What If

by Ann Ritchie Domela

  Chapter 16

  The Games Begin

  For the first time in months, Heather slept late; so comfortable under the down quilt she didn’t want to get up. That was until she recalled what the new day would bring. It was as if she were home. All was well. Ian was alive and things were the same as they had been. It was all a bad dream.

  Slowly she opened her eyes to see the unfamiliar room. The furniture was old and dark wood. There were heavy maroon drapes on the window, allowing only a little bit of bright sunlight into the room. Then she remembered.

  “Heather. Heather.” Mari’s soft voice called. “Are you alright.”?

  “Come in.” Heather threw the covers off and placed her feet into her house slippers and put on her robe.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, but I was a wee bit concerned.

  “I don’t usually sleep so late. I’ll be showered and dressed quickly.”

  “No need to rush, dearie. I’ve got breakfast ready. The men are setting up more tables and after that will be more than happy to eat. I’ll go and let you get ready. Meet you at the kitchen table.”

  Within the half hour, Heather rushed to the kitchen. Not sure what she would have to do, she had still worn a white long sleeved lacy blouse and full-length lavender kilt. “Do you have an apron? I wasn’t sure…”

  “Ay, dearie, I’ve many an apron. They’re hanging on the back of the pantry door. Tak yer (take your) choice.”

  “What can I do?” the young woman was prepared to help.

  “Go out the back door and call for the men. I have breakfast ready.”

  Heather quickly did as she was bid, thinking she didn’t need an apron for this.

  Malcolm and Duncan came in and sat at the table as Mari bid Heather to join them.

  “But,” Heather began.

  “I’ve got it all under control.” Mari laughed.

  “What happened to all the people who were here last night? I’m sorry I had to get to bed early, but...”

  “Dinna worra, (don’t worry) child,” Malcolm laughed. They were all our neighbors and dearest friends. We have kind of established a Scot community here. They all came for the anniversary and went on to their hames. Today, they all return along with many many many more. Should be about a hundred or so.”

  “Oh, my, hadn’t we better get going with the food and stuff?” she began to rise.

  “Set yersel (sit yourself) down.” Mari said. “It’s all under control. You just get your breakfast. There’s porridge (oatmeal), scones, scotch eggs, and I’ve warmed up the rumblethumps. Coffee or tea?”

  “I’m having coffee,” Duncan held up his cup, as if requesting a re-fill.

  “Wrong house, wrong woman, young man. Help yersel.”

  Malcolm just laughed while Heather reached for the teapot. “I’ll just have a cuppa.”

  Breakfast was barely over when a few people began arriving. First came Bonnie and her fiddle-playing husband. Within minutes, two elderly ladies came in, introduced as sisters, Christina and Marjorie. Each carried large containers and was told to place them in the kitchen with the rest. Mari got up, told them to finish their breakfast and went about playing hostess. Everyone was escorted outside.

  Heather couldn’t finish the food. She had to go and help Mari. Duncan and Malcolm were both out the door. They could hear the sounds of cars parking out front. A hundred people would soon be milling about. Several women were soon coming in carrying various containers of food. They too were directed where to put the dishes and asked to join the others outside. Heather decided she would join Mari and the other women. She hardly had time to introduce herself when Duncan came and whisked her away to the group gathering by the men tuning up to play the pipes and drums.

  “I know you miss this. Listen to those pipes. Only a good Scot would enjoy this.”

  He was right. As a child, she had learned that this was the music of joyful entertainment. “Thank you, but I think I would have heard it no matter where I was on the place.”

  “Come away then. Let’s watch the dancers.”

  He led her off to another area where he and Malcolm had set up the dancing floor on the grass outside. Already little children were gathering and practicing. The awards and loving cups were displayed so that each child could see what they might win should their dancing catch a judges eye. Heather sat down on a nearby bench to watch. She had won a few awards herself, not all that many years ago.

  A small little girl, about five years old, she thought, sat down next to her. Blonde hair neatly tied back, wearing a gray, green kilt, stockings and dancing shoes, she was ready to join the others practicing. “Is it okay to sit here with you?” she asked.

  Heather nodded. Duncan stood next to them watching.

  “I don’t think I can do as good as them.” She pointed to several of the dancing children.

  “Why not?”

  “Most of them go to the school for dancing. My mom taught me.” She looked so sad.

  Heather had gone through a similar experience and understood. “Did you know in Scotland, there are very few schools in the small towns, like where I was raised?”

  “No. Did you dance?”

  “Certainly. Almost all little girls in Scotland dance.”

  “How did you learn?”

  “Why my mum taught me. Most mums teach their children and papas teach the boys to play the pipes.”

  “They do” the child looked astonished. “Did you ever win one of those?” she pointed to a large silvery cup.

  “Many. If you like, I’ll tell you a secret.”

  The child nodded, her eyes wide.

  “When a mum who loves her daughter so much as to teach her the dancing, the girl often wins many medals and cups. I did.”

  Such a happy bright smile took over the girls face. “Watch me,” she asked as she rose to show Heather her dance.

  “That was a nice thing to do.” Duncan said. “I guess you understand her feelings.

  “I do.”

  “Did you win a lot of medals and such?”

  “I did.”

  “So will you save a dance for me?”

  “I will,” Heather smiled. Today was going to be a happy one.

  They watched the children for a while and then went on to watch the caber toss.

  Malcolm was there waiting his turn. Heather was certain he would win this with his huge hulk.

  Malcolm turned to Duncan. “There you are. Been looking for you.”

  “Oh, no. I said I would participate where I could, but this isn’t it. I could barely lift a big stick, much less the caber. That’s a telephone pole, isn’t it?’

  “Yes, it is, but that’s not what I need you to do.”

  “Great. What do you need me to do?”

  “Go into the hoose. (house) Mari has laid out a kilt and such for you in the guest room. I know it may not be your plaid, but it will fit.”

  “I’m really not a kilt kind of man.”

  “Ah weel, (Oh well) you need be today. There’s the race all men have to join in. You don’t have to win it, but you do have to run it.”

  “In a kilt?” Duncan asked a bit skeptical.

  Heather didn’t hold back the laughter.

  “Yes, lad, it’s tradition. Do you see any other man here not wearing our national garb?”

  Duncan shook his head.

  “Then go lad and come out looking like a real man.

  Heather said, “Go ahead. I’ll be over there with the women at the food tables and added, “This I got to see.”

  A short time later, Duncan joined her, obviously uncomfortable wearing a white shirt, plaid stockings in his own shoes and the beautiful kilt of the MacIntosh plaid complete with sporran hanging properly from his waist. Heather recognized the plaid, of course, immediately. “Did you know that is my family plaid?”

  “No, I was more interested in the length or lack of it. He whirled about while holding down the material. “Does this look good on me?”

 
; “You look like every other man here.”

  Mari came up to them, looking admiringly at the young man. “Ah, now you’re well dressed. I hope you like the colors.”

  “Actually, that’s my plaid.” Heather offered.

  “Lovely. Now you two wander about. We’re going to have the race just before lunch. You’ll hear the bell and Malcolm will announce. The children will do their dancing during and after the meal. I’m sure Malcolm has won the caber toss already. He always does.” She smiled and shooshed them away.

  Mari was right. Malcolm was wearing the caber toss medal as he approached them. “You look good, lad. Got a question to ask you.”

  Duncan looked up.

  Malcolm put his hand to the side of his face as if to whisper, but kept the same tone of voice. “What are you wearing under that kilt?”

  “I thought that was a well kept secret. Do you really want me to tell you and spoil the surprise when we run the race?”

  Malcolm guffawed. “You’re right, laddie. Let’s keep them in suspense.

  The couple continued walking around the large farm. They introduced themselves to many as they went by. Heather was enjoying herself immensely. This was like home.

  A bell sounded and Malcolm went on the loudspeaker to announce the kilt race. “All you men gather over here.” He gestured to the place where ropes had been set up in a circular area. “This is 1/8 of a mile. We will all run round it four times until we have reached the half-mile. Each man’s lady will wave a colored scarf to let you know that you have run that part. Green for 1/8, blue for ¼, yellow for 3/8 and red for the half mile. Each of you ladies, go to the mile mark and gather your flags.”

  The men came forward and after each getting into place, Mari fired the starting pistol. Even Bonnie’s elderly husband got in line to run. The men took off. Bonnie’s husband, a bit stooped, walked a few paces, smiled, took the red scarf from his wife’s hands and sat down. He had, at least, been in the race.

  The men running, kilts flapping in the breeze, the women screaming for their men, it was exciting.

  Every so often, a woman would shout and point to an individual man. Heather noted that in spite of them joshing, the kilts came down as fast as they went up with no way to tell what the men wore under the kilts.

  She waved her flags in proper order as Duncan ran around the track. In truth, she noted that the man was taking more care in holding down the kilt than winning the race. By the time her red scarf fell, four men had already crossed the finish line. She didn’t know the first three, but Malcolm had come in fourth.

  He was presented with a loving cup of about three inches in height. He held it as high as anyone who had won the Olympics.

  “How many years have you won that same cup?” chided Bonnie.

  “This is the third. The other one was a fifth place ribbon. It’s not important if you win, it’s how you run the race. At least I dinna spend all my time holding the kilt in place. He laughed and pointed toward Duncan.

  “I’m trying not to shock the ladies,” he retorted.

  Many joined in the laugh. Even though Duncan was dressed in stockings up to the top of the kilt, with full blousy shirt, he was feeling uncomfortable as if he were not even dressed.

  He had such a sheepish grin, like a young boy caught doing some prank; Heather couldn’t see him as Ian, not at that moment. Was it possible that a man could look so like another and not be him? Was she seeing this near look alike with eyes that wanted to bring her love back to life? Could she have been wrong all this time?

  She looked at him again. If he wasn’t Ian, he was so nice to be with. Duncan was everything she had wanted in Ian. He was devoid of all Ian’s flaws. Was it possible that she was beginning to care for this man? If so, would it be because he was so much like her fiancée or was it because he wasn’t? How much was she beginning to care?

  They had decided to acquiesce to Mari’s request to spend one more night at the farm. Although San Luis Obispo was only a few hours' drive away, they had a strenuous day full of excitement. “No sense in going awa’ without a rest.” She had said to them. Duncan looked at Heather for her answer and she agreed.

  Again, he slept alone on the couch in the family room. As usual, Duncan remained the perfect gentleman.