Gunns & Roses (6 page)

“I love watching the guys with the bass drums,” Peggy declared. “Em, see how they twirl the mallets in between the beats?”

Having lost sight of the boy when the band turned to position themselves behind an earlier band, Em moved her attention to the drummers of a band closer to where they were sitting. “I wonder if they ever hit themselves with all that twirling and whirling.”

“The beaters look kinda puffy to me,” said Wally. “That might soften the blow if they mess up.”

Emily laughed at that before turning her attention back to the finale, as all the bands played
Scotland the Brave
and then marched smartly off the field.

Alice nudged Annie as the bands turned about-face and moved away from them. “Look at all those sporrans out there. Never thought about them being worn in the back, but it makes sense with the pipes and drums. Ian’s suggestion to come here for information was spot on.”

Annie smiled over at Ian. “Well, you know our mayor, Alice. He’s always one to serve. We may have to treat him to a haggis lunch.”

“What’s haggis?” asked Emily.

Ian pictured the traditional Scottish savory pudding that includes some of the internal organs of sheep. He clasped the shoulder of his young friend. “Trust me, Em,” he said, “you don’t want to know. Not before you’ve had lunch, anyway.”

6

Peggy folded the Carsons’ quilt and tucked it into her bag. “What should we do next?”

“I’d really like to start checking with the vendors about the sporran and ferrule,” said Annie. “But I hate for y’all to feel like you have to follow me around.”

Alice intertwined her arm with Annie’s. “You know how much I enjoy poking around all kinds of shops, so I’m following you around voluntarily. Besides, I’m as curious about all this as you are.”

“Me too,” Peggy chimed in. “As long as we can see some of the dancing, I’d rather keep together.” She paused and glanced sideways at her husband, who was good-natured but not much for shopping. “But Wally and Ian might want to do something else.”

Wally ran a hand through his hair. “Well, we won’t need the chairs or quilt until the afternoon competitions, so Ian and I could take them back to the car and then … ” he paused, thinking.

Ian consulted the brochure. “Wally, are you interested in seeing any of the livestock? I have to admit I have a soft spot for Highland cattle. Their hair is as pretty as Alice’s—almost.” Wally agreed with Ian’s suggestion as the friends chuckled.

“You know what I say to my hair stylist every time I go, right?” said Alice. “Please make my hair shine like a Highland cow!”

When the laughter had died down, Annie asked, “Does everyone want to see the falconry demonstration? If you do, we could meet there at, say, ten thirty.” Her friends all showed enthusiasm for the idea, and the two groups parted, Emily giving Wally a quick hug before joining her mother for the walk to the vendor tents.

The first vendor the ladies found sported the sign, “MacTavish, Pipemaker.” Inside the white tent, tables and portable shelving displayed a variety of full bagpipes, parts, and maintenance items, such as hemp and wax. There were also instruction books, DVDs, and computer programs.

Looking around, Emily noticed something that looked familiar to her. “Hey, they’ve got recorders here.” She pointed at some long pieces, some plastic, and others made of wood. After bending over to get a closer look, she muttered, “These look a little weird, though.”

“Well, lassie, that’s because they’re not recorders,” said a man with light brown hair tending toward gray and gray eyes tending toward humor. “You’re looking at chanters, you are.”

Emily’s blue eyes widened as she gazed up into the man’s face. “I’ve never heard of a chanter.”

“Why, it’s a very important part of a bagpipe,” the man said as he picked up one of the instruments made of dark wood, flared on one end. “This one is made of blackwood, and if you tried to play one of these on a bagpipe, you’d probably end up fainting before getting a single note out.” He set the chanter down in its place and picked up a narrower plastic version. “This is where a new piper needs to start, with a practice chanter. Learning to play the full bagpipes with bag and four reeds is a lot easier once you’ve mastered the practice chanter.” He looked at the adults and grinned. “It also causes less pain for the people and dogs within a mile of the new player.”

Emily looked from the practice chanter to the full bagpipes propped up on a nearby table. “Wow, that boy in the band this morning must have started practicing when he was a baby!”

“What colors was he wearing?” the man asked.

“Red and black.”

“You must be talking about Colby. He’s a rare one. I’ve only known one other piper who played as well so young.” For a brief instance the merry eyes of the man dimmed, but he gave a slight shake of his head and then addressed Emily’s companions. “Is there anything I can help you find?”

Peggy and Alice looked at Annie, who reached into her bag for the ferrule. “There might be,” Annie said, showing the man the ferrule. “I found eight of these, with no bagpipe, in the house my grandparents used to own. I was wondering if you might be able to tell me anything about the engraving, whether it’s from a particular clan or family.”

The man reached out a hand, and asked, “May I?” Annie placed the piece in his hand. “You have eight of them, you say? That’s one short of a complete set.” He took a pair of glasses out of his shirt pocket, donned them, and examined the mystery ferrule. “Sterling silver, excellent craftmanship.” He paused and sighed. “Unfortunately, I don’t know of any clan with that crest.” He handed the ferrule back to Annie. “But there are several tartan and clan tents where you will find people to help you look for clan crests and badges.”

“Thank you, Mr. … ” Annie started.

“MacTavish—like the sign says,” the pipemaker said. “I hope you will come back and see me, if you ever decide to learn piping.” He chuffed Emily gently under the chin. “Especially you, lassie. And come back next year to see young Colby play again. He’ll be a whole year better.”

Emily bobbed her head. “I will, if Mom and Daddy bring me. Bye, Mr. MacTavish!”

As Emily and the women left, Mr. MacTavish stood staring after them, deep in thought.

The women wove between the tents, seeking out more bagpipe or music vendors. Annie showed the ferrule to three more pipe experts, all of whom showed interest in the quality of the piece and design. None of them, however, could tell her anything about the hawk-and-rose design.

After they thanked the last vendor, Peggy stopped her friends outside the tent. “You know I’m all for clue hunting,” she said, “but if we don’t do the next part of the search more quickly, we won’t make it through all the vendors before we’re supposed to meet Wally and Ian. I suggest we split up.”

Alice looked at her watch. “Hmmm, I see what you mean. We’ve passed several tartan and clan tents, so I agree with your suggestion, Peggy.”

“I do, also,” said Annie. “Em, will you help your mom look for two things, the hawk-and-rose symbol and—” she pulled the photos of the sporran out of her bag and showed them to the young girl, “see the design on the clasp? The sprig is juniper. If we can find out what clan is associated with juniper, it might help us solve the mystery.” Then she handed two of the photos to Peggy. “Take these with you.”

“And call or text us if you find anything,” Alice told her. “Immediately!”

Peggy snorted to beat any Highland cow. “As if you had to tell me that!” She pointed to the row of tents opposite from where they were standing. “Em and I will take that side, and you two take this one.”

“Sounds good,” agreed Annie. “If we don’t find anything before 10:25, then let’s meet at MacTavish’s and go meet the guys.”

Peggy saluted, and with a “Happy hunting!” she and Em went on their way. The first tent they came to, Dress to Kilt, radiated with color. Clan tartans draped racks along the canvas walls, looking like mini waterfalls. Spinning displays of kilt pins and accessories flanked the entrance.

“Em, you look at those pins,” Peggy said, pointing her daughter to the display just across the entrance from where they were standing. “I’ll check the ones over here.” Excited to be a part of the sleuthing, Emily danced over to fulfill her assignment.

As mother and daughter concentrated on the pin designs, they didn’t notice the slim teenager in a dark kilt and black shirt come through the entrance until he started fiddling. Then they peered around the two displays to watch the young musician serenade the girl behind a table, who blushed delicately under the freckles that sprinkled her pale but lovely face.

He ended with a flourish and held out his fiddle and bow in supplication, layers of dark hair almost covering his eyes. “Will fiddle for kilt pin,” he said.

Emily clapped her hand over her mouth, and Peggy ducked slightly behind the display to hide her smile.

“My parents would never let me come back next year if I started bartering away inventory on entertainment, Eli.” The girl’s voice started out prim, like she was channeling a schoolmarm from the Victorian era. Then the corners of her mouth turned up, and her eyes softened. “Even if the fiddler is cute when he plays.”

The fiddler shifted one foot forward and gestured at his kilt with his bow. “Aw, Linley, I lost my kilt pin, and now I’ll have to keep flashing my thighs at everyone.”

“You may not thank me for it, but they will.” Linley’s smile widened into cheekiness. “But, maybe … .” The girl turned and poked her head through a gap in the back wall of the tent, looking left and then right to make sure her parents weren’t nearby. “I could loan you a pin until the end of the day. You’ll have to bring it back, or I’m in deep trouble when they do inventory. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

Eli stepped as close to the girl as he could get with the table between them and leaned over the obstacle, speaking in a low voice. “I’d never want trouble for you. But won’t your parents be here at the end of the day, loading up stuff?”

“Yeah, probably.” Linley gave the young man a look that had Peggy suddenly feeling like an intruder. She suddenly was reminded of when she first fell for Wally. “I guess we’ll just have to meet somewhere away from the tent.”

Eli gazed into the girl’s eyes. “Can you meet me at the Harper’s building? I’ll be helping my aunt pack up, but I can get away for a few minutes.” His expression communicated how much he wished it could be longer.

A woman in khaki Bermuda shorts and a shirt sprinkled with blue and red lobsters broke into the aura of blooming love in the tent to look around. Linley whispered, “OK,” and then looked down at the kilt pins on the table. Selecting one, she slipped it into a small paper bag. Eli transferred his bow into the same hand as his fiddle and held out his hand. The girl laid the bag on his palm, delaying long enough to give the musician a chance to close his fingers briefly around hers.

The woman in the Bermuda shorts stepped up to the table and addressed the girl, “Do you have any pins with the Cross of St. Andrew?” With a wink, Eli released Linley’s hand and slipped from the shop, while the object of his affection saw to the needs of the customer.

“Yes, we have several different pins.” As the girl pointed them out to the woman, Peggy and Emily left the displays by the entrance and perused the pins on the table, but they saw no hawk-and-rose or juniper sprigs.

“The pins here are pretty, Mom, but I don’t see anything like the pictures,” Emily said to Peggy.

“On to the next place we go, then.” Peggy took her daughter’s hand, and they left the tent. “I can’t wait to tell Annie and Alice about Eli and Linley. They were so sweet.”

Emily giggled, “They were all googly-eyed.”

“Now we have to look really fast in these other tents.” Peggy pointed to a blue tent a few tents ahead of them. “Let’s try that one next.”

While mother and daughter explored their side of the tents, Annie and Alice ducked inside the tent of a vendor of clan tartans and crests. The riotous colors gave the portable room a cheerful atmosphere, which matched the energy of the entire Highland Games and kept the two women from feeling discouraged in their search. Against one wall stood several collections of matted clan crests and badges, ready for framing.

“We can each start at an end and work our way in,” suggested Alice.

“Works for me,” Annie agreed and moved to the far end of the wall. “Hopefully, this place will give us more info to go on than Mr. MacTavish did.”

Alice started flipping through the matted and plastic-covered prints, which began alphabetically with Abercromby. “He seemed like a nice guy, though. I suspect he’d be a hoot at a Robbie Burns Dinner.”

“Have you ever been to a Burns Dinner?” Annie asked as she looked at the first clan at her end, Young. The badge for that clan was yew and the crest looked nothing like the hawk and rose on the ferrule.

“Well, no,” Alice admitted. “But I’ve heard about them. The same group that helps put on the Highland Games hosts a dinner in Portland to celebrate Robert Burns’s birthday.” She moved swiftly past the first several clans, not seeing anything either. “You know, since you do have Scottish roots in your family, we should think about going to one some year.”

“Maybe,” Annie began to answer. “Hey! I found a juniper! It’s the badge for clan Ross.” She lifted out the print to examine it closer. “But there’s no hawk or rose in the crest.” She returned the print to its place and pulled a small notepad from her purse, jotting down the name.

Spurred on by the find, the two women stopped the chatter and picked up the pace of their search. Soon, it was Alice’s turn for discovery. “Here’s another juniper badge! It’s for clan Gunn. Hmmm, no hawk and rose here either.”

Annie added “Gunn” to her list, and within a few minutes, they had met in the middle and added three more clan names—MacLeod, Murray, and Nicolson.

“Well, we’ve narrowed down considerably the possible name for the owner of the sporran,” said Alice. “Not a bad half-morning’s work.”

Annie was staring at her list. “But we don’t know if the owner was a man or woman. It may be a family heirloom passed down to a daughter. Likely, a daughter would marry and not be a Ross, Gunn, MacLeod, Murray, or Nicolson anymore. The owner could now be a Perez or Svingli for all we know.”

“We’ve had less to go on with other mysteries, Annie,” Alice reminded her friend. “Somehow, a pathway always manages to open up. It’s a start.”

Annie nodded, thankful for her friend’s perspective. “Yes, it is. And we still have plenty of time to explore before the end of the day. Besides, coming here wasn’t just about the mystery, and I don’t want to let it ruin a fun day with friends.”

“The search for balance goes on!” Alice clapped a hand on Annie’s shoulder. “On to the next tent!”

The two friends hurried to a tent with a sign that read “Kilt and Caboodle,” which featured every accessory one could need for a full-dress kilt.

Annie’s eyes widened as she took in the range of merchandise. “Wow, the owner of this business has Mary Beth’s flare for packing in tons of stock without it looking like chaos.”

“If we don’t find a match to your ferrule or sporran here, then matches may not exist!” Alice admitted, impressed by the selection. “Here we go!” She stepped up to a display of pins, cuff links, belt buckles, and brooches. Within seconds, Annie heard Alice muttering in turn as she scanned the display, “Lions … fish … knotwork … stags… swirls. No birds.” Alice picked up a pair of cuff links for a closer look. “Here’s some thistle, I think. But no juniper.”