal organs of sheep. He clasped the shoulder of his young friend. “Trust me, Em,” he said, “you don’t want to know. Not before you’ve had lunch, anyway.”
6
Peggy folded the Carsons’ quilt and tucked it into her bag. “What should we do next?”
“I’d really like to start checking with the vendors about the sporran and ferrule,” said Annie. “But I hate for y’all to feel like you have to follow me around.”
Alice intertwined her arm with Annie’s. “You know how much I enjoy poking around all kinds of shops, so I’m following you around voluntarily. Besides, I’m as curious about all this as you are.”
“Me too,” Peggy chimed in. “As long as we can see some of the dancing, I’d rather keep together.” She paused and glanced sideways at her husband, who was good-natured but not much for shopping. “But Wally and Ian might want to do something else.”
Wally ran a hand through his hair. “Well, we won’t need the chairs or quilt until the afternoon competitions,
so Ian and I could take them back to the car and then … ” he paused, thinking.
Ian consulted the brochure. “Wally, are you interested in seeing any of the livestock? I have to admit I have a soft spot for Highland cattle. Their hair is as pretty as Alice’s—almost.” Wally agreed with Ian’s suggestion as the friends chuckled.
“You know what I say to my hair stylist every time I go, right?” said Alice. “Please make my hair shine like a Highland cow!”
When the laughter had died down, Annie asked, “Does everyone want to see the falconry demonstration? If you do, we could meet there at, say, ten thirty.” Her friends all showed enthusiasm for the idea, and the two groups parted, Emily giving Wally a quick hug before joining her mother for the walk to the vendor tents.
The first vendor the ladies found sported the sign, “MacTavish, Pipemaker.” Inside the white tent, tables and portable shelving displayed a variety of full bagpipes, parts, and maintenance items, such as hemp and wax. There were also instruction books, DVDs, and computer programs.
Looking around, Emily noticed something that looked familiar to her. “Hey, they’ve got recorders here.” She pointed at some long pieces, some plastic, and others made of wood. After bending over to get a closer look, she muttered, “These look a little weird, though.”
“Well, lassie, that’s because they’re not recorders,” said a man with light brown hair tending toward gray and gray eyes tending toward humor. “You’re looking at chanters, you are.”
Emily’s blue eyes widened as she gazed up into the man’s face. “I’ve never heard of a chanter.”
“Why, it’s a very important part of a bagpipe,” the man said as he picked up one of the instruments made of dark wood, flared on one end. “This one is made of blackwood, and if you tried to play one of these on a bagpipe, you’d probably end up fainting before getting a single note out.” He set the chanter down in its place and picked up a narrower plastic version. “This is where a new piper needs to start, with a practice chanter. Learning to play the full bagpipes with bag and four reeds is a lot easier once you’ve mastered the practice chanter.” He looked at the adults and grinned. “It also causes less pain for the people and dogs within a mile of the new player.”
Emily looked from the practice chanter to the full bagpipes propped up on a nearby table. “Wow, that boy in the band this morning must have started practicing when he was a baby!”
“What colors was he wearing?” the man asked.
“Red and black.”
“You must be talking about Colby. He’s a rare one. I’ve only known one other piper who played as well so young.” For a brief instance the merry eyes of the man dimmed, but he gave a slight shake of his head and then addressed Emily’s companions. “Is there anything I can help you find?”
Peggy and Alice looked at Annie, who reached into her bag for the ferrule. “There might be,” Annie said, showing the man the ferrule. “I found eight of these, with no bagpipe, in the house my grandparents used to own. I was wondering if you might be able to tell me anything about the engraving, whether it’s from a particular clan or family.”
The man reached out a hand, and asked, “May I?” Annie placed the piece in his hand. “You have eight of them, you say? That’s one short of a complete set.” He took a pair of glasses out of his shirt pocket, donned them, and examined the mystery ferrule. “Sterling silver, excellent craftmanship.” He paused and sighed. “Unfortunately, I don’t know of any clan with that crest.” He handed the ferrule back to Annie. “But there are several tartan and clan tents where you will find people to help you look for clan crests and badges.”
“Thank you, Mr. … ” Annie started.
“MacTavish—like the sign says,” the pipemaker said. “I hope you will come back and see me, if you ever decide to learn piping.” He chuffed Emily gently under the chin. “Especially you, lassie. And come back next year to see young Colby play again. He’ll be a whole year better.”
Emily bobbed her head. “I will, if Mom and Daddy bring me. Bye, Mr. MacTavish!”
As Emily and the women left, Mr. MacTavish stood staring after them, deep in thought.
The women wove between the tents, seeking out more bagpipe or music vendors. Annie showed the ferrule to three more pipe experts, all of whom showed interest in the quality of the piece and design. None of them, however, could tell her anything about the hawk-and-rose design.
After they thanked the last vendor, Peggy stopped her friends outside the tent. “You know I’m all for clue hunting,” she said, “but if we don’t do the next part of the search more quickly, we won’t make it through all the vendors before we’re supposed to meet Wally and Ian. I suggest we split up.”
Alice looked at her watch. “Hmmm, I see what you mean. We’ve passed several tartan and clan tents, so I agree with your suggestion, Peggy.”
“I do, also,” said Annie. “Em, will you help your mom look for two things, the hawk-and-rose symbol and—” she pulled the photos of the sporran out of her bag and showed them to the young girl, “see the design on the clasp? The sprig is juniper. If we can find out what clan is associated with juniper, it might help us solve the mystery.” Then she handed two of the photos to Peggy. “Take these with you.”
“And call or text us if you find anything,” Alice told her. “Immediately!”
Peggy snorted to beat any Highland cow. “As if you had to tell me that!” She pointed to the row of tents opposite from where they were standing. “Em and I will take that side, and you two take this one.”
“Sounds good,” agreed Annie. “If we don’t find anything before 10:25, then let’s meet at MacTavish’s and go meet the guys.”
Peggy saluted, and with a “Happy hunting!” she and Em went on their way. The first tent they came to, Dress to Kilt, radiated with color. Clan tartans draped racks along the canvas walls, looking like mini waterfalls. Spinning displays of kilt pins and accessories flanked the entrance.
“Em, you look at those pins,” Peggy said, pointing her daughter to the display just across the entrance from where they were standing. “I’ll check the ones over here.” Excited to be a part of the sleuthing, Emily danced over to fulfill her assignment.
As mother and daughter concentrated on the pin designs, they didn’t notice the slim teenager in a dark kilt and black shirt come through the entrance until he started fiddling. Then they peered around the two displays to watch the young musician serenade the girl behind a table, who blushed delicately under the freckles that sprinkled her pale but lovely face.
He ended with a flourish and held out his fiddle and bow in supplication, layers of dark hair almost covering his eyes. “Will fiddle for kilt pin,” he said.
Emily clapped her hand over her mouth, and Peggy ducked slightly behind the display to hide her smile.
“My parents would never let me come back next year if I started bartering away inventory on entertainment, Eli.” The girl’s voice started out prim, like she was channeling a schoolmarm from the Victorian era. Then the corners of her mouth turned up, and her eyes softened. “Even if the fiddler is cute when he plays.”
The fiddler shifted one foot forward and gestured at his kilt with his bow. “Aw, Linley, I lost my kilt pin, and now I’ll have to keep flashing my thighs at everyone.”
“You may not thank me for it, but they will.” Linley’s smile widened into cheekiness. “But, maybe … .” The girl turned and poked her head through a gap in the back wall of the tent, looking left and then right to make sure her parents weren’t nearby. “I could loan you a pin until the end of the day. You’ll have to bring it back, or I’m in deep trouble when they do inventory. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”
Eli stepped as close to the girl as he could get with the table between them and leaned over the obstacle, speaking in a low voice. “I’d never want trouble for you. But won’t your parents be here at the end of the day, loading up stuff?”
“Yeah, probably.” Linley gave the y
oung man a look that had Peggy suddenly feeling like an intruder. She suddenly was reminded of when she first fell for Wally. “I guess we’ll just have to meet somewhere away from the tent.”
Eli gazed into the girl’s eyes. “Can you meet me at the Harper’s building? I’ll be helping my aunt pack up, but I can get away for a few minutes.” His expression communicated how much he wished it could be longer.
A woman in khaki Bermuda shorts and a shirt sprinkled with blue and red lobsters broke into the aura of blooming love in the tent to look around. Linley whispered, “OK,” and then looked down at the kilt pins on the table. Selecting one, she slipped it into a small paper bag. Eli transferred his bow into the same hand as his fiddle and held out his hand. The girl laid the bag on his palm, delaying long enough to give the musician a chance to close his fingers briefly around hers.
The woman in the Bermuda shorts stepped up to the table and addressed the girl, “Do you have any pins with the Cross of St. Andrew?” With a wink, Eli released Linley’s hand and slipped from the shop, while the object of his affection saw to the needs of the customer.
“Yes, we have several different pins.” As the girl pointed them out to the woman, Peggy and Emily left the displays by the entrance and perused the pins on the table, but they saw no hawk-and-rose or juniper sprigs.
“The pins here are pretty, Mom, but I don’t see anything like the pictures,” Emily said to Peggy.
“On to the next place we go, then.” Peggy took her daughter’s hand, and they left the tent. “I can’t wait to tell Annie and Alice about Eli and Linley. They were so sweet.”
Emily giggled, “They were all googly-eyed.”