She sank to her knees and laid her head on the bed. “Why? Why?” she whispered to the comforter.
Deydie stuck her nose in. “Come to Duncan’s room. Father Gregory is going to deliver last rites.”
Cait did her best to straighten her emotions up so Deydie wouldn’t see.
“Graham said it’s getting to be Duncan’s time.” Deydie eyed her closely. “What are ye doing with yere things?”
There was a clatter from downstairs.
Deydie turned around. “Dammit. That sounded like the sandwiches.”
Before Cait could explain anything, her gran was gone.
Downstairs, the house was filling up with Gandiegowans. Cait made her way to Duncan’s room. For Mattie’s sake. She stepped in and clung to the back wall. Graham, Mattie, Deydie, Rhona, and Bethia surrounded the bed. Dingus sat respectfully at the end, by Duncan’s covered feet.
It was hard to be in the same room with Graham, knowing how he felt about her—a traitor, a backstabber. If only he’d give her the chance to explain.
She bowed her head as Father Gregory began. The packed room became eerily quiet. It was a prayer of safe passage, one appropriate for a fisherman such as Duncan. The prayer also spoke of love, mercy, and forgiveness. How she needed to hear those words right now! They comforted her as her own life twisted and was once again transforming. Cait glanced at Mattie. Though sad, he held his head high, remembering to be brave and strong for his da.
When the prayers were over, a collective sigh went up to heaven and slowly people began whispering, then talking and milling about again. Deydie shooed most of the villagers out so Graham and Mattie could have some privacy.
“Come to the store with me,” Deydie said. “To honor Duncan, I’m making his favorite—fisherman’s pie and Aberdeen butteries.”
“Sure.” Cait grabbed her coat and followed her outside.
In silence, they trudged down the bluff and headed toward the store. Along the boardwalk where the sea kissed the coast, Cait and Deydie came across a dead gannet. Without a moment’s hesitation, Deydie picked up the lifeless bird by the tail feathers and flung it into the ocean.
Cait stood there shocked and amazed. “How can you do that? You didn’t even think twice about sending that poor thing to its watery grave.”
“Just tidying the walkway.” Deydie gestured to the water. “I’m sure that old bird has led a long life.”
The bird had washed out a ways by now. “But to sling it into the ocean like that?” Cait said.
“Life. Death. It’s the way of things. One has to accept it.” Deydie flashed a smile at her. “Or go wonky worrying over it.”
It started to seep in—Death and how it really was. All along, Cait had had it wrong. She’d given Death too much authority. He wasn’t in charge. He was just doing his job. It was the living that mattered. How much of her life had she wasted worrying over Death? Too much. But not anymore.
“Ah, Duncan.” Cait sighed.
“It’s a sad, sad thing about that lad.” Deydie stopped and stared into Cait’s eyes. “Do you know how we get through the sadness? We have one another, lass. When we share the burden, it lightens the load, eases the pain.”
To Cait, death had always meant isolation. She’d gotten this wrong, too.
“I’ve got a lot to learn,” Cait said.
“Stick with me, girl.” Deydie cackled. “I’ll teach you the right of it.”
Cait put her arm around her short gran, and they walked the rest of the way to the store. Together.
* * *
Cait moved back down to the cottage with Deydie. She’d no other place to go that didn’t belong to Graham. She’d given Deydie no explanation, and her gran hadn’t asked, only shaken her head.
In the wee hours of Thursday morning, Deydie woke Cait. “We best be getting up to the big house. Duncan’s time has come.”
Cait saw the backside of Nurse Ann heading out the cottage door. Cait slipped on some jeans and grabbed her coat.
For the next hour, Graham, Mattie, Cait, and Deydie gathered around Duncan, watching his labored breath. Doc, Dr. Tsang, and the nurses stood in the corner of the room. Cait was in agony. She longed to comfort Graham, and be comforted in turn, but he refused to even look her way.
As the minutes passed, Cait found she was holding her own breath while waiting for the next rise and fall of Duncan’s chest.
Suddenly, Mattie crawled up next to his da and touched his cheek with his small hand. “You go,” he whispered with tears in his eyes. Mattie leaned down and kissed his da’s cheek, then laid his head down and closed his eyes.
They were all shocked speechless.
Graham recovered first, kissing Duncan’s forehead. “Goodbye, my lovely son.”
As if he’d only needed permission, Duncan’s body relaxed. He wasn’t gone, but he was different. His next breath came, and it wasn’t as deep. A long time lapsed, then another small breath. For a few more minutes, the breaths got further and further apart. And then Duncan stopped breathing altogether.
* * *
That night, while the town gathered for the wake, Graham’s house murmured with the miracle of Mattie speaking. His grandson hadn’t said another word since this morning, but the village rejoiced that Mattie had made headway. Graham left them to their speculations and fled out the back door.
He climbed to the pinnacle, feeling sad, betrayed, and lonely. In the last twenty-four hours or so, he’d lost a son and a friend, or at least he’d thought she’d been. Not a friend like Sid or Colin or Hugh, but something to him. Something he hadn’t wanted to name. But it’d all been a lie.
The wind at the top raged against Graham, and he welcomed it. It angered him and at the same time dulled the pain of the losses. At exactly seven o’clock, he pulled his bagpipes to himself and began “Amazing Grace” for his son, letting the song reach up to heaven so Duncan could hear. When he hit the last chord and ended the song, a drum cadence rang out from the ocean. Graham peered hard at where the sound came from. Just off the point, Duncan’s boat was anchored with a group of locals aboard, beating their drums in honor of one of their own.
Chapter Twenty-five
The next day, Good Friday, Deydie honored Cait’s request and gathered the quilting ladies together at the cottage. Mama’s urn sat in the middle of the dining room table, her last quilt, Walking with My Daughter, resting beside it.
When all the ladies stood around the table, Cait took Deydie’s hand. “I know you’re wondering why I brought you here.”
They all started to speak at once. Cait held up a hand.
“I’ve something to tell you.” She wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. She’d decided to beat Graham to the punch and tell them all what she’d planned to do to him and to them. “I’m going to ask in advance for your forgiveness. Keep in mind that I’ve been mixed up. But I’m not anymore.”
She looked to Deydie.
Her gran whacked her on the back. “Go on, now.”
Cait took a deep breath and told the ladies everything—how she’d discovered Graham accidentally, planned to betray him, and how she’d thought Gandiegow would eventually see it as a good thing to have him exposed to the world.
“I was blind to what I was doing. I was wrong,” Cait said, finishing. “And I’m sorry for it.”
The women stood there in stunned silence. The clock on the wall ticked.
“Well,” Deydie said, dropping Cait’s hand, sounding cheery. “We’ve gotten that over with, and now it’s time for a drink.” She pulled a bottle of Scotch off the shelf. “Amy, get the shot glasses.”
Rhona looked skeptical. “What are we drinking to?”
Cait wanted to know, too.
Deydie gave them all a grin. “To making mistakes and being honest about it.”
Cait’s chest got warm, her he
art thudding loudly. She grinned at Deydie and helped fill the glasses.
The women lifted their drinks to Cait, and Bethia gave the toast. “To eating crow.”
They knocked back their drinks. Cait enjoyed the burn of it. She wasn’t naive enough to think they’d forgive her right away, but they’d follow Deydie’s lead and, in time, they wouldn’t hold it against her.
Moira set her glass down and pointed to the table. “What’s this all about?”
“Yes,” Cait said. “That’s the other reason I called you here today. I need your assistance.” She knew it was a lot to ask, especially after what she’d just told them, but she went on anyway. “On this journey to figuring myself out, I’ve realized something else.” She looked around at them. “I’ve been hanging on to the past. Not in a healthy, reminiscing way. But in a morbid, obsessive-compulsive way. I thought my first step in healing myself would be to give Mama a proper send-off. I hoped you all could help me, give me the strength to move on.”
Bethia nodded toward her. “Nora would’ve wanted you to move forward with your life.”
The rest of the women agreed.
Deydie, always impatient, firmly thumped her glass on the table. “Stop lollygagging and tell them what the plan is.”
Cait smiled at her. “Yes, Miss Bossy.” She turned back to the group. “I thought we could walk down to the pier, one last walk with Mama, and scatter her ashes to the sea.”
“That’s a fine tribute,” Bethia said.
“Well, come on, now,” Deydie barked. “Daylight is burning.”
Cait grabbed the urn, and the women filed out of the cabin. They walked down the boardwalk, past where Deydie had flung the bird in the ocean, on past the store, finally gathering on the pier in a semicircle.
The day was bright, just the right chilliness to let the bones know you were in Scotland.
Cait opened her mama’s urn. “Would anyone like to say anything?”
Moira stepped forward. “I would. It’s the poem that was said at my own ma’s funeral.”
“That’d be fine, Moira,” Cait said.
Moira began,
I will not say goodbye, for this is not the end
Not adieu but au revoir to my mother and my friend.
I held you close to me, but now I let you go
As I set you free, know I love you so.
As Moira’s lilting voice began to speak, Cait sprinkled the first half of her mama’s ashes. She handed it to Deydie, who did a sprinkle and then handed it to Rhona and then to each one down the line.
You’ll fly upon the wind and sail across the sea
Yet in my heart of hearts, you’ll still be close to me.
We’ll meet again someday, this I know is true.
Until that day arrives, I will remember you.
Moira had the jar last and tapped the bottom so the remaining ashes fell out. Bethia said wistfully to the breeze, “Nora’s finally home.”
“Nay.” Deydie touched her breast. “She’s always been here with us. Right here.”
* * *
Later that afternoon, Cait and Deydie went to Duncan’s house and chose Duncan’s favorite shirts and a stack of his jeans to use in making quilts for both Mattie and Graham. Then they met the quilting ladies at the old wool factory, now Gandiegow’s Quilting Central, and began work on the Buchanan quilts. Father Gregory stopped by with a bundle that turned out to be a quilt, too. He left it with Rhona without explanation.
“What’s that?” Cait asked.
Rhona spread it out. “Gandiegow’s cemetery quilt. It documents where everyone is buried.”
Though tragic, it was beautiful. The medallion in the middle held the cemetery with small casket blocks positioned throughout, names and dates embroidered on each. Around the medallion were alternating blocks of stars and crosses.
“It’s our way of remembering.” Rhona pulled out a piece of brown fabric, fashioning it into a casket block. “Father Gregory stores it at the church for safekeeping.”
“I expected Duncan to have his ashes put out to sea,” Cait said.
“Nay,” replied Deydie. “Duncan wanted to be buried in the cemetery overlooking the ocean. For Mattie, ye see. If Mattie ever feels like he needed to talk to his da, he could go to the cemetery and have a chat.”
“That’s nice,” said Amy.
“Our Duncan has always been a thoughtful boy,” Bethia agreed.
Cait knew Graham was busy with arrangements, but she worried about him just the same. Like I could help him feel better. If only.
Everyone in Quilting Central sat in silence, each in their own thoughts, when the door opened and the bell over it rang.
Bonnie stood there in a tight black sweater, but instead of it being low-cut, it properly covered her enormous boobs. “Excuse me?” This was the most demure she’d ever been.
Cait and Moira rose, as did Amy. “Yes?” the three of them said together.
Bonnie kind of twisted her hands and didn’t look nearly the bitch that Cait had encountered before. Finally she spoke. “I—I was wondering if you guys might teach me how to sew.”
Deydie and the rest jumped up and rushed her. Bonnie stepped back. Cait worried the poor girl might get trampled.
Rhona got to her first. “Of course we’ll teach you how to sew.”
“Have you ever cut anything out or used a machine before?” Deydie wanted to know.
“Sister and I will show you how to do our signature stitch,” Ailsa said.
“Yes,” Aileen agreed, nodding her head fervently.
Bethia guided Bonnie to the chair next to Cait’s. “There’s always room for one more.”
* * *
On Saturday, Cait gathered with the other women in Graham’s kitchen, feeling strange about being in his house again. He’d been clear about her staying out of his house and out of his life. He hadn’t thrown her out when she’d shown up at Duncan’s deathbed, but she wasn’t so sure what he would do today when he saw her. But dang it, Deydie had insisted Cait be there, and she knew not to cross her gran. Cait still felt weird and jumpy, and on top of that, anxious to see him, needing to know how he was.
“What’s wrong, lass?” Deydie asked.
Cait shrugged and pulled a fresh ham from the refrigerator for tomorrow’s funeral. Just before putting it into the oven, Mattie handed her an extra potholder. All morning, the ladies had taken turns involving him in everything from the bread making to the pie baking. Just when Cait started to relax, thinking Graham was too preoccupied to discover her there, he wandered into the kitchen.
Cait’s heart stopped. She couldn’t breathe. He looked her way and frowned but didn’t throw her out on her keister.
“I’ve come to rescue Mattie from estrogen overload,” he said to the room. “Come, lad. We need to pick out flowers online. The florist in Inverness will deliver.”
Mattie looked to Cait for permission. “Go on, now,” she said.
Graham gave her an exasperated roll of the eyes. She understood. It must be hard to have his own grandson defer to her—the one person he couldn’t trust. She set the timer for the ham and got busy chopping the romaine.
The next day, Easter, there was no sign of the Easter bunny, no brightly colored eggs, no special chocolates. Only Easter lilies surrounding Duncan’s casket, the centerpiece resting near the altar for the funeral Mass. The whole town had gathered, and it seemed surreal that with death in their midst, the sermon would center on rebirth.
After the service, the parishioners followed Graham, Ross, and four others as they carried Duncan’s casket up the bluff path to the cemetery. Father Gregory said a few words and a prayer for Duncan. Then loud horns blared simultaneously from a group of fishing boats just off the point, giving Duncan a joyous send-off. It brought tears to Cait’s eyes, and she wished Duncan had been the
re to see it. Mattie squeezed her hand, and she looked down at him. He nodded his head in agreement.
The townsfolk headed back down the path, the quilting ladies at the head of the pack, hurrying to get the food on the table at the big house before the onslaught of people.
Alone at the grave site stood the three of them—Cait, Mattie holding her hand, and on Mattie’s other side, Graham holding his hand. She peeked over at Graham and saw tears flowing freely down his face. She pulled a clean tissue from her pocket and handed it to him. He stared at it for a moment and then finally took it.
Cait leaned down to Mattie. “Do you want to go back to the house now, or do you want to stay here for a while?”
He nodded toward the path, so the two of them headed out, leaving Graham at the grave site alone.
* * *
Graham stayed with Duncan for a long time, not wanting to leave his son. He’d done that too much in his lifetime. So many lost days.
He ran a hand through his hair. A little voice inside his head told him not to berate himself. Caitie’s voice. His career had been a blessing. And in the end, Duncan had seen it that way, too.
Graham didn’t know what he was going to do about Caitie. He said he’d wanted her gone. But having her there in the room when Duncan had slipped away had been a comfort to him, and he didn’t understand why. She’d lied to him, deceived him, betrayed him. Yet he still wanted her near. His only explanation—grief.
Finally, Graham knelt down and laid his hand on the dirt over the grave. “I’ll be back to see you soon.” He knew Duncan wasn’t really there. He’d gone to a better place, one where illness didn’t exist. But the thought that his son was only at the top of the bluff, looking down on the village, consoled Graham. He left to join the others.
When he got home, Deydie had the kitchen running smoothly with the rest of the house packed with funeral-goers.
“Where’s Mattie?” he asked.
“In the parlor,” Moira said. “With Caitie.”
To Scotland With Love Page 29