Friday
Early the next morning, Ginny pulled on her nineteenth century frontier woman costume, grabbed breakfast, and hurried out to the car. Every member of the clan, from cradle to grave, was required to devote one day a month to the living history reenactment that was The Homestead. Ginny would be demonstrating period cooking today and she had a lot of preparation to do before the gates opened to the public.
She stowed her purse, car keys, and cell phone in the locker room hidden at the heart of the complex, grabbed a wicker basket from the props department, and proceeded to collect the raw materials for the four dishes she would be preparing. All of the ingredients had been requisitioned beforehand so were waiting for her, but they had to be picked up, which meant visiting the smoking shed, the hen house, the cold spring, the bakery, the gardens, the larder, and the dairy.
Loaded down with ingredients, she repaired to her assigned station (located, as in all frontier kitchens, in a separate building, away from the main house) and lit the cooking fires. They had both griddle plates and a Dutch oven to work with so only part of the meal would be prepared over an open hearth.
The girls who were scheduled to help her this day, ages seven to fourteen, arrived promptly at eight-thirty, smiling and excited to be in costume and allowed to show off their skills to the paying guests.
“Miss Ginny!” The youngest gave her a hug and Ginny kissed the top of her head.
“Good morning, Bonnie.”
She put them to work hauling water from the well, and locating the pots, knives, measuring cups, wooden spoons, dishes, and linens that would be needed. She set up the scullery and assigned one of the older girls to the slicing, dicing, and chopping, and another to the job of teaching the little ones how to measure the dry ingredients and separate the eggs.
By the time the gates opened at nine, they were well into the tasks required to set the noonday table. On the menu today were Scotch Broth, Fishwife’s Haddie, Winter Brioche, and Apple Amber, all original nineteenth century Scottish recipes prepared traditionally and from ingredients grown or raised on the grounds.
Ginny paid almost no attention to the visitors. She was polite, smiling at them and answering questions, but they were brought through in groups by guides who explained what was going on. That left her free to concentrate on the food preparation, and making sure none of her assistant cooks sliced off a finger, got burned, or fainted from the heat.
She was in the process of showing the little ones how to peel and core an apple when she became aware of someone watching her. She was not really surprised. It made sense the Laird’s grandson, newly returned from exile in Virginia, should look the place over, to start learning how the system worked, but she was not sure she wanted to speak to him. He had left two messages for her and neither had seemed urgent enough to force her to return the calls, though courtesy would demand a reply at some point.
On impulse, she addressed the youngest girl. “Bonnie, would you like to know the name of the man you will marry?” The girl nodded cautiously, unsure what to make of this offer.
“What you do is peel the apple in one long continuous strip, so it comes off all in one piece.” Ginny demonstrated. “Then you must throw the peel over your shoulder.” She tossed it over her right shoulder, in the direction of the door. “If you’ve done it correctly, the peel will fall in the shape of the first letter of your lover’s name.” The entire collection of girls ran over to see what they could make of Ginny’s effort. Ginny smiled to herself, not bothering to join them. It was, after all, just an old wives’ tale.
“Look, Miss Ginny! Look!” Bonnie grabbed her hand and pulled her over to see. Ginny looked down and felt her cheeks grow pink. She had tossed a large, slightly twisted, but quite recognizable “J” onto the floor.
“Did it work, Miss Ginny?” Ginny looked up to find Jim trying not to laugh. She turned to the child. “Well, we won’t know until I get married, will we?” She reached down and picked the peel off the floor, tossing it into the slops bucket, to be fed to the pigs later.
“But does it work?” Bonnie persisted.
“Why don’t you try it and see what happens.”
Ginny turned her back on the apples and concentrated on getting the rest of the meal ready, filling the space with delectable aromas and making everyone’s mouth water.
Jim stayed and watched until all four dishes were ready to put on the table, then politely sampled each one, the girls crowding around him, demanding praise for their work. He obliged with good humor and compliments to each, taking the youngest onto his lap and teasing her about her prospects for a happy marriage, asking her if she might consider marrying him and being told he was much too old for her, being closer to her father’s age than her own.
Ginny smiled to herself but was not sorry to find the kitchen filling up with visitors and staff, all drawn by the smell and anxious to taste for themselves. The cleaning would have to be done as well, what hadn’t been attended to already, for Ginny believed in cleaning and clearing and putting away as she went, but it was accepted that everyone would pause for lunch. Unnoticed, she slipped out and faded into the crowd.
* * *
“Mackenzie.” Ginny stood in front of the old man, her back straight, her gaze steady.
“Aye, lass?” He set aside what he was doing.
“I’ve a wee question I’d ask of ye, if I may.”
“Aye? And is it about my grandson, maybe?”
“Well, it is and it isn’t. There’s another man involved.”
“Ye may ask.”
“Will you walk with me?”
The old man rose without question, picked up his cane, and the two of them made their way out onto the grounds. It was very pleasant walking along under the centuries old oaks. The breeze was cool and the ground dry. When they were well out of earshot, the old man spoke.
“And what is this question, then?”
“How does a woman know she can trust a man?”
The old man raised an eyebrow and looked over at her. “That’s quite a question, lass.”
“It is. That’s why I’ve brought it to you.”
“And yer mither canna’ help ye?”
“She tells me she and my father fell in love at first sight and neither gave the other cause to doubt, not for a moment.”
“But ye’r nae so lucky.”
“I am not.”
“Tell me.”
Ginny took a deep breath, then laid out her concerns. It was several minutes before the Laird spoke. She waited patiently, walking beside him, trusting him absolutely.
“Weel, some o’ it may be coincidence.”
“Yes.”
“But some o’ it sounds a’ purpose.”
“He deliberately didn’t tell me he was an infectious disease specialist.” Ginny frowned. “It made me feel like an idiot, and it hurt that he assumed I wouldn’t understand, but after I got over being mad, I started to wonder what else he might be hiding.”
The old man looked over at her. “Ye’ll no have forgotten he’s feeling a wee bit unsettled hisself?”
“I know that.”
The Laird walked a few more paces, his eyes on the vista ahead. “Even as a wee lad, he was intent on those as needed help. He would put bandages on the animals, and set the baby birds back in their nests. He used tae listen to the auld folk talk, wi’ eyes too knowing for one sae young, as if he understood what wasna’ said.”
Ginny waited for the Laird to continue, listening carefully.
“I wasna’ there fer him, after his father left. He was too young before and now he’s too auld and verra much a man. I think it’s no verra surprising if he’s a mite secretive wi’ all o’ us.” He looked over at Ginny. “He’ll be wonderin’, can he trust us.”
Ginny nodded, feeling some sympathy for a man thrown into an unfamiliar world where he knew almost no one and was quite likely to make mistakes.
“All right, he can have the benefit of the doubt. What about the other?”
“Ah, now there ye’ maybe have some cause tae worry.”
Ginny frowned. “It sounds very much the same, a man who’s keeping secrets from me.”
“Tis a matter o’ degree. Some o’ wha’ yer seeing may be his custom, o’ course. He’s nae one o’ us, ye ken.”
Ginny nodded.
“But consider how long ye’ve know young Williams. It would be expected he would be tellin’ ye about his work and sharing troubles wi’ ye, if he was thinkin’ of asking ye to share his life wi’ him.”
“I don’t think he was, though. Not until Jim came back and he saw us together.”
“And tha’s another thing. If he was nae interested, until he saw he might no be having ye all tae himself, tha’s no the way a man should be, wi’ a woman he loves.”
Ginny squirmed. She was equally guilty of that. Hal’s mother had wanted the match and Ginny’d had no objection to marrying her son. So she’d waited, patiently, not insisting that Hal declare himself, expecting him to get around to it eventually.
The Laird fixed her with a sharp eye.
“Ye asked me how a woman can tell if a man is trustworthy, aye?”
“Yes.”
“Weel, I’m no suggestin’ a lass should try a man a purpose, but she’d be a fool no tae be payin’ attention.” He stopped walking, turning to look across the exercise grounds where a mock battle was in progress.
“Th’ lads oot there, they know men died on that field, but none o’ them expects tae die this day.”
Ginny’s mouth twitched. “Let’s hope not.”
The old man smiled at her, then went back to his point. “Nonetheless, they are tested. ’Tis part o’ what makes them strong, tae face another man with a gun pointed down yer craw and stand yer ground.” He looked back at her. “Ye must watch them. See how th’ twa o’ them behave under pressure.”
He started walking again and Ginny fell in beside him, leaning close to catch his words. “For the one or the other ye ask yerself, is he nae interest’d in any but himself, or does he care aboot th’ people around him? Does he keep his promises? Is he respectful o’ others?”
The Laird lifted his eyes to the skirmish taking place on the ‘battleground’. “Is he violent? Does he resort tae fisticuffs or can he resolve a difference o’ opinion wi’ his mind? Is he willing tae be manly, tae be brave and bold and fight for what he believes in? Does he understand wha’s worth fightin’ for?”
His eyes drifted back to her. “Does he know how tae be gentle? And true? Can he control hisself or does he gi’ in tae impulse?” He sighed. “All o’ these things can gie ye clues to a man’s heart, but it takes time.” He turned to face her. “Understand me, lass. It takes but an instant tae fall in love. It takes a lifetime to prove ye love.”
Ginny nodded slowly, then turned and dropped a graceful curtsy.
“I thank ye, Mackenzie,” she said. “And, now, will ye come and have some Apple Amber? I put some aside for you. And I might just be able to lay my hand on a wee dram to go with it.”
“Aye, lass. Willingly!”
* * *
Ginny went back to her post troubled by her talk with the Laird. He seemed to have a very high standard of behavior and neither Jim nor Hal seemed to be living up to it.
Hal condescended to her on a regular basis. When he wasn’t wooing her, or playing with her, he was talking at her, rather than with her. Except for last night, of course. He seemed to be paying very close attention last night. But then he pulled that male thing, telling her he wanted her to give up her investigation, that he was worried about her safety, as if she was helpless. She frowned at the implied insult. On the other hand, wasn’t that one of the things the Laird had said was a good thing? That a true man wanted to take care of the people around him?
And here was Jim, tracking her down and watching her, as if he expected her to burst into flames and need to be rescued. Male ego again. How much of that was care and how much conceit? And speaking of conceit, she still wanted to prove to him she had a brain. Or was that prove it to herself?
He was no longer in the kitchen when she got back, which was a relief, but she had no doubt he would reappear, sooner or later. She settled down to the afternoon’s task, making apple and ginger jam, with an uneasy heart.
* * *