At the Water's Edge, Page 20

  A sudden widening of his eyes betrayed his surprise.

  "Good afternoon," I said, after a few beats of silence, trying to act as though we found ourselves in this situation all the time.

  He frowned. "And how long has this been going on?"

  "A while," I said, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks. "Please don't blame Anna--it was entirely my idea. I just wanted to help."

  The corners of his mouth twitched and a twinkle crept into his eyes. He laughed before continuing on his way, shaking his head and followed by a visibly confused Conall.

  I sank down on the stair, light-headed with relief.

  --

  I had been restricting my efforts to the upstairs only for fear of getting caught, but since Angus apparently didn't mind, I began to help in the kitchen as well. I always brought my coat, gloves, and gas mask with me, so that if Ellis and Hank returned early, I could slip out the back and return by the front, pretending I'd been on a walk. This was Meg's idea, and Anna objected vehemently. She was adamant that it was bad luck for a person to enter and leave a house by different doors.

  Although I was close to useless to begin with, I was a willing student and they were patient with me. I soon learned how to scrape, not peel, carrots and potatoes, and how to cube turnips. After my first brackish mishap, I learned how to properly salt water for boiling, and not just how to slice bread, but how to do it to wartime standards--vendors weren't allowed to sell bread of any kind, even National Loaf, until it was stale enough to be sliced thinly. Anna confessed her suspicion that National Loaf was not made of flour at all but rather ground-up animal feed, and I thought she was probably right. It would explain a lot about the dense, mealy bread that was commonly referred to as "Hitler's Secret Weapon." It was rumored to be an aphrodisiac--a rumor many suspected had been started by the government itself to get people to eat it.

  I learned that all tea was loose leaf and steeped more than once, and also that the strength of a guest's tea was directly related to Anna's feelings about the person. At that point, Hank and Ellis were drinking hot water with a splash of milk.

  I discovered that in addition to Anna's many personal beliefs--she couldn't see a crow through the window without running outside to see how many there were and then analyzing what the number meant--there were all kinds of universally accepted sources of bad luck. One of them explained why I hadn't been able to find any meat the day Anna thought I'd seen the Caonaig and run off before starting dinner. It was considered unlucky to store it inside, and so it was kept in a ventilated meat safe out back. I also discovered that Angus was responsible for the contents of many a meat safe.

  In the hill just beyond the Anderson shelter was a tall, drafty dugout, which he kept stocked with venison, grouse, pheasant, and other game, hanging it until it was tender. Anna and Meg took what was necessary for the inn and wrapped the remainder in newspaper, which Angus then left on the doorsteps of families in need, delivering the packets at night so no one would feel beholden.

  I'd already figured out that Angus was poaching--how else to explain the visit from Bob the Bobby, or the ample supply of game?--but I wasn't shocked, as I once might have been. My education at the hands of Anna and Meg included enough history that I understood the policeman's reluctance to enforce the law, and also that it reflected the prevailing attitude.

  It started the day I asked Anna what made a croft a croft instead of just a farm, and got an unexpected earful:

  "It is a farm," she said indignantly, "only not quite big enough to support a family. That's the definition of a croft."

  Meg shot me a glance that said, Well, now you've done it, and she was right.

  Although the events Anna spoke of had taken place nearly two hundred years before, she railed on with as much outrage as if they'd occurred the previous week.

  She said that in 1746, following the Battle of Culloden--the final, brutal confrontation in the Jacobite Rising--the Loyalists forced an end to the clan system so the Jacobites could never rise again. They seized their traditional lands and dispersed clan members, banishing individual families onto tiny tracts and expecting them to become farmers overnight. The former communal hunting grounds were turned into sheep farms and sporting estates, and anyone caught hunting on them was subject to severe penalties. The aristocratic shooting party's right to an undepleted stock was held to be more important than feeding the starving.

  But it didn't end there. Beyond the physical displacement and the abrupt, forced end of the clan system was a methodical attempt to wipe out the culture. Speaking Gaelic became a crime, and the first sons of clan chiefs were forced to attend British public schools, returning with the same upper-class accent my father-in-law had affected during the heady days of his celebrity.

  I imagined the Colonel strutting around in his estate tweeds with his smug sense of superiority on full display, and realized that the loathing Rhona and Old Donnie felt for him--and all of us by association--ran far deeper than anything he'd done personally.

  "And that's why the taking of a deer is a righteous theft," Anna said, wrapping up with a decisive nod. She had unknowingly repeated Meg's words from the day she showed me the Anderson shelter, and I finally understood.

  The taking of a deer was a righteous theft because it was taken from land that was stolen.

  --

  Because of their overlapping shifts, I spent the first part of each day with just Anna and the latter part with just Meg, and during these times, our chitchat sometimes turned to confidences.

  From Meg, I learned that Anna's brother Hugh had stepped on a mine and what could be found of his remains had been buried in Holland. The other brother she'd lost, twenty-one-year-old Hector, had been hit in the chest by a mortar bomb during the D-Day landings. His body was never recovered, although a fellow soldier had paused long enough to grab his identification tags.

  From Anna, I learned that Meg had lost her entire family--both parents and two younger sisters--four years earlier in the Clydebank Blitz. Five hundred and twenty-eight people were killed, 617 injured, and 35,000 left homeless during two nights of relentless air raids that left a mere seven out of twelve thousand houses intact. Meg had been spared only because she'd already joined the Forestry Corps and was in Drumnadrochit.

  I kept hoping one of them would offer some information about Angus's background, enough to confirm or refute my theory about the gravestone, but they didn't, and I couldn't ask for fear of giving myself away. I was fully aware that my desire to know wasn't based on curiosity alone.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Meg told us the young women at the Forestry Corps were so excited about the upcoming Valentine's Day dance that they had been reprimanded twice for their lack of concentration around the huge, engine-driven saws. I couldn't blame them. Several of the girls, including Meg, expected to be presented with rings, making their engagements official.

  As the day grew closer, the lumberjacks' remarks became increasingly ribald. The night before the dance, one of them said something so off-color it turned Meg into a redheaded fury. She leaned over Rory, who flattened himself against his chair, and scolded him harshly, even as he protested--correctly--that he hadn't said a thing.

  "But you did nothing to stop him, did you?" she said, still holding a finger in front of his face.

  He glowered at her, but his arms hung slack off the sides of his chair.

  When she spun and flounced off, her red curls bouncing, the older men at the bar gave somber nods of approval, and the rest of the lumberjacks--who understood that Rory had been reprimanded for all of them--went on their best behavior.

  Hank leaned in toward Ellis and held a hand up to the side of his mouth so his voice wouldn't carry.

  "Who's the tough guy now?" he snickered.

  Ellis was too distracted to be amused. Not twenty minutes before, he'd excused himself and gone upstairs, only to return looking pale. I knew exactly what had happened. He'd tried my door and found it locked.

&nb
sp; When I did the rooms that morning, I'd noticed he was down to five pills. I knew he must be desperate to get more and wondered why he didn't just come out and ask me, like he always did. Maybe he didn't want to ask in front of Hank, I didn't know--but whatever the reason, I was grateful because I couldn't have helped him anyway. I'd flushed the rest of the pills down the toilet.

  --

  On the day of the dance, Meg, Anna, and I went to special effort to dress up the front room because we knew girls would be coming in. We put linens on the tables, and Anna created something called "coalie flowers." She blamed the lack of real flowers on both weather and the war, and instead put four or five pieces of coal in glass bowls, added water, salt, and ammonia, before finally pouring a mixture of violet and blue ink over them. It was a complete mystery to me how this alchemy would result in anything resembling flowers, but they were "blooming" within the hour.

  We didn't have enough to put on each table, so we decided that Meg would herd the girls toward the tables that had them, and steer the men--who wouldn't appreciate them anyway--elsewhere. The job was Meg's by default, because Anna would have gone home by then, and I, of course, would be waiting by the fire for Ellis and Hank.

  The coalie flowers were not our only efforts. Among the three of us, we'd managed to come up with enough eggs and sugar to make two glazed Bundt cakes, which were resting in the dead center of the wooden table in an attempt to keep them out of Conall's reach. The beast himself was sprawled across his master's bed, watching keenly. He was tall enough to reach anything he liked if we turned our backs, but there was no chance of that. We would have protected those cakes with our lives.

  Meg and I had given up our egg and sugar rations for the week, which were enough to make one cake, but then Anna's hens went on a laying spree. Because they lived on a croft, the McKenzies got chicken feed instead of egg rations, so their supply was sometimes iffy, but on this occasion the hens came through like champs. Each of the dance-goers was going to get a proper slice, instead of just a taste.

  As Anna prepared to leave, hours later than usual, her mood deflated.

  "I don't remember the last time I had cake," she said, looking longingly at them.

  "Don't you worry," said Meg. "We'll put aside the very first slice, and it will be lovely and thick, too."

  "Thank you," Anna said, still sounding glum. "I suppose I'll be off then. Have a grand time--and mind you, I want to hear all the details tomorrow."

  Anna's parents were staunch Wee Frees, and she wasn't even allowed to wear face powder, never mind attend a dance. Music itself was not allowed, except on Sundays, and then it had to be for the sake of worship only, and sung unadorned. The senior McKenzies were so strict they confined their cockerel under a bushel basket on the Sabbath so he wouldn't get up to anything untoward with the hens.

  I understood Anna's melancholy, because I also wished I could go to the dance, although that would require an alternate universe in which Ellis didn't exist.

  At least I'd be able to witness the prelude. I was particularly looking forward to seeing the reaction to the cakes, since I'd had a hand in making them. Although I'd only cracked the eggs and stirred the batter, I'd never been as proud of anything in my life.

  --

  Because we didn't trust Conall with the cakes, I stayed in the kitchen to guard them while Meg went upstairs to get ready.

  She returned looking like a Valentine's Day dream, in a figure-hugging dress printed with tiny red hearts, her hair carefully arranged, and lips painted into a vermilion cupid's bow. Her high-heeled shoes were made of red suede, with pretty lace-up fronts. They had to be brand-new--I couldn't imagine suede surviving a single day in that climate.

  I also noticed she was wearing stockings, and a smile crept across my face. She followed my gaze, blushed, and smiled back.

  "What do you think?"

  "I think Rory will be knocked off his feet," I said. "I think you'll be the belle of the ball."

  "Well, at least I won't have to worry about so-and-so over there trying to lick the gravy browning off my legs."

  Conall's tail slid back and forth.

  It was my turn to get dressed for dinner, but I hesitated. I knew I wouldn't have another chance to talk to her alone, and I wanted to say something about her imminent proposal. I found myself tongue-tied, probably because I was distinctly unqualified to offer advice in the marriage department. Eventually Meg saved me.

  "Now go on," she scolded, flicking her fingers toward the door. "Make yourself up properly. Tonight, more than ever, beauty is your duty! Even if it's wasted on your pair of Boring McBoringtons over by the fire, the others will notice. And your dress had better be fancy. And it had better be red, especially tonight! Remember, red is the new badge of--"

  "I know! I know!" I said, cutting her off with a laugh. "I'll wear red! And good luck tonight! Not that you'll need it!"

  I sprinted off before she could reply.

  --

  I made up my face as though I really were going to a party, and chose a red taffeta poodle dress that didn't look expensive, because it wasn't. I'd bought it myself, off the rack, before Ellis took control of my wardrobe.

  Finally, I used an eye pencil to draw a shaky line up the back of each leg. I wanted to fit in, not stick out, and that night, especially, I didn't want to steal anyone's thunder.

  --

  By the time Ellis and Hank came through the front door, their cheeks flushed with the elements and whatever else, the other side of the room was filling up.

  "Well, would you look at that," said Hank, coming to a halt.

  The mood was electrifying. The girls, all impeccably groomed, were admiring the cakes, which had been presented but not cut. The lumberjacks also made noises about the cakes, but were really admiring the girls. I couldn't help wondering which ones were expecting rings.

  Meg was standing next to a table of girls from the Forestry Corps. She leaned over to point out how the coalie flower had transformed since Anna conjured it into being, but I knew exactly what she was really doing. It took but a moment.

  "Wait--those are real seams!" squealed one of the other girls. "How on earth did you get your hands on stockings?"

  The lumberjacks murmured surprise, as though they weren't already looking at Meg's legs. Having been given an excuse, they stared openly, hungrily.

  "Oh," Meg said, shrugging coyly. "They magically appeared." She turned her ankle to better display the back of her calf.

  Hank and Ellis watched all this from just inside the door. Finally, Hank dug an elbow into Ellis and they launched themselves toward the fire.

  Ellis tripped on the edge of the rug and fell forward, catching himself on the back of a chair. He navigated his way around it, clutching it all the while, and dropped onto its seat. His eyes were bloodshot, his forehead was shiny, and I was shot through with dread.

  Hank was so busy looking at Meg that he planted himself squarely on the arm of the second chair before tumbling sideways into it, leaving his head hanging over one upholstered arm and his legs dangling off the other. After a few seconds of stunned surprise, he hauled himself upright.

  Ellis looked me up and down. His eyes narrowed. His lip curled in disgust. "What's this?"

  I knew he meant my cheap dress and lack of stockings, but I feigned ignorance.

  "They're going to a dance," I said. "It's Valentine's Day."

  "It's what?" said Hank. "Oh shit. I should have sent something to Violet."

  "No, I meant this...getup," said Ellis, waving the back of his hand toward me. "It's like a combination of scullery maid and streetwalker."

  I clamped my mouth shut. There was no point in explaining why I was dressed the way I was. There was no point in doing anything at all, except keeping quiet and hoping the moment would pass.

  "Well, I think she's a sight for sore eyes," said Hank, still fixated on Meg. "If I'd known she'd be so excited about a pair of stockings, I would have given her a dozen. I'd have given her as
many as she wanted. In fact, there's no telling what I might give that girl. With that face and figure, she could come up in the world, like Maddie's mother." He swung his head briefly toward me. "No offense, darling girl."

  "Don't take up with trash, Hank," said Ellis, still staring at me. "Blood will out. It always does."

  "What?" Hank asked vaguely. He was back to gazing at Meg's calves.

  "You can't make a silk purse is what," said Ellis.

  "No, those are definitely silk. Look at those gams. I bet they're a mile long. They deserve nothing less than the finest silk..."

  "Hank?" I said desperately. I waved, trying to get his attention. "Hank!"

  He glanced quickly and said, "You look nice, too, Maddie. Definitely a silk purse."

  "So, Maddie, this silk purse of yours," Ellis said with deadly purpose, "is it red, or is it green?"

  Adrenaline blasted from my core to my extremities.

  "I beg your pardon?" I said.

  "It is red, or is it green?"

  "It's a fine brocade, a veritable smorgasbord of color," said Hank, still completely oblivious to the parallel conversation.

  "Maddie? You didn't answer me," said Ellis. The corner of his right eye began to twitch.

  "I can't," I said, looking into my lap.

  "And why's that?"

  "Because you were right."

  "About what?"

  "About everything."

  "Say it!"

  "Fine! There's no silk purse! There's only a sow's ear!"

  He gave a bitter laugh. "Submission is a color that suits you, my dear. You should wear it more often."

  "I suppose you would know," I said, before turning toward the bar.

  Meg was serving slices of cake to an admiring audience. Rory had still not arrived, and while she was putting on a brave face I could tell she was wilting.

  "I'd have some of her cake, oh yes indeed," Hank said with a low whistle. He swiveled suddenly in his seat. "Say, kids--I just had a crazy idea! Let's go to the dance--it'll be like the servants' ball at Christmas. You two lovebirds can do your own thing, and I...well, I might just find a pretty little lovebird of my own. To tide me over, so to speak."