Through the Mist: Restoration

by C. Renee Freeman

  He was ruthless in the management of the property. In his mind, the end justified the means. He kicked off the cottars to make way for various hunting and sheep-raising operations. He cut down trees and cleared land wherever it proved convenient for him. Anyone who stood in his way was promptly moved. He was rough with the local folk, showing little respect to the generations of people who made the estate into what it was.

  Benjamin did not approve. He too fought to keep the family property intact. Unlike his father, he cared for the cottars who leased its land. He won the support of the locals, something that would prove valuable when times were difficult.

  “The attitude of service before self was drilled into each son that followed Benjamin and even exists today,” he declared with pride. “The castle and surrounding lands remain, because of what Benjamin started.”

  “He sounds like a great man,” Tilly observed.

  “By all accounts, he was,” Mr. Douglas said. “We have a portrait of him. It hangs just down the hall from this room. Unfortunately, we do not have a portrait of his wives.”

  “He had two, didn’t he?” Beth asked.

  “His first wife was named Mary and bore him five children before dying in childbed,” he said. He bowed his head in respect. “Sadly, many women died that way back then.”

  “And his second wife? What was her name?” Beth asked.

  “It does not appear in family records,” he said regretfully. “All we know about her is through stories passed down over the generations. She was a good woman who brought happiness to Benjamin, and she was a champion of education for all. If you venture into the village, look for the great building on the High Street. The second Mrs. Campbell established a school there in 1803.”

  “Can we see his portrait?” Tilly asked. She was very curious to see who inspired such devotion all these years later.

  ∞

  The dashing man who stared down at them from the portrait in the hallway looked every inch the Scottish laird, even if he could never use that title. Benjamin Campbell stood in the forest, the castle behind him in the distance. He looked comfortable in the setting, as if he spent many a day wandering through those woods. His left hand rested lightly on the hilt of a lethal-looking claymore strapped to a thick black leather belt around his trim waist. The tartan kilt seemed to move from a soft breeze that also ruffled long, unchecked auburn hair that fell to his shoulders. The white, billowy shirt he wore was partially open, revealing a hairy, muscular chest. It looked like something straight off the cover of a steamy romance novel.

  “Oh, my,” Beth sighed, placing a hand to her chest. “Now, that is a fantasy.”

  Tilly laughed, moving closer to examine the picture. The man’s eyes were a beautiful mossy green shade that matched the lush foliage in the background. Lucky for him, he looked more like his dear mother than his overbearing father. His strong jaw, high cheekbones, and broad shoulders gave the impression of strength, yet his soft, steady gaze hinted at a sweetness of spirit. “The portrait is lovely,” she said. “Do we know if it is a fair resemblance of Mr. Campbell?”

  “It is said Benjamin was a very handsome man,” Mr. Douglas said. He cocked his eyebrow and smiled at the ladies. “My dear wife is a great admirer of this portrait.”

  Tilly and Beth exchanged a look but said nothing.

  “I thought it was forbidden to wear a kilt after the Act of Proscription was enacted,” Beth said. “When was the portrait painted?”

  “Aye, it was forbidden until the Act was repealed in 1782,” he said. “We found an entry in a ledger that suggests the painting was commissioned in 1802.”

  “Why did he decide to wear a kilt?” Tilly asked. “Wouldn’t it have been rather passé at that point?”

  “Wearing a kilt would not become popular until many years later, when King George IV visited,” Mr. Douglas said. “It is rather strange that he chose this garment.”

  “And, who is that woman in the background?” Tilly asked. She pointed to the figure who sat on a rock some distance behind Benjamin. The woman’s long, straight brown hair was undone and covered her face. The mystery lady wore a simple green dress that matched the moss of the granite rock on which she sat. She faced the castle, not the painter.

  “We think she is his second wife but cannot be sure,” Mr. Douglas said. “The ledger entry says the style of the portrait was her idea. It follows that she might be included in the painting. We are not certain, though.”

  He leaned closer to the ladies and said in a low voice, “Mr. Campbell’s room has not been restored yet. They do not let tourists see it.” He glanced from side to side, making sure no one was near. “We could sneak inside the room if you like.”

  The ladies nodded eagerly. As Tilly followed her companions, she glanced back at the portrait. I bet many a fair maiden swooned over him, she thought wryly. No wonder his name was not lost to history.

  ∞

  Benjamin Campbell’s suite was located on the ground floor, to the right of the entrance. It was similar to the other areas they visited. One passed through a series of rooms until finally reaching the bedchamber. Even though much of the furniture was covered with white cloth, the room seemed quietly grand.

  The coffered wood ceiling was easily twelve feet high. The roughhewn wooden beams did not have gold leaf or any sort of embellishment, unlike the ceiling in the state bedchamber. It lent a distinctly masculine air to the room.

  Upon entering the bedchamber, they saw a massive fireplace. Lacking the ornate trappings of other fireplaces throughout the castle, a thick oak timber served as the mantel. Rugged, gray granite climbed the wall to the ceiling. Tilly could not resist running her hands across the cool rock. She could only imagine the incredible work that went into making such a humble fireplace. She liked its rustic look and hoped it would be retained when the room was restored.

  She stared down at the oak floors, dusty and worn. She imagined they would shine beautifully when they were refinished.

  Beth made her way to the large, four poster bed that stood on the opposite side of the room. Navy brocade curtains hung above a mattress so high that a stepping stool was needed to enter the bed. She patted the matching bedspread, and a huge cloud of dust rose from it.

  As she strode around the room, something about it unnerved Tilly. Maybe she was simply tired of the continuous history lesson. Or perhaps it was just too stuffy. The air was deathly still. The room seemed to be waiting, but for what? Or whom?

  Whatever the reason, she decided it was time to explore the garden and said as much to her companions. She noted Beth’s reluctance to leave the room but was happy when her friend relented. As they left, Beth whispered in her ear, “Makes you wish for a dashing laird of your own, doesn’t it?”

  “Beth, if you see one, let me know,” Tilly replied. “A hot Scot seems like the perfect salve for the soul right now.”

  Four

  Mr. Douglas was as well versed with plants as he was with castle lore. Beth and Tilly enjoyed a lovely stroll through the gardens as he spent a full hour talking about the formality of the original design, its carefully manicured shrubs, and small maze. Taking strolls through the garden was a fashionable pastime of a bygone era. Their guide informed that Malcolm Campbell had the finest garden in all of Scotland when Castle Fion enjoyed its popularity as a retreat for the English. With appropriate chagrin, Mr. Douglas admitted that the current, relaxed style suited his simpler taste.

  Upon hearing Tilly’s growling stomach, though, he insisted he had taken enough of their time. Fumbling around in the pockets of his jacket, he finally produced a scrap of paper and pencil. He hastily wrote directions to where they could find the perfect picnic place. He said it combined history and beauty, since a monument marked a spot where a Campbell ancestor experienced an important event. It also overlooked the prettiest valley in the area. After confirming Beth could find the way and securing a promise from them that they would return tomorrow to finish the tour, he said goodbye and
headed into the castle.

  On the drive to the picnic spot, Beth told her that there was so much more to see. They had not toured the basement area where the old kitchen and servant quarters were located. And, she read that an old chapel was hidden somewhere in the forest. She was certain Mr. Douglas would know exactly where to look. Tilly rolled her eyes and stared out the car window as her friend carefully threaded her way through the forest down an old dirt road.

  Fortunately, his directions were very good. Beth had no trouble finding the spot. Unfortunately, he failed to mention the climb up a steep, rocky hill to get there.

  “Damnation!” Beth huffed, shifting the hefty picnic basket to her other hand. “Do you think there is a piece of ground in Scotland that isn’t covered in rocks?”

  “If there is, I haven’t seen it yet!” Tilly cried, gasping for air.

  When they finally reached the top of the hill, they discovered it was devoid of vegetation. The only marking was a granite monolith in the middle of the clearing. It stood ten feet high and had words carved onto the surface of the rock. They guessed the words were written in Gaelic. They did not appear to be English, yet looked a lot like the road signs they saw on the drive to Deoch. Above the words, they spotted several symbols – a fish, triangles, and the horizontal number 8, meant to represent infinity.

  “What do you suppose it says?” Beth asked. She traced the carvings with her fingertips. “We must remember to ask Mr. Douglas tomorrow. I suspect there’s a story here.”

  Tilly nodded absently. Her attention was drawn away from the rock and toward the expansive view of the valley below. “Look, that’s our cottage!” she exclaimed, pointing to Mrs. Douglas’ inn.

  It was indeed their temporary home, the little white cottage that stood in the middle of the pasture. The lush green forest surrounded it. She noticed that a gently flowing stream sliced through one section of the woods. She hoped the trails Mrs. Douglas mentioned led to that area. It looked like a tranquil spot.

  She glanced at the gray sky, a gloomy sight that thankfully did not threaten rain. The air was cool but not cold. While it was not the balmy weather to which they were accustomed in the South, it was a nice day for Scotland.

  Beth spread a blanket onto the ground and began disassembling the picnic basket. “Oh, bless the woman!” she squealed with delight when she found a bottle of wine. She grabbed a corkscrew from the basket and deftly plucked the cork from the bottle. She filled two mugs with the ruby red liquid, offering one to Tilly.

  She took it and joined her friend on the blanket. The wine was really good. Closing her eyes, she savored its flavor.

  “Try this,” Beth said. She shoved a sandwich into Tilly’s other hand. A fast eater, she had already consumed half of her own sandwich.

  Tilly mused that a simple repast of wine and farmer’s cheese wedged between two slices of homemade bread seemed very exotic when eaten on the top of a Scottish hill. It was delicious. Buttery shortbread cookies nicely finished the meal.

  They stretched onto the blanket as if they were sunbathing on a warm beach, their eyes closed. They lay there for several moments, lost in thought. Beth finally broke the spell. “How do you feel?” she asked quietly.

  “Fat! I ate too much!” Tilly exclaimed.

  “That is not what I mean, and you know it,” she said, lifting herself onto one elbow. She ran her fingers through her wavy, dirty blonde hair, a nervous habit. Finally, she said, “It has only been a year. You sold the house. That was a big step. No one would blame you if you wanted to take more time to recover. Are you sure you are okay?”

  Tilly opened her eyes. “It has been difficult,” she said. “For the first few months, I felt like a shell of a human being. I didn’t know what to do. The life we planned was over. I didn’t know what I should do next.”

  She hesitated. She had never told Beth the story. “I went to a meeting for a support group about six months ago,” she said. “I met a lady there who was a wreck. She didn’t have a job. She had few friends beyond the other wretched souls in the group. She told me she sat in a room in her parent’s basement, crying every day. Her life was completely destroyed.”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “When I asked her how long it had been, she told me twelve years,” Tilly said. “Twelve years, Beth! In a flash, I pictured Anna. Would I want my daughter to stay frozen like that? Would I want her life to end because of what happened? How would I feel if she spent the rest of her life crying in a basement?” She shook her head. “A mother always wants her children to be happy and to lead a wonderful life. Yes, it has only been a year. I feel it in my bones, though. I must start now, even if it is just one small step at a time. I would expect nothing less from my own children – or Alex, for that matter.”

  She squeezed Beth’s hand. “Thank you so much for everything Randall and you have done. I could not survive without your support. It has been hell this past year. I can never tell you how much you have meant to me.”

  The mood was far more serious than Tilly wanted. She grinned slyly. “And, thank you for this trip. What a treat! Of course, it would have been nice to travel somewhere warm,” she teased. “We could be at your house on Sullivan’s Island, basking in the sun and sipping a fruity cocktail.”

  “I thought about going there,” Beth admitted. “Then, I remembered all the happy times your family had there, all the summers we spent playing on the beach and swimming in the ocean. I was afraid it would bring back too many memories for you. Scotland seemed so far from anything you ever experienced with your family. It might be the one place we could go where you could create new memories.”

  “I appreciate everything you have done,” Tilly said. Sweeping her arm wide, she added with a chuckle, “This is definitely unlike anything I ever saw with Alex and the kids.”

  Now seemed like the right time to share the news. With a sigh, she announced, “I sold the restaurant.”

  “No! It was Alex’s dream!” Beth protested. “When?”

  “Last week. Remember the investors who wanted to expand it?” she asked. At Beth’s nod, she continued, “Well, they approached me about buying it instead. I discussed it with the staff. Everyone agreed it was the right thing to do. The money will settle some debts. Combined with the proceeds from the house, I should be able to make a fresh start somewhere.”

  “Somewhere?” Beth interrupted her. “Are you leaving Asheville?”

  Tilly lifted herself from the blanket. It was clear that her friend needed brutal honesty. “I cannot afford to stay,” she said. “I don’t even have a job. I will burn through the money so quickly there. I have a better chance if I move to a new city.”

  “Oh, you know Randall and I can help you. You don’t have to leave.”

  “I appreciate that, but it is not the answer. Sooner or later, I must face reality.” She wiped a tear that trickled down Beth’s face. “Hey, it will be fine,” she said reassuringly. “I will figure this out.”

  “I know. The whole situation just sucks, though.”

  “That’s putting it mildly,” Tilly said ruefully. “It helps to know that you will be there to support me through whatever happens. And, I don’t plan to go far. I still need to be near you.”

  They hugged tightly. “You are right,” Beth whispered. “They would want you to go on with your life. Just promise me you will take care of yourself. I want to see you happy again.”

  Tilly forced a weak smile. “I will,” she said. “I promise.”

  Five

  Later that evening, Tilly had finished a relaxing bath in the antique claw foot tub in her suite’s bathroom. Already in her white cotton nightgown and wrapped in her blue polar fleece robe, she settled into one of the chairs beside the fireplace and sipped a glass of whisky. She found a decanter of the soothing liquid and a set of crystal tumblers on a small table beside the fireplace when she returned from dinner. Apparently, it was customary in this house to have a wee dram before bedtime.

  She knew Mrs. Douglas
and probably the whole of Scotland would be aghast at her frivolous behavior, but she could not resist the urge to fling open the double doors that separated her room from the garden outside. It felt good to breathe fresh air.

  From her seat, she looked outside and admired the evening view. She watched as a white mist glided over the pasture, softening the light of the full moon that hung in the sky. She felt the moisture tickle her cheeks and cling to her eyelashes.

  It reminded her of the last night at the farmhouse. She spent that evening staring out into the garden, trying to remember every last detail and watching a cool breeze move the mist across the green blades of grass.

  She breathed deeply, inhaling the crisp Scottish air. This trip was the first step in her grand plan to start a new chapter in her life. She knew some people would think it was silly to dash off on an adventure with Beth. Now that she was here, she realized she needed the escape. She would politely tell the naysayers to go screw themselves. The memories at home had been overwhelming, reminding her with every passing second that her family was gone.

  It was time to pick up the pieces and start a new life. Sadly, she never imagined she would have to do it. Alex and she planned everything so carefully. She worked very hard to earn that master’s degree, knowing it would help her secure a better teaching position. After her first interview, she felt certain she would get the job at the same school her kids attended. Everything was falling into place. They never planned for this, though. What was she supposed to do?

  Tilly refilled the glass. She tilted the tumbler, admiring the way it sparkled in the dancing light from the fire.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted intricate symbols on the shield above the fireplace. They resembled the work carved into the stone monument on the hill above the cottage. She supposed the symbols were there all along, and she simply failed to notice them. So far, she had seen enough old relics to last a lifetime. She could only imagine what sights Beth planned for them to see in the coming days.