Dearest Evie,
Would you like to know what I’ve learned here, above all else? Never be the first to turn in assignments or raise your hand. Already, I’ve developed a reputation I’ll be spending the next four years working to repeal.
I got your letter and am jumping for joy. You’ll be here in the spring for a visit. I have so much to show you, although I haven’t had as much time as I’d like to explore. Now, don’t remind me this is nearly six months away. I’ll summon the patience, somehow.
You have your heart set on MIT, I know, but once you visit, I have a feeling you’ll reconsider. Sister’s intuition.
Did I mention in any of my other letters that there’s a local boy here? I believe he’s the only other one from New Orleans in the neuroscience program. Fourth year. He’s an aide, and at least halfway responsible for the terrible reputation I’ve earned for being an overachiever. He reserves his eyebrow raises just for me, but I don’t believe he intends them with any degree of playfulness. The guy hasn’t said a single word to me even though he’s plenty amiable with the other first years. Leads me to wonder if he had some past dealings with our family that didn’t go well. Noah Jameson is his name. Maybe Charles or Augie knows him from their public school days? Lord help me if he was the target of Charles’ merciless bullying. It will be a long year.
On the other end of the male spectrum, no I haven’t met anyone, you goose. We both know I’m not here for that, and even if I was, “he” would have to work around my insane schedule, which will only get worse in a few years if I get into the doctorate program, and then beyond that, clinicals, internship, residency. I’ll be lucky if I ever have a family. Thank goodness we have two brothers, so I’m not counted on to carry on our “beloved” name. Ha.
As for your last question about quitting the pointless endeavor of college and traveling the world: I think we both know the answer. You and I may both be natural healers (as natural as any supernatural gift can be), but our pursuit of medicine isn’t about healing. We both agreed we’d go into this field to learn more about the mind, about genetics, and anything else that might explain how and why we are this way. When we were girls, we promised Aunt Ophelia we would take the cross, so to speak. That way, if we were destined to serve the Deschanel Magi Collective one day, we’d have to have something to offer.
Not that traveling the world for a living wouldn’t be tempting.
Alas. No rest for the wicked. Early class. Tomorrow.
Hugs to all.
Love,
Colleen
Dad,
Yeah, I know. I’m a terrible son who never writes. Gotta earn this scholarship, though, right?
Not much to report, other than the usual. Eat, study, class, study, sometimes a nap, if the planets align. I wish relief were on the horizon, but the doctorate program will siphon away even more of my already fragile will to live.
Speaking of which, remember the girl from New Orleans? Turns out her brother is Charles Deschanel. If I can’t escape that family by moving to Scotland, what’s next? Mars? At least I won’t have to atone for my sins by seeing her after this year, unless one of her other half-dozen siblings shows up.
Only a few weeks until holiday break. I know you feel terrible about not being able to afford sending me home, but Dad, honestly, you’ve already done so much toward supplementing the scholarship money. I love you for it, and when I’m a doctor in New Orleans, we’ll have more of each other than we can stand.
Love,
Noah
II
DECEMBER 1974
A light snow blanketed Arthur’s Seat, the volcanic hill overlooking Holyrood Park and the whole of Edinburgh. Noah’s eyes glazed, and his heart sagged, heavy with homesickness. The campus was a ghost town two days prior to Christmas, but outside the thatched windows and gothic spires, the city bustled with holiday activity.
Keeping busy was the goal. He had considered taking a stroll down Prince Street, or the Royal Mile, where he’d be surrounded by crowds of shoppers and people-watchers. But as he deliberated the possibility, overthinking future situations as he often did, it occurred to Noah that rather than consoling him, this activity would serve as further reminder of his own loneliness. Grateful as he was, he’d chosen it. His father had supported it to the point of three mortgages and a near-bankruptcy. Bemoaning the current situation would not only be pointless, but selfish.
Colleen watched the same landscape from her apartment on Blackfriars, lamenting her isolation for entirely different reasons. Funds were not now, nor would they ever be, a factor in any of her decisions, both a gift and a curse. A curse, now, because her family refused to accept her reasons for staying in Scotland during the Christmas holidays, though every single one of them was feeling the same acute, cutting ache, the same loss. They expected her to share it. Well, she was sharing it, but she would do so alone. For two Christmases, she’d mourned her sister, Madeline, with her mom and siblings. This Christmas was hers. She refused to drown.
But drown she would, if she chose to mire herself in the dismally silent apartment. Her roommate had gone home to Aberdeen days ago. Colleen had an entire university at her disposal, and she intended to use it.
Noah spread his textbooks across the long, empty table in the library, feeling mischievous for his gluttonous use of resources. Who would stop him? Not the lowly aide with the miserable expression, head down in a Danielle Steele novel.
Satisfied, he opened his tattered notebook and began his citations.
The heavy, oaken doors creaked open, a sound that would be muffled in the busyness of a term in full-swing, but now resonated and bounced across every book, every shelf. Noah glanced up to see the last person he expected—or wanted—to cross paths with on his quest to shake off self-pity.
Colleen scanned the massive library, wide-eyed. She’d never considered what it might look like with the students scattered to their homes. How the musty, welcoming smell of hundreds of thousands of tomes would fill her with the warmth of her own.
She wasn’t alone, though. That fourth-year who had given her a hard time—as if it were his job—the one from New Orleans—had taken up residence at a table normally suited for two dozen students or more during the term. A guilty expression flashed across his face as he watched her checking him out, then it passed and evolved toward something resembling annoyance.
“Sorry,” she said, startled at how her voice echoed without the din of students. “I wasn’t expecting to find anyone here. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Noah set his pen in the binding of his notebook. “Shouldn’t you be home in New Orleans?”
“Shouldn’t you?”
He grinned at her quick impertinence. “Never been a fan of Christmas. What’s your excuse?”
Colleen sensed, as much by his expression as through her own innate gift as a Deschanel, the unspoken pain behind his words. “My sister died two years ago,” she answered, startled at her instinctive willingness for truth with someone who clearly wasn’t fond of her. “The last two holidays were very painful. I needed a pardon.”
Noah’s impudence faded to remorse in an instant. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
Colleen approached his table and set her satchel on a chair across from him, taking the next seat over. He glanced at the book bag as if preparing to tell her the seat was taken. “I don’t see how you would have,” she conceded. “You were in Charles’ class, yes? When he spent his senior year at Jesuit?”
Noah frowned, nodding. His mouth felt like cotton, but he wasn’t sure why.
His dumbfounded stare turned the moment awkward for her, and she broke the silence. “My brother isn’t always a very nice person.” Noah realized this was the closest he would get to an apology from Charles. Meanwhile, Charles would enjoy the spoils of being the Deschanel heir, without reprimand for his actions while Noah struggled to make ends meet.
Until she sat across from him, the distractions of a classroom and other demands missing
from the equation, Noah had never evaluated Colleen beyond her genetic link. He’d noticed details about her face and saw Charles staring back, sneering, calling him a poor Mick, an orphan, anything degrading that fit the moment.
She didn’t really resemble her brother at all, though. Colleen’s dark hair, normally strangled into a tight bun at the nape of her neck, flowed in waves over her loose, cable-knit sweater. Her chocolate eyes, free of makeup, were tinged in thoughtfulness, not hatred.
“Have you had much of a chance to see Scotland yet? Outside of Edinburgh, I mean?” Noah asked.
Colleen crossed her legs, gracefully folding both hands over one knee. “No, though I’ve been dreaming of Skye,” she confessed, then blushed, wondering, once again, what had gotten into her. “I have a terrible suspicion I’ll spend the next eight years at the university without ever getting out of the city.”
And then his words came from seemingly nowhere. “Then let’s go.”
Colleen blinked. “What? To Skye?”
“Professor MacDougal has a summer home near Portree, and he’s urged me to use it many times. I don’t know why I haven’t.” He did, though. To venture there alone felt lonelier than staying on campus, where he was surrounded by familiarity.
Colleen tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, re-crossing her legs. This boy—no, man. There was nothing the least bit boyish about how he looked at her now, nor in his invitation. No, he’d spent the last few months reproving her for her studiousness, punishing her, she felt, for something her brother must have done years past. And now he was asking her to go away to Skye, alone, together?
Everything rational within Colleen Deschanel appealed to her to say no.
She said yes.
III
DECEMBER 1974
Noah, still reeling from his boldness and seemingly lost mind, offered to drive the six hours to Portree. He rented a car and they left the same day. Noah wondered if Colleen was as confused and exhilarated as him.
Their route wound them past the fortress of Stirling (where Colleen had pleaded with him to stop, desiring to walk the steps of her idol, Mary, Queen of Scots) through the ice-age glaciers of Glen Coe, and past the Highland stronghold of the Jacobite Mackenzies, Eilean Donan.
Colleen internalized the majority of her rambling contemplations as she surveyed the volcanic carving of the Highlands, a place beloved by her. She was only just getting to know it. Whatever thoughts danced through Noah Jameson’s mind remained as hidden as her own. That he’d invited her away for a couple days, or longer? They’d never discussed details, as if dissecting it might break the spell and sway them from their course. The subject never came up; not the strangeness of it, nor the fact that with each mile passing from Edinburgh, both of them eased into themselves.
“I’ve never seen anything like this. Not in all my life.” Colleen exhaled, after speaking the words in a rush, her only ones on the long journey. With the entire world passing by her window, casual conversation seemed inadequate and inappropriate. More, the silence between them felt comfortable. A peace had settled between them.
Noah smiled from his peripheral, a hand rested briefly on her knee, then he removed it again and continued his focus on the road.
Colleen awoke as the car eased up the gravel driveway to a small cabin in Sligachan. The Cuillin mountains set the backdrop, their foggy peaks lit by the full moon. She exited the car in a daze.
Always the gentleman, Noah took her bag from her. She entered the cabin ahead of him, stumbling a bit in her sleepiness. He instinctively reached out to steady her as her drowsy smile met his.
Colleen intercepted the potential for awkwardness by choosing her own room. Noah exhaled in relief, then wondered at the sadness that followed.
Had he hoped she might stay in his room… this studious, lovely girl he hardly knew? He had invited her to go away with him, after all.
Noah turned off the overthinking for the night and allowed himself the tempting lure of sleep.
On Christmas Eve, Colleen rose to the pleasant aroma of strong coffee. She slipped her sweater on over her pajamas and went to meet Noah.
His hair was a mess, the mane of someone who’d gone straight from their bed to their tasks. When sunrise hit the snarls, dancing across the ends, he swayed slowly in the old rocker. Colleen’s heart bounced.
“There’s more in the dining room,” he called to her. Turning to face her, his green eyes caught hers. “Do you like picnics?”
“Would you believe me if I told you I’ve never been on one?”
“Never? A travesty, Miss Deschanel!” he teased, employing the same moniker he’d used through the term to give her a hard time. The man was an enigma, but one she’d have the opportunity to solve as they explored the quiet island together.
She blushed. “Well…”
“I found a picnic basket, so I thought we could make good use of it. We don’t have any groceries, but we could stop in Portree for some wine and snacks.”
“Sounds lovely,” she said, and it did.
Noah took her to Glenbrittle, site of the Fairy Pools of Skye. Despite the chill in the air, the sky was free of clouds other than the low fog settling over the Black Cuillins.
They started down the path. Fields of heather and peat moor flanked both sides of the rocky trail though the heather wouldn’t bloom again until the spring. They meandered the path, which crossed the River Brittle in several spots, jumping the stones like children. Noah squealed when he missed and landed a foot in the ice-cold water. Colleen offered a hand, smothering an impolite giggle while pulling him back to the safety of dry land.
When, at last, the blue-green waterfalls cascading from pool to pool, came into view, Colleen’s knees buckled. Magic flourished in this place, and if anyone would know such a thing, it was a Deschanel.
Colleen turned to see Noah cresting the rise ahead, shaking out the blanket. She moved to join him.
“Why is no one else here?” she marveled, helping him assemble the assortment of cheeses and meats on the tartan spread.
Noah grinned. “It’s Christmas Eve. Most people are celebrating with their families.”
Colleen sighed. “Not us.”
“I would love to be home right now,” Noah said. “My dad couldn’t afford it.” So I’m here with you, and I’m not sure that’s such a poor consolation.
Her gaze dropped. “I’m sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?”
“You wish you were home but had no means. I had every means and chose not to go. I should have thought before I said something. It was insensitive.”
“We shouldn’t apologize for who we are,” Noah said with a shrug, handing her a Silo cup half-filled with chardonnay. As he spoke the words, he realized the release of them came with his forgiveness of the wrongs her brother had done. They didn’t matter now. Charles couldn’t touch him here, and Colleen was… well, nothing like him. “That would be exhausting and pointless.”
“Why is it we always feel the need to apologize anyway?”
Noah gave her question the consideration it deserved. “Maybe we’re afraid to be happy with ourselves? Or to admit as much to others.”
“That’s a heavy dose of wisdom.” Colleen smiled. “Wasn’t expecting that from you.”
“I suspect we’ll both feel that way by the end of the trip,” Noah rejoined.
In a rush, she was hit again with the awareness of how reckless she’d been (oh, won’t Evangeline be surprised when I post my next letter), coming halfway across the country with this man. And yet, her racing heart had nothing to do with fear or contrition. Her flushed face held no embarrassment.
“I love my family,” she said in a rush. “I don’t want you to think I’m here because I don’t.”
“Certainly. I didn’t think that.”
“I told you before how I adore Mary, Queen of Scots. She was a stubborn queen, but she put her family, the crown, and her country above all else. Only when she stumbled on what her heart w
anted did she falter.” Colleen studied the amber liquid in her cup, swirling it. “I want to be like her, but I don’t. Does that make sense?”
Noah’s skin was hot with coursing blood. He feared giving her the wrong answer to a question, he suspected, was among the most important she’d ever asked. “You… you want to honor your family and do the right thing, but you’re afraid you’ll lead with your heart instead of your head. Right?”
Colleen watched him, learning more about the man sitting in front of her with every passing moment. She nodded slowly, swallowing. “I want to serve them.” She couldn’t elaborate, no matter how Noah put her at ease. He could never know everything about her family. What they could do. What she could do. “I don’t want to simply exist and rent space on his planet. I want my life to matter, for them.”
Noah exhaled. “And you said I was dealing out the heavy wisdom today.”
Colleen was unfazed. “You said we shouldn’t apologize for who we are, but if you’d prefer I keep these things to myself—”
He reached a hand forward, and, for a fleeting moment, nearly rested the back of it on one of her flushed cheeks. Instead, it gently landed on her arm. “No. I enjoy listening to you talk.”
Her gaze traveled to his hand. It was a strong hand, and she liked the feel of it on her skin. “What about you, Noah? What do you want from life?”
“I want to matter, too, Colleen, but my family is no bigger than my father and me. I have a mother, and sisters, somewhere… Ireland, I think. But I’ve never met them. To hear my father speak of my ma, I might not want to.”
Colleen’s chest hurt at the idea of any mother who could walk away from her child. “What happened?”
“She was a witch.”
Colleen couldn’t help but chuckle. “I take it the separation wasn’t a happy one.”
Lagniappes Collection II Page 9