What was that about? But he wasn’t going to let her ruin his good mood. Besides, her attitude was nothing new. Gandiegow took every opportunity to blame Tuck for every infraction, real or imagined.
Upon entering the parsonage, an ominous feeling enveloped him. Things were too quiet—a deathly silence—before the clamor of Andrew rushing into the hallway. The grave expression on his brother’s face looked as if he’d recently given last rites. “Where have ye been?” Normally, Andrew would have asked after Tuck’s welfare first, but this time his greeting, tone, and demeanor were strained. St. Andrew seemed to struggle with remaining neutral. And he was losing the fight as accusation had bled through his words.
“What’s wrong?” Tuck asked, unable to tamp down the panic.
Andrew nodded toward the room from where he’d come. “Not here. We’ll go in the parlor and sit.”
Just tell me! But Tuck held it together and followed him down the hall and into the room.
Doc MacGregor stood at the window, his back stiff and straight. Desperate panic flooded Tuck and he had a hard time catching his breath. “Is Moira all right?” But at that moment, she walked in with a tray, her features drawn and tight as well.
Tuck nodded to Doc and then took his place at the end of the sofa.
Moira poured him a cup. “Here.”
Andrew stayed by the fireplace. “Tuck, we have some bad news. I wanted to be the one to tell ye. John Armstrong had an accident on the boat this morning.”
“What?” Tuck nearly toppled his tea.
Doc walked over and stood next to Andrew. “He got his arm caught in the winch drum. Lucky he hadn’t gone too far from town when it happened.”
“By the grace of God he made it back,” Andrew added.
The coffee and pastry from Tuck’s celebratory breakfast threatened to resurface. Winch drum accidents could be fatal…especially if the fisherman was alone when it occurred. Tuck jumped up. “Where is he? Is he going to be okay?”
Andrew stepped forward and laid a hand on Tuck’s shoulder, his brother having only compassion in his voice now and pity in his eyes. “He’s at the hospital.”
Doc nodded. “Half the town has gone to Inverness to be there with him and Maggie.”
“His arm?” Tuck asked. “Can they save it and sew it back on?” Television dramas did that sort of thing all the time.
Doc shook his head with finality. “Gone. There wasn’t anything left to save.”
“Oh, God.” Tuck collapsed back on the sofa and Moira wrapped a quilt around his shoulders. He hadn’t realized he was shaking. He looked up at Doc again. “Is he going to make it?”
Doc’s lips pursed together as hesitation flickered in his eyes. He seemed to be searching for the right words. “The next seventy-two hours are critical.”
“We’ll take ye to the hospital,” Andrew offered.
“No,” Tuck nearly yelled. Mrs. Bruce’s look of disgust now made perfect sense. “I need to lie down.” He caught each one of their looks of astonishment. Tuck didn’t explain that he was going to be sick. He rushed from the parlor, barely making it to the toilet before losing his breakfast. Afterward, he slunk into his room and slipped into bed.
Thoughts kept dive-bombing him, keeping him from sleep. “Good Friday, my arse,” he muttered. He’d never felt so terrible in his life and didn’t know how to fix it.
A while later, a light tap sounded at the door. “Tuck? I left a sandwich for ye in the refrigerator.” Moira’s voice held concern.
“Thanks,” Tuck said, but he couldn’t eat. He listened as Moira and Andrew talked quietly as they walked down the hallway, and then the cottage door shut behind them. Tuck rose, more restless than ever and left the cottage, too.
The village of sixty-five homes felt deserted as he plodded across town to the pub. No one would be there this time of day. If the door was open, as doors were usually unlocked here in Gandiegow, he’d help himself to a drink and leave his money by the cash register.
“Hold up,” Brodie hollered.
Tuck turned to see the tall, dark-headed fisherman stepping from his boat and taking long strides toward him.
Tuck had worked a lot for Brodie over the last several months. The two of them, though they’d gotten off to a rocky start, had built a strong friendship in the days that followed Brodie’s wedding to Rachel.
Brodie caught up to him. “I heard what happened.” He pointed back at John’s boat, and Tuck couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed it was already docked when he’d arrived back in Gandiegow. “How are ye doing?”
Tuck exhaled and shook his head. “As expected. John’s life is ruined and I feel like hell! The tar and feathering will begin as soon as the others return home from the hospital.” He swept his hand through the air to encompass all of Gandiegow.
Brodie nodded. “I get that. What are ye going to do now?”
Tuck glanced heavenward—not delivering a prayer this time, as he’d done out on the deserted road with Raymond clutching his chest—but looking up to heaven in frustration. The Almighty didn’t give a rat’s ass as to what was happening here and now. “Leaving town seems like the best idea, don’t ye think? At least until everything calms down.”
“Aye.” Brodie’s expression conveyed his understanding. He knew exactly the hell that Gandiegow had put Tuck through. He shrugged. “Ye could always come back later. Like I did.” Brodie had left for several years, returning recently to take over his grandfather’s fishing business.
“Where did ye go? France? Italy?”
“Nay. I stayed in Scotland, working for Ewan McGillivray. Have ye heard of Here Again Farm?”
Tuck shook his head.
“It’s a huge operation. Maybe he has an opening for you.” Brodie pulled out his cellphone. “I’ll give you his number.”
“Sure.” Tuck retrieved his mobile and punched in the number for later. “I really appreciate this.”
Brodie clamped a strong hand on his shoulder, as if to steady Tuck. “This is all going to work out, ye hear?”
“Thanks.” But Tuck wasn’t nearly as optimistic. His gut churned, making it feel like rough seas had taken control of his insides. But where good weather could fix rough waters, nothing could undo the fact that John was maimed. Or worse! What if he died?
Aye, Tuck’s excuse was valid for not showing up on time, but he’d made excuses before. It didn’t feel right to try and defend himself against what had happened. Besides, Gandiegow would never listen and believe him anyway.
As soon as Brodie walked away, he dialed Ewan. Tuck asked after work, but left out the part of why employment elsewhere was necessary—to escape the dirty looks and forego the cold shoulder treatment from the Gandiegowans until the end of time!
The guy on the phone said all the jobs were filled for the upcoming shearing season. Tuck’s stomach sank. There would be no escape to Here Again Farm. He went mute.
Ewan cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “Do ye have any tinkering experience?”
“Aye. I filled in for Gandiegow’s tinker, when he was sick this past winter.”
“Excellent. My cousin Hugh just asked if I knew of anyone who could babysit the weaving machines at his wool mill. He’s owner of the mill and Laird there in Whussendale.”
“Can I get his number?” Tuck jotted it down on his hand, thanked Ewan, then hung up.
As Tuck dialed Hugh, Andrew came out of the kirk and noticed him. “Crud.” Then Andrew walked in his direction. “Double crud.” Tuck shut down the call before he finished dialing. He probably wouldn’t get the job anyway.
“Any word on John?” Tuck asked.
Andrew shook his head. “Not yet. But I wanted to talk to you. Alone.”
Tuck sighed. “A sermon?”
“Of sorts.”
“Great.” No one could beat Tuck up more than he was already thrashing himself. Wasn’t his brother smart enough to know that?
“It’s not what ye think,” Andrew said. “I just want
to say, if ye’re thinking of leaving, don’t. Stay, and see this through. Moira and I will be by your side the whole way.”
“I know that.” But Tuck worried what his brother and Moira would suffer if they supported him in this disaster. They would surely be ostracized, too!
Andrew’s expression said he was reading Tuck’s mind. His words confirmed it. “The people here are good, hardworking folks. Give Gandiegow a chance to show ye they can be reasonable.”
But the townsfolk hadn’t been reasonable with Tuck from the moment he stepped into the village. Tuck wasn’t a perfect man like his brother. He was flawed, seriously flawed. And now John had to pay for Tuck’s mistakes.
“I’ve never asked anything from ye,” Andrew said. “Stay. Please. For me?”
Tuck was so conflicted, but he found himself answering anyway. “Aye. I’ll stay.”
“Thank you.” Andrew gave Tuck the validation he could never find within himself. “You could help me get ready for this evening’s service.”
“It’s probably best if I don’t attend.”
“Nonsense. Good Friday is all about mistakes and the promise of redemption. Ye have to be there.”
But Tuck didn’t go to the service at the kirk after all. Instead, he headed to John’s boat, the Indwaller, intending to handle the nets alone. It was a gutsy move, as none of the Armstrong brothers would thank him for taking out their fishing boat and catching their catch for them. But Tuck owed John, and the least he could do was to look after their family fishing business, when they couldn’t.
As Tuck stood on the dock, it wasn’t lost on him that what he planned to do was dangerous—go out fishing alone—the reason John had lost an arm to the sea today. Tuck shuddered. He should’ve been there to prevent John’s accident. For all he knew, Raymond had died from his heart attack, and John’s arm being lost would’ve been for nothing.
Tuck stepped aboard the boat, his hand automatically reaching up to make contact with the cross hanging on the mast—an Armstrong tradition. He pulled away, as if the wooden talisman might burn. John Armstrong and his brothers lay stock in the power of the cross, especially when it came to fishing, and Tuck had always abided the ritual. But today…he couldn’t touch the cross. Not today. Maybe not ever again.
Tuck had been so consumed in his own thoughts that he hadn’t noticed the blood covering the deck. Crimson. Enough to be deadly. Again, he felt sickened at how he’d failed John. He really did want to run. Far away. Instead, he threw the roped bucket overboard and hauled up water to clean the deck. And the winch drum. With everything he had, he began scrubbing each plank.
God! If only his own sins could be washed away this easily.
2
Tuck pulled up to the fishing grounds and dropped anchor by the first buoy. The sea breeze caressed his face and water stretched out in all directions for as far as he could see. It felt good to be beyond the disapproving faces of the villagers of Gandiegow. The only problem was that his own guilt followed him, an unwelcome stowaway.
As he pulled out the logbook, an idea came to him. Since John couldn’t do it, Tuck would take his place on the boat. Not as captain, of course, but as an extra body to help out. At least until John could return to fishing.
But Tuck needed to do more! With John out of commission for a while, how would the Armstrongs survive? Tuck had done all kinds of odd jobs around Gandiegow. Surely he could land something steadier so he could funnel money to help John, Maggie, and the kids. Aye, it was a good plan, and he felt better.
By the time he rounded the bend and headed into the harbor, the sun had gone down on Good Friday. Services were over. He couldn’t help but feel that he’d both dodged the bullet and let his brother down by not being in his pew at the kirk. Gandiegow looked deserted, and Tuck guessed Andrew’s words of redemption fell on few ears.
It didn’t matter. Redemption was a pipe dream anyway, only reserved for the lucky and the good.
Seeing the town empty caused a cold chill to run down his spine. John must really be in trouble with so many Gandiegowans keeping vigil with Maggie, John’s wife, at the hospital tonight.
He pulled the Indwaller up to her post and tied her off. Instead of heading to the parsonage to eat and rest, he decided to find that extra job first. Spalding Farm was only a few miles out of town and would be a good place to start. He went to the General Store—thank goodness no one was there—and he checked out a car for the evening by writing his name down on the clipboard, which hung on the wall. Gandiegow had a small fleet of shared vehicles. No sense in owning one when there were no roads within the village, only walking paths There seemed to always be a spare available if the need for a car arose…like now.
He hurried to the car park on the edge of town and got into his reserved vehicle. He felt relieved he hadn’t been spotted. But as he closed the door, he heard Andrew yell.
“Tuck! Wait.”
Not in the mood for more of St. Andrew’s wisdom, Tuck put the car in gear and drove off to Spalding Farm. Working at the farm would allow Tuck to keep his promise to Andrew—to stay in Gandiegow and see this through—and help the Armstrongs at the same time. Until now, Tuck was content to float from job to job, wherever he was needed in Gandiegow, tinkering or fishing mostly. Before yesterday, he liked keeping his options open. But things were different now.
When he pulled up to Colin Spalding’s sizeable cottage, he found the young gentleman farmer on the doorstep, ready to go in for the night.
“Hey, Tuck. What brings ye here?” His brows came together. “I heard about John.”
“From Ramsay?” Ramsay was the youngest of the Armstrong brothers and Colin’s closest mate.
“Aye,” Colin said with no blame in his voice.
“Can we talk for a minute?”
“Only if ye’ll stay for supper. Soup’s in the slow cooker.”
Tuck’s stomach rumbled as if it remembered just then that he’d missed a couple of meals today. “Aye. Food sounds good.”
They walked in together, straight to the large kitchen, and took turns washing their hands in the farmer’s sink. As Colin ladled their dinner into soup bowls, Tuck got right to it. “I’m after additional employment. Do you have any extra work that I can do?”
Colin shook his head. “Sorry. Robert is starting on Monday after school.”
Bollocks. The Almighty was definitely out to get Tuck. Robert was just a kid. A stupid teenager. What was he going to do with his money? Waste it. But Tuck shouldn’t judge, because that’s exactly what he’d done when he was Robert’s age.
“Eat,” Colin said.
Tuck had lost his appetite, but had to stay, forcing himself to clean his bowl, before pushing away from the table. “I have to get back. Early morning.”
By the time Tuck returned to Gandiegow, more lights were on in the cottages than when he left. But the pub wasn’t open and no one was out.
He made his way to the parsonage and slipped in quietly, hurrying to his room. He felt like a kid again, sneaking in after hours. He just didn’t want to talk to anyone right now. Especially his brother.
Saturday morning, he successfully avoided Andrew and Moira before leaving for John’s boat. He arrived early to ready everything for the trip to the fishing grounds. As he went to undo the lines to leave, Ross and Ramsay, John’s brothers, stepped aboard.
Crap! I really don’t want to have this confrontation now.
“What are ye doing here?” Ramsay asked. But there was more puzzlement in his question than accusation, which was baffling.
Tuck answered him honestly. “I thought I’d lay the nets for you two, while ye tend to yere brother.”
“We wanted to clean up the boat first, before we go to the hospital.” Ross glanced around, looking mystified, probably due to the sparkling deck.
“John is sure to be asking after the Indwaller when he wakes,” Ramsay said.
Tuck was embarrassed, wishing he was anywhere but here. “I took care of it yesterday.”
He’d overstepped then—being on the boat without the Armstrongs knowing—as he’d overstepped this morning. He knew they’d probably want to kick his arse for taking the Indwaller out without their consent.
“Well…” Ross said. “It seems ye’ve got it under control.” He turned to his brother. “Let’s head to the hospital.”
“Aye.” But as soon as Ramsay stepped back on the dock, he stopped and spoke to Tuck. “Ye’ll be careful?”
Tuck nodded and the brothers walked away. He was relieved Ross and Ramsay hadn’t punched him, but still wondered why they hadn’t, for he’d been responsible for what had happened to John. Tuck threw the lines and pulled away from the dock. The short trip to lay the nets went off without a hitch and soon he was returning back to town.
He hurriedly cleaned up at Andrew’s cottage then drove to the North Sea Valve Company, which sat on the outskirts of town. He wasted no time in finding the owners of NSV, Pippa and Max, and asking them about any openings.
“Sorry, mate,” Max said.
Pippa looked truly conflicted. “Alan Drummond just took on the last position as line mechanic. We’ll let you know if anything comes up though.”
The new company was only just getting rolling and Tuck understood they had to watch their finances closely, if they were to keep the doors open. In a village the size of Gandiegow, jobs were scarce.
As he left the factory, he got a text. The number looked familiar, but he couldn’t place it until he read the message.
Hugh McGillivray here. Ewan says you’re looking for work. I need a tinker immediately. Call me.
It was the first break Tuck had gotten since he’d arrived in this village. But it wasn’t the break he needed! He couldn’t very well stay in Gandiegow, plus work at the wool mill in Whussendale, which was more than an hour away. He closed the screen without replying, and tried desperately to come up with his next move.
Back at home, after the afternoon run, he found a note on the counter from Andrew.
Moira and I have gone to the hospital. A plate for you is in the oven.
Tuck breathed a sigh of relief, glad he wouldn’t have to interact with Andrew tonight. Tomorrow, though—Easter—would be another story. One of Andrew’s old sermons came to mind: Let tomorrow take care of itself. For tonight, Tuck would eat and be in his room before Andrew and Moira got back from the hospital.
Blame It on Scotland Page 2