Loni looked at Sandy with an expression of bewilderment.
“Ye’ll hae tae excuse my sister,” he chuckled. “She’s a lassie that speaks her mind.”
“Is what she says true?”
“’Tis always two sides tae any dispute or question,” replied Sandy. “I wouldna be quick tae speak ill o’ any man. But ’tis the truth that there hae been things said o’ auld Hallfred, Hardy’s papa, that I would rather die than hae said o’ me, an’ it grieves me tae say that by a’ accounts the son’s headin’ doon that same road, if that tells ye anythin’. But I would ne’er give up on what the Lord might be able tae do wi’ any man, even Hardy Tulloch, an’ he’s in my prayers. What Hardy would do in the matter o’ the mill, I canna say an’ I wouldna speculate. Such speculations are generally more relished in by the women o’ the species, if ye winna take offense o’ my sayin’ so.”
“Papa, hoo can ye say such a thing?” said Odara.
“Forgive me, lassie, but ye ken ’tis true as weel as me.”
“It may be true, but ye shouldna say it, Papa. Women must be allowed their gossip, ye ken.”
“I’m surprised at ye, lassie, after a’ the mischief o’ lawless tongues against one ye care aboot. If anyone kens the evil o’ a loose tongue, it’s yersel’.”
“Aye, ye’re right, Papa. What am I thinkin’? Forgive me for speakin’ against ye.”
Sandy laughed, gave his daughter an affectionate hug, and turned again to Loni. “Ye see hoo it is, Miss Ford. There’s been considerable dispute an’ uncertainty aboot what was tae become o’ things afore ye came, wi’ Hardy an’ the chief swirlin’ in the middle o’ the talk.”
“But we ken noo that everythin’ will work oot for the best,” added Eldora. “We’re jist relieved that Hardy winna be able tae do any mischief. He canna bide the chief,” she added, not so willing to let go of her grievances as her niece, “an’ would close the mill jist tae spite him if he could. Oh, but lassie,” she exclaimed, coming close again and squinting at the scarf around Loni’s neck. “Hoo could I not hae seen it! Yer scarf . . . how did ye come by it?”
“I bought it in Aberdeen on my way here,” replied Loni.
“’Tis one o’ oors, isna it, Odara—jist look!”
Loni removed the pale green scarf from her neck and handed it to Eldora. The elderly woman turned it over with gentle fingers, examining its weave, then looked for the label.
“Aye, jist as I thought—Whales Weave. ’Tis from oor own mill.”
“I can’t believe it!” said Loni.
“Aye, an’ I mind this very scarf . . . ye see, there it is, the wee stray whitey bit amongst the green, jist where I remember it. I knit it mysel’.”
“You made it!” exclaimed Loni.
“Aye, lassie.”
“The wool’s fae one o’ Daddy’s own sheep,” said Odara. “Ye mind, Daddy, ’tis the sheep wi’ the bits on his wool that winna take the dye.”
“Aye,” said Sandy. His sister pointed out the tiny strands of white scattered through the green weave. “Lassie,” he said to Loni, “if ye’ll come wi’ me I’ll introduce ye tae the very laddie yer scarf came from.”
Loni followed Sandy toward a flock of sheep grazing on the far side of the cottage. They scampered toward their master as he approached, heedless of the stranger at his side. Sandy seemed to know every one, mumbling in some unintelligible language as he made his way among them. Gradually they all returned to their grazing until but one was left who, to all appearances, had recognized his name from among the rest.
“Here he is, lassie,” said Sandy. “This is the laddie who grew the hair for yer scarf.”
Timidly Loni reached down and ran her hand along the furry back.
“He hasna much on him noo on account o’ the recent shearin’. In six or eight months ye’ll hardly recognize him. But ye can see some o’ the tiny hairs whiter than the rest, jist like on yer scarf. They winna take the color, we dinna ken why.”
“It is a lovely thing, to know the very sheep it came from,” said Loni. “I will treasure this scarf all the more.”
Sandy returned her smile, then glanced back to where his daughter and sister stood watching. “I think the lassies are waitin’ for ye.”
“Did ye see the whitey bits, lassie?” asked Eldora as the two returned.
“I did indeed,” said Loni. “I will not soon forget the sight. And to think that I bought it before I knew any of you, before I had been to the Shetlands, having no idea what Whales Weave even meant.”
Sandy laughed with delight at her obvious pleasure.
Ten minutes later, flanked by the two older women talking back and forth as if she were their own long-lost granddaughter, Loni resumed her walk into the village.
24
Overheard Threats and Schemes
Loni left her two companions at the door of the bakery and continued toward the Whales Fin Inn. With her suitcase half packed back at the Cottage and the decision made to go home, she walked through the door of the hotel not exactly brimming with confidence, but at least knowing her adventure to the Shetlands would be over soon.
She entered the dimly lit common room and walked to the bar. A lady she did not recognize was working behind it.
“Hello,” said Loni. “Is Audney here?”
“Wait jist a minute, miss,” replied the woman without expression. She turned and disappeared into the kitchen.
Two or three minutes later, Loni heard voices from behind the closed door. A moment later Audney appeared.
Her eyes darted away momentarily when she saw Loni. Then she came and stood behind the bar.
“I, uh . . . I have to apologize for yesterday,” began Loni. “I was dreadfully rude to you both. I don’t know what came over me. I am very sorry.” She forced an awkward smile.
Audney’s countenance instantly brightened.
“Oh, dinna bother yersel’ aboot it, Miss Ford,” she said. “We all hae oor bad days. We’ll say nae mair aboot it.”
“Thank you,” said Loni. “That is very kind of you.”
She hesitated, then smiled with an embarrassed expression. “I really would like to talk to you sometime,” she added. “I meant what I said. I am truly sorry for my behavior. I didn’t just come in because I need a favor, but . . . would it be possible to use your fax again?”
“Aye, miss. Ye ken where it is. Jist go back intil the office an’ help yersel’.”
“Thank you.”
“Uh, oh—I think I hear Hardy’s voice comin’ along ootside.”
“Then I will be off,” said Loni. “I’d prefer not to talk to him.”
“Did ye hae yer supper wi’ him?”
Loni nodded. “We had fish and chips. He said your father fried it for us. It was a new experience for me—eating supper with my fingers. I enjoyed it, actually. But I would just rather not see him again so soon.”
“I understand. He’s a bit bigger than life . . . an’ louder! When ye’re finished wi’ yer business, then, ye might want tae leave by the back door,” Audney said. “Noo scoot, Miss Ford, afore he sees ye.”
Loni hurried through the door into the rear corridor of the hotel. She heard Hardy’s loud voice as he came in from the street with two of his friends.
She stepped softly toward the small office, wanting to take no chance of Hardy catching a glimpse through the door swinging closed behind her. But she could not keep from making out everything he said as the voice Audney had once likened to a foghorn bellowed into the room.
“Three pints for me an’ my frien’s, Audney!” he boomed.
“A mite early for ye, isna it, Hardy?” she heard Audney reply.
“We’re nae headin’ oot till the afternoon tide.”
“An’ Hardy’s celebratin’, aren’t ye, Hardy?” said a youthfully enthusiastic voice Loni did not know.
“Shush, Ian!” growled Hardy. “Sometimes ye dinna ken when tae keep that loose tongue in yer fat mouth.”
“What are y
e celebratin’, Hardy?” asked Audney.
Loni heard Hardy’s feet crossing the floor to the bar. When he spoke, it was in a softer tone. Her curiosity getting the best of her, Loni tiptoed back toward the door she had just come through and strained to listen.
“Jist that yer lookin’ at the new laird o’ Whales Reef,” said Hardy.
Loni’s ears perked up at the words. She was as surprised as Audney.
“What are ye bletherin’ aboot, Hardy?” said Audney. “A’body kens that the American lassie Miss Ford’s the new laird. Ye’re nae mair laird than I am.”
“Aye, that’s as weel as may be, but”—and here he lowered his voice yet further—“ye’re speakin’ tae her new factor.”
“What!”
“Ye heard me weel enouch,” said Hardy. “’Tis a’ arranged. The Ford lassie’s made me her factor, tae watch o’or her affairs when she gaes back til the States. That’s as good as makes me actin’ laird, if no laird in actual title.”
“I dinna believe a word o’ it.”
“Ye can ask the lassie hersel’. An’ if ye dinna speak mair kindly tae me, like I told ye afore, I may find it necessary tae raise yer daddy’s rent.”
Loni’s eyes shot wide as she listened.
“Ye wouldna dare,” retorted Audney.
“Once the lassie’s gone, I’ll do whate’er I like,” Hardy shot back. “I’ll be handlin’ her money, an’ I’ll send her what she’s expectin’ an’ she’ll be none the wiser. I’ll hae the power tae act on the laird’s behalf on the island. She’ll do whate’er I tell her.”
“An’ what aboot the mill?”
“I’ll hae tae decide when the time comes. I may jist sell it.”
“Ye wouldna dare,” said Audney again. “Miss Ford’d fire ye.”
“Who’s tae say she’d ken a thing aboot it?”
Loni listened in speechless astonishment.
“She’d find oot,” said Audney.
“She wouldna be bothered if I made her a handsome profit. Ye ken Americans—a’ they want is money. She winna ken an’ winna care. What cares a lassie the likes o’ her for a mill sae far away anyway?”
“What good would it do ye tae sell it? The money is still hers.”
“As long as she git’s what she’s expectin’ I’ll keep the rest. So ye see, yer daddy’s rent will be up tae me. But like I told ye afore, when ye’re my wife, I’ll nae doobt find it in my hert tae go easy on yer daddy—him being the father-in-law o’ the factor, ye ken.”
“An’ I’ll tell ye what I told ye afore too—that I wouldna marry ye if ye was the last man in the Shetlands.”
By now Loni’s ears were burning with indignation. Her first instinct was to march out and put an end to Hardy’s plans once and for all.
A brief scuffle from the common room, however, kept her rooted to the spot. It was followed by a cry from Audney. “Ouch, Hardy, let go o’ me, I tell ye!”
Hardy’s only reply was a great laugh. It was unwise, for the next sound Loni heard was a woman’s hand whacking Hardy across the cheek.
“How dare ye, Audney!” he yelled. “Ye’ll think better o’—”
He stopped abruptly. The outside door opened again. More footsteps and voices came into the pub.
Hardy apparently thought better of pursuing the heated conversation with an audience made up of more than his own cohorts.
“Ho, Noak, my friend!” he called out. He turned from the bar and strode back across the floor. “Hoo’s the fish runnin’ for ye?”
“Nae so good at the minute, Hardy.”
“Come an’ join me an’ the lads for a pint.”
“Thank ye, Hardy.”
Noak Muir sat down with Hardy and his friends. The other newcomers found a table across the room.
“Bring Noak a pint, Audney!” brayed Hardy. “So, Noak,” he went on when he was seated, “I’m ready wi’ the cash as soon as ye say the word.”
Their voices softened, and Loni heard nothing further. Still outraged, she tried to calm herself. She needed to think.
She turned again for the office, sat down on the room’s one small chair, and tried to decide what to do, glancing again over the letter she had been about to fax to Maddy. She had been on the verge, as Hardy said, of making him her agent, with authority to act on her behalf. She had assumed that she might come back to check on things, perhaps after a year. If all was well, she would arrange matters so that she and her grandparents were well provided for. Then, as had been her first inclination, observing all legalities and seeing to potential tax issues, to turn ownership of the property over to Hardy.
Hardy’s words to Audney changed everything. Such a plan was clearly out of the question now. Audney’s warnings and the cautions of Sandy and his sister echoed in her ears.
Lost in thought, Loni did not hear several more men enter the hotel. Any thought of confronting Hardy then and there was put to rest a minute later when the door between the corridor and common room swung open. Two men walked through, then stood quietly talking beside the banister leading upstairs. The first voice she recognized well enough.
“. . . wanted tae speak tae ye in private, Noak,” David was saying. “Sounded tae me like I heard ye an’ Hardy makin’ plans for him tae buy yer boat.”
“Ye ken times is hard, David,” said the other man.
“Aye, but ye canna sell tae Hardy.”
“’Tis the medical bills, David. They’re threatenin’ tae take me tae court if I dinna pay.”
Loni held her breath, hoping nothing would give away her presence so close by in the open office.
“But, Noak,” said David, “ye ken that Hardy is tryin’ tae take control o’ a’ the fishing on the island. Look at Gundar an’ Iver. They sold him their boats an’ noo are in worse straits than before.”
“I ken, David. I ken he’s nae wantin’ tae git his hands on my boat oot o’ the goodness o’ his hert. He’s only offerin’ half what it’s worth.”
“Aye, he’s a sly one. I shudder tae think what would hae happened wi’ him as laird.”
“What else can I do, David?”
“Jist gie me a little more time, Noak. I promise I’ll find some way tae help ye wi’ yer bills. I dinna ken what. I’ll contract for another book an’ ask for an advance. I’ll do somethin’. I winna turn my back on ye.”
“I ken you winna, David. Ye’re a faithful chief an’ a good friend tae every man, woman, an’ child on the island. But my bills are desperate.”
“Jist gie me a little more time, Noak. We’ll find a way wi’oot yer sellin’ tae Hardy.”
When they were gone, Loni shook her head in disbelief. She was furious, though at the same time confused. How could she so thoroughly have mistaken what was going on? A moment’s reflection also brought a wave of relief to have discovered the truth in time.
She could definitely not leave the island yet. She had to rethink her plans, especially her intent to turn over her affairs to what now appeared to be her less-than-scrupulous third cousin Hardar.
And what about the Texan?
She turned the sheet of paper over and wrote out a new message:
Dear Maddy,
I was all set to head for home. I thought I had reached a resolution about what to do. All of a sudden a monkey wrench slammed into the middle of my plans. So I need to stay a while longer, hopefully only a few more days. In the meantime, I need you to do something, if you don’t mind, which is to find out everything you can on one James Joseph (“Jimmy Joe”) McLeod, an oilman presumably from Texas, though I have my doubts he was born there. I know you’re busy, and I hate to ask, but this is important and I have no way to investigate here on the island.
Thank you.
Loni
25
Secrets
Loni walked back to the Cottage along the sea.
From when she had set out an hour earlier, her plans were turned upside down yet again. As if her three days here had not already been tumultuous enough—n
ow this.
She considered herself good with people, level-headed, a reasonably shrewd judge of character. How could she have been so gullible as to believe Hardy’s snow job? She felt like an idiot.
Unbelievable! Hardy had planned to embezzle from her. Had she really been so easy to con?
The realization was shattering. If such a blowhard was able to bamboozle her, not exactly with his charms—no one was likely to accuse Hardy Tulloch of being charming—how well-equipped was she, Husband List notwithstanding, to be wise in choosing a lifetime mate?
She would have to put that question on hold. She had more pressing things on her mind.
Apparently she had misjudged her other third cousin just as badly in the opposite direction. She had not only been rude to him, she had made judgments about his motives and character that were completely wrong. Just as she had heard Hardy’s duplicity with her own ears, she had also heard David being kind and understanding, pledging to help a fisherman who was down on his luck.
Loni reached the Cottage, made herself a cup of tea, and sat down in the breakfast room. Through the window she could see about a third of the barn. Beyond it lay the open moor of the island. It really was a peaceful setting, she thought. Beautiful in its own way—stark, plain, rugged.
There was no logical explanation other than Audney’s name sending her back to childhood—afraid, lonely, insecure, and a girl named Audrey and her friends with their cutting remarks. Back then she had taken solace alone with her tears. All at once as an adult, she had struck out. She had never spoken in such a caustic tone to anyone in her life. What had come over her?
The irony was that she, of all people, had no business getting angry about secrets. She had spent the last dozen years keeping her past carefully guarded. Not even Maddy, her best friend, knew much about her upbringing.
Didn’t the psychologists say that you were most critical of the faults in others that were actually your own most glaring weaknesses? She appeared to be living proof of that theory. Her accusations against David were really accusations against herself. For all she knew, David might not be a secretive man at all.
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