A Highlander is Coming to Town

by Laura Trentham

  Ms. Meadows smiled, but there was a sadness in her eyes. “I’ve been figuring things out too, and I’ve come to a decision.”

  “What’s that?” A sudden fear of being thrown out on her bum tensed her muscles.

  “I’m going to move into an assisted living facility after the New Year and sell this place to the Piersons.” A waver in her voice brought Claire to sitting once more to take Ms. Meadows’s hands.

  “But this is your home.”

  Ms. Meadows looked around the small bedroom. “This was my son’s room. I didn’t touch it until years after Samuel died. He came in here sometimes and grieved. I don’t think he realized I could hear him. Our sadness colored the walls, but the foundation was always love and happiness. I couldn’t imagine leaving. I thought I’d die here.”

  Tears stung Claire’s eyes. How could she have any left after last night? Maybe grief was like love. People had an endless supply of both. “I can’t imagine you anywhere else than here. Why leave now?”

  “I’d forgotten how to care about someone else until you came along. I miss the connections.” She looked to the posters still tacked to the walls of bands and basketball players, the edges curled with age. “I still have some living to do. Several old friends of mine are in a nice facility at the edge of town. They play bridge and take buses to shows in Atlanta. I think I’d like to see more than these walls before I kick the bucket.”

  “That sounds absolutely brilliant, ma’am.” Claire smiled her first real smile.

  “Will you help me sort through the house before you skedaddle off to solve your own problems?”

  “Of course. When do you want to start?”

  “Now I’ve made the decision, an urgency to get it done is like an itch I need to scratch. What do you say to a little breakfast and then we’ll get to work?”

  The next three days passed in a flurry of activity that was a welcome distraction from mooning over Holt. Unfortunately, she couldn’t keep him from ransacking her dreams, and she woke every morning with a hollowed-out, empty feeling.

  On the third day, a storm front rolled in after the temperature had risen into springlike sixties. Ms. Meadows stood on the porch and stared up at the darkening sky. Although it was only late afternoon, the sky was like dusk.

  Ms. Meadows’s worry transmitted to Claire. “What’s wrong?”

  Ms. Meadows squinted harder at the sky. “Don’t like the feel in the air. Let’s see what the weatherman has to say.”

  On the telly, a woman gesticulated in front of a radar with lots of green and red and yellow. Talk of the possibility of tornadoes being spawned by the moving front had Claire’s stomach clutching. Tornadoes belonged in The Wizard of Oz during the summer, and not in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains right before Christmas.

  “Oh, dear,” Ms. Meadows said as she sank into her arm chair.

  “How terrified should I be?” Claire asked.

  “We’ll be fine here in the hollow. A few trees might get blown over in the woods, but the house has survived worse. Much worse. We might lose power, though.”

  The two of them stayed in front of the telly and watched the front creep closer to Highland. Rain pelted the windows and roof, and the wind gusted against the house and sent shudders through the walls. The lights flickered once and then the electricity cut out with a snap, leaving only the noise of the storm to fill the unnatural silence.

  “What now?” Claire asked.

  “The power won’t be back on until morning at the earliest. I’m going to bed.” Ms. Meadows rose, leaning heavily onto her cane, her breathing heavy for so little exertion.

  Claire popped up from the sofa to take her arm. “Are you feeling okay?”

  Ms. Meadows offered a wan smile. “I’m tired is all. We’ve been working hard.”

  Ms. Meadows shuffled into her room and shut the door. Claire put the niggle of worry down to the storm. The wind rattled the windows and sent the chimes hanging on the front porch into a fugue.

  Claire rocked and waited for something momentous to happen, but the house stood strong against the storm, and Claire found that as the tension ebbed, fatigue crept into its place.

  She was physically and emotionally exhausted. The restlessness of her nights combined with the work of organizing the house caught up with her. Instead of crawling into her bed, she stretched out on the sofa, still feeling the need to maintain a vigil. Weather in Scotland could be unpredictable, but it was not usually violent.

  A sound woke her. Her heart thundered and she bolted uptight, attempting to pinpoint the threat. Full darkness had fallen, but it could be anywhere between early evening and right before sunrise. The soft patter of rain fell, but the wind no longer buffeted the house. For all she knew, she’d open the front door and find them transported to a different land.

  The noise came again and this time, it registered as distinctly human. Clumsy and disoriented from sleep, Claire scrambled off the couch and ran toward Ms. Meadows’s room, banging her shoulder against the doorframe.

  She skipped the etiquette of knocking and entered. “What’s wrong?”

  Ms. Meadows was a dark shape under the covers, and Claire flipped the light switch. Nothing happened. The power remained out. “Bloody hell and damnation,” she muttered.

  “That’s no language for a young lady to be using.” Ms. Meadows’s voice came out as a breathy laugh that morphed into a cough.

  Claire scooted her feet along the floor to avoid tripping or stubbing a toe. “I thought I heard you call out.”

  “I’m having trouble getting my breath.” Her words came haltingly. “And my chest is tight.”

  Panic seized Claire’s body. She needed to stay by Ms. Meadows’s side. No, she needed to call for help. “Who should I call?”

  “No one. I’ll be fine. Could you get me a glass of water?” Ms. Meadows pushed up against the pillows.

  The darkness shrouded Ms. Meadows’s face, which in turn made it difficult for Claire to determine how ill she was. She decided not to argue until her adrenaline faded, and she could have a good think on what to do. With her eyes adjusting to the darkened house, she made her way to the kitchen, filled a glass, and returned, only bumping her knee once and her big toe twice.

  She handed the glass to Ms. Meadows. The old woman’s hands shook, and she used both to bring the glass to her lips for a sip.

  “That does it. Something could be seriously wrong, ma’am. I’m calling nine-nine-nine.”

  “You dial nine-one-one here.”

  Claire noticed Ms. Meadows didn’t argue with her. It took some fumbling for her to make her way into the den and locate the cordless phone. Instead of a comforting backlight to the numbers, it was dark. She hit buttons but nothing happened. The cordless phone wouldn’t work until the power came back on. She didn’t have a mobile phone and neither did Ms. Meadows. She could bike for help. Except her chain was still broken.

  What were her options? She could stay with Ms. Meadows and hope she didn’t worsen until the power came back on, when she could call for help. Or she could head to Holt’s farm. But would he help her considering their last parting?

  Ashamed, she dismissed the slight punch of doubt. He was a good man. A trustworthy one.

  She returned to Ms. Meadows. “How are you feeling? Better, worse, or the same?”

  “Uncomfortable, but no worse.”

  “How long have you felt sick?”

  “I was dizzy earlier, but I woke up with the tightness in my chest.”

  “The cordless phone isn’t working with the power out, and my bike chain is still broken. It’s going to take me awhile to get to Holt’s cabin.”

  “It’s closer to cut through the woods.”

  The fact Ms. Meadows wasn’t arguing ratcheted up Claire’s anxiety. Holt had pointed to the woods from his back porch and said Ms. Meadows’s house was only a short distance as the crow flies. But could she do it in the dark without pooping her pants in terror?

  “How far
it is?”

  “Ten minutes or less on foot. Look for the path behind the shed. Once you cross the creek, turn slightly west.”

  “West?” Would she wander the wilds of Georgia until she turned feral?

  A breathless chuckle had Ms. Meadows launch into a cough. “Veer to the right once you cross the creek. You can’t miss the cabin.”

  She would save precious minutes by facing her fears—one of them at least—and trekking through the woods. “I’ll go as fast as I can. Holt will know what to do.”

  Claire hesitated, loath to leave her employer. No, her friend. The emotions roiling through her were impossible to put into words. “Ms. Meadows…”

  Ms. Meadows grappled for her hand in the dim light and gave it a squeeze. “I’m not going to give up the ghost, girl. Now, get on with you.”

  Claire stumbled out the back door and took a deep breath of rain-washed air. The passing front had left behind cooler temperatures. Droplets still spit out of the sky in bursts, but the clouds had broken up and the flash of the moon provided an unexpected comfort.

  She slipped behind the shed and scanned the uneven growth of trees, spotting two narrow openings in the dark-green branches twenty feet apart. Which one was the trail to Holt? Aware time was ticking away, she chose the one on the right, because … why not?

  The going was slower than she would’ve liked. Roots and rocks and brambles caught her unawares. She went down on her hands and knees once, the wet seeping into her jeans. Water rained down on her every time the wind shook the trees.

  She stepped through a spiderweb and let out a yell that would have done her Scottish ancestors proud in pitch if not in courage. Linear time ceased to exist for her. It might have been minutes or hours. Just as she was imagining how long it would take for a bear to eat her, she stepped out of the thick trees onto the narrow bank of a stream.

  Sidling to the edge and squinting at the flowing water, Claire assessed the depth and breadth, but it was impossible to estimate. The moon had scurried behind more clouds. Logic decreed the stream would be swollen after the deluge, but was it dangerous?

  Broken branches lined the bank, and she tested the water with one. The current grabbed hold and tugged it out of her hand. She tried again with a different branch, this time holding it in both hands. The water was somewhere between calf-and knee-deep close to the bank, but less than a dozen feet across.

  The spot she stared at seemed as narrow and shallow as any other. Who knew what pitfalls were hidden along its path? At this point, she couldn’t retreat and go around by the road. Seconds accumulated into minutes the longer she dallied. She had no choice but to cross.

  She inched toward the edge of the bank with the intention to lower herself into the water. Before she could enter gracefully, the sodden earth gave way under her boots. The current pulled her feet out from under her before she could gain traction. She scrabbled and grabbed for anything stable, finding a thick root in her hand.

  She was able to right herself and push to standing. The water swirled around her knees. It was swift, but now that she was in it, the far side of the stream appeared tantalizingly close.

  One good leap would put her in the shallows on the other side. The water was dark and she tried (and failed) not to imagine what could be lurking underneath. Leeches? Snakes? She shuddered from fear and cold. Her sodden jeans were clammy and plastered to her legs, and her boots were cement blocks weighing her down.

  What if Ms. Meadows had worsened? She was counting on Claire, and it had been a long time since anyone had counted on her for anything. She couldn’t run away from this. Even more telling, she didn’t want to.

  Gathering in a huge breath in case she went under and was swept downstream, she stabilized her footing, bent at her knees, and pushed off. It was inglorious and clumsy and she flailed widely, but she made it to the opposite shallows and was able to gain traction on a submerged log.

  She ended up on her knees, the water rushing around her hips but not swift enough to drag her in farther. She staggered to her feet and clamored up the other side, breathing hard and thanking whatever deity was watching over her.

  Trees lined the other side and threw off her bearings. All she could do was follow Ms. Meadows’s directions and veer toward the right, which was hopefully west and would bring her to the clearing leading to Holt’s cabin.

  Not bothering to scope for a trail, she ducked under a low pine bough. The woods weren’t as dense on this side of the stream, and a clearing was visible after only a few feet. She burst out of the tree line and scanned ahead of her for cabin. A sob escaped when all she could see was rolling hills. Time was slipping away and with it, her hope.

  Then she saw a darker shadow in the night. Holt’s cabin. She ran toward it, stumbling over her own feet before righting herself. The going was easier in the meadow. She sluiced through calf-high brown grass. A small herd of cows was gathered under a lone tree in the middle. She gave them a wide berth.

  No lights shone from the cabin. A sudden fear that Holt wasn’t home assailed her before the gears of logic turned. The power outage would have affected the farm as well. A battery of emotions marched through her. Worry at her reception, fear for Ms. Meadows, but mostly relief knowing no matter what, Holt would help her, and she didn’t have to handle the situation alone anymore.

  She took the stairs up to his back porch in two leaps and banged on the door with a fist. “Holt! Are you here? Please be home.” After yelling his name, she said the last in a smaller, more desperate voice and put her ear against the door, trying to contain a spate of tears.

  Footsteps sounded on the other side and before she could pull back, the door jerked open, leaving her to pitch forward into Holt. Without thinking about propriety or the uneven footing of their friendship, she wrapped her arms around him.

  He was shirtless. And hot. In both temperature and the percent of muscle exposed. She couldn’t stop herself from burrowing against him. The hair across his chest tickled her cheek, and his heart thumped a steady albeit quickened rhythm. The cold water had seeped into her bones and left her shivering.

  “What’s the matter?” He sounded as if her earlier panic had diffused to him.

  “Ms. Meadows is sick and her phone isn’t working with the power outage. Can you call an ambulance to her house with your mobile?” Urgency had her words tripping over themselves, but it seemed he got the gist of her message.

  He lifted her away from him, spun on his heels, and strode through the kitchen. She stepped inside but didn’t stray off the tile onto the carpet. She had already messed things up between them. No need to include soiling his carpet with her squelchy boots.

  Once he’d hung up the phone, he returned to stand in front of her. The shadows hid his expression, and she became aware of the fact that he hadn’t invited her inside.

  “I need to get back to Ms. Meadows.” Her chattering teeth made the words stutter out of her.

  “You need to get dry clothes on.”

  “N-no time. She’s all alone, Holt. Would you please give me a ride? I don’t think I can make it back over the stream.” Now that she was safe and the ambulance had been called, exhaustion crept onto her shoulders like a giant hand pressing her down.

  “Of course. Hang on a second.” He disappeared, and she remained where she was, wrapping her arms around herself for warmth. She closed her eyes and rocked back and forth to try to generate heat.

  A soft blanket enfolded her in an embrace. She popped her eyes open and fisted the blanket tighter around her. His return had been silent. Or had she dozed off standing up? If animals could do it, people probably could too. She touched her mouth to make sure she hadn’t drooled.

  He had dressed in a half-tucked T-shirt and jeans. “Come on out to the truck. We might even beat the ambulance to the house.”

  She relinquished control to him and did his bidding, climbing into the truck and wilting in the seat. The artificial interior lights were a shock after the darkness of the la
st few hours.

  Neither of them spoke on the drive to Ms. Meadows’s house. Holt dodged around downed limbs. A fallen tree across the road halted them, but only for a moment. He engaged four-wheel drive and swerved off the road onto the muddy verge. The tires spun and the back end of the truck drifted down the embankment before finding a grip and bumping over the rough terrain and back onto the road.

  Claire white-knuckled the edge of the seat, her heart pounding. “Can an ambulance navigate this?”

  Holt’s mouth tightened, but his non-answer was answer enough.

  The bushes on either side of the lane to Ms. Meadows’s house were broken and bent, obscuring the view. Her mailbox had been knocked down. The ambulance could easily pass it by in the darkness.

  Holt pulled up and Claire had the door open before he’d come to a complete stop. She dropped the blanket as she ran toward the front door. How long had she been gone? It felt like the sun should be rising, but darkness still had a solid grip on the world.

  She clattered through the front door and called Ms. Meadows’s name. Claire stopped in the bedroom doorway, afraid to venture further. What if she was too late?

  “Hello, girl.” Ms. Meadows’s voice was a mere whisper.

  “Oh, thank the stars.” Claire sagged against the doorjamb before gathering herself and moving to the side of the bed. “An ambulance is on the way. I took forever, didn’t I?”

  “Not so long. Twenty minutes maybe. I’m glad you didn’t get lost.” The strain in her voice was telling.

  “It was a near thing.”

  Footsteps sounded down the hall and the dark form of Holt appeared. “Hanging in there, Ms. Meadows?”

  “By my fingertips.”

  “Burt down at county dispatch called and said a tree on the main highway was blocking the ambulance. They’re having to take an alternative route, but it shouldn’t be much longer.”

  “Thank you, Holt. You’ve proven yourself to be a fine young man.” Her ragged breaths were coming in near pants. “If I’d known it would only take hiring a pretty girl to get you Piersons to come around, I would have done it years ago.”