My stomach growled immediately at the mention of food. I hadn’t eaten anything since the plane, and the one bite I’d had of the soggy powdered eggs hadn’t held me for long. I reached down to pat my stomach, hoping it would stop growling at my request, just as the most miserable-looking man I’d ever seen walked our way from what appeared to be the kitchen.
Hunkered over, with a head covered in gray hair, he was far too skinny. He had the most severe-looking face, with a long, pointed nose and a chin that jutted far outward. I couldn’t help but think that he more than slightly resembled Ebenezer Scrooge.
“Well, hello lassies,” the man said with a large smile. “The two of ye look like ye’re about to freeze to death, shivering in the doorway. Please, come in and I’ll get ye something warm to eat, as I assume ye’ll be staying the night.” He quickly patted me on the shoulder and then walked back toward the kitchen, waving his hand so that we would follow.
I was certain my jaw visibly dropped, and it took me a few good seconds before I could follow. I glanced at my mother, who was staring back at me with a look of pure satisfaction.
“Never judge a book by its cover, Bri.” She smiled and finally followed me.
Once inside the room, we were quickly whisked to a small table in the corner. Two steaming bowls of soup were placed in front of us, then the man’s questions began.
“We’re so glad to see the both of ye. First guests we’ve had here in a long while. Out o’ the way as I’m sure ye know. Where are ye from? And what brings ye to this part o’ the world?”
Mom spoke up first. “We’re from the States—I live all over. Bri’s my daughter, and she’s a teacher from Austin, Texas. I’m here to do some archaeological work on the ruins of Conall Castle. I convinced Bri to come along and help.”
“Ahh…Texas ye say?” The man turned and looked in my direction. “I know the whereabouts. My wife Gwendolyn grew up in San Antonio. She came here to visit her uncle as a young lass, about eighteen I think she was. I worked for the old man; from the second I saw her running through the field, trying to catch one of his sheep…”
He started laughing a deep, belly laugh that shook his whole body. I couldn’t help but smile as well, the man’s love for his wife evident with each heave of his shoulders.
“Well…I fell in love with her right then, and I knew that she wasn’t going back to the United States.”
“What’s that, Jerry? What lies are you telling these poor women?” A petite woman, with striking green eyes entered the kitchen, and after planting a kiss on her husband’s cheek, came in our direction, to greet us.
“I hope he’s not boring you two to death with his tall tales. Let me guess, he was telling you about how he swept me off my feet; rendered me so senseless that I never went home. Well, he knows good and well it was this scenery I fell in love with, not this blithering old fool.”
She winked over her shoulder at him, and I could tell by the twinkle in his eye he didn’t believe a word of her teasing.
The rest of the evening flew by in a blur for the both of us. The old couple talked for hours, and I found myself captivated by the stories of their years spent together.
Finally, at half past eleven, we carried the last load of documents to a small room at the top of the stairs. Gwendolyn had attempted to give us each our own room, but Mom asked that we share, insisting that it would be easier to do research if we were in the same room.
As I listened to Mom mess up the covers while she tossed and turned in the antique bed, I washed my face, brushed my teeth, and pulled on my favorite flannel pajamas. Exhausted, I crawled into the bed and stuck my icy cold feet up against the warmth of my mother’s sock-warmed toes.
I sighed and rolled over in an effort to claim back some of the covers that were disproportionally on the other side of bed.
“I know what you’re thinking, darling. You’ll get it someday.”
“What’s that?” I rolled over once more to face her.
“You want a relationship like Jerry and Gwendolyn. I could see it in the way you looked at them the whole evening. You’ll get it someday. Not every relationship is like mine was with your father.”
“I know. You’re right. I just worry sometimes that it isn’t ever going to happen for me.”
“It will. But, sweetheart, you might want to ditch the retainer and buy some sexier PJs first.”
*
Three days later, and I sat surrounded by piles of yellowing parchment and dust.
I blew a rogue strand of hair out of my face that had slipped free from its binding with my lower lip. So far, we’d spent our days in Scotland pouring over the boxes of documents without luck.
I glanced over at my mother, who with each passing day grew more restless. “I think we should take a break. Let’s drive to the ruins and poke around there. Just start digging. Perhaps, we’ll have more luck that way.”
I was certain she hadn’t heard a word. Her brow was creased in concentration, and her mind was clearly elsewhere as her eyes frantically searched the document in front of her. “Mom. Are you…?”