Holy Terror in the Hebrides (26 page)

“So what in the hell could make you think—”

“I—it was the water that started me off. The rocks were wet when Bob fell, Jake. And I couldn’t understand how they got that way. And then I—well, I thought you had a good reason to want him dead, and when Teresa got so much worse when you were taking care of her, and started babbling about water, I thought maybe she’d seen you, and you—Anyway, I put two and two together and made five.”

Jake had been listening closely, and now he sighed and pulled at his beard. I sat, tears slipping down my cheeks.

Finally he sighed again, patted my hand, and nodded soberly. “So you added wrong. But you had your math right up till then. It makes sense.”

I sat up and looked at him incredulously. “That’s—very generous of you, Jake. I—”

“So what I want to know,” he went on, “is, why
was
Teresa talking about water all the time?”

I stared at him, my eyes widening, my mind racing. “She always carried water,” I said in a breathy voice.

“And she was right outside the cave when I left,” said Jake. “She could have heard. I didn’t talk to her; I wasn’t in the mood for talking, so I went the other way and sat on the rocks for a while, down by the edge of the water.”

“She was sort of odd when I met her a little later, too,” I remembered. “Sort of—exhilarated. Surely if she’d just set a trap for someone she wouldn’t . . .”

Jake shook his head. “She wouldn’t set a trap for someone. Any more than I would.”

Well, I deserved that. “No,” I agreed, and looked at my lap until I remembered something else. “Just after Bob fell,” I said slowly, “I thought I saw someone at the mouth of the cave. It wasn’t you?”

Jake shook his head again.

“Then this is what I think happened.” I paused to sort it out.

“Listen, and tell me if I’m making things up out of whole cloth again. I think Teresa heard your fight with Bob, in the cave. She was already annoyed with him, and I’ll bet she went charging in, furious. She’s got a terrible temper, I know that for sure. Just suppose he acted the way he did with you, justifying himself and pretending to be pitiable. It would be just like her to throw something. Say, an open bottle of water?”

Jake nodded cautiously.

“And then she tore out of there. She was running when I met her; she almost knocked me down. It could have been that rush of adrenaline you get when you’ve had a really good fight. The rest of the world looks wonderful for a while. But just about then I heard some other people say something about the rocks being dangerous when they’re wet. What if Teresa heard it, too? What would she have done?”

“Teresa’s okay, y’know,” said Jake soberly. “There’s a good Catholic conscience behind all that belligerence. She’d worry about Bob—and about you. She’d turn back to warn you.”

“So she’d see Bob fall, and know what caused it. And she’d convince herself it was pure accident, and he deserved it anyway—until she got a bump on the head and that good Catholic conscience you mentioned took over.”

Jake nodded again. Just for a moment he looked like one of the old patriarchs, Abraham or Solomon or Moses, passing judgment.

“So what do we do about it?”

I could have hugged him for the “we.” “I vote for doing nothing,” I said. “I’ve already done more than enough on unsupported conjecture, don’t you think? We can’t ask her about it while she’s unconscious, and if it happened the way we think, it really was an accident, after all. Her only guilt was in not saying anything afterward.”

“Guilt enough,” said Jake gruffly. “Made a couple of us pretty miserable for a while.”

I held out a hand in apology; he took it in forgiveness. We sat, absorbed in our own thoughts, warm in the sun, until the hoot of a boat told us we could go back to civilization.

I
T WASN’T UNTIL
hours later that Alan and I had a chance to talk alone. First Tom had to be told the whole story of my “rescue,” with dramatic embellishments from Lynn. Then the crowd from the hotel gathered. I related a bowdlerized tale I’d invented; I’d gone walking, stupidly, alone at night. Jake had seen me go and followed, worried; we’d ended up too far away to get home. It was close enough, though Jake was uncomfortable with the heroic role thrust upon him. Mr. Pym dropped in to see how I was, and Maggie from the Heritage Centre, and Deirdre, and all the neighbors from the cottages in the village. Lynn finally shooed everyone out, including Alan, and put me to bed.

So it was midafternoon before I went downstairs and found Alan playing chess with Tom.

“Feeling better, are you?” asked Alan.

“Somewhat, thank you. I’m rested, anyway, although I wonder if I’ll ever get back to normal sleep patterns. And I’m so stiff I’m not sure I can move.”

“Then let’s go for a walk. It’s a fine, warm day, and I promise we won’t go far. You have to keep the muscles working, you know, or you
will
be in trouble.”

“Slave driver.”

But I pulled on my hat. I was glad to get out of the cottage, and the afternoon was lovely, warm but not hot, and very drowsy and still.

We walked up toward the hotel, talking aimlessly about Alan’s accommodations at the Iona Hotel and Lynn’s efforts to cook with no electricity. When we got to the Nunnery, Alan led me to a bench in the garden and sat me down. Our only company was the black-and-white cat, and, of course, the bees.

“Nice hat,” said Alan.

“Good thing you like it. It’s the only one I brought.”

“You—with only one hat? No wonder you got into trouble.”

I smiled and leaned back against his arm.

“Can you talk about it now?” he asked after a companionable silence.

I sat up, took a deep breath, and told him the whole sorry story. “It all begins with Jake, really . . .”

I told him about Bob, and his fall. I told him about all the people in the Chicago contingent, and their foibles and their strengths. I told him about Aaron’s life and death, and unwound for him my unwilling conclusions. Finally, I told him about my terror-stricken flight from Jake, my horror when I realized I was wrong, and our version, Jake’s and mine, of what had really happened.

“You won’t have to do anything about it, will you, Alan? Jake and I thought it was better left alone.”

“Me? This is Scotland. I couldn’t if I wanted to. Which I don’t.”

“I don’t know whether to hope Teresa gets well, or not. I don’t think I ever want to know for sure—”

“Your friend Mr. Pym would tell you to leave it to God, and he’s probably quite right.”

There was a rather solemn, but comfortable, silence.

“I don’t suppose they’ll ever find Bob.”

“Mmm. I had a little word with the police today, by radio. They’ve called off the search for the body—there’s no point, apparently, after such a storm—and marked the investigation closed. The Chicago people can go home as soon as they can get a plane from Glasgow. Listen, Dorothy.”

His tone of voice had changed, sharpened with intensity. I sat up straighter, surprised. “What?”

“Dorothy, will you marry me? Soon?”

I sat, dumb.

“You cannot imagine what I’ve been through, not knowing what kind of trouble you were getting into, not being able to see you, or talk to you, or help you. I don’t ever, ever want to be put in that position again. I know you hadn’t quite made up your mind, and I didn’t intend to rush you, but—my God, woman, I can’t live this way!”

The black and white cat jumped down and scurried away. I found my voice.

“Alan, this whole week I’ve been missing you and trying to reach you. All I wanted to do was talk to you, get your advice, hand the whole situation over to you. And when I heard your voice coming over the hill today, for a minute I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. Yes, of course I’ll marry you—as soon as you like. Can we do it here—on Iona? In spite of—everything—” my voice caught for a moment and then steadied “—this is a special place for me.”

He pulled me to him, his arm around my shoulder. “I wish we could, but there’s the little matter of a license. It’ll have to be back in Sherebury, I’m afraid. Or in Indiana, of course, if you’d rather—”

“No, you don’t,” I said firmly. “You said soon. Don’t renege. Sherebury, as soon as we get back. And Alan—in case I never said so before—I do love you. A lot.”

He laughed hugely and turned my face to his. I’m quite sure the Nunnery, in all its hundreds of years of chaste existence, never saw a kiss like that before.

T
HE CAMPBELLS HAD
a
ceilidh
for us that night, a before-the-wedding reception. Hester picked the few flowers that had survived the storm, and so did every other gardener; Janet arranged them, and the room looked lovely. Hattie Mae sang to Chris’s accompaniment, including an extremely surprising version of “0 Promise Me,” and everyone kissed the bride to be; I got an enthusiastic buss from Jake. There was Highland dancing; I tried one easy reel with Alan and then just watched contentedly.

The Chicagoans left the next day. It was a Sunday, just a week (amazingly) after I had left Sherebury. We all went to the Abbey for an ecumenical service, and prayed in our own ways for Bob, and for Teresa, still unconscious in Oban. I said a fervent prayer for Jake, too; he was there, in a corner, his accustomed ironic smile on his face. Look out for him, please, God, even if he doesn’t believe in You. He needs something worthwhile to do, something hard that will occupy all his time. Find it for him, will You?

Grace had, with her customary efficiency, arranged matters with the airline and the Chicago Religious Assembly; the group was going to catch a Monday morning flight at no extra charge, so they had to catch the Sunday 1:15 ferry from Iona. They’d stay in Oban for a couple of hours, to see Teresa, and then catch the last train to Glasgow. Alan and I walked down to the jetty to see them off.

Each of them shook our hands ceremoniously. Grace smiled graciously, Janet grunted something about being glad to get off this godforsaken island. Typical to the last.

Hattie Mae and Chris walked down to the boat together, arguing loudly about music. “I sure was glad to meet you, Dottie, honey,” said Hattie expansively before turning back to attack Chris’s views. Chris merely winked as he shook my hand.

Jake was the last to board. He amazed me by kissing my hand with one of his little bows. “You’re a lucky man,” he said to Alan. “If you’re ever in Chicago . . .”

“We’ll look you up,” I promised, and meant it. “Good luck, Jake.”

He shrugged and raised his eyebrows and boarded the ferry.

The village was steeped in Sunday quiet as we walked back up the hill. Waves lapped at the jetty; seagulls mewed; shoals of sparrows swam in the still air. You could hear the beat of their wings.

We took the shortcut through the Nunnery grounds, and as we reached the garden, Alan paused.

“Dorothy, we’ll be making some promises to each other soon. There’s one I’d like now.”

“And what might that be?”

“I’ll be taking you for better or for worse. Will you please promise me that you’ll limit the worse to no more murder and mayhem than can reasonably be expected?”

He was smiling; I looked up at him and grinned. “I promise I’ll try.”

Hand in hand, we walked up the peaceful road.