Chapter Four Friends #2
“Of course we do. D’ye no’ mind that Wuillie Mackintosh was the one who was so drunk at Uncle Galation’s stag night that he turned to stone in a wheelbarrow and won that wee lassie who runs the castle fishing tours an award for most unusual sculpture?”
“Wuillie?” Little Wuillie, small and impish, barely a boy, still more of a bairn. Gargoyles can live centuries, so I wonder if this is him, all grown, or someone else.
“Ma, maybe you remember your parents talking about a gargoyle who died when an American bought Castle Mackintosh, way back in the 1800s. Snapped a wing off in his stone sleep and never woke?”
“Ah, that was sad, a fine young soul, built like his father, old Hamish Mackintosh.”
“That’s my father. My father,” I whisper excitedly.
“He’s not dead. He’s been mended and sent to Pine Ridge.”
What happens next, I cannae describe all that well.
There’s lots of yelling and crying out, and the sound of people rushing for other tiny little boxes.
The women have come in from the kitchen now, and they too start, looking up numbers and doing something called “face time,” “three-way calling,” and “merging.”
Lady June comes out of her room to help, eyes pink and lids puffy, still smiling bravely. “Did they find your family?” she whispers, taking my hand in her own and squeezing.
It feels like she gripped my heart, as well. “Yes, we’re finding it now.”
DUNCAN TALKS UNTIL dawn, and I take notes. I’ve scribed for enough students who can’t spell or just refuse to write to be super efficient at it.
When the sun is up, there’s a smiling stone statue in my lawn, and I pull one of the Adirondack chairs off the porch to sit in front of him in the sweet, misty morning sunshine filtering through the mountain’s foothills.
I sigh, staring at his relaxed face. He is in some kind of “I will rip your face off if you approach this cabin” position, but he’s got the most serene smile. Body and face don’t match, but it’s weird how I feel both peaceful and protected just sitting near him.
“Can you hear in your stone sleep? I forgot to ask. Anyway, I don’t wanna keep you up, but I want to garden a little bit before I go to bed.
I’m becoming nocturnal—and you know what?
That’s okay. I can garden at night. It’s cooler, and the moon is so bright out here away from the light pollution.
” I lean back in the chair and close my eyes, open them again, and stare down at my lap, which is covered in notes written on the back page of a calendar.
Wuillie, Amy, Freddie, Isa, Ambrose— old clan still alive, now adults. Inverness, Glasgow, and Ontario.
47
I stop and add notes to that.
46 clan members accounted for, with Duncan making 47.
There are strings of phone numbers and emails. The “family reunion” is still held every August in Scotland, but no one guards the old castle anymore.
I smile and resist the urge to doodle around the next section.
Wuillie’s granddaughter is part of the Gilcreedy village council.
When she “discovers” that Daniel removed an artifact from the site (namely Duncan), something he was expressly told not to do by some Scottish historical preservation society, he’s going to get his planning permission revoked.
I snap a picture of Duncan, focusing the camera on the broken wing, the clear identifying mark, something someone will connect to the records of what Daniel repaired and shipped, the people he hired, etc.
etc. With a click of a button, it’s off to Gemma in Gilcreedy, and I only hope she sends me back a blow-by-blow account of what happens when Daniel and his rich partners and investors find out that their project is going to go “poof” because he decided to show off and surprise his garden-obsessed girlfriend.
Ex-girlfriend.
I push the sadness away and think about the next section of notes.
If Gemma can’t get the planning permission revoked quickly enough...
My smile stretches.
Any clan members left in the UK, and some of Genesis’ clan, too, are going to start a midnight mischief campaign.
Steal blueprints. Turn cranes upside down.
Hide the construction equipment in the woods and the loch.
Take sections of stone that were already excavated and put them back the way they were.
The workmen may think the place is haunted or at least under attack by a corporate rival.
Between the planning permission problems and the midnight marauding, Daniel’s going to lose a fortune, and Clan Mackintosh’s gargoyle members, working through the Gilcreedy granddaughter, might be able to get their castle back and work to restore it to its historical glory.
Will it turn a dime? No. Will the clan be able to live there, together again? Yes, if they want to.
“It was a good night’s work, Dunc. And it wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for you. You stirred your clan up. You’re the patriarch, I guess.” My smile falters. I just met this strange creature, this noble, old-fashioned guy with wings and horns, but I’ll miss him when he leaves.
“It’s the leaving season, I guess,” I whisper, pushing myself out of the chair and heading for my gardening gloves.
The growing season, too.
I’ll have to leave this garden at the end of July. I guess I always knew I would, but I thought... I thought I’d come back.
I won’t be able to afford it, not on my salary. There won’t be a wedding here, or a honeymoon here. Practically speaking, there’s no reason for me to keep working on the landscaping of the lodge. I’ll never see it again.
I’ll probably never see Duncan again, or Pine Ridge.
This will just be the sweet part of the worst, most bittersweet summer ever.
I swallow hard and pull on my gardening gloves.
You don’t garden just for your own enjoyment. You do it to make the world brighter, more beautiful.
I plant a ring of pale purple petunias, interspersed with dark pink ones. The effect is going to be beautiful. The ring of azaleas. Then hydrangeas. Then these littler guys, all drawing the eye.
They all lead to Duncan, the centerpiece.
My odd new friend that I’m going to miss. I wonder if he’ll head home tonight or wait until his wing is healed?
Part of me hopes he waits until August to go home for his reunion.
“I bet you can’t hear me, but when I’m with company, I tend to put on my tough girl face. I just want you to know that you’re a beautiful soul. A loyal heart. A true gentleman. Clan Mackintosh is lucky to have you—and I was lucky to meet you.”
I know it’s silly, but I leap up to kiss his cheek when I’m done with my little speech, then head inside the house to sleep for a few hours. “Sweet dreams,” I call over my shoulder.