Annaldra

Ann gazed at the village square from her window. It had rained all night but now the sun was fighting its way through the clouds. The streets gleamed silver from the hazy shine, the reflection dazzling in places. It was still early, just past 7am, so the square was quiet. A few villagers were walking dogs, but most were there for the shop, it having just opened. With the hotel bar and restaurant closed, it was the social hub of the village at this time of day. Everyone in this small community knew each other, so it was impossible to pass through the square without meeting someone to chat to, be it briefly or at length. Parked outside the store were a couple of tractors as farmers came in for their papers and morning rolls. Being as much an agricultural community as a fishing community, they were as commonplace as cars and vans.

It was Saturday morning. She had offered to help Finley and Elaine with their stall at the Country Fair, but that was before she realised who Finley was. She wished she had not. The weather did not look settled, but it was spending the day with Finley that bothered her. She longed more than anything to be in his company, to be near him. The thought excited her as much as it terrified her. She did not trust herself to remain composed around him, to act normal and not blurt out who she was. It would be easier, she thought, not to go. She had considered saying she was unwell, but in her nineteen years she had never been unwell, and suspected an excuse like that would bring a host of well-intentioned visitors to her door… possibly even Finley himself. No, she would have to go and face him. Fingers crossed the stall would be busy so there would be no time to pine.

The previous week she had avoided him, mainly because he was working. However, on Sunday Padraig had invited her to go to church with them. Even though she was not a Christian, Ann had no objection. Her mum had tried to raise her in the Catholic faith, but it never sat well with her. Tunkeeta’s beliefs were always more real as they made more sense. However, she thought it would be a nice way to spend time with the Ranalds and seeing Finley from a distance she would be more in control. ‘Do you mind if I ask Donald to come?’ she had asked. Padraig had thought it was an excellent idea as it might do him good. So at 11am on Sunday morning, Ann and Donald met Padraig, Scott, Elaine and Gracie in the village square before heading to the church. Donald had shaken everyone’s hand but when he offered it to Scott, Scott nodded and grunted an acknowledgement keeping his hand firmly in his pocket.

The village church was located on an elevated position midway up the small hill that backed the square with a vantage point overlooking the village, and beyond to the sea. It was large, too big for the current congregation, but had been built long ago for the parish, not just the village it resided in, and in a time when everyone attended church. A century ago, it was not uncommon for families to walk six or seven miles there and back every Sunday, no matter what the weather. Many children did not possess shoes, either. Some wealthier families had horses and carts to take them, but they were the minority. It was a stone structure, the oldest part dating back to the seventeenth century, but had been extended over the years as the population grew and could now comfortably seat the nine hundred village residents, but of course only a fraction of that number ever attended—even at Christmas.

As they approached, Ann had thought about her mother. She would have been a regular in the congregation back in the eighteenth century. Padraig had told her, her mother was fond of the church. She would often spend time there and take her with her. They would sit on the long grass, between the old gravestones, her mother making her daisy chains and singing to her. She had an enchanting voice according to Padraig. Anyone who passed and heard her singing would always stop and listen. Back then, Seonag would joke that her voice was so enchanting she must be descended from merfolk. During the winter, or when it was cold, they would sit inside. The minister back then had been Reverend Macalister, a well-liked man in his fifties. He never married, so all his time he dedicated to his flock. He was deceased now, which was a pity, because Mary had been fond of him, and he of her. They could sit for hours whiling away the day chatting. He was the only person outside the Ranald family she truly befriended. Ann would have liked to learn what they talked about, but all Padraig could tell her was he kept trying to convince her to have her baptised. For whatever reason, Mary always refused. Her parents had not had her baptised either. Her mum had wanted to, but her dad had insisted she should be free to choose her own beliefs when she was older. This had not, however, stopped her mum trying to raise her in the Catholic faith.

On entering the church, the entire congregation appeared to turn to look at them. Most nodded and smiled in their direction, but some turned away whispering. ‘Do you think it is you or me?’ Ann had whispered to Donald sensing they were causing a sensation. ‘I am not sure, it’s hard to tell, but it’s most likely you. Most of them were searching for you, when you were in London, so now they can put a face to you. All they had to go on was the description of you Padraig and I gave them. Oh, and an old photograph of you when you were two-and-a-half,’ Donald had replied with a chuckle.

When Finley ascended the pulpit, the congregation had fallen silent and Ann’s heart rate increased considerably. He stood tall and proud in his minister’s robes with an air of power that commanded everyone’s attention, or so it seemed to Ann as he had captivated hers. His expression was serious, but she found his formality sexy. Padraig had told her the sermon was on bereavement. She suspected it was for her benefit having not long lost her mum, but it was also appropriate for Donald as he still grieved for Annabelle. However, no matter how serious or relevant his sermon was, she could not shake off the inappropriate thoughts she had watching him. It was wrong, here of all places, but she did not care. Here she was free to stare, to enjoy without fear of letting her true feelings show, though whenever their eyes locked she could feel her cheeks flush, but she always managed to keep her pensive smile perfectly still. At least his comforting words were not wasted; they appeared to benefit Donald as she noticed his eyes were damp.

Outside the church Finley thanked everyone for attending, with a handshake, except for Ann and Elaine who both received a hug and a peck on the cheek. ‘Thank you, that was lovely,’ was all Ann had been able to muster before their brief encounter ended. The square was crowded with people after church, and many of the villagers came over to meet her. They were all warm towards her and seemed genuinely concerned for her wellbeing when she disappeared. She found it rather overwhelming having never been a part of a community, so this kind of attention was a new experience, but she liked it.

The rest of the week, she shared her time equally between Padraig and Donald. Padraig was sweet, taking her places her mother liked and told her things she had done or said. All the time, however, he never mentioned what he believed was the fantasy story she had concocted about her life. Ann realised his mind was so closed to the possibility there was any truth in it he saw no point considering it. It saddened her knowing it was all true.

In contrast, Donald discussed it often, making her uncomfortable, but only because she hated lying. She longed to tell him, she thought he might believe her if she did, but the geis forbade it. So whenever he mentioned the subject she would dismiss it, but it felt wrong. He did not believe it, she knew that, but his mind was curious and open to all sorts of possibilities. Since he had given up heroin, he seemed more alive, almost like a child full of wonder, seeing things as though for the first time. His company always gave her a lift, his positivity rubbing off on her. Whenever she felt down dwelling on her lost love, Donald always had unknowingly perked her up. They took long walks together and soon discovered they had things in common; their love of nature, stargazing and their dislike of the modern world. Ann could point out every known constellation visible in a clear night’s sky and knew an array of facts about each of them; something Donald found astonishing. Donald reminded Ann much of her friend Norlu with his laidback ways and chirpy personality. She missed her a great deal, but Donald’s friendship helped ease their separation.

Downstairs in the reception, Padraig was waiting for Ann. She smiled to herself when she saw him. He looked as though he were going to church, wearing a shirt and tie under his tweed suit jacket, but the brown corduroy trousers and wellington boots let the ensemble down. Ann had noticed many of the older generation in the village, though it was mostly the men, would formally dress for the slightest of occasions, like going to the shop.

‘We’re just going to the fields at top of the village. I only brought the car because I’ve got stuff for the stall,’ said Padraig after they exchanged pecks on the cheek.

‘I hope the rain stays away,’ she said, but really she did not. What she wanted was rain, and lots of it. She wanted there to be so much rain the day would be a washout. Then they would cancel the show and she would not be needed. God, I am so selfish, she thought.

‘Of course it will. It always does. I can’t remember the last time it rained at the fair,’ said Padraig confidently. ‘Someone up there obviously approves of it,’ he nodded skywards.

Ann grinned pretending to be pleased.

The four large fields at the top of the village next to the primary school were hosting the fair. The school’s sports field was being utilised as the car park. Overnight the larger of the fields had sprouted numerous marquees, and there were some fairground rides, exhibits and stalls. A temporary fence penned the two smallest fields off for the animals, and there was even an area dedicated to vintage tractors.

Ann looked on in awe, amazed at how large it was. She had imagined it as a much smaller, more local event, perhaps one or two fields with a few outdoor stalls scattered round the edges, something similar to the local events she was used to in Greenland, but this was a professional well organised large-scale event. Please don’t rain, she said in her head, retracting her earlier thoughts. Clasping her pendant tightly, I can do this, I can.

‘Aye it’s quite an event round these parts. This isn’t what you were expecting, eh,’ boasted Padraig.

‘No, it certainly is not, it is huge.’

‘Aye it’s the main show in the district. It’s nae just a wee village affair. This is one of the biggest social events of the year. Come on, you can enjoy it later, but we need to unload everything first.’

Padraig’s car was packed with boxes full of stuff for the stall. Grabbing a box each, they headed towards the show.

The church stall stood in the corner of the main marquee. To Ann’s relief, only Elaine was there setting up the stall, emptying box after box on any space she could find. Gracie was with her but she was asleep in her pram. They were selling plants, second-hand toys, books, bric-a-brac, home baking and jams; everything either donated, or made by the congregation.

Elaine briefed Ann on the prices they hoped to get, but more importantly, they did not want to take stuff back. A sale at any price was better than no sale. Looking at the mess of miss-matched goods that crammed the table in muddled mounds, Ann could see they were not going to get any sales—at any price. No one would buy anything off a table that looked this cluttered. For one thing, they would struggle to see what was there. For another, it was an accident waiting to happen. Just one small hand reaching for a toy underneath one of the piles of jumble would spell disaster. She set about tidying the table; turning some empty boxes upside down, she placed them at the side of the table to sit the plants on. The toys she put back in boxes, placing them at the front of the stall, slightly underneath the table where little ones could rummage safely. There was now enough room on the table to order the remaining goods into sections based on their type, the largest area being for home baking and jams.

‘There are my girls.’ The voice made Ann’s heart flutter. It was Finley. He had a glint in his eyes and was grinning at her the way Swain used to when he had not seen her in a while. ‘Has she got you up to speed yet?’

Ann could feel the blood rise to her cheeks. ‘Yes, I think so,’ her voice stammered slightly.

‘I’m hoping she can charm higher prices from the men,’ joked Elaine.

‘I’ve no doubt she can,’ he winked at her, and her blush deepened. ‘And how is my wee amazing Gracie,’ he whispered to his sleeping daughter.

‘So far so good, I hope she’ll be down for another couple of hours.’

‘Well good, cos here they come,’ Finley gestured towards the entrance.

The morning flew by as the stall, on the most part, was busy, and sales were good. Padraig had left them early on as he enjoyed the judging of the animals. When Gracie wakened, Elaine took her home to feed and change her, leaving Ann alone with Finley. She was glad they were busy. It meant they only chatted briefly and when they did, it was about farming. He told her if he had not become a minister, he would have been a farmer. As a child that had been his ambition. In a way, he envied farmers always working outside close to nature. There was something honest about growing things, creating life from a simple seed. He reckoned that was why he was such a passionate gardener. Ann smiled to herself, wondering if his love of the soil was a remnant from his life as Swain. Back in those days, they had a small piece of land they rented from their lord. They paid him half of what they produced, growing rye, wheat, barley and carrots which they often traded for other goods such as salt or honey and sometimes linen. They also had a few sheep, goats and some poultry. However, at the onset of winter they slaughtered most, if not all, their livestock as they rarely had enough feed to keep them alive until the spring. Every day they rose early and worked side by side until sunset. It was a hard life, but satisfying and honest.

Once, during a quiet period, Finley tickled the back of her neck with a novelty quill pen someone donated. Its delicate touch made her gasp, her cheeks flushing. Then inside she stilled: closing her eyes she allowed herself to enjoy the moment remembering how Swain used to do the same, teasing her nape with a head of wheat or a teasel, circling round and round, before venturing under her garments, slowly, each gentle stroke more daring than the last, tantalising her flesh and increasing her desire for him. No, she shook the memory from her head before she took it to its inevitable conclusion. That was then, she told herself, now he could not be so bold. Nevertheless, what he was doing was most enjoyable. Unfortunately, the moment was over all too soon—stopped dead by a crowd of rowdy young kids as they approached the stall. Still, it felt good to be working alongside him, bringing back memories of their life together.

When Elaine arrived back, she brought Donald with her. She ordered Ann to take a break and have lunch.

She was glad Donald had come. He had said he might. ‘I was not sure you’d make it,’ she said as they headed out the marquee.

Donald had a huge grin on his face. ‘I wasn’t sure I would either.’

‘You look pleased with yourself. What have you been up to?’

Donald folded his arms on the fence, resting his chin on them as he watched the bulls on display, the grin still firmly fixed on his face.

‘Tell me,’ said Ann giving him a playful slap on his arm.

He gave her a knowing smile as though he had something big to tell her. ‘Well,’ he drew in a large breath of air. ‘I went into town this morning to get some new strings for my guitar and while I was there, I popped into the library,’ he said then stopped.

Ann waited for him to continue and when he did not, she gave him a nudge. ‘And?’

His grin grew until it split his face. ‘And with the librarian’s help, she put me in touch with someone she knows who works in the government department that keeps all the old records.’

‘I am still lost.’ She had no idea what he was about to tell her but whatever it was he took great pleasure dragging it out.

‘They have access to the archive of old genealogy documents… and you will never guess what.’

Ann’s heart sank like a brick to the pit of her stomach. Now she understood exactly what he had done, and it was not what she wanted to hear, but she played ignorant, shaking her head and shrugging in response.

‘Your mother, Mary Mullin… she was a real person—’

‘Yes, I know,’ interrupted Ann with a smirk. ‘I wouldn’t be here if she wasn’t.’

‘That’s not what I mean. There was a real Mary Mullin back in time your mother claims she was from. She was born in the Manor House, the one just outside Maidenboat on the 12 September 1716. She was Lord Thomas Maxwell’s granddaughter.’

‘But what does that prove? It doesn’t make my mother’s story real. She could have looked up the records herself to make it more convincing,’ she said casually, but it did nothing to curb Donald’s excitement.

‘I know, but it gets better. There’s not a death certificate or a marriage record either, and people of that stature would have their life events recorded in the parish records, but there was nothing else. It’s as if she disappeared off the face of the planet.’ He grinned at her, looking pleased to be the bringer of such intriguing news.

Ann half chuckled as though Donald had said something ridiculous. ‘She probably just moved, maybe she emigrated that’s all. If she didn’t stay in Scotland, then you won’t find those records here. You’d have to check elsewhere, wouldn’t you?’

Donald stared at the bulls, his grin now gone. ‘I thought you would be excited, I know you wanted to believe.’

Ann sensed his disappointment and sighed. She was not proud of her deception and wanted to tell him everything: how her parents lived in the Otherworld and how she had been there, that they had entrusted her to cast a spell that would return magik to the world, and only she could do it. She wanted to tell him about her past lives and how she could shapeshift. She even wanted to tell him about Swain. Oh, how good it would be to share her heartache with someone who would understand, but even without the geis, she knew that was one secret she would have to keep. Putting her arm around his back, she rested her chin on his shoulder. ‘Thank you Donald. I really appreciate what you did, and because you did it I’ve learned a bit more about my mother.’

‘I don’t get it,’ he stared at her with knitted brows. ‘What have you learned?’

’Well, I now know she was obviously very resourceful as she must have looked up the old records like you. She’s planned it, choosing this Mary Mullin person to base her story on, so she must have been clever.’ Ann felt dreadful lying. She was sure it was written on her face, so she turned and leant her back on the fence so she faced the opposite direction.

Donald smirked. ‘I had almost convinced myself it was true. I think I’m going crazy.’

‘Come on.’ She gave her friend a nudge, relieved he had let it go. ‘Let’s go, and see the rest of the show.’

The pair of them wandered round the show looking at the animals and enjoying the day, Donald’s discovery soon forgotten. They bought their lunch from the farmers’ market: a cup of homemade Cullen Skink soaked up with some freshly baked crusty bread. Ann had never had Cullen Skink before and thought it was the best soup she had ever tasted describing it as creamy fish heaven. They ate it watching a tug-of-war between Maidenboat and another village. The other village won, but it was in such good spirits nobody seemed to mind: the men, all smiles, shaking hands and congratulatory backslapping one another. However, what Ann enjoyed most was the friendliness of the locals. It was probably a good thing she had ‘gone missing’ as everyone knew who she was. Even if they had not been introduced, they still wanted to chat to her. Some of them remembered her mother and said such nice things about her, no one ever ridiculing her. To make it even nicer, most people accepted Donald too, and he seemed to enjoy it.

As they neared the furthest point of the show, a commotion caught their attention, with people shouting and pointing towards the woodland in the distance.

‘What’s happened?’ asked Donald addressing a woman in the crowd.

‘Och, it’s awful. Some wee rascals have released an owl from its perch and it’s flown into thon woods,’ replied the woman pointing across the field.

The final exhibit was one of trained birds of prey. People, could pay to hold the birds and get their pictures taken if they wished. Various small birds of prey were tethered to perches close to the ground.

Ann could see the falconer was upset, pacing up and down, dragging on his cigarette in deep breaths, with no breaks for air. ‘Why don’t you call the bird back?’ she asked him.

‘I can’t, it is nae trained yet. I only got that one last week… I just brought it today to get it used to crowds,’ he said shaking his head. Taking one final drag, he flung his exhausted cigarette into the mud and stamped on it. ‘Wee bastards!’

‘But it will be okay, won’t it?’ She could not understand why he was so upset; owls were wild creatures after all.

‘The bloody thing still has its tether roon its foot, and it doesn’t ken how to hunt. It’s been reared in captivity.’

‘I am sure it will be fine,’ said Ann, but the falconer only snorted flicking his head away from her.

‘I need to pop back to the hotel Donald,’ said Ann. ‘I will meet you back at the stall in twenty minutes.’

Donald was surprised, her statement having come out the blue and without a reason.

He watched Ann as she headed off through the crowd. Something was not right. He walked over to the wall that bordered the field. From there he had the perfect view of the village below. He could see Ann hurrying down the footpath towards the village square, but instead of crossing the road to go to the hotel she headed right. His instincts were right; she was up to something, and now she was marching, in a hurry for something. Before she reached the end of the village, she turned right up the footpath leading to the woods from the far side. The side nobody from the show would see her enter—unless you were standing where Donald stood. Then she was out of site, somewhere deep in the woods. He waited and watched.

For a couple of minutes nothing happened, and then someone from the crowd shouted. ‘Look, there it is!’

Donald turned around. The crowd was looking upwards, and some pointed towards the woods. In the distance, he could see the bird with its tether flowing behind, heading in their direction. He watched unsure what to expect. Then to everyone’s amazement, the bird flew closer and closer until it came to rest on the empty perch. Cautiously the falconer approached it and grabbed the tether, but the bird remained calm and did not seem remotely interested in escaping again. When finally secured, the crowd cheered and clapped, leaving the confused falconer scratching his head, unsure of what had just happened.

Turning to watch the far side of the woods again, he saw Ann emerge. He watched as she strolled back towards the village and up the steps that led to the show.

‘Hi,’ smiled Ann as she arrived back at the stall.

Elaine glanced up from the small child she was serving and smiled warmly. ‘Hi.’

‘Everything okay?’ asked Donald studying her face.

Ann’s eyes narrowed as she looked at him. ‘Sure, everything’s fine. Why?’

‘You just rushed off out the blue, that’s all.’

‘Well, you can’t ignore the call of nature.’

‘What about the Portaloos? They are much nearer.’

‘I know. I just prefer not having to queue.’

‘You know, the owl flew back itself when you were gone. It just flew out of the woods and back to its perch… without any coaxing. The falconer thought it was a bloody miracle. God damn amazing, don’t you think?’

Ann could detect sarcasm in his tone. ‘Really, well that’s great news,’ she replied sounding half interested as she tidied some items on the stall. ‘Where has Fin gone with Gracie?’ she asked Elaine changing the subject.

To Ann’s relief Finley had taken Gracie away to show her the animals, then he planned to take her home for her nap. The rest of the afternoon Donald, Ann and Elaine worked at the stall. Ann was pleased that Elaine had invited Donald to stay and help them. Most people appeared happy to see Donald helping. Only a handful of people walked away when they saw him, some shaking their heads and mumbling disapprovingly. Either the news he was clean had not reached everyone’s ears, or some folk were less forgiving.