What Lies Between (43 page)

I didn’t know what to do, but I wouldn’t handle it in any of the ways my birth mother, Sarah, had, or tried to. I would raise this child and figure out how to be a mom—a good one if it was possible to learn. I didn’t know much about it but not knowing what I was doing felt normal now.

The unknown still made me nervous, and my thoughts bashed into each other like worried sheep, unable to stay calm and focused. Jazz laid his body against mine, staring off to sea as if he had too much on his mind as well. Why couldn’t I trust myself to deal with whatever came along in my life rather than worrying about what might happen?

There was no question about one thing: my heart had instantly laid a fierce barrier of protection around this tiny, needy, dependent drop of a person counting on me, counting on its mom. It didn’t know why it was here, but this baby needed me to be brave for both of us. We would be okay. Somehow all of this would be all right. I would make sure of that.

It was midday when I picked up the jar of Gerard’s ashes, grateful for the sun as the day turned out much colder than forecasted. The fickle wind meant I would need to be mindful when scattering the ashes. A gust could easily turn the ashes back on me rather than sending them airborne to find their way over the sea.

I cradled the ceramic jar in my arms. Gerard’s death hadn’t ruined my life. And neither would the birth of this baby. I was strong enough to handle death; surely I was strong enough to handle life.

Zipping my jacket tight to my neck, I secured the jar in my pack along with my water bottle and a bowl for Jazz.

“Let’s go, boy.”

Jazz wagged his tail in acknowledgment.

I turned to the old road leading around the edge of the loch and headed toward Suishnish, a two-hour hike away.

Gerard’s instructions were to scatter the ashes at the edge of the bluff straight in front of the ruins. My toast and tea gave themselves up along the side of the path, my loud heaves sending the curious sheep scrambling. Had Sarah been this sick when she was pregnant with me? There was much about her I didn’t know.

My stomach’s violent convulsions left my ribs aching. It took longer for the nausea to subside. When it eased, I made my way to the edge of the crag, close enough to ensure most of Gerard’s remains fell to the sea below but far enough back not to stir up my vertigo.

I found a sturdy stick and used it to dig out a rough circle in the clumpy earth, then gathered small stones and stacked them within the circle to form a compact cairn. Finally satisfied with my handiwork after several restacking efforts, I sat back on the spongy ground, not sure how to tell Gerard what I thought I should. I had no idea what to say or do at a time like this. No planned speech or wise words.

“I’m pregnant,” I blurted out, glancing at the urn. “I know. Talk about repeating history. It gets better. The father is Ben MacIver. And I lost Glenbroch to John. I’ll bet you never anticipated an outcome this strange when you left me the estate.”

My thoughts and gaze wandered across the water. “What was it like to get ready to come back here, and then to discover you were going to die? Glenbroch is beautiful and you would still have it if you hadn’t gotten sick. I’m sorry you died, for you and for me. And now that you’re gone I guess you’ll always be a mystery. At least I know a wee bit more about you than I did before . . . but there’s so much more I wish I knew . . .”

Whatever this tie was that connected my father and me, whether I wanted it or not, it had brought me to this ancient place, the edge of this land. It was time to do as he had asked. I rocked myself onto my feet, picked up the urn, and removed its lid. Lifting it toward the sun, I poured the ashes into the seaward breeze and watched them swirl, catch hold, and take flight over the blue of the sea loch. A few stragglers fluttered down, stuck to my fleece and boots, and mixed with the earth at my feet.

Once the wind had borne away the last of the ashes, I had no desire to linger. Too nauseated to feel all the things I should be feeling, I had no more words. It was done. That was all I knew.

I headed back to the road, slowing long enough to run my hands over the crumbling rocks of an ancient Suishnish house. I could hear the laughter of children who once played on this ground, the people huddled around the hearth, the cries as they were forced off this land along the same road I would take back to my campsite. 

The sky over the sea was bright and clear, but a dark cloud lumbered in my direction, promising to dump its weighty burden. Shrouding the land to the north, it marched toward the Cuillin ridge and my campsite. If I intended to tear down the site and get on the road before it hit, I would have to hurry.

25

The storm broke before I passed the Cill Criosd ruins on the road back to Broadford. My thoughts fell as thick on my heart as the blanket of rain on the windshield. The deluge began to ease up as I drove over the Skye Bridge; my thoughts didn’t.

After dropping Jazz off at Anna’s, I headed to Glenbroch where I had asked Henry to meet me. I needed to tell him what was going on and ask for his help.

He was already there and met me as I parked. I followed him through the steading’s mudroom and into the kitchen. As I poured the water for a cup of tea, I had to remind myself to choose one of the herbal teas instead of my usual Scottish blend. I took a seat opposite Henry in front of the fire, but my body twisted and turned, not able to get comfortable. My muscles ached from camping and from throwing up far too many times. I didn’t have the patience to lead up slowly to what I needed to say.

“Henry, I can’t help out with the lambing. I’ll need you to work with Jim, if you can.”

He turned to me, his brow furrowed. “Is something wrong? Are you okay?”

I looked out the window, the gray sky matching my thoughts. “You know how you told me once that a pregnant woman can’t be near expectant ewes? She could get infected with a bacteria that causes spontaneous abortions, right?”

“Aye.” He shifted in his chair, the cup of tea in his hand frozen an inch from his mouth, his eyes locked on mine.

The way he looked at me made me hesitant to continue, anticipating disappointment, judgment, anger—whatever it was hiding behind the still expression on his face. Getting knocked up because I was reckless was scandalous even to me. I didn’t know how it would come across to a guy like Henry with his sense of propriety and somewhat old-fashioned values.

“Umm . . .” I started and then cleared my throat but wasn’t able to loosen the nervous lump stuck below my tonsils. “Okay, I’ll just say it. I’m pregnant.”

I watched his hand move his cup of tea to the table beside him.

“Who is the father? Did Jason—?”

“No!” I swallowed again, couldn’t keep phlegm from stifling my throat, which was inciting another bout of morning sickness. “Ben . . .” The name came out of my mouth slight and hesitant.

Henry’s eyes widened then darkened like someone had shot all the lights out. Adrenaline coursed through my body. People could be judgmental about an unwed pregnancy—sin and heathens and all that. As if those people who judged didn’t struggle with truly dark and ugly things. Growing up in more foster homes than I could name, in the “Bible Belt of America”—otherwise known as ground zero for hypocrisy—I knew well before I’d reached puberty what people did when they thought no one was looking, or at least no one who mattered. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.

Right.

“How could that happen? How could you be with him like that?”

There it was. Henry’s disapproval wasn’t about the pregnancy; it was about Ben. Again.

I didn’t want to tell him anything, and at the same time I wanted to tell someone. “I care for him very much. More than that, I just—” The creak of the mudroom’s door silenced me.

“Someone is out there.” What I’d shared would be all over the village within the hour if someone had been eavesdropping.

Henry strode to the mudroom’s inner door and threw it open.

The outer door flopped back on its hinges, open. I was sure I’d closed it. He continued outside, coming back in several minutes later.

“I don’t see anyone. If someone was there, they’re gone now. Who’d be lurking around here anyway?”

“I can guess, and if she heard what I told you, that’s not a good thing.”

Glasgow seemed a world away, but it wasn’t. And her parents lived here. It’s not like Bethanne wouldn’t come back whenever she pleased.

Henry shook his head, his eyes distant. I didn’t think he’d heard me.

“Henry, are you okay about this?” I asked, wondering why I always felt the need to smooth things over with some people.

He glanced up, distracted. “It’s a shock, but things like this happen sometimes.”

I took this as a sign he was coming around to the idea.

“Are you keeping it?” he asked.

“Yes. And I’m not ready to tell anyone else yet. I needed to tell you because I can’t be working with the sheep for however long it takes until John assumes possession. Would you take care of them? I can handle the cattle and the rest.”

“Well, you better hope whoever was in the mudroom, if there was someone there, didn’t hear and doesn’t say something before you do. And as far as the livestock’s concerned, I can take care of it all if necessary. I know you’re trying to finish things here. How far along are you?”

“I’m guessing about six weeks.” Ben and I had cooled it off since that one night—his idea, as he said that he needed to sort some things out—but I refused to be that precise. None of Henry’s business. “Things happen early on sometimes. I’m going to see how things go.”

“Of course.” Henry stood up. “Well, I better get on with checking on those ewes before dark. You’ll be okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. I
am
fine.”

After Henry left, I remained at the steading, sitting in front of the fire, not wanting to leave, even as night descended on the glen. How many more hours would I get to spend at Glenbroch? I wanted to savor every single one of them, even if it was sitting in the steading, my thoughts drifting to the future and all the changes in my life yet to come.

As I drove toward the old barn my peripheral vision caught a movement in the rearview. I slowed the Land Rover and stared into the mirror, but the dark road behind me looked empty. A shaky laugh escaped. I’d become paranoid lately, and that was saying something since I had a permanent crook in my neck from chronically looking over my shoulder. On top of my normal stress, things were amped up with the baby surprise and only three more days until April arrived, along with the official end of my time at Glenbroch. My nerves were strung tighter than usual.

If my thoughts had been less distracted earlier, I would have gone straight to the cottage instead of driving on to the old barn in the dark. But I was nearly there and it would only take a minute.

I parked the Beast outside the barn and sat locked inside for a few minutes with the window cracked, listening to the night. Everything was quiet. I fetched the barn keys from the console and stepped out onto the gravelly ground, standing still to hear over the crunching of my steps, listening again to the night. Leaving the headlights on to illuminate the area, I crossed the few feet to the barn’s door.

My fingers struggled to fit the key in the thick, rusty padlock. Then, having worked the key into its slot, it wouldn’t turn. I exclaimed in frustration and ground the key harder, nearly breaking it off. My inability to get the padlock opened shot my stress levels back up again. Why hadn’t I gotten a replacement?

My cold, nervous hands dropped the key. I retrieved it and shook my hands and arms, rolled my shoulders to relax, then wiggled the key back into the stubborn lock, praying it would turn.

When the padlock released, I strained to coax the lever of the beefy, rusty bolt up, then down, to dislodge it from its clip. Once it was free, I threw my weight against the edge of the door, its screeching like fingernails being dragged across my nerves.

I stood still for a moment to listen again. The only sound was the wind sighing through the nearly bare branches of the birch trees. I was alone, yet dread flowed like molten lead through my chest and into my arms and legs.

My limbs became clumsier as I attempted to hurry, and I jerked the tent out of the back of the Beast with the force of a javelin throw. Its cover broke open, depositing the tent on the ground and sending tent stakes scattering beneath the underbelly of the SUV. My eyes caught the glint of metal as more stakes sailed into the high grass. They were staying there for now.

I scooped up the tent and turned toward the barn but halted in my tracks at the sound of a faint scuff on the dirt road from somewhere behind me. My heartbeat wouldn’t start again until it could verify for itself that I was alone.

Forcing myself to turn around, I looked down the road but it was empty as far as the glow of my headlights reached, which wasn’t far since they were aimed at the barn door. I couldn’t see anything, but the hairs on my arms and neck stood at full attention. Something had to be out there. A stray sheep? Brodie coming to say hello, or goodbye? Didn’t matter, I needed to leave.

I slammed the rear door of the Land Rover then ran to the barn to lock up. My muscles strained to pull the door shut. Giving up, I moved to its other end and pushed, but the door wouldn’t budge in its rusty track. Jim’s tools were inside and he always locked them up, but this time I’d have to risk theft. Not able to get the door to move, I abandoned the effort and strode back to the Land Rover.

I grabbed its door handle and pulled. Instead of the door opening, my body smashed against the side of the vehicle. The window’s glass, cold and smooth, plastered the side of my face; the smell of leather wafted into my nose. The moon’s curved glow faded and then my legs gave way, dropping me to the ground. Cold, dusty grit filled my mouth and nose with the last breath before darkness covered me.