Bethia took Cait’s arm. “Don’t let it worry you. Yere gran can be testy at times. Sometimes, ye just have to love her regardless.”
“Yeah, like loving a surly pit bull.”
Bethia laughed. “Now ye have the right end of the needle.”
Before Cait made it down the hallway where the festivities seemed to be, Aileen red had come back with a glass of punch for her.
“Just a warning. It’s a wee bit strong,” Aileen red said, her eyes noticeably glassy.
Cait downed the glass. It burned like a son of a bitch, but she welcomed it. Just what the doctor ordered for dulling Deydie’s accusations. “I need another.”
She followed the noise into the parlor, where a roomful of familiar faces milled about—Rhona, Amy, and Bethia, all the quilting ladies from before, and now Ailsa, Aileen, and Moira. Deydie seemed in her element as the queen bee, with all the ladies surrounding her.
Chestnuts roasted in the inglenook fireplace, and the mantle was decorated with real pine boughs and holly. Instead of twinkling lights, there were beeswax candles. A big Christmas tree sat in one corner, decorated with paper chains and tartan bows. Under the tree lay a quilted tree skirt with the nativity scene in appliqué.
Ailsa green tottered over to Cait, apparently a little tipsy, like her sister. “I see you noticing our handiwork.”
Cait bent to examine the fine workmanship. “It’s beautiful. The stitching’s unique—little pine cones. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Our signature stitch. Aileen and I invented it when we were teenagers. It goes into all our quilts.”
Aileen red called out from the cookie table. “Ailsa, come here. You have to see this.”
Cait walked with her. The dining room table was stacked with boxes of cookies, each person’s grouped together—fancy red ones, plain green ones, blue snowmen, gold plastic containers, all sorts. Aileen red stood over one of Deydie’s boxes.
Cait looked inside and gasped. “They’re exquisite.” Deydie had made heart-shaped shortbreads, the top half of each heart decorated with what looked like a delicate string of Christmas lights. Cait gaped at her grandmother.
“’Tweren’t nothing,” Deydie grumbled.
“It’s art,” argued Cait.
“What else did you bring?” Aileen red opened another box from the pile.
Inside were little individual cheesecakes with a cherry on the top. Cait’s mouth watered just looking at them. She’d grab those for herself.
“I knew you could bake, but I sure don’t remember these,” Cait said.
“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, Caitie Macleod.” Deydie huffed away to the side bar, where the finger foods sat.
Using her eyes as laser beams, Cait glared at Deydie’s back, hoping to scorch a little niceness into her crotchety old head. Fat chance. Ebenezer wanted to completely humiliate Cait in front of her friends. Why? Because Cait refused to stay at her cottage? Deydie should just get over it. It was Christmas, for chrissakes. A holiday truce wasn’t asking too much. Couldn’t her gran be pleasant for one evening?
Soon Deydie had more than sipped a bit of the juice. She’d tied one on. She wrangled poor Moira into dancing a jig to “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree.” Deydie had a drink in one hand and a little sandwich in the other, her dress bobbing up and down like a plunger in time with the music. Amy joined in by singing along, a little off-key.
Bethia took a seat in one of the chairs by the fireplace.
Cait joined her. “Deydie seems to be enjoying herself.” She said it with more attitude than she’d intended. But dang it, Deydie had bruised her feelings twice since they’d gotten there, and now the old grump was jigging it up like a longshoreman on payday.
“Aye. But would you have your gran moping in the corner instead?” Bethia scolded. “Your gran has had a hard life. At fifteen her parents died, leaving her all alone in that cottage. When Hamish McCracken came along, thinking Deydie hung the stars and moon, I thought her luck had changed. What a hard thing it was when Hamish was swallowed up by the sea, and Nora only three at the time.”
“I didn’t . . . I mean . . . I never knew.” Cait felt the heat rise into her face. She knew Mama had grown up without a da, but no one had ever talked about it. The pain must’ve been too much. And to think Deydie had been waylaid by Death, too. All alone just like Cait. She hadn’t realized the two of them had so much in common. “I’ll try harder not to take her jabs so personally.”
Bethia patted her hand. “That’s a good lass.”
Cait spent the next couple of hours working at enjoying herself. She let Amy pull her into a long conversation about the comings and goings at the store, which wasn’t too bad. Amy’s constant chatter was starting to grow on Cait; plus she learned more about the people of the town. Then Ailsa and Aileen took all the ladies on a tour around the house, pointing out their handiwork, most of them appliqué quilts, all of them works of art. Later, she sat with Rhona and Bethia, talking about quilting.
“Freda Douglas asked again if we’d let her join our quilt group,” Rhona said.
“’Tis a shame.” Bethia shook her head, her old brown eyes sad. “I always say there’s room for one more and there isn’t really.”
“Why?” Cait asked.
Bethia answered. “We don’t have the space at Deydie’s. We sometimes quilt in Graham’s dining room, but it’s not the same. And even then, not everyone can join us who wants to. We just don’t all fit. Besides Graham’s house, Deydie has the only updated electric.”
“Aye, Graham saw to that,” Rhona added.
“Graham?” Cait questioned.
“He made sure Deydie could have friends over to sew. He worries about her being lonely.” Rhona answered matter-of-factly, without a finger of accusation.
Just the same, shame poked at Cait. Hard. What did it say about her if a neighbor cared more about her grandmother’s loneliness than Cait had? She mentally kicked herself in the butt for being the all-time loser of granddaughters.
And Graham. Cait didn’t know if she liked him more because of his thoughtfulness or hated him because he’d done something she should’ve known to do.
Cait resolved right then and there that Deydie, despite her lean toward unpleasantness, would come first. Cait would spend so much time at the cottage that her gran would be sick to death of kin. Cait would just have to grow a thicker skin to deal with Granny Vinegar.
“Bethia, we should get Caitie involved in the round-robin quilt,” Rhona said.
Amy joined them. “What a good idea. The theme is Our Town Gandiegow. You know how a round robin works, don’t you? Each one of us sews one row for the quilt. I’m doing a line of paving stone blocks that will be between Deydie’s house blocks and Bethia’s ocean.”
Bethia patted Cait’s hand. “We do a quilt every year and auction it off at the Valentine’s Day Céilidh, party and dance. Usually draws a hundred pounds. We give the money to the Lost Fishermen’s Families Fund.”
“Only a hundred pounds? That’s highway robbery,” Cait said, flabbergasted. “A handmade quilt for that?”
“We’re a small village with small means. A hundred pounds is a lot of money to us.”
If they’d been back in the States and had the right press, they could get ten times that.
“Will you help, then?” Amy asked.
“Sure. What’s left to do?” Cait said.
“The bluffs,” Bethia replied.
Rhona gave her a conspiratorial grin. “Aye, the bluffs. You’ll have to piece something together for Graham’s house, now, won’t you, wee Caitie?”
At the sound of a commotion and a shriek, Cait looked up in time to see Deydie grab Ailsa’s green elf hat, shove it on top of her own white-haired head, and hustle away.
“Give that back,” Ailsa cried. “I’m going
to wear it Christmas Eve, when the Urquhart twins come over from Fairge to have dinner.”
Bethia sighed. “I think it’s time you took your gran home.”
Cait followed Bethia to where Deydie played keep-away.
“It’s getting late,” Bethia coaxed. “Cait will walk you home. I’ll pack up your cookies so you can get going.”
“Party pooper,” Deydie cackled, making everyone laugh.
Cait had never seen her gran like this—carefree and having fun.
Her gran made one more attempt to dodge Ailsa, then finally gave up, shoving the green hat back on its owner’s head with a loud “Ha.”
As Cait and Deydie went out the door, the quilt ladies serenaded them with “We Wish You a Merry Christmas.”
Cait couldn’t help but smile as they slipped along the boardwalk. It’d been a nice Christmas party. And in the last couple of hours, no one had died within Cait’s immediate vicinity. Old Man Death must be taking a snooze.
When they got to Deydie’s house, Cait planned to drop her grandmother off, then go up to Graham’s place and start snooping.
But Deydie had different plans. “I expect ye’ll be staying.” She flipped up the quilts on her bed and pulled out a full-sized trundle. “But first we’ll be having ourselves a wee bit of a nightcap.”
Cait felt completely confused. Earlier this evening, Deydie had been as disagreeable as a rabid dog, and now she was as playful as a puppy, whistling and clogging to her own tunes. And what about the story Cait was working on? What about combing Graham’s house for tidbits and essentials?
The promise Cait had made to herself earlier, the one where she’d vowed to spend every spare moment with Deydie, felt pretty damn burdensome right now. But it did have her answering her gran. “Of course I’ll be staying.”
“Good. Then get on to making that nightcap.” Deydie went to her rocking chair and creaked back and forth, singing quietly “What Child Is This?” and looking younger and happier than Cait had ever seen her.
Chapter Eight
When Cait woke the next morning, Deydie’s bed lay empty and she was nowhere in sight. For a moment, Cait worried her gran had wandered off in the night but then remembered Deydie had duties at Graham’s house.
Cait quickly made the trundle bed, sparing a moment to admire the workmanship of the counterpane—a Grandmother’s Flower Garden quilt, all hand sewn, using 1930s-vintage fabrics. She slid the trundle back under the bed, deciding to make tea in the pub’s kitchen because she needed some things from her room.
When she stepped outside the cottage, she was unprepared for the snow that had fallen by the shovelfuls during the night. She fretted over Deydie coming back down the bluff but saw that the pathway leading up to Graham’s had been cleared and salted. But no one had cleared the walkway back toward the center of town, and for Cait, it was slow going. Before entering the pub, she kicked as much snow from her boots as she could. She went directly into the kitchen and put a kettle on to boil. A small flat-screen TV hung near the chopping table. Cait turned it on.
And there was Graham, a media storm over his arrival in London. Even though he smiled graciously, a darkness in his eyes told her he was pissed, close to murdering whoever had ratted him out. Good thing he didn’t know she was a journalist, else he might put her on the chopping block when he returned.
Cait filled a mug with the boiling water and dropped in a tea bag.
“Graham Buchanan arriving on the scene after a two-month disappearance. Might I have a word, sir?” The reporter pressed a microphone in Graham’s face.
“I’m here to do a public-service announcement for the RSPCA, who are working on the Five Freedoms for animals through legislation,” Graham said.
If she were the reporter, her next question would be to ask what prompted this public-service announcement. And why now.
The one-track-minded reporter tried again. “Yes, but where have you been? Your agent had no comment as to your whereabouts.”
“Sorry, mates. This is my stop.” Graham disappeared into the RSPCA building.
Cait lifted a mug to Graham. “Nicely sidestepped.” Then she felt guilty for what she planned to do to Gandiegow’s superstar. It would definitely knock the air from Graham’s sails when he found out she was writing a piece on him. He’d never trust her again. Their comfortable friendship would be dead.
But Cait had to take care of getting her life back on course first and squashed any doubts she had about doing the story. For a moment, she worried his London appearance would affect the salability of the exposé to People, but she put the thought out of her mind. Everyone knew Graham disappeared, but no one knew to where.
She switched off the TV and went upstairs only to find the hallway nearly blocked with her boxes delivered from Chicago. She wished she’d remembered to talk to Graham about some storage. One by one, she carried each box into her room, stacking them against the wall. When she was done, there was little room to move. She changed into a camel-colored sweater and chocolate wool slacks, then located her tan mittens and matching cap. Before walking out, she grabbed her cell phone and charger, hoping to plug it in at Duncan’s house. If not, then at Graham’s later.
When Duncan answered the door, he looked paler than the last time she’d seen him. She stepped over the threshold. “I came to play with Mattie and to give you a break, if that’s okay.”
“My da sent you?” Duncan asked, recrimination in his voice.
“Not exactly. But I’m sure Deydie will be by to make certain you men have enough to eat,” Cait said.
“She dropped a stew by first thing this morning,” he replied. “I’m glad you’re here, though. I planned to leave Mattie at the store with Amy, but he’s coming down with a cold.”
“Are you getting it, too?” Cait asked.
“No,” he said. “But I do need to get going. I have to pick up my da’s Christmas present. It’ll be my only chance.”
“Would you like me to make you some tea before you go?” she asked. “Or are you a coffee man?”
“Aye, coffee.” Duncan ran a hand through his hair, looking just like Graham. “You do know that Mattie is mute, don’t you? He doesn’t speak.”
No, she didn’t know. And by the I-really-don’t-want-to-talk-about-it expression on Duncan’s face, she shouldn’t ask either. “Don’t worry. We’ll be fine together,” she said.
Six-year-old Mattie peeked around the corner with an old man’s somberness masking his child’s face.
Duncan walked over and squatted down in front of him. “Caitie is an old friend. I knew her when I was your age. Go show her where we keep the traveling mugs while I get my coat.”
Cait followed Mattie into the kitchen and saw a sink full of dirty dishes staring back. The boy pulled out a can of coffee from the fridge and pointed to where the cups were. She quickly got a pot going.
Duncan came in just as she filled his mug. “I won’t be long,” he said. “My mobile number is on the refrigerator.”
“Speaking of mobiles, can I charge my cell here?” Cait asked.
“Make yourself at home. I gave Mattie a dose of cold medicine an hour ago. He should be fine until I get back.” He ruffled Mattie’s hair. “You help Caitie, son.”
Mattie nodded solemnly. Duncan kissed the top of his son’s head and walked out the door.
Because Mattie didn’t know her, Cait expected to see trepidation on his face. Instead, he looked unchanged, unaffected. She imagined that everyone in the village had watched him at one time or another, and he was used to a variety of people caring for him.
Cait had a brilliant idea. “Hey, Mattie, are you up to helping me with the dishes?”
He grabbed one of the dinette chairs and pulled it to the sink.
Cait was pleased with herself. She’d tackle two things at once—cleaning the kitchen and keeping Mattie engag
ed. Intuition told her to keep up a running conversation and pretend like he responded to what she said. She told him all about Chicago, the time she’d caught a cod on Billy Kennedy’s boat, and about the potholder she was making for Deydie for Christmas. Mattie remained silent, scrubbing each dish and setting them in the sink for her to inspect, rinse, and dry. Eventually, all the dishes were done.
Mattie looked beat, his eyes drooping, probably from the cold meds.
“I think we should lie on the couch and watch a movie.” She pressed a hand to his forehead, checking for a fever.
They went into the parlor, and Cait put on “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.” Mattie fell asleep within minutes.
She flipped off the television and went in search of other ways to help. She cleaned the bathroom, picked up the parlor, then readied Deydie’s stew by pouring it into the Crock-Pot she’d found above the stove.
When Duncan arrived home, Mattie still slept. She put a finger to her lips. “He’s napping.”
Duncan grinned at Cait and whispered, “Guess what’s in the box.” He flipped the lid open. Inside was a ball of black, brown, and white fur. “I got Da a puppy for Christmas, a tricolor sheltie.”
He is off his rocker! Who in their right mind would get Graham a dog so soon? Cait shook her head and wanted to ask Duncan what he’d been smoking. Did he think Graham would thank him for it? She tried to give Duncan a reassuring smile but wasn’t sure she pulled it off. “Is it a boy or a girl?”
“A boy. We’re a family of boys. This little guy will fit right in.” Duncan’s face shadowed. “I don’t know what I’ll do with him until Christmas, though. I want it to be a surprise, but I’ve trouble enough arranging sitters for Mattie while I’m out fishing.”
Crap. Between another rock and a hard place. Cait had no choice but to offer. It would only be for a few days. “Do you want me to keep the dog until Christmas?”
“Over the pub? Going up and down those stairs to take him out?”
To Scotland With Love Page 8