“I may come?” Flora asked.
“Most certainly. You are the merchant, Flora,” he said promptly.
He fetched his medical satchel from inside his office and hurried away. Olive pulled her chair closer to thetable, where Flora had already arranged the shells for the next souvenir that traveling folk might buy this summer as they journeyed through their little corner of Scotland.
Oh, please let them come and buy, Olive thought. She threaded a shell and tied the first small knot.Please, for Flora’s sake.
Chapter 19
Douglas chose the name forthe chimes that weren’t strictly chimes, the shells strung on catgut by a Highlands child who wanted to eat and not feel like a charity case.
After taking a good look at wee Davey McDaniel’s umbilical stump and a quick listen at his lungs, then a rewrapping of Captain Fergusson’s sprained ankle and a further admonition, probably fruitless, to stay off it, Douglas found Olive and Flora in the tearoom.
Tommy sat with them, discreetly scratching at his sutures.At least he does not lick them, Douglas thought. He nodded when Olive put a bowl of fish stew in front of him, thick stew with onions and leeks and speckled with butter. A thump on the floor meant that Duke was not so patient.
“I had a visit from Johnny McDaniel, the greengrocer,” Olive said. “He said the onions and leeks were for my kitchen.”
“He already paid me, and he asked what else he could do,” Douglas said and laughed. “His eyes nearly glittered when I told him that Miss Grant’s Tearoom could use whatever seconds he doesn’t need. Or maybe he was justtired from staying up late with little Davey. I mean, wee Davey.”
Flora cleared her throat and looked at him in so pointed a fashion that Douglas had to wipe his mouth just then so he would not laugh.This is a businesswoman, he thought, with considerable admiration.I think I am wasting her time.
“Tommy says we need a name for this,” Flora said and looked from one person to the next, reminding Douglas of an old sailing master getting the attention of midshipmen for a hated lesson on navigation. She had amazing poise for a six-year-old. “They aren’t really chimes.”
“No,” Tommy agreed. “Just something pretty to look at.”
Olive put in her two pence worth. “I like the swishing sound.”
They all looked at him, which Douglas found flattering. And there was little Flora, drumming her fingers on the table. Her serious expression touched his heart. As young as she was, this child of cruelty and misfortune knew exactly what was at stake with the little whatchamacallits.
“I collected my shells from the seven seas,” he said, “and they were too charming to pitch overboard. I hauled them from the Baltic to Australia.” He looked at each face, startled at how dear they were becoming to him. “Seven Seas Fancies, since they aren’t really chimes. What do you think, Flora?”
He knew who was in charge. A glance at Olive’s smiling heterochromatic eyes told him she understood too.
“I like it. How do we—”
“I have some stiff paper in with my ordinary stationery,” Olive said. “If we cut it in strips, poke a wee …” She flashed those marvelous eyes at Douglas again. “… a little hole and then tie it on with yarn or twine, that will do. We can write the price on it too.”
The others nodded. “What should we charge?” Floraasked. “I know we should pay you for your shells. Without them, we couldn’t do this.”
Where is this enormous love coming from?Douglas asked himself. He had never felt anything like it before, not in his life of war and wounds. He could no more charge Flora for his shells than fly.
“The shells are a gift, Flora,” he said simply. “I’ve never met a braver child than you.”
Other than Olive’s intake of breath and another kind look, the room was silent and the conspirators motionless. Slowly, Flora put out her hand. He took her small fingers in his, grasped her hand, and gave it a shake.
Her hand still in his, Douglas answered the question he thought he saw in her eyes. “I can get more exotic shells like these. I know a kind lady in Plymouth who has wanted to do me a favor for years.”
Flora swallowed and seemed to feel no inclination to let go of his hand. He knew there had never been a father in her life, that man who stood firm with the 93rd Sutherland Foot and died at the Battle of New Orleans. He tugged on her hand. “Flora, come sit on my lap.”
With no hesitation, she did precisely that, leaning back with a sigh that made him wonder how he could keep breathing, he who knew so much about respiration.
“What should we charge?” he asked and looked around. Everyone looked back at him. “Well?”
He realized that none of them, probably including Olive, had much experience with money. “Four pence,” he said decisively.
Flora and Tommy gasped. Even Duke, who had insinuated himself into the dining room thumped his tail. Olive seemed to be considering the matter, but mostly she was just smiling.
“Too much? Not enough?” he asked.
