Chapter 47
It was time to learn to skate. Mr. Gillespie presented the bladed shoes, and Edwina gave him a look. The Scot had sent two pairs of beautiful skates for Christmas... and the right sizes? Cecelia must have told Mr. Dunnegin her shoe size.
He thought of everything, that was sure. Well, most everything. At least Paige never lacked for material needs.
Paige and Edwina’s first attempts at skimming across the frozen pond had the older couple consumed in sidesplit- ting laughter. Even though she’d lost at least ten pounds on her daily walks with Paige, she still fell a dozen times, hard enough to cry out. Her backside hurt for days. And learning at age twenty-eight was not easy.
Paige had long legs like her father and skated like a pro almost instantly. She loved the new sport and dreamed of being a famous figure skater one day. Edwina helped her visualize what it might be like to skate to beautiful music and hear the people clapping. Her outfit would be long and whip behind her like a flag in the wind. The boys would look, but she would not look at them, Paige had said solemnly.
One day early in March the call came. Mr. Dunnegin would be delayed another two months.
Paige had been devastated. At Edwina’s request, they had marked each day off with a red crayon until her father would come home. They were within days of his expected return when the news arrived. It would be May or even June before he came home.
The Laird had spoken with the Gillespies, leaving them to tell her and Paige the news. “It couldn’t be helped,” he’d said.
Already late March, Edwina had put off her trip to Edinburgh. Paige’s fifth birthday had come and gone. Calls had arrived from her father in America along with several new gifts. Clothes from fancy stores. Books for school. Puzzles and paint supplies, via Paige’s request.
If the truth were known, Edwina grew less understanding of the man day by day. She had the privilege of teaching and mentoring his little girl, but that gift belonged to him.
“Lass, be on ye’re way to Edinburgh. Ye’ve put it off long enough. And now with her father not coming home for two more months, why don’t ye go off yerself? The lass and I will be fine for a few days.”
After much planning and talking, Mrs. Gillespie, having already talked to Laird Dunnegin, called Reardon and told him to come for Edwina.
“Miss Blair,” Reardon had greeted her without eye contact, placed her small bag in the back, and waited while she settled in the car. He had been so friendly at first, was it because he didn’t like her? She knew the answer, so she did not try to make conversation on the way, just enjoyed the view. She’d been here since mid-September and April was just around the corner. It had not seemed that long. She was content.
“You have reservations near the Royal Mile.” Reardon’s voice broke into her reverie. “Laird Dunnegin gave me instructions to see you were well placed.”
“Thank you, Reardon,” Edwina spoke softly. “When will you come for me?”
“Three days hence, miss.”
“I shall see you then.” The black car drove away. Edwina sighed. The next three days were hers. She had money. Most of it had gone into the bank account she set up via telephone. She mailed her checks faithfully, required very little cash, and Mr. Gillespie brought that to her when she needed it.
Now she wanted to withdraw enough money to purchase several gifts for family members back home. She had not sent gifts at Christmas, telling her father, Victoria, Cecelia, and Spencer she would haul something home in her suitcase for them if they’d be patient. The postage would have cost more than the gifts themselves.
Rose had told her about a play. The first day was set aside for gift shopping and moseying. The second day there would be visits around Edinburgh’s shops and restaurants; she wanted to absorb the culture, get to know the people; and finally see the play in the evening.
During her gift shopping, Edwina did the most foolish thing. She stopped in a bicycle shop and ordered two bikes. One for her, one for Paige, and even more foolishly, told the man at the counter she would make arrangements to come and get them. Did the Scot’s man have a truck?
She called the cottage. Indeed, there was an old truck at the farm. Rose had laughed.
“Imagine Reardon driving that!”
Edwina knew she’d make no points for this. But then, he barely spoke to her anyway, so what harm could it do?
Besides there was no one else to do it? Mr. Gillespie had no time for such things. And Reardon was the Scot’s driver.
The next day she spent finishing her shopping duties, then walked up the Royal Mile, turned left onto George IV Bridge, then finally to Chambers Street to visit the Museum of Scotland. Its historic storytelling was so informative she could not leave. The visit to the library would have to wait for another day.
With a new respect for the people and the country, she walked among the ancient artifacts reading their history and understood something on a deeper level. God had started it all. Every race, every color, every person was a unique gift with a job to do.
Sitting alone in the dark room, excited to see the play entitled, Exit Stage Left. The marquis left much to be desired, so she didn’t know whether to expect a musical or an Italian Renaissance drama. She settled herself into the soft seat and hoped for a romantic comedy or something historical.
A sense of loneliness swept over her as the play ended sadly. She hated books and movies that ended badly. She could now add this play to that list. Indeed the beloved character, after spending much time making the audience love her, exited the stage in death.
Why hadn’t anyone told her it ended tragically? She would have rather gone to the library. Tomorrow that’s exactly what she planned to do. There were several libraries located around the city. She’d check into some Scotland history for her own story, which, of course, would not end sadly.
The day broke with sunshine. Edwina showered and dressed casually. Her heart beat furiously as she stepped into the small black European cab, where it drove her, at the cabbie’s suggestion to the Fountainbridge Library. She exited, gazing at the tall building, paid the cabbie and instructed him to return at 4 p.m.
At the appointed hour, she bade the library a sad fare- well, wishing she’d spent the entire time there. Photocopies of noteworthy places, and notes enough to fill a small volume were in her purse. She found several ideas for classroom activities for Paige as well. All in all it had been the best day.
The following morning she packed her things and waited to meet Reardon, collect the bikes, and head back to Beaufort Manor.
Everything ready, she checked her watch. Fifteen minutes early. She sat in the waiting room of the hotel and looked for the black car, then remembered she should be looking for an older truck. But what kind, what color? She’d never thought to ask.
Straining her neck at the window, she felt a light tap. “Miss Blair, if you will come with me.” Reardon’s face was red. That was strange. The man never
seemed to have any visible emotions. If she had her guess, he had some now.
He reached for her case, heavier now by a few pounds of notes and papers, and the bag of gifts. She carried her purse and a small package and followed him. They walked outside and kept walking.
“Where are you parked?” she finally asked. He didn’t answer. When Reardon stopped next to the red rusty beat-up
truck with little strands of hay sticking in the window cracks, she fell apart.
“You drove this?” She could not stop laughing. Her emotions were out of control. She bent over with the trying to hold it in.
The side panels were crashed in like someone had used the door for softball practice. The bed of the ancient thing was sitting crooked on the wheelbase. No wonder Reardon had parked way out here.
Without a single glance in her direction, he lifted her case and bag and put them in the bed of the rusty truck, then seated himself.
“Where would the bicycles be?” he asked, staring out the filthy front window.
She walke
d around the front of the truck and opened the door, which creaked loudly, and let herself in. Apparently Reardon forgot his gentlemanly duties. She gave him directions. Right in the middle of town the truck backfired, sending her into fits again.
“I, I’m so sorry,” she sputtered. “I don’t mean to—”
“Miss Blair, it would be good for me ears if you were quiet.”
“Yes, it would,” she agreed and pressed her hand tighter over her mouth.
Bikes safely set in the back on an old blanket he had brought, they bumped and backfired all the way back to Beaufort Manor.
When they pulled into the long drive, Reardon drove around the back, straight across the grass to a little garage. It must be where the truck had been housed. She had never noticed it before. Reardon’s white gloves were filthy too. He kept smacking them together, raising a dust storm. Even Mrs. Gillespie would never get all that dirt out of those gloves.
“Please don’t tell Paige about the bikes,” she said to Reardon. “It’s a surprise.”
Amazingly, the man’s eyebrows lifted upward slightly. Had she made a good impression by chance? Doubtful, but then she had given him quite an awful day for a valet used to performing more sophisticated services for his master, rather than an American woman with foolish ideas.
After the bikes were stowed away in the barn and the truck backed into the tiny garage, she saw Reardon pull off his gloves and drop them into the trash can. He did not bid her good-bye, but walked to up to the manor, dusting himself off as he went. Soon, the black car drove slowly down the lane. She was sure he’d never forgive her.
Edwina broke into laughter again as she trudged back to the house with her packages. Her suitcase and bag had been taken out of the truck and left. Reardon had forgotten all about it. When Mr. Gillespie saw her dragging the heavy suitcase across the grass, he came stalking to her and took the handle. “Miss, what ye be doin’ such work with a man aboot?”
“Time I learned to take care of myself,” she said. “Besides, Reardon was too busy.” She smiled.
“Aye, the man can’t dirty his hands, tis sure. But he was born to it.” The older man wasn’t even breathing hard.
“I guess you’re right. We’re all born for something different aren’t we, Mr. Gillespie?”
“Ye’d be right aboot that. And call me Leith, lass.” Edwina smiled, “Thank you, Leith.” Paige came running out. “You’re back. Can I see what
you bought? Can we go on the bus when my father comes home? I’ll be old enough by then.”
“Lass, stop asking me questions.” Edwina fell into the Scottish ways again. “I have some trinkets for you, but you’re going to make me forget where they are.” They entered the kitchen.
Paige’s eyes lit up, and she danced around, making a pest of herself.
“Sit yerself down, child. Ye are aboot to make this old woman wish she had stayed abed,” Rose fussed at her. “And ye haven’t had yer bath. Tut-tut.”
“I know, but it can wait, right Edwina?”
“It’ll wait, all right—about five minutes. Take your bath and we’ll talk. I’ll come to your room.”
“Ye will?” Paige hugged her, then ran off.
Edwina’s heart skipped a beat. She had missed the child.