Out in the Country (14 page)

Luke stared at her, his mouth slightly open, and Molly bit her lip. The silence was awful. She should
not
have asked that question. She shouldn’t have even thought it. But to demand it of Luke in this moment was so revealing, so humiliating, that she didn’t even know how to begin to recover. She couldn’t, so she just turned away, mumbling, “Forget it--”

“Oh, newbie.” Luke sounded so sincere, so regretful that Molly winced. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realise--”

Didn’t realise what, Molly wondered savagely. That she, stupid newbie that she was, had developed a schoolgirl’s crush? Suddenly she couldn’t bear to finish the conversation, to have Luke apologize and explain how all his little kindnesses had been misinterpreted. “Forget it,” she said again, the words coming out in a shout, and without looking back she
ran from the room.

“So, young MacCready.”

Jess stiffened, one hand still on the latch of the house’s screen door. They needed to change the screens to glass for the winter, she thought absently, even as
another part of her mind was registering Agnes MacCready’s beady stare from her adjacent porch. “I don’t know if I’ve ever been called that before,” she said, thinking,
especially not the young part.
At least not recently.

Agnes brushed this aside with one imperious wave of a beringed hand. “You’ll come to the Highland Games.”

Jess
suppressed a sigh. This wasn’t an invitation; it was a command. “Highland Games?” she repeated cautiously. “I’ve never--”

“You’ve never been to a Highland Games?” Agnes barked in disapproving incredulity. “What do you people
do
in Scotland?”

“Work. Eat. Sleep.” Jess smiled wryly. There was something strangely likable about Agnes MacCready, ornery as she was. “Same as most people. I think I went to a Games when I was a child, but I’m sure I’d find on here fascinating and--fun, of course.” Her smile widened. “When is it?”

“This Saturday, up near Burlington. We need to leave
at seven a.m. sharp.”

“Seven a.m.?” Jess repeated, a bit taken aback.

Agnes narrowed her eyes. “I don’t like to wait in line.”

It was a cool, misty November morning when Jess stood on Agnes’s front porch, shivering a bit in the damp chill, and waiting for the older woman to come to the door. When she finally did, Jessica had trouble hiding her surprise. Agnes was dressed, Jess decided, like a milkmaid from eighteenth century Inverness. She threw her shoulders back, giving Jess a rather haughty glance. “I thought you wouldn’t dress appropriately,” she sniffed as Jess choked back a disbelieving laugh--"so I took the liberty of bringing an outfit for you, like mine.”

“Like yours?” Jess clarified, only just managing not to sound appalled. She surveyed Agnes’s attire, from the ankle-length chemise in oatmeal-coloured muslin
to the tartan bodice with leather laces and the full, matching skirt from under whose hem peeked several ruffled petticoats. A snood perched on top of Agnes’s stiff curls, and a seemingly endless length of tartan was draped over one shoulder and wrapped around the entire ensemble, cinched with a wide leather belt. “You look... amazing,” Jess finally said, her tone sincere, just as Agnes thrust a pile of clothes in Jess’s arms. She took them automatically as Agnes jerked her head towards the dim interior of the house. “You can change in the downstairs powder room, around to the right.”

“Th... thanks.”

A few minutes later Jess surveyed herself in the powder room’s mirror in bemused disbelief. The things she was doing for the bed and breakfast! She couldn’t wait to regale Lynne with the story of this outing, and even as that thought occurred to her, another one, both pleasant and alarming, followed on its heels. She couldn’t wait to tell Mark. She could already imagine how he’d listen and laugh, laugh
with
her, how it would become a moment shared and enjoyed, and just the idea of it made her start to chuckle.

Agnes rapped sharply on the door. “Are you ready? Because it’s nearing seven-thirty and the Hammer Throw is first. I don’t want to miss it.”

“Definitely not,” Jess agreed, coming out of the powder room. “I’m ready.”

The mist gave way to pale autumn sunshine as they drove in Agnes’s ancient but well preserved estate car along route 7 up to Burlington. The last scarlet leaves clung to the mostly bare branches of the maple trees lining the road, and the gently sloping farm fields were white with frost. On the horizon the rounded peaks of the Green Mountains were dusted with snow.

“The Games are usually in September,” Agnes told her with a sniff, “but the fields where it’s held were flooded from the rains we had earlier in the year, so they moved it back. It’ll be a bit cold though, I imagine.”

Indeed it was, Jess thought, glad for the wool arisaidh--Agnes had told her the term--draped over her shoulders. She tucked her hands in its scratchy folds as she surveyed the Games site. Tents were set up along the perimeter, one for each clan. Agnes led her to the MacCready tent as pipe music blasted on loud speakers throughout the grounds, and in the distance Jess saw a burly looking man dressed in a kilt hoist an alarmingly large caber.

“Goodness,” she murmured, and then was caught up in a whirl of introductions and delighted exclamations at the fact that another MacCready had joined the Vermont ranks.

It was all , a bit surprisingly, a lot of fun, Jess decided as she and Agnes toured the stalls selling an amazingly large variety of crafts, everything from tea cosies to toilet paper roll covers decorated with every imaginable plaid. She surveyed a row of plaques embossed with various Scottish sentiments: ‘My Heart is in the Highlands’ and ‘Real Men Wear Kilts’ being prevalent.

Nursing a styrofoam cup of tea--the man at the booth had offered to lace it with whisky but Jess had declined--she watched the Hammer Throw and Caber Toss, amazed at the display of prowess and sheer strength by the participants, each one wearing a kilt and little else.

“There’s someone I want you to meet,” Agnes said in her abrupt way as they headed over to the food stalls for lunch.

“Oh? Another MacCready?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.” And then, before Agnes could say another word or Jess could ask, a man appeared before them, brawny and red-haired with an easy, open smile. Jess recognised him as the second place winner in the Hammer Throw. “This is my nephew, Doug MacCready,” Agnes said, and Jess saw her smile a bit smugly, her own heart managing to sink and flutter at the same. She’d been set up, she saw now. Agnes was already busying herself elsewhere and Jess was left face to face with Doug MacCready and nothing to say.

“Hi,” she finally managed.

“Aunt Agnes told me she’d met a real MacCready,” Doug said, still smiling. “A Scottish one, I mean.”

“Well, I suppose we’re all Scottish, some way or other.”

“But you’ve got the brogue.”

“Yes,” Jess admitted with a laugh, “there’s that.” She glanced around at the milling crowds, the pipe music ever present--and loud. “Do you come here every year?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Do you think Aunt Agnes would allow me to miss one?”

Jess laughed again, surprised at how easy it was to talk to this man. “No, I don’t.” She gestured to her own outfit, the arisaidh now slipping off her shoulder. “How do you think I ended up in this getup?”

Doug nodded in understanding. “Been there. I was dragged kicking and screaming to my first Games. I thought I wouldn’t be caught dead in a kilt. But then you come and there’s such a feeling of--community, I suppose. Family. And now I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He laughed a bit self-consciously. “How’s that for sentimental?”

“It’s nice,” Jess said quietly. She was conscious of the lack in her own life; her parents had died several years ago and her one brother had emigrated to Australia when she was in her twenties. With Rob out of the picture, the only family she really had was--Lynne, she realised with a jolt of surprise. Lynne and the bed and breakfast, and perhaps that’s why she loved it so much.

“You want a coffee?” he asked, gesturing to one of the food stalls. “It’s a bit nippy out.”

“Yes, it is,” Jess agreed, and then found herself saying with a sincerity that surprised her, “and I’d love a coffee.”

The house was alive with activity. A plumber was laying the work for two ensuite bathrooms upstairs, and downstairs a carpenter was reinforcing the front porch. Jess was busy in the kitchen, covered in flour as she tried out half a dozen different scone recipes, and Lynne stood in the center of the living room, gazing at three different fabric swatches. Even as she decided between plaids or stripes, she was conscious of the busy hum around her, and it filled her soul, made her feel more alive than she ever had since Adam’s death. She tapped a finger against her chin, thinking how valuable Sarah’s advice would be when it came to decorating. She smiled, imagining her friend lounging in front of the fire as she discarded swatch after swatch. ‘Nothing too cozy, sweetie. You don’t need to
add
to the charm, you know.’

Lynne laughed aloud, the sound turning into a sigh. She missed Sarah, and she felt they’d parted if not badly, then neither well when she’d last seen her. What if she invited Sarah up for a few days? The thought was novel as well as appealing. A few weeks ago she couldn’t have born Sarah turning up her nose at anything to do with the house or even Hardiwick, yet she felt a little stronger now, a bit more confident. And, she realised, she didn’t think Sarah would scorn her endeavour anymore. She rather thought she’d convinced her friend of the sincerity of her intentions, even if Sarah would prefer her to stay in New York.

A knock sounded on the front door, disturbing Lynne from her reverie. As she came into the front hall, Kathy opened the door and poked her head around. “Hello, anyone home?” Her face brightened as she saw Lynne. “We’ve seen all the workmen going in and out and we couldn’t wait to see what was going on.” A flash of uncertainty streaked across her features. “You don’t mind? We can go away if you want us to.”

“Go away?” Lynne repeated with a laugh. “Hardly. I’d love for you to come. I could use your opinion on the fabric swatches I’m considering for the new duvets. And Jess is making scones--come into the kitchen.”

It felt completely natural to usher them into the kitchen as if they were guests. The house no longer felt like Kathy and Graham’s home; or, perhaps, it felt more than that. Bigger, encompassing so many hopes for the future.

“Do we have scones to spare?” Lynne asked as she came into the kitchen. Jess turned around, brushing her hair back with one floury hand.

“Three different kinds. Raspberry, caramel-topped pumpkin, or pistachio.”

“Pistachio!” Kathy exclaimed. “That sounds fancy.”

“I cadged the recipe from Mark,” Jess admitted, and Lynne noticed
how her friend’s gaze slid away as she offered this tid-bit of information.

“I’ll get the swatches for you to look at,” she told Kathy as Jess filled the kettle. When she returned, everyone was seated at the big pine table, a plate of scones warm from the oven in front of them. The kettle hummed and whistled as Lynne showed the swatches to Kathy.

“What do you think?” she asked. “I’m leaning towards the stripe, but I still don’t know if it’s, well, cozy enough.”

“Hmm.” Kathy slipped on her glasses, studying each fabric sample with careful consideration. Lynne was glad she’d asked her. “I like them all, actually.” She looked up, smiling. “Why not use one in each room? Then each room could be different. Unique. Part of the charm.”

“Of course.” Laughing, Lynne slapped her forehead. “What a terrific idea, Kathy. We’re not a chain hotel in the city here.” She shook her head, still smiling. “I don’t know what I’d do without all of you. There are so many things I keep forgetting or don’t even know in the first place.”

“Good thing you don’t have to find out,” Kathy replied lightly, and Jess brought a tray with a teapot and mugs to the table.

They sat, drinking tea and chatting companionably for a little while before someone tapped at the kitchen door. Lynne’s heart did a funny little flip as John appeared at the doorway.

“The plumber says he’s finished for today,” he said. “And no problems so far. Is that all right?”

“Fine. I’ll be glad to have a respite from all that clanking for a bit.” Lynne gestured to a free chair at the table. “Come and try one of Jess’s scones, John. We’re all leaning towards the pumpkin but there’s still time to register your vote.”

John smiled and sat down with them, looking so at ease and comfortable that Lynne’s heart gave another little lurch. He looked so right in this house, she thought. In her life. The realization both pleased and alarmed her, and even though no one could possibly be aware of her thoughts, she found herself striving to keep the tone light.

“You’ll have to try all three, I suppose. Jess, can you bring him some more?”

John patted his flat middle. “What are you trying to do to me?”

“Fatten you up for Christmas,” Jess joked. She placed a plate of freshly baked scones in front of him, the different aromas mingling, both spicy and sweet.

“While John is trying out today’s flavours, there’s something I want to show you, Lynne.” Graham reached for the canvas bag he had propped on the floor next to his chair. Her curiosity piqued, Lynne waited while Graham rifled through the bag’s contents before bringing out a folder of what looked like rather old papers.