She let him in, giving him her full attention, even though he knew she was busy with predawn preparation. Her eyes misted when he told her what had happened. When he told her of Flora’s request, her lips began to tremble.
“I had a wee lass once,” she said. “But you already know that. You’ve seen Flora’s dresses.”
“I think you are going to have another wee lass, if it won’t be a burden.”
“No burden,” she assured him, all business now. “You bring her over here with her clothes and her kittens. I’ll have her help me finish these buns. Then we’ll find a nice room.” She sat down suddenly as though she had lost all strength and put her hands over her eyes. “Have you ever prayed really hard for something, Mr. Bowden?”
He couldn’t think of a time, but he knew it wasn’t a question that needed answering. He left her there and went back to Gran’s little place, a house that he knew belonged to the Church of Scotland, one of several hovels parceled out to the Highlanders who straggled south.
Flora was dressed and ready to go when he returned. Her few possessions were tied in a sheet that she kept lifting to her face to dry her eyes. She sat on Olive’s lap in the room’s only chair, looking young, small, frightened, and far from Edgar’s most engaging entrepreneur. Olive had rounded up the kittens and mama cat into a basket.
Douglas knelt by the chair. “Mrs. Dougall didn’ttrample me down only because she is making her buns for the six o’clock coach.”
His reward was a tiny smile. “Does she need some help in the kitchen? I helped her once before.”
“So she told me. Aye, she can use your help. And then she’ll find a nice room for you. Shall we go?”
He stood up and held out his hand. She hesitated only a second before putting her hand in his. She tugged on his hand. “Gran got me to a good place, didn’t she?”
“The best place. We’ll take care of things here.”
The door to the Hare and Hound was wide open, with both Dougalls standing there. “It’s early but you’re welcome here, lassie,” the innkeeper said, his voice none too steady.
Whatever resolve Flora had mustered dissolved at the sight of Brighid Dougall’s open arms. With a sob, she dropped her bundle and threw herself into the woman’s embrace. Douglas stood there a moment, relieved beyond words, as Brighid picked her up and murmured words of comfort.Olive, do that for me, he thought, then banished the idea. He was a grown man, after all.
He stood in the street, tired down to his toenails. He knew the morning would bring the women to Gran’s place to wash her body, try to find a dress that wasn’t in tatters, and prepare her for the long sleep. He wasn’t needed there; this was now the women’s domain. He wondered if Flora would spare him one of the other kittens, then reminded himself that he was leaving.
He glanced at the tearoom, seeing lights on. Probably despairing of any return to sleep, he imagined Olive was in the kitchen, preparing for a new day. He wanted to talk to her, to make light of whatever she had discovered about his dreams, but he knew any woman as smart and practical as Olive Grant would see right through his paper-thin disclaimer.
There was nowhere to go but back to his house. Hecouldn’t face a return to bed. Just the thought made him break out in sweat, maybe even afraid that if he opened the door, his dead men would tumble out. No, better to remain below deck and wrap bandages or inventory his medicines.
He sat on a chair in his surgery waiting room and dozed until he could go to Olive’s tearoom with a crowd of workers and their families, preparing for a new day of work in the newly resurrected ship yard. He could sit with them and not have to face any look of concern or pity on Olive’s pretty face.
She knows, he thought in misery,she knows.
Chapter 33
Wrapped in her yellow andblack plaid with red strands, Elizabeth MacLeod was buried the next day in a small patch of sunlight quickly replaced by misty rain. She was far from her glen in the Highlands but now cradled on another silent shore that the minister assured everyone was far better than this one. No one disagreed.
Olive felt her heart lift when one of the Highlanders in Charlie MacGregor’s crew piped “Flowers of the Forest” for Gran MacLeod.
“If I’m not mistaken, that’s the same air that he piped for Brian Hannay a week ago,” Doug Bowden whispered to her.
“Aye, it is,” she whispered back. “I told you before, ’tis our funeral song.”
He nodded and directed his attention back to the crude coffin. Olive could nearly feel the embarrassment that radiated from him, but somehow, he had been drawn to stand beside her anyway. She knew she could ignore the matter, as he may have wanted to in some portion of his troubled mind, or she could do what she thought he reallywanted. She held his hand, giving it a brief squeeze before letting go.
It was left to the men to walk Gran’s coffin to its new Scottish home. The women and children returned to the tearoom to complete preparations on the modest meal they would serve when the men finished.
Her expression set in stone, Flora MacLeod brought out the plates of food. Every now and then, Olive heard a sobbing breath from the child, which always brought Brighid Dougall to her side, even if only for a light touch.
You have a fine instinct, Brighid, Olive thought, envying her for the smallest moment. A less kind Olive Grant would have demanded that the innkeep’s wife give the child to her, she who would never have children of her own, the way matters stood. An even less kind Olive would have reminded Brighid Dougall that she once had a daughter and she still had sons living, albeit far away in India in service to the king. Couldn’t she at least share Flora MacLeod?
But Olive was none of those Olives. She kept silent and worked, the only remedy she knew for a heart broken.
And there matters would have stood, if Brighid had not come to her for advice a few days later, after Edgar returned to the business of rebuilding itself.
Brighid had made it a habit to bring over any extra cinnamon buns remaining after the morning coach came and went. “They never keep,” she had said when she began the habit, even though all the grateful recipients of the delicious treats saw right through her. Olive even suspected the woman of making another batch, just so she could say she had leftovers to share.
