A Love for Rebecca (6 page)

NEW FRIENDS

Lola had already left when they got up the next morning, so Berta and Rebecca decided to visit the ruins of the monastery as well as an impressive building they read about in the guidebook Rory had given them. They just had to follow Riverside Drive along the river to the site.

They saw Mrs. Munro happily working in her garden and waved at her as they set out. She was wearing a straw hat with a scarf tied over it and under her chin. They were surprised she would take such care to protect herself from the sun, which seemed to have migrated from these environs.

The walk to the monastery was only a few minutes. To the right, the river was hidden behind a wall of hundred-year-old trees—twisting oaks with green leaves and birch trees with feathery branches and silver bark—competing in beauty with solitary patches of grass and splashes of heather and ferns. To the left, a line of white houses with black roofs enjoyed the peaceful view.

The girls soon found the monastery, or at least what was left of it. Rebecca took the guidebook from her backpack and read about the ruins.

“It says here the monastery was founded in 1230 by the Valls
 . . .
” She sounded it out slowly. “Valliscaulian Order. Whew! Sounds like aliens.”

The remains of the church were in the shape of a cross. They were in the middle of a broad green space littered with headstones of all sizes—some upright, others lying down—and surrounded by a stone wall. They took their time trying to decipher the inscriptions, most of which were in Latin. One in particular caught their attention. Fortunately, there was a small plaque at the base with the English translation. Rebecca read it solemnly:

“ ‘Death is gain to us. Here lies Henry Mildmay, knight, and Mary, his wife. He died the last day of May, 1576; she, the sixteenth day of March, 1589. They left two sons and three daughters.’ ”

Berta looked at her friend and pursed her lips. “How sad.”

“It must have been so hard,” Rebecca said. “People dying young, from war, sickness, and malnutrition.”

They entered the church, passing under a Gothic arch. Gray clouds and patches of blue sky were easily visible for lack of a roof. A ray of sunshine broke through the clouds and illuminated the sanctuary with a warm light. The girls turned their faces upward to absorb its heat until it disappeared again a short time later.

Next, they visited the local library, a graceful building from 1903. They examined it thoroughly, inside and out, since there was little else to do. When they tired of that, they decided to find a coffee shop Rory had told them was good.

They found it without much difficulty on High Street and sat at the only empty table in the popular shop. A variety of delicious-looking baked goods and snacks filled the display case. A small sign indicated the shop also offered haggis. They decided to eat a little something before having coffee. Curious about the haggis, they asked the girl behind the counter.

“It’s a sausage dish,” she explained, “mixed with onion, flour, herbs, and spices.”

“What kind of sausage?” Berta wanted to know.

“Sheep. Heart, lungs, stomach
 . . .
the pieces that often get thrown out.”

The expression on their faces told the waitress they wouldn’t be ordering the haggis, and she suggested a vegetarian sandwich. The girls opted for that, which they enjoyed with some aromatic coffee and cookies. They were finishing dessert when they saw two girls enter the shop. One had carrot-colored hair and the other was a blonde.

Berta and Rebecca exchanged looks; the blonde was the same one they’d seen at the river locked in a steamy embrace the day before. After ordering their beverages, the newcomers sat at Berta and Rebecca’s table. With one side free, it was the only one with any space available. The intrusion caught them by surprise. The new arrivals had scarcely greeted them with “hello” when they struck up a conversation.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” asked the one with orange hair.

Rebecca smiled. “Is it that obvious?”

“Well, we all know each other here. Plus, with that tan
 . . .
That’s not the product of the Scottish sun.”

“We’re from Barcelona.”

“Mmm. Spain, sun
 . . .
” She sipped her soda and added: “Are you staying in Beauly?”

“Uh-huh. We’ve rented a cottage from Mrs. Munro.”

“On Riverside Drive?”

“That’s the one.”

“Are you staying long?”

“Three weeks. We just got here two days ago.”

“And what brought you here? We don’t see many tourists in Beauly.”

Berta, who had been quiet until then, responded with a wide grin: “Love.”

Their eyes widened.

“Oh, yeah?” The redhead seemed intrigued. “Do tell.”

“Well, really it’s our friend Lola who dragged us here,” explained Rebecca. “Her friend Rory lives here.”

“Rory MacDonald?” the blonde inquired.

“No
 . . .
” Rebecca tried to remember Rory’s last name, but the redhead beat her to it.

“Rory Elliot?”

“Yes, him.”

“Rory Elliot is your friend’s boyfriend?” the blonde asked, surprised.

They nodded, and Rebecca said, “More or less.”

“Rory’s a cool bloke,” said the redhead. “He was in school with my brother, and they’re still good mates. I think he’s teaching in Edinburgh now.”

“He is,” Rebecca said.

“By the way, my name’s Sophie”—the redhead pointed to her friend—“and this is Mary.”

After the introductions and chatting about what the foreigners had done in town—which wasn’t much, but which did include a session of spying on Mary and the hot guy with the copper-colored hair, a detail they didn’t reveal—Rebecca made their excuses, explaining they should return home.

“I hope to see you again,” Sophie said. “We could show you around.”

“That would be great,” said Berta as she got up.

Before they left, Sophie asked another question. “Do you like Celtic music?”

The girls didn’t know how to answer that one.

“You know: bagpipes, drums
 . . .
”

“Sophie plays the bodhrán
in a band,” explained Mary, “and her brother’s the drummer. They’re brilliant.”

“The Highland Celtic Festival begins on Sunday,” Sophie said. “This year it’s in Beauly, and we’ll be playing.”

Berta shot Rebecca an excited look. “That sounds great.”

“So we’ll see you there?” Sophie asked. Her excitement was contagious, and Rebecca smiled. Despite the interrogation, she liked Sophie.

“Sure,” she said. “We’ll see you there.”

Back at the cottage, the girls put their tired feet up and relaxed. They were dozing when they heard the doorbell. Reluctantly, Berta roused herself to answer it.

“Hello, love.” Mrs. Munro had a foil-covered plate in her hands. “I made you some haggis so you can try a typical Scottish dish.”

Rebecca, hearing her landlady’s voice, joined them in the foyer. Berta was holding the plate, not knowing what to say. “Thank you,” she finally managed.

“You shouldn’t have bothered,” added Rebecca.

“Oh, it’s no bother, darling.”

Since Mrs. Munro didn’t seem in a hurry to leave, Rebecca invited her in, suspecting that what she really wanted was a look around the place to make sure her renters were taking good care of it. Fortunately, that morning they had taken time to clean the kitchen and pick up the clothing they had scattered about.

Mrs. Munro discreetly glanced around and looked satisfied.

“Would you like some tea?” Berta asked.

“Oh, well, if it’s not too much of a bother
 . . .
”

They sat in the parlor, the girls on the floral sofa and Mrs. Munro in a matching side chair.

“And your other friend?”

“She’s in Inverness with Rory.”

“They make a nice couple, don’t they? I could tell from the moment I saw them there was something special between them. I may be old, but I’m not blind yet. So, tell me,” she said, changing the subject. “What did you do today?”

“We went to the monastery,” Berta answered.

“Ah, of course.”

“Then we went to the library,” said Rebecca. “And at the coffee shop we met a couple of girls from town.”

“I see. Whom did you meet?”

“Sophie,” said Berta, “and Mary.”

“I know at least four Sophies in Beauly; it’s a popular name. But if she’s about your age, it could only be Sophie MacLeod. Was she a redhead?”

“Yes.”

“Of course. A nice lass,” Mrs. Munro said. “Her friend is Mary Campbell. They’re inseparable.” She appeared pensive a moment before adding: “Such a shame about William and the children
 . . .
”

Berta and Rebecca looked at each other, uncomprehending. But they didn’t ask and focused instead on sipping their tea.

Mrs. Munro was disappointed at the girls’ lack of interest in the story. She fidgeted in her floral armchair, like a puppy with a bone hanging just out of reach, and finished her tea. Then she launched into the unfortunate story of the family MacLeod, whether her audience wanted to hear it or not. Mrs. Munro didn’t have many opportunities like this to talk, and the fact the girls were foreigners was extra incentive to do so. After all, they would leave soon and forget all about it. “I met William and Elisabeth MacLeod when they first came to Beauly,” she began.

Berta yawned, and Rebecca discreetly elbowed her while attempting to stifle her own.

“They were newlyweds and looked so much in love. They met in Kirkcaldy just after William had come from the Isle of Skye to work in the Seafield mine. Poor dear
 . . .
”

Mrs. Munro paused a moment, and Berta masked another yawn behind her hand.

“When they married, she insisted he leave his job at the mine and get a job at the distillery in Glen Ord, near Inverness. That was when they bought the Croyard Road cottage. Elisabeth was a very pretty woman. You’ve met Sophie. She’s her mother’s daughter, all right. She inherited Elisabeth’s looks and beautiful red hair.” She made a show of looking skyward. “God willing, that’s all she inherited.

“Soon Kenzie was born. At that time, we talked often. Elisabeth never got used to the quiet, uneventful life in Beauly, always complaining that there was never anything to do here and how, if she’d known, she never would have insisted William leave the mine. She could have stayed in Kirkcaldy or Edinburgh. Seven years later, Sophie was born.”

Mrs. Munro paused and Berta offered her more tea; the story had caught their interest.

“Thank you, love,” Mrs. Munro said before continuing. “Where was I?”

“Sophie was born,” Rebecca prompted.

“Ah yes. As I was saying, seven years later, Sophie was born, and three years after that, Elisabeth left, abandoning all three of them.”

Rebecca choked out an exclamation: “What kind of mother abandons her children?”

“They exist, love, they exist. If only that was the worst of it. Elisabeth’s departure led William into a deep depression; he began to drink and he lost his job. In a moment of lucidity he sent the children to their grandfather on Skye, and they lived there for ten years. William would go to visit them when he got up enough nerve to leave the bottle for three days in a row. Then he’d return to Beauly, to the home where he’d been happy with Elisabeth. The poor man never got over her leaving.”

“Where did she go?” Rebecca wanted to know.

Mrs. Munro shrugged.

“I’ve heard she went to Edinburgh alone; some say she went with a man. Who knows?”

“She never saw her children again?

“She never returned to town. But I know Sophie spends time with her.”

“And her brother?”

“Oh, no. He went through a lot, watching his father turn into a drunk with no desire to move on after the abandonment. Kenzie was ten years old when his mother left. I don’t think he’s ever forgiven her. He quit school when he was quite young, poor thing. His grandfather was not a man of means, and the boy had to go to work. When the grandfather died, the children returned to Beauly. Kenzie got a job at Cameron’s mechanic shop, here in town, and Sophie stayed in school. Last year she started university in Edinburgh, and during the school year she lived there with her mother. She was a wee thing when it all happened. Her heart isn’t as full of bitterness as her brother’s.”