Chapter 13 Graeme
Chapter 13 Graeme
Someone needed to protect this woman.
Even if it meant protecting her from herself.
I sighed as I rebandaged Lachlan’s leg and then carried him up to his room to rest with a video game. The wound wasn’t bad
enough to take him to an emergency room, but the sprained ankle would keep him grounded for a wee bit. Probably not long enough.
The lad barely stayed down for long.
“Katie may not be good at fishing or like Irn-Bru, but she’s good at tending,” Lachlan said as I helped him out of his wet
shirt and pants to replace them with dry. “Like Mum.”
The declaration hit my heart with an added pang. I was already beating myself up about how hard I was on her when she’d shown
up at the cottage with my wounded nephew, knowing full well the situation wasn’t her fault. But adding thoughts of Greer to
it?
A double stab. Guilt and grief.
Lachlan regularly arrived with scrapes and bruises. And I always fought against overreacting because, well, he was my responsibility,
and I wasn’t keen to see someone else I love hurt... or worse.
Certainly Katie had a tendency toward trouble, but it was clear she never meant to hurt anyone. And there was a sincerity
to her that kept sneaking beneath my defenses and hitting my curiosity or funny bone or... heart.
“Aye, she has a bit of your mum in her.” I handed him his video game controller.
“Though Mum knew the island better.”
My jaw twinged from the effort to maintain my composure. “Well now, your mum grew up here, so she ought to know it.”
Lachlan nodded, his lips tipping a little. “She’s funny too.”
“Aye.” I rested my hands on my hips, and then the realization dawned. Her hair color. Her height. Both could easily remind
the lad of his mum. “Is Katie Campbell your sweetheart, lad?”
The boy’s eyes lit. “I’m still decidin’. She didn’t make fun when I cried like a baby after I fell, and she gives good hugs.
But she’s an American.”
He said the word like it was a deal-breaker, and the guilt in my chest deepened some more. Perhaps the wariness of outsiders
had been something he’d learned from me, a struggle of my own I didn’t even realize I’d communicated, especially after Allison
left. Home and the familiar had become safe, everyone and everything else, suspect.
Children acted as mirrors for the good and the bad, and right now the reflection stung. I lowered myself to the end of his
bed. “There’s nothing wrong with her bein’ American, is there now, lad? She cannae help it.”
“It’s not bad?”
I only hesitated a second, thinking of a humorous jab at Americans before stilling the inner comic. “All the things you liked
about Katie are the important things, not where she’s from.” I breathed in the words, relaying them to myself. “Doesnae matter
where she’s from or where she’s going if her heart is a good fit, does it, lad?”
“Aye, Uncle Graeme.” His smile brimmed. “Mum always liked talkin’ about visitin’ other places far away. I’d wager she’s looking
down on them now like a picture book.”
“That’s a good thought.” My throat closed off any other response.
“And I think she’d fancy Katie too.”
I didn’t trust myself to add more words, so I nodded and stood, tousling Lachlan’s hair before placing a quick kiss to his head and leaving the room.
It took a full minute to collect myself as I stood outside his door, only partly because of the constant grief of loss, but
even more due to the way I saw my own bitterness, and perhaps my own fear, in Lachlan’s words. I’d lived in protection mode
since Greer became sick, hemming in the family so everyone was close enough for me to see and protect. Trying to capture every
last moment, hold to every family tradition, sieve through every drop of life left in her to share with Lachlan for years
to come... and in my own way, keep her near. In the process I’d closed off possibilities and dreams and even a little faith
I used to have in what lay beyond the borders of my world.
And aye, Greer would have liked Katie, as Mum did. Seen to her heart.
I released a deep sigh and took the stairs back to the living room. Perhaps Katie was good at making trouble on the outside,
but I’d had trouble brewing within that spilled over to my actions and decisions.
And I needed to make things right.
Katie stood by the door, still wearing her wet jacket, and raised her gaze to me as I reached the bottom of the steps. “How
is he?”
The concern on her face only pummeled my shame anew. “He’ll be right as rain once he rests awhile.”
“Good.” She nodded her head of damp, wavy hair and stepped toward the door. “I don’t want to cause more trouble, and the rain
is lightening up a little.” She thumbed toward the door. I glanced out the window, the downpour blurring the view entirely.
“So if you’ll just point me in the direction of Craighill, I can—”
“I want to apologize.”
She paused in her steps toward the door and looked back over at me, brows rising.
“I... I’m truly sorry for being an utter roaster when you arrived.”
She glanced at me and then quickly looked back to the door, as if weighing her options. And no wonder.
I stepped closer. “It wasnae you; it was me. I know I cannae keep Lachlan safe all the time, but my sister entrusted him to
my care before she died, so I... well, I can sometimes overreact.”
Her dark round gaze flickered to mine, the residual timidity a devastating punishment for me. I’d never want to take the fire
from her. To wound her. “I wouldn’t hurt him, Graeme. I’d never want to hurt him.”
“I know.” I held her gaze, hoping she believed me, saw the desire to make things right. “Forgive me.”
She stared at me, eyes near full from a sudden swarm of tears. I’d seen Allison cry before, usually when we argued, but something
haunting and spellbinding entranced me in Katie’s expression. Honest. Searching.
What did she see?
I hoped much more than the eejit I knew I was.
Her gaze probed mine for long seconds as rain pelted the windows. Then suspicion and hurt melted into something unexpected.
A... tenderness?
No fighting back. No prolonging how she’d been wronged.
The gentle acceptance did something to my brain. Dazed me, maybe? Sent me off-kilter?
And ignited an indefinable connection to her. A deeper need to know her.
“I’m sorry about your sister,” she whispered. “She must have thought you were pretty wonderful to choose you for Lachlan.”
Her words pierced, almost stinging in a bittersweet way. “Or the least offensive of her options.”
“I doubt that’s true.” She smiled and looked away. “I mean, I’ve only met Lachlan and your mom, but I’d say your sister must
have thought pretty highly to choose you as a guardian over Mirren.”
“I volunteered.” My throat tightened around the words. “He was such a link to her, and I love them both.”
Her lips pinched as she audibly swallowed, and I knew she understood grief, whether she voiced it or not.
Quiet invaded the moment, and I gestured toward the room to redirect how exposed my heart felt. “This was her house. I moved
in to help care for her during her illness. There was no reason to leave once she passed. Besides, it’s been a good place
to heal.” I cleared my throat as familiar emotions rose to snatch at my voice. “And who wouldn’t want that view?”
I gestured toward the window, but the blinding rain dimmed my attempts at levity.
She smiled a little. Well, maybe the levity wasn’t lost after all.
“Did she make all of these sculptures too?” Her gaze roamed the room, noting each carving’s placement.
“She certainly encouraged wildlife sculpting.” I pushed my hands into my jean pockets, bracing for her response to my answer.
“But the sculptures are mine.”
Her attention flashed to me, and then she took another look around the room. “Yours.” She breathed in, almost in wonder, and
then looked back at me. “ You made these beautiful creations?”
One of my brows tipped. “It’s a wonder, isn’t it, since I’ve been so brutish to ye.”
“Maybe I wasn’t expecting such beauty beneath all that beasty-ness.” Her grin tipped wider.
“Och, lass.” I exaggerated a groan. “Dinnae say it like that.”
Her eyes lit with her laugh, and the world tilted back into its rightful place. She walked over to the puffin on the windowsill.
“What amazing craftsmanship, Graeme.” Her fingers skimmed over the puffin before she turned back to me. “These are remarkable.”
“Thanks.” I’d been praised before for my work, but her sincere admiration melted through me like a perfect cuppa. “It started as a hobby I did with my grandfather, and then, over the last few years, it’s become... more.”
“Of course it has. How could it not?” She lowered to her knee to examine the puffin more closely. “Well, this knowledge adds
a whole new twist on the idea of you as the resident handyman.”
“And butler, don’t forget.”
She tossed a grin over her shoulder as she stood, the look branding my mind. “How could I ever forget! Every manor house needs
a butler.”
The way her eyes swept over me warmed me through. And I tipped my head in curiosity, only to have her face flush as she looked
away.
She stepped forward to the side table by the couch. I followed her gaze to the paper on the table—the invitation to exhibit
my work in London.
“And you exhibit your work?”
Why did this keep coming up? First Mum, now Katie?
I stepped over to her and shook my head. “I’m not much of a traveler. Not with Lachlan, Craighill, and the work.” I took the
paper and placed it over on my nearby desk. “Sales are good enough online for now.”
“I bet they are.” She stepped back to the puffin. “But think of how many more people you’d inspire if they saw these in person.
I’m sure the visibility up close would only get your name out there even more and you could give up the butlering side job.”
Her easy teasing after I’d been harsh humbled me, and niggled her suggestion a little deeper than I’d allowed before. Inspire
people?
“How do you reckon I’d inspire people?”
“Doesn’t beauty always inspire us? I mean, it does me. Inspires my imagination. It’s one of the amazing parts of traveling.”
Her finger glided over the puffin’s wing, slow and—though she had no intention of it—seductive. The movement and her admiration
shoogled my pulse. “I’ve never seen a real puffin before, and they’re such interesting-looking creatures.”
“They’re a curious lot,” I offered, happy to move the conversation away from its current trajectory. “I’ll have to take you to see them, because even in sculptures there’s no way to do them justice.”
“Well, you must have gotten pretty close to create such detail. They look so real. I can’t imagine seeing your work and not
feeling awe.” She leaned close to the puffin. “So intricate. I’ve been all around the world, and your work is just as good
as some I’ve seen, and better than most.”
Her wonder kept settling deeper, softening the edge of my reserve. Making me want to... share. Could this be the way people
responded when I shipped my sculptures to them and they unwrapped them for the first time?
“It’s a joy.” I hadn’t meant to say it. I’d thought it hundreds of times but never voiced it to anyone, except Greer. The
realization shocked me back a step. Why now? Why Katie?
Her smile rewarded my blunder. “Well, I think your joy certainly comes through in what you do. It’s amazing how you can take
a piece of wood and create such beauty. What a gift!” She stood and stepped to the kestrel resting on the lone bookshelf in
the room. “It’s special when you can find something that really feeds your joy, isn’t it? I find it in bringing people’s stories
to life. Trying to find and highlight the beauty in them. I love knowing something I wrote or retold lightened someone else’s
day.” Her expression sobered as she stared at the bird. “Too many real-life stories end so hopelessly, don’t they? And it’s
a wonderful thing to unearth that one treasure in someone’s tale to bring it to the surface.”
Much like re-creating that one unique curve to a bird’s beak or a fox’s nose. Watching the wood come to life. And this was
a glimpse into her heart? What a contradiction, for the woman who wanted to lighten others’ burdens courted her own trouble
on a daily, if not momentary, basis.
I studied her. But perhaps one fueled the other? Or the trouble from her own hurts inspired her desire to bring joy to others through her stories? Just maybe we were both managing our wounds in the same way. “Do you write all the stories you hear?”
She turned toward me, her wet hair curling into waves around her face, bringing out the depths of those eyes. Or perhaps it
was the knowledge of what she held behind those eyes that gave them depth and feeling and attractiveness.
“Only the best ones. Or the ones with that golden lining of beauty.” She shrugged a shoulder. “And sometimes the funniest.”
Her gaze grew distant for a moment, and her countenance fell. “Some stories are too raw to re-create.”
Her own? Some unspoken grief held behind those eyes.
Rain still pelted the window, and I wasn’t anywhere near ready to have her leave just yet.
“Would you like some tea?” The request came out all raspy and gruff, so I shrugged a shoulder. “The rain’s not let up yet,
and the tea will take the chill off.”
Her smile returned with a nod. “Thank you.”
She followed me into the kitchen, where my breakfast table stood to one corner, some bric-a-brac littering one side of it.
I turned to apologize for the mess, but Katie had walked to a cupboard against the wall, gaze intent on a few of my carvings
there.
“Really, Graeme.” She touched a sculpture of Wedge on point. “As corny as it may sound, why would you ever choose to hide
this gift?”
I rolled my shoulders to keep them from stiffening at the assumption, or was she hitting too close to the mark? “I’m not hiding
it.” I filled the kettle with water. “It’s all there online.”
“Okay then...” She turned those large eyes on me, one ginger brow raised. “You hide yourself?”
Myself? Paired with my thoughts from earlier, I felt God was hammering the point home a little too repeatedly. I almost groaned.
But my stubborn head likely needed repetition.
“Though being invisible is a perfect butler move, from what I hear. And it adds a sense of mystery.”
Her humor eased the sudden tension in my neck but didn’t ease my mind. One of Allison’s arguments resurfaced. “You and your parents never leave Mull, Graeme. You tie yourself to this island like the outside world will swallow you up
if you leave. I need room for more. And I think you do too.”
I’d gone to university in Inverness and traveled to doctor’s appointments on the mainland with Greer. My thoughts came to
a halt, confirming my earlier revelation. I’d never been the traveling sort, but since Greer... I’d changed.
No wonder I wasn’t a hero. They were bold, daring. They faced their fears.
Had I let Greer’s death kill something inside me too, and in the grieving process I’d turned things around? Into a lie I now
believed?
Katie moved to another sculpture. One of my favorites I’d made for Greer three years ago when she’d first gotten her cancer
diagnosis. A shepherd cradling a lamb. I’d carved it with care to communicate to my best friend that no matter the storm,
she was held safe. It became as much a comfort to me as to her. A reminder of the truth when I lost faith so many times along
the way.
As Greer had said, “ Graeme, it’s not about your hold on God. It’s about His hold on you .”
And I’d never both challenged and understood that truth more than the last few months of her life and the year after her death.
I’d let go so often, raised my fists to the sky, refused to pray. And yet, God held on to my broken heart until the raw, cracked-wide
grief began to heal. Even now, as it continued to heal. Every day.
And as strange and braw as it seemed, God had brought Katie into my life to remind me of things my heart once knew. Once believed
it wanted.
I poured the hot water from the kettle over the tea leaves into a teapot my granny used to use. Greer too. My history was all around me. Everywhere. My job and family too. Could it be that I’d closed myself in with my trusted few as a way to shield myself from the hurt of Greer’s loss and Allison’s leaving? Tucked myself away from the world to “protect” my heart? But those things—my family and home—were never meant to be shields. Not from living life.
Why had I not considered it until now? Had it truly taken some American travel writer from across the world literally falling
into my life to get my attention?
Katie smoothed her thumb over the lamb’s head and glanced over at me. “I think I could handle a sheep like that... small
and sweet.” Her voice shook a little.
“Not a fan of sheep?” I swallowed through the hoarseness in my voice.
“They’re not fans of me. Although I can completely understand the biblical analogy as I’m so prone to wander and clearly”—she
shrugged a shoulder—“lose my way.”
Biblical analogy? That reference, along with some of her other comments, piqued my curiosity. “If you’re also prone to search
for a place of worship, you may want to steer clear of the church in Glenkirk.”
She wrinkled her nose with her frown. “Already been.”
I grunted my thoughts. She’d only been in Mull a week, so she must have visited this past Sunday. Very purposeful.
“It was a pretty small crowd, and nobody talked to me.” She raised her palms in defense. “I get that I’m a stranger, but I
was hoping for a little camaraderie among kindred spirits. It’s what I loved most about my grandparents’ church—that sense
of family.” She slid down in a chair at my little table, and the sight warmed my heart. “Good teaching, good people.” She
wiggled her brows. “And lots of eating.”
I coughed out a laugh and poured her tea, pushing the plate of biscuits toward her. “With those preferences in mind, I have
a place for you to try then.”
“Really?”
“’Tis called Livingston Chapel and it’s just beyond Glenkirk. We use an older building, but the congregation is fairly new
within the last ten years.”
“We?” Her brows rose as she watched me and then took a drink of her tea. “That’s your church?”
“Aye.” My lips twitched. “God’s not finished knocking the eejit from my head just yet, as you, no doubt, have noticed from
my agitation at times. I need the help.”
“Don’t we all?” Her smile spread across those lovely pink lips and brightened her eyes in a fascinating way. “Sounds like
the kind of place I should certainly visit, because I’m pretty sure there’s still some eejit to knock out of me too.”
***
Katie
Classes didn’t start until after lunch on Wednesday, so I took the opportunity for a morning walk since the sun shone fresh
upon the wet ground, beckoning for some photos. After yesterday’s storm, the already lush colors of Mull shimmered in richer
hues.
Or maybe part of it was my dazzled brain.
I’d barely slept last night after Graeme drove me back to Craighill. Mrs. Lennox even enquired after my health at dinner because
I remained so quiet. Not to worry, though, because she became distracted by Caesar skittering across the floor during the
third course and nearly derailing the entire fish dish as a faithful footman danced around the furry creature to keep from
spilling everything on his tray.
I could at least write that the Edwardian Experience oozed with the humorously unexpected. When Mr. Lennox mentioned how he was glad it was Caesar who had gotten loose instead of his pet python, Monty (very clever, Mr. Lennox), Mark turned twenty shades of pale.
But as I walked through the lovely morning, I just couldn’t get the previous afternoon and Graeme MacKerrow out of my head.
Sure, he had great shoulders. And I often got distracted by his eyes. And the way he rolled those r sounds reverberated in my chest like a warm bass drum. But there was so much more to him—grief and gentleness and creativity
and humor. Depth and humility. Ach! Tenderness.
My palm flew to my chest as I took the path into Glenkirk.
And he’d invited me to his church ?
How is a girl supposed to go back to a normal way of thinking after such a combo? But that was completely ridiculous because
I was leaving and he was clearly linked to Mull. He even owned an ancestral manor house! If that didn’t shout tied to Scotland , what did?
But... I just couldn’t shake this connection with him. I liked him. Not just the shoulders and the accent, but... him .
It’s like God put every possible combination of my daydreams together, including cute kid and dog (which I hadn’t even considered
before) and formed a perfect specimen of all my star-bright wishes from the last ten years.
Similar to one of those rare and childhood-defining moments when you actually won the coveted stuffed animal from one of those
claw machines in the store after spending much more money than the toy even cost. Except this was a million times better.
I looked up to the sky as I stepped onto the main street. Not fair, God. You can’t just dangle him in front of me, knowing I’m going to leave soon.
Oh, but what a view!
My face heated at the very idea. And my eyes got a little watery too, so I shook away the thought—mostly—as I entered Mirren’s
bookshop. And immediately realized it was Wednesday... at ten.
A rush of welcome exploded from the group of ladies in the corner, all waving me forward with their free hand as the other hand held some knitting object or other.
“We knew you’d come back to join us, Katie Campbell.” This from Maggie, who tucked her chin with her nod. “I saw it in your
eyes.”
Mirren rolled her gaze heavenward and approached me as I came forward. “It’s a braw day for a wee dauner.” My brain interpreted
the sentence in slow motion. A good day for a small walk? “I’m happy you dried out well after the dreich day yesterday.” And then Mirren turned to the group of ladies and thoroughly
tossed me into the lions’ den of matchmaking. “Katie rescued dear Lachlan after a fall and walked with him in the rain all
the way to Graeme’s cottage.”
“In the rain. Poor lass.” This from Lori, who offered the sweetest smile.
“Then they had a spot of tea.” Mirren’s knowing look brought out a collective “ah” from the other ladies, as if Graeme had
asked me on a date or something.
Which he hadn’t.
He’d invited me to church. But that’s not a date. Is it? It felt wrong to think of an invitation to church as a date.
Mirren gestured for me to sit and promptly placed a cup of tea in my hand. “And Graeme said Katie was attending Livingston
Chapel on Sunday next.”
The audible appreciation rose in volume. I could practically feel these knitters envisioning me in a wedding dress.
“How is Lachlan?” Maybe I could deter the flock of yentas from their current course.
“He’s healing nicely, thanks to your quick response,” Mirren answered.
“But let’s hear the other bits.” Bea scooted to the end of her chair like she was watching a suspense movie. “Mirren said
that you and Graeme were cooried up at the table when she arrived.”
My brows shot high. We were having tea and the table was small, so we sat a little close, but no coorieing like the twinkle in her eyes suggested. “I don’t think coorie is the right—”
“I fell in love with my husband the first time we had tea together.” Lori sighed as if recalling the moment in her mind.
“He’s a fine catch, Katie. Good heart.” Bea tapped her lips. “Strong jaw.”
He did have a nice jaw.
“And his heart needs tending with your sunshine, you ken,” Lori offered, her sweet smile full of daydreams. “The last lass
broke it thoroughly.”
“But she didnae belong, and we all knew it,” Maggie added, pointing toward her eyes. “Something in the eyes.”
“Now, ladies, she was a fine lass.” Mirren’s voice smoothed out the conversational ruffle. “But she didnae belong with Graeme
in all the ways they both needed.” Mirren sent me a look. “Their worlds didnae fit.”
Neither does mine , I wanted to say, but swallowed a sip of tea instead.
“The high and mighty sort, she was,” Maggie continued, sniffing the air as if the very memory of this lady carried a bad smell.
“She wouldnae have ever thought to wear plain and practical clothes like our Katie does.”
I looked down at my smudged jeans and yellow wellies. Plain and practical. Exactly what a girl wants to hear about her clothing
choices. Not sure if that helped my confidence or not. But the “our Katie” part softened the comparison a little.
“You’ll be a fine match for him, Katie,” Maggie added with a stiff nod. “Even if you are a Campbell.”
I pinched my grin into submission. “Thanks, Maggie.”
“And he’s in need of a charming lass like you. Adventurous, kind, tall...” This from Bea.
Tall mattered in romance? I shrugged. Well, it certainly could make kissing a little easier. Heat leaped into my face, so I took another sip of tea.
“Wear blue on Sunday to ensure you catch his eye,” Lori said. “He’s right fond of blue.”
Did all these ladies know him that well? Small town took on a new definition, though I’d never truly experienced it since the first ten years of my life. Dad
had us moving all over the world with his chaplain duties.
“Oh, and we’ll collect you some heather to wear to lure him in.”
Lure him in? With heather?
“It’s a potent flower and pure Scot.” Maggie winked, and I basked in the camaraderie, even if my cheeks were on fire.
Was this just a normal part of life for these ladies? The happy busybodying? The advice? The... care? My chest pinched
a little.
“Dinnae fash, Katie-girl,” Bea added. Oh great, the nickname was catching on. “We’ve all been married long enough to know
how to catch a lad.”
“Catch a lad?” The phrase tumbled out of me in a laugh.
I wasn’t even planning to stay in Scotland. I didn’t need to have needless ideas of catching a lad rolling around in my head
or heart. But arguing with the matchmakers seemed futile.
The pleasure in my grin spread all the way through my chest. I hadn’t had people this invested in my life in... a really
long time. And nothing quite like this. The feeling pressed in on me like a great and long-overdue hug.
So I gave in to the flurry. Just for now. Just to feel connected for the short two weeks I had left.
And as dangerous as the notion was to my heart, the idea of not embracing it for a little while hurt worse, because my lonely
heart wanted to hold on.
Even temporarily.
And I’d deal with the consequences later.