loving and happy. That made the end tragic. And he had not married again, which caused me to be curious in the way of my sex: Was he so emotionally scarred by his loss that he could not love again? Or was it that he thought no woman could ever be as perfect as his first wife had been?
At least, he hadn’t said anything about marrying again. Maybe he had. Many times. Maybe he was married even now.
That thought was annoying, so I pushed it away in favor of other things.
If all roads lead to Rome—at least, the properly paved ones—then this would explain the lack of them in Findloss. The Gaels, especially those returned from the Great War, seem to have no desire to travel again outside their own lands. They have a lot of poetry and mysticism in their romantic souls, so what would be the appeal of a world built on logic and in the accruement of our greatest material desires? So many of us, at least for a time when we are young and less wise, spend our souls and limited will on the pursuit of shiny material things, but that seems not to be the way of the Gaels. These people always had very little and knew how to make do with the bits and pieces their villages provided. Pleasures were rare and entertainment limited, but it seemed to make their happy moments all the more appreciated. Here I did not feel my poverty as I had at home.
Sometimes I miss the superficial world of my childhood and its conveniences, but never entirely. Lachlan was not alone in feeling alienated; mechanization and modernization frightened me. It seems in many waysthat machines will control us and not the other way around. Certainly clocks and schedules run most modern lives. These call us to work and to worship, to rise in the morning and retire to bed. They dominated the Great War. In Findloss it was different. This is not to suggest that Scotland has been laggardly in keeping up with the world, but the last war of their making happened nearly a century ago and was an internal aff air. The people of the village—all but one of them, if Lachlan were correct—seemed content to fish and drink and once in a while make some music or tell old tales. They did not look outside themselves or their village for amusement or happiness. Nor did I. I had a cat and my books, though I brought very few to the cottage: the family Bible, a battered copy of The Tenant of Wildfell Hall , and a Murray’s Diary, which was a sort of railroad map and timetable for the trains in Scotland. It included information on ferry services to the ports and islands, which was how I ended up with a tuppence copy. (This was also where I had learned that dogs may travel on the railroad. The fare is tuppence, unless they are working dogs. Herding canines are considered the same as a tool bag or a doctor’s kit, and are allowed to ride free so long as they remain tucked beneath the master’s seat. No mention was made of cats or livestock.)
I wasn’t at all sure where I would go when I was forced to leave Findloss, and that I would soon have to leave I now believed with all my heart and soul. Lachlan’s bite-caused sight had left me, but the conviction that the village was in danger had not. And Findloss had an unenviable record for deadly storms,even before the final one that had buried it completely.
Eventually I reached the post office, and was relieved to see a light inside. But I had barely entered the store when Mistress MacLaren leaned over the counter and hissed: “Lights were seen in the kirk last night. They say it was the Devil abroad again. And did ye hear the storm? It’s an ill wind, ye see, wha blaws naebody guid.”
“How can anyone be sure it is the Devil?” I objected, dispensing with the usual wishes for a good morning. “Might it not have been someone walking about who…decided to go in and pray?”
“Would ye be sae daft?” she demanded with a touch of indignation.
“I don’t wander at night,” I hedged.
Mistress MacLaren snorted. “Neither does
At least, he hadn’t said anything about marrying again. Maybe he had. Many times. Maybe he was married even now.
That thought was annoying, so I pushed it away in favor of other things.
If all roads lead to Rome—at least, the properly paved ones—then this would explain the lack of them in Findloss. The Gaels, especially those returned from the Great War, seem to have no desire to travel again outside their own lands. They have a lot of poetry and mysticism in their romantic souls, so what would be the appeal of a world built on logic and in the accruement of our greatest material desires? So many of us, at least for a time when we are young and less wise, spend our souls and limited will on the pursuit of shiny material things, but that seems not to be the way of the Gaels. These people always had very little and knew how to make do with the bits and pieces their villages provided. Pleasures were rare and entertainment limited, but it seemed to make their happy moments all the more appreciated. Here I did not feel my poverty as I had at home.
Sometimes I miss the superficial world of my childhood and its conveniences, but never entirely. Lachlan was not alone in feeling alienated; mechanization and modernization frightened me. It seems in many waysthat machines will control us and not the other way around. Certainly clocks and schedules run most modern lives. These call us to work and to worship, to rise in the morning and retire to bed. They dominated the Great War. In Findloss it was different. This is not to suggest that Scotland has been laggardly in keeping up with the world, but the last war of their making happened nearly a century ago and was an internal aff air. The people of the village—all but one of them, if Lachlan were correct—seemed content to fish and drink and once in a while make some music or tell old tales. They did not look outside themselves or their village for amusement or happiness. Nor did I. I had a cat and my books, though I brought very few to the cottage: the family Bible, a battered copy of The Tenant of Wildfell Hall , and a Murray’s Diary, which was a sort of railroad map and timetable for the trains in Scotland. It included information on ferry services to the ports and islands, which was how I ended up with a tuppence copy. (This was also where I had learned that dogs may travel on the railroad. The fare is tuppence, unless they are working dogs. Herding canines are considered the same as a tool bag or a doctor’s kit, and are allowed to ride free so long as they remain tucked beneath the master’s seat. No mention was made of cats or livestock.)
I wasn’t at all sure where I would go when I was forced to leave Findloss, and that I would soon have to leave I now believed with all my heart and soul. Lachlan’s bite-caused sight had left me, but the conviction that the village was in danger had not. And Findloss had an unenviable record for deadly storms,even before the final one that had buried it completely.
Eventually I reached the post office, and was relieved to see a light inside. But I had barely entered the store when Mistress MacLaren leaned over the counter and hissed: “Lights were seen in the kirk last night. They say it was the Devil abroad again. And did ye hear the storm? It’s an ill wind, ye see, wha blaws naebody guid.”
“How can anyone be sure it is the Devil?” I objected, dispensing with the usual wishes for a good morning. “Might it not have been someone walking about who…decided to go in and pray?”
“Would ye be sae daft?” she demanded with a touch of indignation.
“I don’t wander at night,” I hedged.
Mistress MacLaren snorted. “Neither does
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