Must Love Kilts by Allie Mackay

from her counter, one hand pressed to her chest.
    Margo swallowed. The hand she’d clapped to her breast trembled as several of the airborne dollars settled on her shoulders. One landed on her shoe.
    Her friends were grinning. Ardelle—who would’ve believed it?—blinked hard and then dashed a tear from her fearsome face.
    She recovered quickly, lifting an iron gray brow.
    “We surprised you, h’mmm?”
    “You—” Margo couldn’t get words past the thickness in her throat.
    “Good heavens, what have you done?” Margo found her voice. She looked from Ardelle to the other two women, and then back to Ardelle. They had stunned her. And she was torn between hugging and scolding them.
    “I can’t accept this.” She started scooping up dollars, stuffing them back into the envelope. “It’s too much and—”
    “It’s two hundred and fifty dollars.” Marta snatched the envelope from Margo’s hands and slapped it onto the counter. “Fifty each from us and a hundred from Donald, and we won’t take back a dime.”
    “I’m not touching it.” Margo held up her hands, palms outward. “And”—she braced herself to make a confession that still astounded her—“you couldn’t have known, but I emptied my stash of mad money before leaving for work. I’ll be using that cash for raffle tickets.
    “It’s enough.” She lowered her hands and folded her arms, hoping to deter objections. “I’ll have a fair chance of winning the raffle.”
    She hoped.
    Her emergency fund—kept in a long-emptied tin of Maisie’s Hand-Baked Oatcakes, an import from Scotland—hadn’t offered a tidy sum. She’d counted enough crumpled one-, five-, and ten-dollar notes to make ninety-six dollars. She’d then scrounged smallchange from the bottom of her purse to gain a round hundred.
    That was a lot of money for a girl on a shoestring budget.
    But she’d hoped for a bit more.
    Three hundred and fifty might buy her a good chance at winning the trip to Scotland.
    Still. . .
    “Read the note.” Marta slipped a card from inside the envelope and handed it to Margo. “Our wishes will bring you luck. Patience”—she flashed a glance at their employer—“spoke a blessing over them.” Margo took the card, opening it. She read the words aloud. “‘All your life, you’ve loved a special place hewn of rock, wind, and the sea. Now the time has come for you to go there. You’ll walk the hills with a spring in your step and thrill to the cold wind in your hair. The scent of heather and peat will delight your senses. Cloud shadows on the moors will rush to greet you and the whole of that wild landscape will embrace you as one of its own.’” Margo’s resistance crumbled more on each word. She glanced up, meeting her friends’ gazes before reading the last few lines. “‘Be welcomed by loch, bog, and wood. Show wonder to each shimmer of mist. Watch, listen, and absorb, until your heart is filled and you know you’re home. It is there you belong. So mote it be.’”
    “We all pitched in to write it.” Ardelle spoke briskly.
    Marta dabbed a tissue to her nose while blinking eyes that swam with brightness. “We sat down last night and tried to remember all the things you most wanted to see and experience in Scotland.”
    “We left out the ‘tang of cold brine’ and haggis.” Patience drew herself up, smoothing the pink and orange swirled folds of her caftan. “And you know”—she pinned Margo with a stare—“once such a blessing spell is cast, only a fool would rebuke it.”
    “I don’t know what to say.” Margo kept her hand tight against her breast.
    Her friends’ words said it all.
    And she was tempted.
    Never had she come so close to ignoring everything she believed in. She’d sooner burn in hell than be beholden to anyone. And—she couldn’t deny it—her pride wouldn’t let her accept charity. She believed in working for everything she had, and if she couldn’t afford certain luxuries, she’d rather do