Bev was waiting by the cottage door as Fiona’s van arrived. The sun had set and stars were twinkling in the darkened sky bringing cold sea winds from the west. Bev just pulled her sweater closer and wrapped her arms around her waist. Nothing would prevent her from the first sight of her friends in a year. It was even longer since she had seen Alina. She had been missed at the wedding last November and Bev had not seen her since the announcement of Alina’s diagnosis of macular degeneration.
As soon as Anna and Alina descended from the van and Fiona had waved her goodbyes to everyone, Bev ran towards them and herded them into the cottage talking rapidly all the way.
“I could hardly wait to see you both! You are lucky I didn’t break in on you last night but Fiona warned me to let you rest! Come away inside and get these coats off. Tell me everything that’s been happening in Canada.”
Anna and Alina exchanged a look. This was a new version of their Samba friend. She even sounded Scottish when she said, ‘come away inside’. They were both hoping the marriage was going well and Bev was not homesick for Canada.
This concern was dispelled as soon as they were ushered into the kitchen of the cottage and saw Alan standing there with a big smile for the women, and an even bigger kiss for his excited wife.
“I’ll be away to the milking parlour the now. There’s some painting to do there. My wife will tell you the details, to be sure. Ah jist wanted to say welcome and thank you both for coming. You can see how pleased my Bev is!”
“Is he not the most darling man ever?” asked Bev, with a glow on her face that matched the one Alan had as he exited through the new back door.
“Well, that answers my question!” exclaimed Anna, with the most authentic smile she had managed to summon all day.
“Me too!” cried Alina, as she fell into Bev’s arms. “It’s clear things are going well for you, Bev. I couldn’t be happier!”
Bev blushed like a schoolgirl and said quickly, “I am delighted to see you looking so well, Alina.
I have been worried about you.”
“You can stop worrying right this minute! I have a champion worrier here with me.
Anna makes sure everything is done to preserve my eyesight. Truly, Bev, I am doing very well and not thinking about the future. There’s every hope that science or medicine will find a cure before I have any real problems.”
“That’s the best news I could hear, Alina! Thank you. You contributed so much to my wedding with the beautiful dress you made and, Anna, you introduced me to my Alan and made this new life possible. I want to thank you both for coming, and thank you for all your support, and thank you most of all for what you have done for our James as well.”
Bev ran out of steam just as her friends were about to burst into tears at the emotion they felt for this youngest Samba member.
Anna recovered first, and pulled out of the three-way hug that was about to strangle her.
“All right, then, ladies! Time to find out what Alan meant when he left. I can see a new kitchen here, Bev. What is that wonderful smell? What else has been happening?”
Bev dabbed at her eyes and turned her attention to matters domestic.
“The smell is a rack of lamb from the flock bred here on the farm, with home-made mint sauce and our own potatoes,” she declared, proudly. “The kitchen has been completely re-fitted and the windows to the back are new as well as the glass door. We didn’t have the space to add what you did, Anna, but it has made a huge difference already.”
Her guests nodded in approval of the lighter, brighter space. Bev continued to explain the other new developments to Anna.
“I remembered what you said once about farm visits and teas here. It fits with what Alan wanted to do. He has sold the dairy cattle and now we have the use of the building where the cows were milked, which I mean to convert into a tea room. A second smaller kitchen has been installed there and we are working on the interior during the winter months before the sheep are brought down from the hills for lambing.”
“Good grief, Bev!” exclaimed Alina. “You sound like a real farmer’s wife already. And you a Canadian city girl!”
Bev could see the genuine amazement on her friends’ faces and she blushed again.
“I know!” she confessed. “I love the country life here and Eric has helped with everything. He’s settling down very well. He’s in Skye with Kirsty for a few days.”
“Do you think he will stay here or go back to Canada, eventually?”
Bev turned to answer Anna’s question and it was obvious she had thought deeply about this.
“I can’t tell yet. He has a real bond with Alan and Kirsty and even more with Prince. He wants us to breed Prince and give him one of the puppies so Alan can teach him how to work a sheep dog and they can do demonstrations for visitors.”
“Wow! That sounds interesting for him. He will always have internet connection with the bigger world, of course, and you kept the house in London so he or James could have a base there. It sounds like Eric has all possible choices before him.”
“Right, Alina! I hope to take Alan to our old house in London, Ontario some day. He needs to see where the other half of my life began.”
“It’s a brand new life you have now, Bev,” added Anna. “Can you believe it?”
“Honestly! I have to pinch myself sometimes but I don’t forget I have you to thank for that Anna.”
The conversation continued comfortably as Bev set out the meal and Alina told her the gossip from London and their plans for the big Egyptian trip.
Anna, however, lingered over Bev’s last remark and thought the person to be thanked for the changes in both Bev’s and Anna’s life, was the very one whose secrets lay in the pages Anna had left lying on her desk. What else might be revealed there, if she dared to read on?
It was late in the evening when Alan dropped Anna and Alina at their front door. Alina was happy but exhausted from the long day. They trudged up the path together through the snow.
“I think jet lag has caught up with me, Anna,” she yawned. “I am going to bed upstairs tonight. I want a long, hot bath and a good night’s sleep. I’ll see you in the morning. It’s been a grand day, as they say in these parts.”
True to her word, Alina climbed the stairs as soon as the red door had been closed shut against the blowing snow.
Anna knew she should follow her, light the fire, and slip into her own cozy bed. It had been a very special evening with Bev and Alan. The lingering warmth of their love and goodwill was still surrounding her heart and yet.........the thought of Aunt Helen’s confessions had never been far from her mind. She stopped to question herself. Could she resume the painful account without descending into the emotional turmoil she had encountered earlier? Was it better to leave well enough alone?
“That’s not going to happen so I might as well accept it!” she declared to the Aga.
Morag looked up from the kitchen chair she was occupying. She had been hoping for a late night snack when the visitors returned. As there did not seem to be any kitchen activity happening, she followed Anna as she made her way to unlock the office door. Morag hopped up onto the desk when the desk light was switched on.
Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, Anna turned over the pages once more.
“I am glad you are here, Morag,” she whispered, as she stroked the tabby’s thick, soft, fur coat. “You won’t let me do anything foolish, will you?”
Morag responded with a deep purr and delicately stepped inside the vacated book cover to curl up and resume her interrupted sleep.
It was a tremendous shock to me when I was introduced to Harold’s family. The house, itself, should have warned me.
It was a mansion on top of the hill leading to the castle. It must have been three hundred years old and full of antiques.
Harold had bought a new outfit for me and as soon as I saw where he lived, I knew why.
He kept a firm grasp on my arm and talked to me all the way up the central staircase to the room where his family waited to receive me.
It took a conscious effort to keep my jaw closed when I saw the place. Four floor-to ceiling windows were on the wall opposite the double doors. There was a stately marble fireplace on my left but my eyes slid away from it because the group seated there was staring at me suspiciously.
The room was full of chairs and tables, display cabinets, a grand piano, enormous patterned carpets and looking down from the walls, with severe disapproval, were what I took to be a series of Fraser family portraits complete with swords, sashes and even gleaming armour.
If I could have escaped right then and disappeared down the staircase like a modern Cinderella, it would have saved me, and Harold, much sorrow.
It was clear, I was there to be inspected. Harold’s mother, brother and sister made no attempt to disguise their feelings about me.
His mother was what we girls called ‘toffee-nosed’; an apt description of an elderly woman whose back was ramrod straight and whose white hair would never have dared to vary by one inch from its prescribed position. Her daughter was a duplicate, with Harold’s brown hair and grey eyes but her grim expression was not one whit more pleasant than that of the senior lady. The brother was a younger version of Harold himself although he displayed no interest in my arrival.
Harold indicated a chair for me and sat as close as he could. He pressed a delicate china tea cup and saucer into my hand but I set it down quickly. The rattle it made showed my nervousness.
The usual questions ensued. Where did I live? Who were ‘my people?’ (That was a laugh!) What work did I do? How had we met and when?
Harold answered for me with fictional information. They must have thought I was simple of mind as well as a fortune hunter, but, as the tense minutes passed I began to resent the superior attitude of the women. Who were they to look down on me? If they had endured the hardships I had known, they might not have survived at all.
If Harold had brought me here to his home, aware of the effect this would have on his family, he must really care for me.
I lifted my chin and stared back into those pairs of icy eyes. Reaching for Harold’s hand, I praised him to the high heavens for his kindness and sweet nature. I could not defend myself but there was nothing they could say in denial of these compliments without the risk of offending the son and heir
Harold squeezed my hand in appreciation.
Finally, the endless charade drew to a close. Harold politely requested that I descend to the entrance hall and wait for him while he fetched a hat and umbrella before we ventured out into the rainy night to find a taxi.
As I ran down the staircase, I could hear the raised voices behind the oak doors. Who would win the debate? Was I to be cast out as totally unsuitable wife material? Would Harold capitulate to their demands? Would the matriarch hold firm?
I was not sure which outcome was preferable. I knew I was uneducated and unprepared for the lifestyle to which he was accustomed. If he chose me it would be a battle for acceptance which I was unlikely to win.
His expression as he emerged from the grand room told me the answer. I learned the concessions he had made: a quiet wedding, a separate apartment within the house, no unnecessary contact with the family. What was not revealed to me then, was his expectation of the children I would supply.
These matters were seldom discussed in those days.
It was to be the one thing I could not ever compromise on.
I had seen and heard enough of babies in my former life as maidservant to the Dunlops. My distaste for all that implied was deep seated and unchangeable, and it drove him away from me and back to his old habits of drinking with friends and workers.
In time, Harold’s sister, Rachel, married and had two boys which cemented her position in the family and gave her additional cause to despise me. Harold spent time with his nephews and watched them grow to young men. Young Arthur even worked with him in the family construction business.
I, however, had no business or family to console me. I spent my days visiting Stirling’s shops, museums and galleries in an attempt to supplement what little education I had gathered at school. I volunteered at the castle for some years and learned both history and architecture in that fine edifice.
My lonely nights were spent in the unused, but well-stocked, library in the mansion. There, I read about the achievements of the Fraser family whose portraits adorned the walls throughout the house. I read fiction and biography, science and philosophy. Daily, I devoured the newspapers and magazines that arrived with the morning coffee from a lower kitchen I seldom visited.
Eventually, I could hold my own at one of Harold’s society dinners. After years of merely listening to the chatter around the dining table, it was good to be able to express my opinions.
I always championed the underdog and sneakily used Harold’s money to support charities and causes his politics led him to disapprove of so vocally.
Sunday church parade was obligatory. I was a newcomer to worship services but the Frasers had a pew near the front of the ancient church and I attended dutifully. I could feel the stares of the congregation as they murmured about ‘the young, strange wife of the elder Fraser son’ and at first I endured it all as just another weekly trial to be borne.
As the readings and hymns became more familiar, I began to look forward to these peaceful interludes. Nothing was required of me there and I could relish the organ music with its soaring themes. This, more than anything else, gave me access to my sublimated, deeper feelings.
I asked for help, gazing upward at the stained glass windows where the figures of women kneeled in supplication.
I had no right to ask for forgiveness. My entire life was one of alienation and desertion. I knew the wrong choices I had made. I acknowleged my many sins.
I asked, without hope of salvation, but, somehow, salvation was delivered to me. Not soon, of course. I spent many years in the wilderness before I was free.
And freedom came with guilt. Harold did not deserve his fate, but then, perhaps I did not deserve mine?
Anna turned over the page she had been reading and put both hands over her eyes. She knew the next part of her Aunt Helen’s story. George McLennan’s researcher had discovered what happened to end the marriage.
Although Anna meant to read that account in Helen’s own words, she simply could not continue tonight. It was all she could do to turn out the light, lift the sleeping cat and take her up the staircase to her own bedroom.
She could hear the gentle, familiar sounds of Alina snoring in the single bedroom across the hall, but she could see her friend had first, thoughtfully lit the fire and turned down the bed for her. The contrast between her life with Alina and Helen’s married life in Stirling, devoid of a single friend, was almost too much to bear.
“I can’t think about this one minute more, Morag,” she whispered. “Please stay with me, little one. I need your company tonight.”