Heather Song (5 page)

It was wonderful to see him so happy, and tears filled my eyes.

They stopped at the end of the row. Alasdair jumped down and ran over to me. He was dirty…and radiant!

“If you want to go, Marie,” he said, “go ahead and take the car. I am going to stay and help. Leith says that if I drive the John Deere over there with the wagons—”

He pointed across the field to a green tractor standing idle in front of two empty trailers.

“With a wagon moving beside him, he could make faster progress. His man isn’t with him today—sick or something…Actually, I didn’t quite understand it all! When Leith gets talking fast enough in his Doric, I can only follow about a fourth of it. And I grew up only four miles from where he did! In any event, he is shorthanded. Leith will bring me home later.”

I did not see Alasdair for hours. When he finally appeared at the castle sometime after nine o’clock that evening, exhausted but radiant, his face was nearly black with remnants of the dust of Mr. Leith’s field of barley.

The next day, midway through the morning, the telephone at the castle rang. Alicia came to the breakfast room where Alasdair and I sat with our tea.

“There is a Mr. Leith on the phone, Mr. Reidhaven,” she said. “I could scarcely understand him, but he asked to speak to you.”

Alasdair rose to answer it. He returned a few minutes later.

“Leith’s man is still away,” he said. “He fears rain tonight and cannot get the rest of his barley in alone. He asked if I might help him. He even offered to pay me!” he added, laughing.

“What are you going to do?” I asked.

“Go upstairs and change my clothes!” he replied. “I haven’t had so much fun in years. Don’t wait up for me. I know these farmers—if they have to, they’ll work straight into the night! The harvest must get in.”

The rain did come, but not before Mr. Leith’s harvest of barley was safely stored in his barn.

Word of the new “hired hand” at the Leith farm, who refused pay for his work, quickly spread. By the time that season’s harvests were all in and the fields plowed and planted with winter grasses, Alasdair had lent his assistance at another half-dozen farms between Fordyce, Berryhillock, and Drybridge.

Those were such happy times.

I could not imagine the people of a community loving their “laird” more than ours, and they truly took Alasdair into their hearts.

W
hen the crate with my things from Canada arrived, I was more concerned about my harps than anything. But they were well packed and arrived safely.

Now here they all were, with me in Scotland. I couldn’t wait to play the
Queen
for Alasdair in the Music Room where he had first heard me play my traveling harp,
Journey
. Once she was set up, she looked so regal in her new surroundings. Now she was a queen indeed, with a whole castle for her domain.

I was itching to hear them being used again. I had no interest in having a mere collection of harps. I wanted to hear them being played and practiced on and making music.

Gwendolyn, of course, had been a unique case. But there were surely others in the community with talent and aptitude. What was I going to do with myself as a duchess—sit around all day, go for walks, poke about in the garden, make flower arrangements?

That sounded pretty boring!

I had a hard time getting used to having a cook and a housekeeper and maids and a butler and a chaffeur. It seemed that I ought to cook Alasdair’s supper and make the beds and do the housework. That’s what wives did. But neither did I want to upset the routine of life at the castle, and the order of things Alasdair was comfortable with and had been accustomed to for so long. I was the newcomer, after all. If there were adjustments to be made, it was up to
me
to make them, not try to change everyone else. But I have to admit that I spent a great deal of time with Jean in the kitchen and helping Alicia with the daily chores of the castle. I needed to have things to
do
.

Alasdair had his business affairs to attend to, and I couldn’t be underfoot eight hours a day. I loved to read, and I could pass hours playing and practicing my harps. For a musician, the refining and expanding of one’s available repertoire of music is a never-ending and delightful process.

But was it enough? I had to have more than my
own
interests to occupy my time and fill my days. And after all was said and done…I was a
teacher
. I loved to teach others to play the harp as much as I loved to play myself. Actually, I think I was better at teaching. I was an okay harpist. I could hold my own in a symphony or playing for a wedding. But as a teacher I was often able to get a higher level out of my students than I could hope to attain myself. Three of my students had far surpassed my own level of ability and had gone on to study the harp at university. Though I enjoyed making music, and could sit for hours at a time with the
Queen
or
Journey
resting on my shoulder, the achievements of my students gave me even more pride and satisfaction.

Resuming teaching, however, was more complicated now than merely hanging out my shingle and passing out business cards that read “Harp Lessons Given,” or “Harp Music for Hire.” I was married to the Duke of Buchan, for heaven’s sake! I lived in a castle. To advertise myself—for either weddings or events, especially as an incomer to the region—would have been unseemly and presumptuous.

I spoke with Alasdair about it.

“What would you think about my giving harp lessons again?” I asked.

“I think it would be brilliant,” he replied.

“How should I go about it? You must admit, the situation is much different than in Canada. I can’t just anonymously set up a studio.”

“Anonymity is something you will never know again, my dear!” Alasdair laughed.

“That’s just it. Every move I make is scrutinized, and reflects on you besides. How do I go about it without seeming…I don’t know, forward and presumptuous?”

“Everyone loves you!”

“Nevertheless, you do see the problem? I want to be accessible, but even more than that, I want to make harp music more known and available…What better way than beginning to give lessons again? Just think how wonderful it would be for children from around the community to come to the castle once a week for a harp lesson! That is, if you agree. It is your castle, not mine!”

Alasdair smiled. “Of course, my dear. Anything to make you happy. After so long living in virtual isolation, I welcome the commotion. I have to admit, the sights and sounds of children in the castle would probably remind me of Gwendolyn and make me sad. But it would be a good sadness. I think it would be wonderful for you to give lessons here. Why don’t you just play during our Sunday open-house times and see what kind of interest it generates. Oh—I’ve an idea! You could play at the Deskmill Flower Show that’s coming up—in a couple of weeks, I think it is?”

“I can’t just show up and start playing!”

“Sure you can—why not?”

“It would be, you know…awkward. I’m not in charge of the thing. I know people have accepted me, but I am still a relative outsider. I can’t just barge in. It would be like gate-crashing someone else’s party.”

“These things are community events. Anyone and everyone is welcome. But tell you what, I will talk to Judith Johnston. I think she’s one of the organizers. Once she takes the thing in hand, it will be done.”

True to his word, Alasdair spoke with his friend, and two evenings later she was on the telephone asking to speak with me.

“I would not want to presume on your kindness, Mrs. Reidhaven,” said Mrs. Johnston, “but the duke told me you might be willing to bring your
clarsach
and play for our flower show. I had thought of you, but I didn’t know if you would want to play for such an occasion. And I’m afraid we would not be able to pay you more than a few quid—”

“Mrs. Johnston,” I said, “I would be delighted to play, and any thought of payment is out of the question. I wouldn’t take so much as one quid. How much is a quid again?”

“A pound,” she replied with a light laugh.

“In any case, if you would like me to, I would love to play. You must just tell me what time you want me there.”

“That is very kind of you. I know everyone will look forward to it.”

The people of Scotland are great for shows and festivals and all manner of community expositions. Just in our little corner of Moray, there were several craft fairs and numerous flower shows, for which the whole community turned out. The Portsoy Boat Festival drew visitors from everywhere throughout the north of Scotland.

As word spread that the duke’s new Canadian wife was willing and able to play her harp for local events, invitations began to pour in through the summer months—more than I could accept. Before long I was being invited to play for every wedding between Elgin and Fraserburgh!

What had I opened myself up to?!

I did play for the Portsoy Boat Festival, though the bagpipe band from Shetland mostly drowned me out. I’m not sure the harp can compete with bagpipes, accordions, and drums, even under the best of conditions! But at a crowded harbor with several thousand people coming and going, with fifty booths selling their wares…those best of conditions did
not
prevail. But it was fun. Most people, I think, had no clue who I was. As they came closer and watched, their fascination with the harp and its music was always wonderful to see. Some children just stood and stared, and two or three times I overheard mothers whisper, “That’s the duchess, dear.”

A few sheepishly came up and spoke to me. If a child seemed particularly intrigued, I asked if they would like to try the harp, and some did, to the delight of the onlookers. I often say that it is impossible to make a harp sound bad. Even a child randomly plucking the strings creates tones that hint at the magic. And the greatest magic of all takes place within
them
.

Meanwhile, another telephone call came to the castle from an unexpected quarter, which had the result of starting my teaching again, though much differently than I had anticipated.

The call did not come directly to me, but to our housekeeper, Alicia Forbes. She found me and explained that she had been talking with Adela Cruickshank. Adela asked her, she said, to ask me if I would be willing to let her begin with the harp again.

“She was afraid, you now being the duchess,” said Alicia, “that you would be too busy…or not want to because of how, she said, she had not been altogether gracious to you before, when Olivia began spreading tales about you and the duke.”

“Did Olivia spread tales about me?” I asked. “I thought her only gossip was about Alasdair and what had happened years ago and not being a good father to Gwendolyn.”

“That was always at root of it,” Alicia said, nodding. “But yes, in stirring up the old suspicions about the duke, she made certain you were cast in none too positive a light.”

Her words brought back all the trouble we’d had with Alasdair’s sister over Gwendolyn.

“I never believed that part of Olivia’s tales,” said Alicia, “because I’ve been with the duke all these years. But a few did, especially among some of us who were friends years ago. But if I believed what Olivia said, I would be crazy to live under the same roof with the duke and serve his meals and make his bed. But he was always kind to me, and I knew Olivia was just secretly angry that she wasn’t in the castle and duchess herself instead of him the duke.”

“Was she really jealous of his title?”

“Not just the title, but everything—his power and influence, his wealth. She hated him for it.”

“How do you know all that? I had no idea you and Olivia were close.”

“We aren’t…not anymore,” replied Alicia, hesitating a little as an uncertain expression crossed her features. “I used to know her well. I think she thought that I was betraying her by working for Alasdair. Those of us who were…Well, there were some of us to whom she confided things. We were all young and knew no better. But some of what she said was frightening.”

“Like what?”

“It is no longer important,” replied Alicia, shaking her head. She obviously didn’t want to “go there,” as the saying is.

But I wanted to know more of what Alasdair had to deal with in his family life. For good or ill, Olivia was his only living family, and I doubted we had seen the last of her.

“But what if it is important?” I said. “If she actually made…​threats, I want to know.
What
was frightening?”

“I’m not talking about when you came, Marie…not recently, you know, but when we were all girls. That’s when I mean. She
wanted
the castle; she
wanted
to be the duchess. It sometimes seemed she was so determined that she would do anything to get them, even—”

Alicia glanced away, realizing she had said more than she intended.

“Go on, Alicia,” I said. My voice held a firmer tone than I had ever used with her. It wasn’t my way to pull rank, but suddenly this sounded serious.

It remained quiet for a moment. The air was tense.

“What did you mean,
anything
?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” said Alicia, speaking slowly, “
say
things, spread rumors…I have to admit the thought even crossed my mind that she might do something…something bad…try to hurt him. You know, the terrible kinds of things that go through your mind when you’re young. I had visions of her trying to poison him or some such dreadful thing. She always said that he didn’t deserve to live, that the world would be better without him, that we would all be better off if he was dead…‘dead on his bed,’ she said.”

I glanced at Alicia, wondering if the sinister-sounding rhyme had been intentional. But she seemed oblivious to what had popped out of her mouth and continued.

“She said he didn’t deserve to be duke. ‘My brother as duke, it makes me puke,’ she once said. Not very nice. But Olivia
wasn’t
always nice. She said that no man deserved such a position.”

“No
man
? Who else would deserve it?”

Alicia laughed a little nervously. “A woman, of course,” she answered. “Olivia thought all men were fools.”

“What about her own husband?”

Again Alicia laughed, a little scornfully I thought.

“Poor Max,” she said almost wistfully. “He had no idea what he was getting into.” She sighed. “Maybe I was wrong about him,” she said with a sad smile. “Maybe he
was
a fool. I didn’t think so. But anyone who would marry Olivia…Of course, she made all the rest of us believe her, too. She could make anyone believe whatever she wanted, so why should Max have been any different. He was once so strong and—”

Again the sad, wistful smile.

“And full of life and energy and fun…Now he is a shadow of the man he once was. I hate to say it, but he is weak. I don’t know what he is like when he is on the oil rigs—maybe he is a man’s man, for all I know. Maybe he lives a double life—the man and the mouse. But around Port Scarnose, he walks with stooped shoulders, like an old scarecrow who is afraid of his own shadow. It pains me every time I see him…which isn’t often. I think he is afraid to show his face knowing what everyone thinks, that Olivia has completely dominated him into submission.”

“Does he love her?”

“Who knows? I certainly have no idea.”

“Does she love him?”

“
Love
…
Olivia
…I can’t put the two words together in the same sentence. I can’t even think how to answer you. Whether she is truly capable of love, I don’t know. Doesn’t love mean somehow putting others ahead of yourself? I can’t imagine Olivia has ever done that in her life. I suppose that’s a terrible thing to say—maybe I’m wrong. ‘Keep man in check, hang threats from his neck…break him down, be his crown…he must be led, you are his head.’”

Again I did a double take at the strange use of words. But yet again Alicia hardly seemed aware of it.

“But what about Alasdair,” I said. “She didn’t actually threaten him?”