Surviving Scotland (18 page)

“Just what are you searching for, Gwennie?” The sound of my nickname brought a wry grin to my face. No one called me “Gwennie” anymore, except Grandma. She had never used my given name, unless I was in trouble, which meant she’d use the whole name.
Guinevere
Elisabeth
Ansley
.

“Gwennie?”

“Oh, well, anything that would help me organize our family history.”

“But you know our family history.”

“True, but not to the extent needed for my senior thesis on
Historical Familial Relations T
hat Transcend Time
.”

“That’s certainly a mouthful,” my grandma spoke as she began to ascend the stairs into the old and dusty attic. I watched her white hair poke above the floorboards and grinned back at her obvious disgust at the dust covering every available surface.

“If half of the stories you’ve told me are true, then my thesis will be not only long but captivating. Everything I need.”

“Well, I can assure you that more than half of the stories are indeed true…” She cast a glance at a suspicious cobweb in the corner.

“I need tangible historical evidence, though.”

“Love, I’m your historical and tangible evidence,” she added with a wry grin.

Shaking my head, I laughed at her expression and turned my attention to another old box. This one was an old steamer trunk. I unlatched the lid and pulled out a large book with loose-leaf pages. The heavy book was falling apart at the binding so I set it on my lap. The first pages were written in a beautiful calligraphy that was faded with time. I peered closer to the paper and read the words.

4
February
1824

Soon the season will begin and Morgan and I will be once again busy with the parties and social obligations of the gentry, yet I can
’
t help but wish we
’
d retire to the country once again
.
I treasure the time alone I get with my husband, and
with our second child on the
way;
I
’
m sure to be
in seclusion
…

I skipped ahead to another page.

18
September
1824

I still cannot fathom that my dear husband surprised me by taking me out of the city and into the country for the season! I grow to love him more and more each day
.
To see him playing with Elinore and tenderly holding little Jakob melts my heart. It was worth it. Time has no value unless
you are with the one you love. I
t was the greatest gift to be brought back. Nanna knew…

The strange remarks piqued my curiosity and I set the book aside to read later. Another box gained my attention and I stood to reach for it.

“They loved one another, so deeply,” my grandma spoke as she bent down and caressed the discarded book gently. “Their love had to conquer quite a bit, you know. I wonder…”

I paused and waited for her to finish her sentence. The atmosphere of the attic shifted and my flesh began to goosebump.

“What would you do for love, Gwennie?” Her blue eyes inquired with an intense gaze.

“Real love, like the kind you share with Granddad, or the kind you’ve shared from our history would be worth any sacrifice, Grandma.”

“Do you truly believe that?” Her hands caressed the leather cover of the book once more and she gazed at it intently.

Did I?
“Yes,” I replied honestly.

“Good answer.”

I nodded and turned my attention to the next box.

“I’ll see you for supper.”

“Okay,” I mumbled as I heard her descend the stairs to the lower level. Inside the next box, I found a necklace with strange coins hanging from it. The tinkling sound they made echoed loudly in the room. I reached down for the book beneath. Inside I found more letters. Picking one I began to read.

Ioan came ba
ck today with a grand surprise!
He and Cullon discovered the last coin to my neckla
ce!
They had gone hunting earlier with wee Niall
,
and he discovered it when passing through Kilmart
i
n
G
len! To think! It had been there all along…

I turned the page over and read the back, skipping ahead.

‘
Twas a
wondrous
thing, to fall through time
.
I
donna
ken how it was done, but each day I awake next to Ioan, I am thankful
.
Ever so thankful.

Strange. With a furtive glance at the letter I set it next to the first book and stood. As I began to leave, a final box captured my attention. It was next to the cobweb that my grandma studiously avoided. Swallowing my fear I pulled it out further from the wall with my foot. Kneeling down, I blew off the dust from the top.

Þeccr hyggja trúliga

The strange words shocked me. With my minor in Norse mythology, I’d studied the extinct language, Old Norse. The same language that the box held inscribed on its lid. Quickly, I translated the meaning.
To be known, you must believe, thoroughly.

The box held an old dagger with a bone handle and a few other artifacts. After a few trips, I had the first book, second letters, and Norse box in my room.

“Supper, Gwennie!”

In my research for Surviving Scotland, I discovered more than a few details that were contradictory. So, with the grand tradition of fiction, I took what was known, and added my own ideas and salted the history. Dumbarton and Carnasserie Castle do exist and are part of the Campbell clan’s holdings. However, Carnasserie wasn’t used by a laird, but by the rector of Kilmartin. In this I took some artistic license. As for handfasting, it is very much a traditional idea in the Scottish heritage, yet my research conflicted in its acknowledgement of its true nature in Scottish history. In this, I took artistic license as well. It is clearly a work of fiction, but my hope is that you will see past the artistic license and imagine a beautiful place full of mystery, natural beauty, and wonder as Surviving Scotland captivates you.

Did you enjoy Surviving Scotland? Make sure you check out Elle’s grandmother’s story in “Living London”!

Kristin Va
y
den
is blessed. With a love story of her own that is better than anything she’s ever read and four children (and one on the way!) that only add to the amazing story of her life. Needless to say, life at her house is never boring. She is a homeschooling stay at home mom that loves to researching homeopathic remedies and making her own soap and sauerkraut in her rare free time.

Chapter One

The tears started to fall even before I opened the stiff door to the nursing home. The only thing worse than saying goodbye was
not
saying goodbye. The wall's cream color blurred as I walked slowly down the hall toward Nanna's room. As I passed each wooden door, I glanced at the bronzed nameplate beside it. Each person within these walls had once been young like me, full of life, and now… now they waited.

Thankfully, Nanna wasn't fully aware of her surroundings; ignorance was bliss in her case. Usually the moment I opened the door to her room, a gentle smile would greet me. On a good day, she'd recognize me and try to fuss over my clothes or hair but today… today I knew that wasn't going to happen. The hospice nurse had called earlier urging me to come and say a final goodbye. My heart clenched.

As I drew closer to the door, I paused. I reached up to touch the nameplate, knowing someday soon it wouldn't be there anymore.
Elinore Westin.
With a heavy sigh, I turned the handle and entered, immediately assaulted by the sounds of an oxygen machine and the subtle scent of cleaning fumes. The bulky hospital bed made my grandmother's small frame appear even more delicate. She rested quietly beneath a pale pink quilt she and I had made years ago. Everything about her screamed fragile. I walked over to her bed and placed my hand on hers. The cool temperature of her skin gave me an involuntary shiver. There wasn’t much time left.

"Nanna? It's me, Jocelyn. I'm here to keep you company for a while. I know you missed me — I sure missed you since yesterday." There was no response, but I wasn't really expecting one. Nanna's hand began to warm as I held it gently. The soft white hair that was usually pulled into a knot at the base of her neck was carefully combed and draped over her shoulders. I brushed a few wisps away from her face and bent to kiss her wrinkled cheek. The familiar scent of her vanilla perfume comforted me. I leaned back so my tears wouldn't fall on her skin and wiped my face furiously. The nurse for hospice had said hearing was the last sense to go, so I knew she could hear my quiet sobs. In spite of my grief, I grinned. I could hear her voice in my mind berating me for shedding so many tears over her. She was ready to pass on. In truth, she had been ready for quite a while. She missed Grandpa Jakob. Even though she wasn't aware of reality all the time, she'd never forgotten him. Soon she'd see him again. The thought of their reunion comforted me.

"Nanna, when you see Grandpa, make sure you tell him I love him, okay? That's your job. If you have to leave me, you have to take my love with you, all right? I'll stay a little while longer, Nanna, but I know you need me to say goodbye, to let you know I'll be all right without you, and I will. I promise. I'll keep your aloe vera plant alive, and your Christmas cactus that Grandpa Jake bought you. Your quilts will be put on my bed and, most of all, I'll remember everything you taught me, and I'll keep our books safe and re-read them, always thinking of you."

In saying the last part, I glanced at the bookshelves around the room all filled with the Regency romances we had both read many times, cover to cover. Of all the things she had forgotten, she'd never lost her love of reading. Her borderline obsession with the Regency era was hilarious. When I'd been little, we would often pretend to be at an important ball. Nanna would wear an old ball gown, and I would put on my best Sunday dress. We'd twirl, dance, and pretend to drink watered-down lemonade at Almack's. During those times of make-believe she'd taught me the waltz, quadrille, and all the other popular dances till I could do them with my eyes closed. We'd had tea parties and scones, and she'd taught me to make clotted cream. My stomach rumbled as I thought of it, reminding me I had again forgotten to eat.

Nanna had grown up in England. Though most of her adult life was spent in the States, her crisp accent hadn't faded. My parents would often tease me that I sounded more British than American because of how I'd mimic my beloved Nanna's speech. For all intents and purposes, Nanna had raised me after my parents had been killed in a plane crash. At the tender age of ten, I had no one else left.

Though I could never replace a parent, Nanna did her best to give me the best childhood possible. She and Grandpa Jake were my solid ground, and their love seasoned my life. Grandpa passed away my junior year of high school, leaving grandma and I the only ones left in our family. When Nanna died, I'd be truly alone. I placed my hands over hers again and laid my head down. The sweet smell of vanilla and the sterile smell of bleach both comforted me and broke me further. Each moment that passed was one less that she would be in this world, and time was running out. Warm tears trailed down my face and soaked the pink quilt as I silently mourned.

Feeling a gentle hand touch my shoulder, I jolted upright.

"Miss? I'm here to take care of Elinore. I need you to move so I can give her another dose of morphine. I'm so sorry to disturb you, but I don't want her in any pain, and I'm sure you don't either." The woman was so gentle in her words, tears stung new. I got up and moved away, giving Nanna one last kiss on her forehead. "I love you. I love you so much."

After administering the medication, the nurse turned to me with shining eyes brimming with tears. A moment later she walked over and gave me a gentle hug. "Don't worry; she's peaceful. She's not in any pain now, and I'm sure she knows you love her."

"Thank you," I managed as I wiped more tears away.

Picking up my purse, I gave Nanna one last glance before I walked to the door. As I turned the doorknob, I whispered one more time the words I wanted her to take with her to heaven. "I love you."