Chapter 76 Mallory Plantation—Elliott #4
“The price went up for anyone who didn’t reserve,” Braham said. “It’s twenty now.”
“That’s very entrepreneurial.” Meredith glanced at Elliott. “Did you get the five-dollar seats?”
“They came to me first. And while buying all the tickets was tempting, I didn’t want to ruin their fun.”
“If you’d done that, they’d have opened another section,” Charlotte said.
“The most expensive seats are on my pontoon. Laurie Wallis organized the teenagers, and they sold executive seats for a hundred dollars each.” She leaned closer.
“Remy bought all of them—big surprise for Skye’s first fireworks display. ”
Braham chuckled. “I didn’t have the heart to tell the lad Chicago had fireworks in Skye’s time, but I’m sure she’ll act sufficiently impressed.”
“The secret is safe with us.” Elliott gazed out at the couples brought together by a brooch, and at the teens and college students not yet certain of their paths. The responsibility for the future pressed in, knotting his throat.
Meredith leaned close, her whisper brushing his ear. “Thank you for all of this.”
He covered her hand with his and pressed it gently. “The best is yet to come, love.” He drew a shaky breath, sensing how tightly joy and sorrow braided together in him these days. “Keep your heart open. Tonight will stir more than light in the sky.”
“I’m not sure I’m ready for that.”
Remy started off the concert with his usual drum solo, but this time Marcelle joined him on trumpet for “Sing, Sing, Sing.” Even Elliott and Meredith ended up on their feet, cheering, until the song landed in a rousing round of applause.
They followed with several numbers from their Chicago set in 1928, including Skye’s duets with Archibald.
Rick’s duets were saved for the second half.
When the McBain twins appeared with bagpipes, the first wail of “Scotland the Brave” pulled everyone to their feet. Elliott’s throat tightened to the point of aching. Music, he realized, had always been the clan’s true language.
Five drum majors preceded the twins. Rory, wearing a MacIntyre plaid, led tonight. Joseph, Phin, Rocco, and Jean followed behind him in formal Highland dress, bearskin hats, ceremonial maces held upright.
By the time they reached the stage, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house.
“Bravo! Bravo!”
Rory approached the microphone. “Before we head down to the river, we have a special performance by Clay MacIntyre on guitar and Kit MacKlenna on vocals. Please give it up for Clay and Kit.”
“What’s she going to sing?” Meredith asked.
“I’m not sure.” Elliott had a pretty good idea, but he didn’t want to ruin it for her.
“Many years ago, I sang this with Uncle Sean. While this song conveys a universal message of simplicity and freedom, it holds a deeper meaning for a family of travelers. If you know the words, I hope you’ll sing with me.”
“’Tis the gift to be simple, ’tis the gift to be free / ’Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be / And when we find ourselves in the place just right…”
There was a rich, expressive quality to Kit’s voice. The high notes seemed to come easier, even through tears.
“’Twill be in the valley of love and delight / When true simplicity is gain’d / To bow and to bend we shan’t be asham’d / To turn, turn will be our delight / Till by turning, turning we come round right.”
The entire clan sang through their tears, the words binding them together. Elliott smiled at Skye, who had most recently turned round right.
Cullen picked Kit up, twirled her, and kissed her, and the crowd erupted in applause. Then Rory returned to the mic. “If ye’ll head down to the river, our awe-inspiring fireworks show will start promptly at ten.”
Joseph grabbed the microphone. “I’m supposed to tell you that if you have a reserved seat, the ushers will help you find it.”
“Who are the ushers?” Rory asked, forgetting the mic was still live.
Joseph shrugged. “Don’t know. I was just told to announce that. Come on, let’s get our snacks to take to the pier.”
“I don’t think there’s room,” Rory said. “The girls used their blankets to mark off most of it for themselves. There’s not much left.”
“I knew we should have gone earlier,” Phin muttered.
“We’ll just sit on their blankets,” Joseph said.
“Sit with the girls? Are you nuts?” Phin said.
“They’re not all bad,” Joseph said.
“Can we ditch these stupid hats now?” Rocco asked—still live—drawing a rumble of laughter. When he realized, he set the mic down and bolted offstage, hollering, “We fucked up. Let’s get out of here.”
Meredith tsk-tsked. “If your warriors don’t clean up their language, the children will all sound like Marines.”
“If ye want them to quit, Mere, stop the payments to their trust accounts,” Elliott murmured. “If they can’t meet their commitments to their charities and take part in the investment club, they’ll be crushed.”
“I’ll ask Kevin to send out a notice with next month’s statements.”
Elliott stood. Meredith looped her hand through his elbow, and he escorted her to their seats on the riverbank—Charlotte and Braham on one side, David and Kenzie on the other.
“Did ye get to rehearse with Bastien?” Elliott asked David.
“I did, but I’m not sure I’m up for a duet with him. We’re playing ‘Careless Whisper.’ He’s so good, he could go on tour with Skye if that ever happens.”
“Yeah, but ye’ve got the sex appeal thing going on.” Kenzie leaned in close enough that her knee brushed his. “And that never goes away. I mean, Bastien’s a sexy, good-looking man. But you?” Her smile turned wicked. “You’ve got that dangerous, make-women-do-stupid-things kind of charm.”
Elliott chuckled.
David did too—low and slow. “That’s only ye, Kenz.” His gaze dipped to her mouth. “But I like the thought.”
She kissed him—quick, deliberate, promising. “I knew you would.”
He shifted in his chair. “Ye’re killing me, Kenz.”
“That’s just my warm-up.” Her lips grazed his skin as she leaned close. “Hang on, McBain. It’s going to be a wild night.”
Elliott cleared his throat. “I just remembered what I wanted to ask ye earlier. Did one of ye talk to Bastien about his business? The last time we talked, he didn’t know if he was going to sell it or not.”
“He’s keeping it for now,” Braham said. “Bastien told me he talked to Cam Lenox the other day, and Cam’s about ready to make a change.”
“I’d rather Cam come work for us,” David said. “But if Bastien makes him an offer, I won’t counter. I don’t want to compete against him.”
“Ye don’t have to,” Elliott said. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t remind Cam he’s got a standing seven-figure offer with MacCorp.”
“Let’s give Bastien a chance first,” Meredith said. “If Cam doesn’t take the deal, he’ll stay with Northbridge, and you can make him an offer in a few months.”
“Good idea,” Elliott said. “That’s enough business for tonight.” He took Meredith’s hand and kissed her wrist, breathing in the scent of her three-butter lotion—sweet chocolate beneath the warmth. “Happy Fourth.”
The first notes of “America the Beautiful” blared from the speakers, followed by a high-pitched whistle—the only warning before a red-and-gold chrysanthemum erupted into a flowered sphere that unfurled across the sky. Fiery petals rained down in a bright shower of sparks.
“Where are the earplugs?” Elliott asked.
“In your shirt pocket,” Meredith said.
A deep, chest-rattling boom shook the still night air. Then a Catherine wheel erupted into motion, spinning frantically—a pinwheel of scarlet and copper that held the eye in a hypnotic dance. The sour, metallic scent of gunpowder drifted on the wind.
Meredith gasped.
A flash came next—a blinding pulse that burned an afterimage into Elliott’s retina. For an instant, it lit faces along the riverbank. His breath caught. Then darkness dropped back over the crowd as rockets screamed upward, one after another, in a spectacular barrage.
A chorus of “Ah!” rose around them.
A peony bloomed—pure light—followed by another trailing a ribbon of shimmering silver that drifted slowly back to earth.
The grand finale was not a single explosion but a sudden descent into chaos.
Dozens of fiery comets crisscrossed as they rose, turning the sky into a battlefield of color.
The roar was constant—thunderous booms breaking into sharp, crackling bursts.
The air filled with the smell of scorched earth and spent pyrotechnics.
For a minute that stretched into an eternity, the night ceased to exist, consumed by light.
Elliott struggled to refocus. He pulled out the earplugs and slid them into his pocket. “I’ll be right back,” he said.
He stepped into the woods near the riverbank, the muffled quiet closing around him like a long-lost friend. His hands were still shaking. When a voice came from the darkness, his heart reacted before his mind could catch up.
“How did you know I was here?”
Elliott turned slowly. That voice—calm, even, achingly familiar. For a heartbeat, he couldn’t breathe. Then his throat worked, words emerging slowly. “I’ve sensed it all day,” he said. “When’d ye arrive?”
“A few hours ago.”
The silhouette stepped forward—broader now, older, but unmistakable.
Erik.
“Did ye find what ye needed on the boat?” Elliott asked, his voice tinged with anticipation—and relief.
“I did,” Erik said, a small, grateful smile forming. “Thank you.”
They stood facing each other, a slow wind moving between them. Elliott could smell salt and smoke clinging to him. It hit with a rush of buried memories—battlefields, laughter, betrayal.
“What’s next?” Elliott asked finally, muscles aching with caution he couldn’t hide. “Are ye going to hide out on that boat of yers, hoping family wanders by?”
“I want to talk to David,” Erik said, voice low. “If no one wants me here, I’ll go back to the late 1900s. Live in New York City. I know what I did, Elliott. I cannot blame it only on Vivica. We thought our deception would save you all. I am sorry for that.”
The simple apology hit harder than any justification. Elliott’s fingers flexed at his side. Part of him wanted to strike. Part wanted to grab him and shake him for disappearing. “I didn’t think ye had those emotions anymore.”
Erik’s eyes caught the moonlight. “Vivica does not. But I do. And I have loved deeply, honorably. Your friendship is the finest gift I have ever had. If you can forgive me… I will spend the rest of my life proving worthy of it.”
Something caught in Elliott’s chest—the deep pull of loyalty and grief, honed by almost eighty years of habit. At last, he stepped closer, arm extended. His voice didn’t need volume; grief gave it weight. “Ye only get one second chance with me, Erik. Betray me again, and there won’t be a third.”
Erik gripped his hand. Before Elliott could brace for it, Erik pulled him into an embrace. The contact punched the air from Elliott’s lungs—shock collapsing into a surge of emotion he couldn’t name. Then Erik released him and turned away, fading into the shadows.
Elliott stood rooted, the echo of that embrace still hanging in his bones, unsure if what he felt was forgiveness or the start of another wound.
Behind him, leaves rustled—David’s voice, a little raw. “So, he’s here.”
Elliott turned. “Aye.”
“What’d ye say?”
“That he has one second chance, and if he ruins it, he’s done. He’s on his boat if you want to see him.”
David nodded. “I’ll talk to Kenz first.”
They walked back together in silence, fireworks’ smoke curling low over the river.
When they reached the pavilion, a familiar melody drifted across the crowd. Rick and Skye were on stage, performing “You’ve Got a Friend.”
“You just call out my name / And you know wherever I am / I’ll come running to see you again…”
Meredith smiled softly when she saw him. He sank into the chair beside her. She reached for his hand without question.
He closed his fingers around hers and exhaled into the night—the music, the river, the lingering scent of gunpowder and roses drifting on the wind.