by Chana Keefer
I was wrapping up the internship with Jonnie who had taken only a two-week leave after her husband’s funeral. She said it helped her not to brood when she was busy and doing what she loved. Her cheerfulness chastised me. If she could carry on after her loss, surely I could do as much.
On my last day as her intern, Jonnie took me out for ice cream. Over deep dishes of melting cream and hot fudge, I finally got up the nerve to ask how she was coping with her loss.
“God just draws me that much closer when I need him.”
“But, aren’t you mad at God?”
“Oh, those feelings come and go,” she answered. “But how can I stay mad when God gave me Len in the first place?”
The news director asked me into his office with information about cub reporter positions in smaller markets. I asked for a month to consider my options.
“Don’t wait too long,” he stated. “You could do well and, unless you’re independently wealthy, employment is a good thing.”
As I left the news station that afternoon, I felt like the career train had paused for me, but I had failed to climb aboard. I hardly had the heart to notice.
Next thing I knew, I blinked in the sunshine with a diploma in my hand and then attended John’s high school graduation. The entire family gathered to celebrate. Expectations were high and I dodged the bullet of, “So, what are your plans?” fifty times a day. Luckily, John had plans enough for the both of us—college on a military scholarship with his sights set on making the drum and bugle corp. Marti took a position at a clothing design company. It was entry level, but she had high hopes of making herself indispensible. We would remain at our apartment since it was close to work for her. While I figured things out, I would continue at the health club with modeling and acting on the side. Funny thing, I had felt more prepared for life four years earlier—sure of myself and sure of my plans.
Mom and Dad were traveling to Europe for their thirtieth anniversary, a month-long tour they had scrimped for and discussed as long as I could remember. As a graduation present, they offered me a plane ticket to Scotland to join them for the second half of their trip. I thought about it two seconds and gratefully accepted.
Scotland would be my dividing line. I would forget about major choices and lose myself in castles and Scottish lore. Hopefully, the answers would magically appear.
Soon the ceremonies and celebrations ended and everyone went on with their lives.
After dropping Mom and Dad at the airport, I retreated to the ranch. For days, I saw no one and spoke only to the horses and cows.
On day three I noticed a small, dark car parked on the service road beside the ranch. How long had it been there? I had to laugh. If it contained stalking reporters, they must be bored senseless.
John stopped in for lunch and I mentioned the car. I had thought it was gone, but it had simply moved to another spot. He packed a couple sandwiches and an apple in a bag and hopped in his pickup. Within ten minutes he returned with a self-satisfied grin on his face.
“Nice guy, early thirties, definitely a reporter, likes chicken salad. I told him to beat it and he did. Adore me later. The Queen hates when I’m late!” With that he raced out the door to his shift at the local DQ.
However, this particular stalker wasn’t to be put off so easily. Later, the car returned. I tried to ignore it since I was absolutely un-newsworthy but it unnerved me nonetheless to wake in the middle of the night and see it still there. The car’s presence particularly bugged me when I roamed the fields the next day. I went back inside and located dad’s old binoculars. Out in the middle of the field, I trained them on my watchful pest and, to my satisfaction, the car powered up and pulled slowly onto the highway. Apparently, the watcher didn’t like being watched.
I turned my focus to packing and shopping for last-minute details. The feeling of being watched persisted even within a crowded mall. Oh well, in a few days I would leave for Scotland and this little game would end.
Before I knew it, Marti was dropping me off with a wink and a command of, “Don’t do anything I would do!” and I checked my bags alone at the airport, waiting a bit nervously at my gate. After a short connecting flight, I boarded the plane to Scotland, enjoying the music of Gaelic accents.
I noticed an elderly woman waiting at our gate who had fallen asleep. I hated for her to miss the flight, so I approached and spoke, finally giving her shoulder a little shake.
“Oh!” She opened her eyes and sat up.
I put a calming hand on her shoulder. “Is this your flight? To Scotland?”
“Yes.”
I peeked at the ticket in her hand, “You’re first class. They’re boarding now.”
“Thank you so much.”
I helped her get her small carry-on to the gate and waved as she started down the corridor. As I boarded later, she motioned to me from her seat and I approached under the disapproving stare of a flight attendant.
“Thank you again, Dearie.” Her voice reminded me of watching British television. Very refined.
“Glad I could help.” I squeezed the outstretched hand. Now that she was awake, I noted the sparkle in her eye and sensed the kindred spirit within.
About half an hour into the flight, the attendant came to inform me my presence was requested up front so I accompanied her to an empty seat next to the woman who beamed at me and patted the chair beside her. “My guardian angel,” she exclaimed as I sat.
She introduced herself as Helena. She was a lovely woman with a soft cloud of white hair framing her face under the chin in a surprisingly current style. She inquired about my trip and I filled her in on the particulars. We conversed for at least an hour before I said I really should return to my seat in coach before the attendant kicked me out.
“If you wouldn’t mind, I’d love to have you move up here. I really don’t like traveling alone and I’d so enjoy the company.” It sounded like the wheedling plea of a lonely, elderly woman, but I could tell by the way she didn’t wait for my reply that she was confident, independent, and used to getting her way. She called over the attendant and informed her, “I think you’ll find enough frequent flier miles on my account to upgrade this young lady.”
The attendant replied cooperatively, “That will be no problem whatsoever Mrs. Gilstrap.”
I protested a bit but she laughed. “Oh sweetie, my family probably has enough of those little frequent doo-hickies to buy this plane. We’ll never notice.” Helena insisted I take the window seat. “I could never deny you your first glimpse of Scotland in the early morning light. It really is magical.”
I must confess, I immediately enjoyed the spoiling we received as members of first class. We were treated to a fancy meal that included several courses. When the attendant asked what I preferred for “starters,” I offered no more than an ignorant stare. Mrs. Gilstrap came to my rescue explaining that “starters” was the European word for “appetizers” and showed me the options available. We looked over the menu together and I made my selections.
“Sort of makes my peanut butter sandwiches pale in comparison,” I laughed.
“Most days, I’d prefer peanut butter.” She smiled. “But it’s fun to be spoiled once in a while don’t you think?”
I warmed to Mrs. Gilstrap, who insisted I call her Helena. I loved the melodic sound of an accent I couldn’t quite place and the mischief in her eyes when she laughed, which she did a great deal. “Life’s just not worth living if you can’t find the fun in it,” she proclaimed.
The long hours of the flight to Glasgow, Scotland shortened magically in her company. We traded stories of our families and shared our likes and dislikes. We discovered a common aversion to scary movies.
I told how the Wicked Witch of the West used to frighten me so much as a child I would hide under the bed. “Ever since, I’ve been a complete horror movie wimp.”
She laughed and replied she had always been of the opinion the poor woman just suffered from an extreme insecurity complex. “She
probably would have had a totally different outlook with a nose-job.”
Soon, we were showing off pictures of family. She proclaimed my brothers “such handsome young men” and laughed with me over the old family photo where all of us had been arrayed in knit leisure suits of varying hues.
“It’s amazing what we accept as stylish isn’t it?” Helena commented. “I was once so proud of my tall, beehive hairdo. I thought it was soo elegant, but I looked like one of those, what were they called on that Saturday Night show, cone heads? Now THAT was scary.”
We discussed our favorite actors. She stated none of today’s movie stars could hold a candle to Clark Gable. I had to agree. But she surprised me by announcing she was also an avid fan of Monty Python.
“My grandson is the only one in the family who will watch them with me. I guess he inherited my twisted sense of humor.”
We moved on to favorite love stories like, “Casablanca” and she mentioned “Somewhere in Time,” a classic from the eighties.
“That’s my favorite,” I said. “My little brother even cried but he’d never admit it.”
Helena sighed. “It always reminded me of when Vincent and I were newlyweds and he was in active service during World War II. He always had to go away after such a short time. I would cry and cry.” She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief and giggled. “I can tell you we didn’t do any sleeping on those visits! We were absolutely desperate for each other.”
“That’s the way love should be,” I commented.
“Oh, I’ll bet a pretty young thing like you has a few love stories to tell,” she prompted with a smile.
“Not really.” I shook my head. “Well I do, but it’s so unbelievable and… nothing came of it anyway.”
“Not a happy ending?”
“Not even close.” I smiled back. “This guy obviously didn’t feel desperate enough to pick up a phone. Not a very good sign.”
“Hmmm.” She wrinkled her brow. “I’d certainly like to hear the young man’s side of the story.”
“Me too,” I said softly as she reached out to pat my hand. “So,” I changed the subject before the lump in my throat took over, “Are you on vacation?”
“Every day has to be a vacation at my age,” she chuckled. “Just some business interests in the states, but now I’m back to my home off the coast of Scotland. It’s a beautiful place with rolling hills, plenty of trees… I spend as much time there as I can since London is a bit… urban.”
She relaxed back into her seat and gave a deep, contented sigh. “It’s on an island so there are not many cars at all; just the soft sound of the sea, the tinkling of bells on the sheep and the lonely cry of seagulls to wake me in the mornings. Vincent bought it for me about forty years ago. He knew I thrived in a country setting and we both wanted our children and grandchildren to enjoy the simple life.”
I told her I had been raised in the country and knew firsthand the joy of having room to roam. “Even now, too long in the city and I start to have withdrawals.”
“You have to come visit me while you’re in Scotland. Where will you be staying?” I told her some of the cities and castles on our itinerary. When I mentioned the town of Stirling her eyes lit up. “Oh, you’ll love the castle there,” she enthused. “And Stirling isn’t too far from my home.”
She grabbed a cocktail napkin and drew a rough outline of the mainland of Scotland placing dots to represent the major cities. Off the northwest side she drew a little island. “That’s where I live. It’s just a short ferry ride from the mainland. Here’s my address and phone number, too. Surely you and your parents could make a day trip of it…”
I found myself tuning out her words as I stared at the name she had written on the Island. The Isle of Skye—really? I finally come to a place where I might be able to go for a few days without hearing his music and there’s a whole island named for him?
“Esther, are you well?” Mrs. Gilstrap asked.
“I’m sorry,” I laughed ruefully. “It’s just that the person, um, guy I spoke of earlier, that was his name, just spelled differently. I can’t seem to go anywhere without running into something that reminds me of him.”
She laughed, “So his name is Sky? With a name like that you can’t even look up without thinking of him, eh? So, if you don’t mind, how did you meet him, dear?”
“At a concert,” I answered hesitantly. “He’s sort of, a… recording artist.”
“Oh dear!” she laughed. “You don’t mean THE Sky do you?” I nodded and she leaned closer, “My, my, this sounds like a story I have to hear.”
When I hesitated she pleaded, “Please don’t deny an old woman a thrill.”
I began with a sketchy rendition, but Helena was so attentive and asked such thoughtful questions, I found myself sharing much more of the story with her than I had with anyone. When I finished with the rose I found in the barn, she sighed deeply. “Oh Dearie. That’s so romantic!”
I shrugged. “Well, it looks fun in the movies anyway.”
She reached to pat my hand. “It’s never a mistake to love, Esther. Just don’t allow your heart to become numb. If that occurs, you may as well be dead. This didn’t work out but God’s got something good in store. You just wait and see.”
Just then the flight attendant brought by some fancy “after dessert” chocolates. We’d already been nibbling on cheesecake. “See there?” Helena giggled at my astonishment. “Things are looking up already!”
They looked too beautiful to eat with their little gold ribbons and monogrammed designs so, after savoring one, I carefully wrapped the rest to give Mom and Dad a sample of my trans-Atlantic spoiling.
Helena grew weary. “This is the main reason I fly first-class.” She leaned back in the plush leather chair. I secured a blanket and tucked it around her.
“Thank you, Dearie.” Soon, she was asleep.
I was so glad to have found a friend. I peered out the dark window, although I knew we were over the ocean and there would be nothing to see until we flew into the sun’s light in a few hours. I thought I would be too tired to sleep, but the busy day and excitement had taken their toll and I gave in to the comfortable chair and drone of the plane. I felt I had just closed my eyes when suddenly I blinked into bright light coming through the window.
I peered down at the clouds stretching unbroken as far as the eye could see. Helena stirred and I glanced over to bid her good morning as she opened one weary eye. “I’ll see about that when I’ve had some coffee.” Soon the attendant brought us a breakfast of eggs, sausage, beans, mushrooms and a couple other items I’d never seen before as well as juice and coffee.
After breakfast, I took another peek out the window and had to catch my breath in wonder. Through a break in the clouds, I peered down into a fairy tale of mountain ridges and deep fjords of brilliant green with patches of cloud wrapped throughout the tree-covered hillsides like strips of down blanket. I gasped, oohed, and ahhed to the delight of Helena who beamed with national pride.
We had another half hour or so of engaging conversation before landing and Helena utilized this time to urge me again to come visit her. “Your parents will need a break from the tourist circuit and I defy you to find a more comfortable place to stay. Besides, next week is my birthday and my family is throwing a masquerade ball for the occasion.
“It becomes more grand every year. I think they wonder if each party will be the last since, at my age, I could be gone without a moment’s notice,” she teased. “All I have to do to get them to spend a few hundred pounds more is retire elegantly to my bed about a month before the party.” She flashed a wicked grin. “It’s great fun keeping everyone on their toes.”
Soon, we were on the ground, exiting the plane and going through customs where my heart thrilled when they put the “Scotland” stamp in my passport. A driver met Helena at the gate and I was met with a note from my parents that they were delayed with the tour group due to bus trouble. They gave directions to hire a car
and meet them in Stirling the next day. When she heard this news, Helena tried to convince me to share her ride, but I had a sudden independent streak and desire to drive through the beautiful countryside alone. To satisfy her, I promised to call Helena when I was safe and sound in Stirling that night.
My drive through Scotland was amazing. Yes, I had to keep remembering to drive on the opposite side of the road and got lost a couple times trying to properly read the signs at the circles or “roundabouts” dotting the highway, but even being lost in Scotland was a joy. I had never known such freedom to do exactly what I wanted exactly how I pleased. I stopped wherever I fancied whether for food or to drink in a gorgeous view. It seemed everywhere I turned was a sight more beautiful than the last. The day was slightly overcast and the sudden changes in the land were astonishing, going from bright blue sky to thick fog as the little car twisted through serpentine roads and the one-way through-mountain bridges that were both ancient and picturesque.
My first glimpse of a castle perched on a high peak threw me into raptures of joy. That was a moment when I regretted the loneliness. My cries of, “Ohmigosh! It’s a castle! It’s a real castle!” were met with silence. I immediately turned off the road and tried, to no avail, to find my way to that high place. Disappointed, I drove on and saw more castles nestled on the highland hills.
I arrived in Stirling by late afternoon and checked into the bed and breakfast Helena had recommended, a charming three-story stone residence combining the opulence of a mansion with the coziness of a home. As promised, all I had to do was mention Helena’s name and the proprietors, personal friends of hers, were only too eager to please, providing a beautiful room on the third floor overlooking the gardens and pathway behind the house.
But when I sat on the bed in my room, exhaustion overwhelmed me. I called Helena, thanked her for the recommendation and assured her I was safe and sound.
The call to my parents produced a piece of bad news. Dad had gotten sick and they would be remaining in Glasgow for at least another day for him to rest.