Robena tapped on Abraham’s front door, but then went in. No one but her father would be home at this hour as Brodie and Harry would be on the boat. She hadn’t been to the cottage since Christmas as she didn’t feel welcome in his house. But tomorrow, March first, was his birthday and she’d made him a shepherd’s pie. She didn’t expect an invitation to his birthday dinner, but as always, she wanted to do something special for him just the same.
She went straight to the kitchen to slip the dish into the refrigerator. She left the paper with the cooking instructions on the counter for the men to find. Though the kitchen was nearly spotless, she grabbed the dishrag from the sink and wiped a smudge from the stove.
On her way back to the front door, she stuck her head into the parlor, knowing this would be the hardest and most uncomfortable thing she did today . . . speak to her father.
Abraham was in his wingback chair, staring across the room as if he were looking upon the North Sea.
“Da?”
He looked up. “What are ye doing here?”
Aye, uncomfortable. “Tomorrow’s yere birthday. I made you a shepherd’s pie so you could start celebrating early.”
He nodded, then his eyes drifted back to where he’d been staring.
She stepped into the room to see. On the far wall, in a blast of whimsical color, a mural had been painted. The scene was indeed the ocean with many boats sailing in the distance with a large boat in the center. A laughing girl, resembling Hannah, was at the helm, delighted to have the North Sea as her playground. Robena turned back to her father. “Who?”
“Harry. He’s been working on it for the past week, but keeping it covered so I couldn’t see. When I came down this morning, there it was. An early birthday present. He’s a good lad.”
Robena’s shepherd’s pie seemed like a lark compared to Harry’s artistry. She wanted to remove it from the refrigerator and feed it to Dominic’s pig.
“What’s wrong?” Abraham stared at her as if this was the first time he’d noticed his only daughter.
Everything. She looked down at her hands, feeling as inadequate as she had when she was nine years old. She was ashamed, too. She should be happy her father received such an amazing and thoughtful gift from his young boarder.
“Sit,” he said. “I’ve something to say.”
She exhaled and shuffled farther into the room. When she was here in this cottage, she didn’t recognize herself. At home with her husband, she was a force to be reckoned with . . . Keith had said it many times with love in his eyes.
She sat on the far end of the sofa, not sure what her da wanted from her.
Abraham stood and walked steadily to sit near her. He really was feeling better and she was glad of it.
“Robena,” he started, but then he stopped, looking down at his liver-spotted hands. Hands that had made a living for her and Richard when they were children. “This isn’t easy for me.”
She didn’t have the fortitude to question what he was saying, so she remained quiet.
“I haven’t been a good da to ye.”
She opened her mouth—not sure what she was going to say—but he held up his hand.
“I never minded what I said around you and I should’ve. Around both ye and Richard and the boys. I’m sorry for it.” Da went quiet.
She didn’t know how to respond. “I’m not sure what ye’re speaking of.”
Da took her hand and squeezed it. The feeling was foreign. She couldn’t remember him ever holding her hand or giving her a hug in her life. She always thought they were just one of those families who didn’t show their affection. But when she’d had Brodie, she’d smothered him with hugs, kisses, and love. In the end, it hadn’t mattered; their relationship was still tattered and torn.
“I spoke ill of yere mother,” Abraham said. “It was wrong. A parent should never do that. I’m so sorry.”
“But she left us,” Robena said, defending the father who had given her and Richard a roof over their head when their mother had abandoned them.
He patted her hand. “Aye, but I clung to my bitterness like a damned barnacle to a ship. I said things about women I never should’ve uttered.”
Robena remembered him once damning all women to hell.
Abraham wiped at his eyes. “I regret every word of it. While I’ve been sick and unable to do anything, I had lots of time to think. While I was still, I began to recognize all the damage I’d done. Especially to ye.”
She looked into her father’s withered face. She saw kindness and love. Shock kept her from reacting.
“Forgive me,” he said hoarsely.
“Ah, Da.” Tears sprang to her eyes and rolled down her face.
Abraham put his arms around her, hugging her. “I was a damned fool. I’m so proud ye’re my daughter. The best of us all, ye are.”
As he patted her back and Robena cried, she felt the pain of her childhood begin to slip away. “I love ye, Da. I really do.” She’d never said that to him before, because she never thought she could.
“I love ye, too, daughter. Ye’re loyal and trustworthy. Ye make me proud to be yere da.”
* * *
Leap Year Day was a big deal in Gandiegow. Rachel was sitting next to her sewing machine, listening to the women around her who were scheming and planning for tonight’s dance. Rachel was trying to keep her head down and stay out of the fray.
The last seven weeks had been hard on her as she moved on with her life. Baby steps, she kept telling herself. She saw Brodie here and there, but never close enough for them to speak.
She’d kept busy with Hannah, always staying focused on this new phase in their life. She was determined to heal her broken heart, and on good days, she thought she was making progress.
Rachel gazed down at the nearly completed Gandiegow by the Sea quilt, as Brodie had named it. The old Rachel would’ve been making the quilt for him because he’d shown such interest in the drawing. But new Rachel was finishing it for herself. She’d come a long way, learning to focus on the blessings instead of what she’d lost.
She glanced around at the women of Quilting Central and was grateful for every one of them. Even Deydie. The old woman was becoming much easier to get along with since she and Cait had made up. But poor Cait; Deydie wasn’t letting her lift a finger to do anything.
There were many blessings for Rachel to count, too. Tuck had become a good friend, spending time with her and Hannah a couple times a week, and bringing Glenna along when he did. Tuck didn’t have a crush on Rachel; he’d been using her and she didn’t mind . . . not at all. Andrew and Moira, being newlyweds, needed alone time. It was easier to claim he had plans with Rachel than to admit he was getting Glenna and himself out of their hair for a couple of hours.
Rachel knew the town was gossiping about her and Tuck, but she didn’t care. It was for a good cause. But she did worry about him. Tuck had a long road ahead to win over the villagers as they still didn’t accept him. She suspected that teaching at the quilt retreats had greased her way into the community.
Her greatest blessing, though, was her daughter. Hannah was healthy and happy, and her little girl loved being part of Gandiegow. Harry’s mural depicted exactly how much her daughter belonged here. Hannah’s latest accomplishment was to join Sadie’s book club for kids, as she was beginning to read. Hannah adored the Gandiegow Fish quilt when Rachel finished it. Guzzy was given a new home—a decorated shoebox that sat next to Hannah’s bed in case she needed a guzzy fix in the middle of the night. Her Gandiegow Fish quilt had taken guzzy’s place and was now dragged all over town.
Rachel looked down and smiled as she pulled the needle through the last stitch of the Gandiegow by the Sea quilt. There was no fanfare for it being done, but there should have been for the journey the tartan scraps had traveled.
The fabric had been transformed from a pile of leftovers from the generous quilters into something beautiful and meaningful. Rachel had sewn in her own journey—putting her love and loss into every stitch. In the process, she had been transformed, too. Much wiser than the woman who’d come to Scotland for Christmas. More mature. Much more realistic. There was only one thing left to do to make her transformation complete . . . return the locket. Maybe she shouldn’t have held on to it for the last two months, but she was feeling stronger . . . and ready. She’d stuck the locket in her pocket this morning, intending to find Brodie today and give it back. This last act would free Rachel from her shattered dreams.
Bethia approached with a huge smile on her face. “Och, lass.” She took a corner of the finished quilt and held it up. “’Tis amazing what ye did with a few scraps.” She looked Rachel square in the eye. “A million others might have given up on the bits of fabric, but a true quilter believes in second chances. For the fabric . . . and the quilter.”
The words hit Rachel in the stomach . . . like the swing coming back and walloping her when she wasn’t looking. But I’m done with second chances! She wanted to tell Bethia that quilters believed in moving past the pain of the pricking of the needle and the cut from the scissors.
Deydie waddled over and took another corner, examining the stitches. “It turned out well. So have ye, Rachel. Ye’re quite the quilter.” Deydie gazed at her as if she was proud.
Rachel’s mouth hung open. Surely she hadn’t heard correctly. But Bethia seemed as shocked as she was.
“Stop yere gaping.” Deydie bobbed her head. “We better get to the grand dining room. I put Bonnie in charge of the decorations and she might need our help.”
Rachel smiled as the old softy propped her broom by the door and left.
Since coming to Gandiegow, Deydie had made Rachel jump through a lot of hoops, but now it felt worth it. The two of them seemed to have reached an understanding, and now Rachel felt like one of Gandiegow’s quilting ladies.
“Ready?” Bethia said, pointing at the door.
Sinnie was retrieving her jacket from a hook. She handed over Rachel and Bethia’s as well. The three of them headed to the restaurant, too.
The entrance overflowed with people heading inside to help with preparations for tonight’s dance. Rachel and her companions took their place in line for their turn to carry items upstairs.
“The New Year’s Eve dance wasn’t this busy. Is this dance a big deal?” Rachel asked.
“Oh, it is,” Sinnie said. “The Leap Year Day céilidh is grand fun. It brings all the men together in one spot.” Sinnie, normally quiet, acted as if she liked to watch the men squirm.
“Leap Year Day in the States isn’t really celebrated,” Rachel said to Sinnie and Bethia. “Unless, of course, it’s your birthday that only comes around once every four years.”
Sinnie gawked at her and laughed good-naturedly. “I can’t imagine. As you can tell, in Gandiegow it’s a huge affair. Some of the women have been planning for months.”
“There’ll be lasses coming in from the countryside,” Bethia said. “Even some lads who work at Spalding Farm and live in the outlying crofts will head into the village; nice blokes who want to marry.”
Rachel nodded. “I’ve heard talk of the marriage proposals at Quilting Central.” The gulf between the sexes, over the last several weeks, had widened, men and women settling into their own separate camps. “Did anyone else notice that the men are scarce today?” Rachel was curious if the guys would boycott the dance and the only ones left would be the disappointed women.
Brodie fluttered through her mind, just like her wishful thinking from the old days, but she pushed his image away.
“Aye. The men are hiding out.” Sinnie laughed again. “Staying off the radar.”
Rachel had observed as the single women’s anticipation had grown, the bachelors had been grumbling more than usual.
Bethia nodded sympathetically. “The poor dears. They’re trying to avoid the marriage proposals.”
“And paying the lasses when they refuse,” Sinnie interjected.
Their turn came up and they each grabbed a covered dish and headed for the stairs.
“How much money are we talking about?” Rachel asked.
“Five pounds a refusal,” Bethia answered. “It’s our tradition, ye see.”
“It’s a bit of fun,” Sinnie exclaimed. “Some of the lasses look at it as a way to pad their pockets.”
“But ye have to be careful,” Bethia warned.
Sinnie glanced toward the head quilter and nodded. “If the man surprises ye and agrees to marry, tradition says we have to go through with it.” Her tone was serious. “Ye can’t go asking willy-nilly, if ye see what I mean.”
“But hiding out won’t do the poor dears any good. All the single men have to come to the céilidh whether they want to or not.”
Once again, Brodie crossed Rachel’s mind. This time she let him linger in her thoughts as she imagined returning the locket to him.
Bethia smiled at Rachel. “It’s going to be quite a night.”
Yes, it will, but Rachel wasn’t feeling the giddy eagerness which hung in the air. Returning the locket would close the door forever to this chapter in her life.
Rachel turned to Sinnie. “And you? How did you make out on the last Leap Year Day?”
She shook her head. “I was only eighteen. A bit shy. I asked no one to marry me.”
“What about now? Are you going to pop the question?” Rachel had seen Sinnie dancing with Colin at the New Year’s Eve céilidh before Hannah got sick.
Sinnie shook her head. “Heavens no. I’m not ready to marry. Besides, I’m a bit old-fashioned when it comes to things like that. My sister Rowena thinks I’m daft, but I want the man to do the asking. Ye know, claim his woman and all.”
Bethia smiled at her fondly. “Aye.”
Rachel nodded, too. She knew exactly what Sinnie meant. Rachel wanted the same thing, but it hadn’t happened. She kept assuring herself the pain would dull over time.
She also kept the vision of her new beginning ever present. There was no rule that said she had to have a man in the picture for her to be happy. Her family portrait was complete with Hannah and herself . . . and of course, Abraham and Vivienne. Brodie’s connection to Hannah had nothing to do with Rachel. With a smile plastered on her face, she would continue to endure Hannah recapping her adventures with Brodie—like walks to the cemetery, more picnics on the parlor floor, and Brodie helping her catch her first fish. Brodie was doing an excellent job of being a good relative to Hannah, and at the same time, he was doing an exceptional job of arranging his days so Rachel’s path never crossed his.
What we had is in the past, Rachel told herself. Their time at the ruins of Monadail Castle six years ago, the stolen kisses since she’d arrived, and the one night of them making love were tucked away in the farthest reaches of her mind. Memories like those were not to be pulled out and examined a hundred times a day.
Besides, hadn’t she kept very busy over the last eight weeks? The Kilts and Quilts retreats were a godsend—one in January and one last week. Rachel had taught her Gandiegow Fish quilt at each, but her main responsibility was to care for the quilting dorms and their occupants. The work felt familiar and good; also, it made her more a part of the community. But Rachel’s other activity was the one which caused her the greatest excitement.
Local contractor Mr. Sinclair would break ground on her B and B in April—the actual day would depend upon the weather. The supplies were ordered and laborers lined up. Gandiegow had really gotten involved. Everywhere Rachel went, this person or that was sharing their opinions on what her place should be and how she should run it. Especially the quilters with whom she spent the majority of her time. Rachel appreciated their input, but in the end, she would have the business she wanted, plus she would have the home she always dreamed of for her and Hannah.
“I’ll head back downstairs for another load,” Rachel said to Sinnie and Bethia. But when she reached the restaurant, she never expected Brodie to be there, sitting by the window, gazing out at the setting sun.
She paused to take him in, the features she knew so well—the breadth of his body, his hair the color of mahogany curling at his shoulders, and the solemn dark expression encompassing his face. She could get lost staring at him. She could get lost loving him forever. But that time in her life was over. Without giving herself a chance to change her mind, Rachel reached in her pocket, pulled out the locket, and approached the man she had mistakenly believed would be her future.