“Oh, my God, how did she know?” Nora said, turning the flower in her hands and then laying it next to its twin drawn in the book.
“Who?” Alistair questioned.
“The old woman on the hillside picking the dead flowers when we went to collect wood. She handed it to me and said I might be needing this later. How did she know? So weird.”
“That is strange, but maybe she figured you might get sick after being out in that storm.”
Perhaps, but Nora felt deep down that something more supernatural was at play, and it was about time they figured out what it was.
Chapter Fifty-Five
The Gibberish Notebook
Nora skimmed the page until she came to a section with instructions on how to process the yarrow into a tea that would help reduce a fever.
“Looks like we have just the thing to get Betty’s fever down, thanks to that old woman,” she said, handing Alistair the flower.
“Are you sure this is going to work? These flowers bloom in the summer here. It’s been dead for a while.”
“The book says it needs to be dried before making tea anyway. I’d say it’s dry enough,” she said with a chuckle. Alistair shrugged and flashed his dashing grin before rising with the flower in one hand and the candle in the other, making his way into the kitchen. Setting the candle on the island, he ignited the stove and placed the kettle on top.
Nora watched as he rummaged through the cupboard in search of a mug. The flickering candlelight accentuated his sharp features, emphasizing his jawline and cheekbones. He was grippingly handsome, and memories of their kiss resurfaced. Heat spread through her as the events of last night replayed in her mind. She wondered if she might have another chance to kiss him like that again or if that moment had passed.
She found it hard to believe that the man standing before her was the same one she had bumped into at the market. He seemed like an entirely different person now. She supposed everyone had their bad weeks, and she had apparently met him during one of his. His gruff exterior had gradually faded, revealing someone charming and humorous underneath, someone she genuinely liked, someone she might be falling for. What would be the point though? Even if they did have a connection, she was returning to Vermont in only a few days.
“How long does it say to steep the flowers?” he asked as he poured the boiling water over the flower heads and snapped her out of her thoughts.
“Dried flower heads should be steeped for ten to fifteen minutes,” Nora read from the book.
“Perfect, we have a bit of time to check something out in your gran’s picture album.”
He walked back over to the sofa, picked up the album from the coffee table, and then sat beside Nora. “I need to see something,” he said, flipping through the album until he reached the last few pages. “Look.” He pointed at a photo of the loch from the vantage point behind the cottage where they had gathered wood.
“It’s the hillside,” Nora said, looking down at the photo. Even after all these years, the landscape still looked almost identical. The idea that she was here in the same place her grandmotherhad been and experienced the same views and surroundings sent a warmth through her, making Nora feel close to her once again.
Alistair pointed to a photo of a small cottage white as snow, tucked at the base of a large mountain overlooking a loch. “I wonder where this place is?” he asked.
Nora peeled back the yellowing film that held the pictures in place and removed the photo, turning it over to read the inscription on the back. Her grandmother was nothing if not thorough when it came to marking dates and places on each of the photos. This photo had a date of 12/31/1943 scrolled along with the wordsFernbeg Cottage, Oban, Flora.
This must have been the cottage at the center of the rift between Marjorie and Flora, Colin’s other sister, the disagreement of which he had mentioned in the last letters. The very same cottage that Cora’s grandmother had lived in and passed down to her.
“Aye, Oban. Great Scotch,” he said with a wink.
“I think we have both had enough Scotch for a few days,” Nora said, flashing him a sly grin as she remembered the taste of it on his lips.
As she turned the photo back over, her eyes fixed on the image. The idea that she was related to the real people and places in the little red book still left her head spinning. Now that she had confirmed the connection to her ancestors, she felt a growing desire to confide everything to Alistair, but the challenge was how to tell him that her grandfather had been on a quest to break a family curse. Alistair seemed open-minded, and she thought that he would be interested in the odd mystery she was unfolding about her family. But there was always a chance that all this weird shit might scare him. But she decided to take the risk.
Just as she was about to tell him, he stood up and walked toward the door.
“I’m going to take the tea over to Betty and stock up her fire so it lasts her through the night. Be back in a bit. No pulling any stunts while I’m gone,” he said, shooting her his infectious smile. He pulled on his coat and boots, then walked back into the kitchen to get the mug before heading out the door.
“Okay. Tell Betty I hope it makes her feel better.”
He smiled, nodded, then left, disappearing into the darkness.
Nora turned her attention to the book she had pulled from the shelf just before Alistair had returned. She was eager to see what was in it and why it seemed to glow. Asking Alistair if he saw it glow had been tempting, but she hesitated, not wanting him to think her any stranger than he already might. Adding this to the growing list of oddities wasn’t something she was ready to do just yet.
Even now she could see a faint hue of blue on its edges, just like the aura she had seen around the little red book the night before. She rubbed her eyes, wondering if it was the candlelight playing tricks on her.
