1 Off Kilter (10 page)

The barn door was wide open when Vicki and I walked past it. A tractor loaded with bales of hay backed its way slowly through the open doors, then came to a halt inside the barn. John Derry turned off the engine and jumped down. Jasper the cat peered down from the top of a set of stairs leading to a loft but darted out of sight with all the commotion.

“What are ye two starin’ at?” John said rudely, solidifying his position at the bottom of the proverbial barrel when it came to my list of favorite people. “Well?” he demanded when we didn’t reply.

Again, I noted slightly different stress patterns in his speech.

I didn’t know how to respond, and Vicki must have felt the same way because she didn’t answer, either.

“I have a grand idea,” he went on with a smirk, his lips curling as he sized up each of us with eyes that shot daggers of anger. “Ye can work fer yer keep by moving these bales up ta the loft.”

With that work order, he stalked off out the door. We watched him until he disappeared down the lane.

Then Vicki and I sidled a little farther into the barn and looked up toward the hayloft, the heights of which could only be reached by the narrow set of stairs off to one side.

“I have a bad back,” Vicki informed me.

I scanned the contents of the barn, which were numerous as well as unidentifiable. I’m blessed with a gift for the written word, but I can’t tell a whatchamacallit from a thingamabob. Add a bunch of steel and iron doohickeys and I’m completely lost.

“There must be a better way to get the bales up,” I said, “than carting them up all those stairs.”

“If there is, I don’t see it. Must be at least thirty bales,” Vicki muttered. “We could tell John no, since his intentions weren’t a bit on the kind side.” And in case I hadn’t heard her worming her way out of actual physical labor, Vicki put one hand on the small of her back and leaned a bit to the side as though trying to find a comfortable position.

But what could I say in reply anyway? I was indebted to her, so I went with the obvious response: “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”

I used both hands to grab one of the bales by the twine encircling it, and hefted the hay to establish its weight. Not nearly as heavy as I would have guessed, although I’d have to tackle this project in stages. The first few trips up into the loft might not be too taxing, but the lifting and climbing would have a cumulative effect, and I knew I’d burn out fast if I didn’t take it slow.

The cat came out from hiding and found a sunny spot right outside the barn door but kept a cautious distance. After determining that we weren’t threats, he sat down and began cleaning himself.

“Jasper likes you,” Vicki commented. “He’s allowed me the honor of petting him a time or two, but I’ve watched from the window when John’s around. Jasper won’t have a thing to do with that man. He’s a good judge of humans. And look how he’s watching you, so calm and relaxed.”

Jasper and Vicki both watched my first few trips up and down the stairs before Vicki decided she’d be more useful making us some tea. “A few more bales,” she suggested, “then take a break and come inside.”

I did as she advised, stopping after several more trips up. I passed by Jasper on my way out of the barn, and he actually let me run my hand over his head and scratch his ears. The muscles in my arms already ached and I could feel those in my calves tightening. Inactivity is a side effect of a writing lifestyle. I’d have to start hiking the countryside, spending more time taking care of my body and making it stronger.

True to her word, when I entered the house I saw that Vicki had laid out tea and more of her delicious almond biscuits. We chatted for a few minutes, then she disappeared to lie down and rest her poor aching back—a physical issue I hadn’t heard a thing about until work presented itself. I went back to the barn, determined to make headway and show the MacBrides that “we” were made out of the right stuff. Never mind that Vicki had bailed on the bales. At least Jasper was sticking around.

Before starting up again, I sat on the tractor and spent a few minutes appreciating my surroundings.

The sweet smell of harvested hay and its rich golden color assaulted all my senses. I felt closer than ever to the pure natural world. Instead of returning to the task at hand, I got up and wandered up the lane in a new direction, away from Sheepish Expressions. The sheep in the pasture turned and watched me make my way along with what could only be described as keen interest. When I looked back over my shoulder, they were still watching.

Two border collies ran along a low ridge ahead. Birds soared overhead, a sparrow hawk and then several buzzards, circling high above, letting the wind catch their wings, riding the breeze.

I soon came to the top of a high ridge, which surprised me, since I hadn’t been climbing upward at a steep angle, or at least it hadn’t felt that way. But the drive from Glenkillen to the farm had enough hills to account for this ridge. The farm must be situated on a plateau of some sort.

I stood at the top, a good distance from the edge of the steep incline. I become uncomfortable and anxious in high, open places. Flying in a plane isn’t an issue, but put me on the edge of a cliff without large boulders or trees or a solid railing to protect me and give me a sense of security—however false that security might be—and I start to panic. It’s not vertigo that paralyzes me, but rather a gripping fear of falling, or more specifically that some part of my brain will misfire and I’ll lose control and jump. Silly, I know, but very real inside my head.

So I stayed back at a safe distance, breathing the light and herblike aroma of heather with the wind churning my hair, sending it flying about my face.

At that moment, I wished I could stay in Glenkillen for the rest of my life.

Minus, of course, the drama I’d encountered in the few short days I’d been here.

But without that drama, to be able to get up every morning and walk this path, commune with nature, roam free anywhere and everywhere—that would be such a wonderful gift. What a dreamworld! I had to try to get a handle on this glorious setting and put it all into written words before I was back on an airplane looking out a window at my last glimpses of Scotland.

“Live in the moment” had to be my mantra. A wise one. I had to relish every day.

With that sound advice to myself, I made my way back to the barn, this time first seeking out a pair of work gloves. I’d been feeling the beginning of blisters along the palms of both hands. This city girl needed to get toughened up.

Again, Jasper came out to watch the activity, but he kept enough distance to make a getaway if he had to. He seemed semi-wild, and I suspected he would always be that way, coming and going as he pleased; he was no lap cat to play with.

This time when I lifted the very first bale of hay, it felt twice as heavy as the previous ones had, a sure sign that I’d already reached my pathetic limit.
Just a few more
, I told myself, pushing a little further than normal.

I began the climb up the stairs with the bale in front of me, resting it on each step as I continued upward, using every last ounce of strength I could muster, and determining that this would be my last for now. I was almost to the top, cheering because the floor of the loft was in sight above me—and the next second, I felt myself falling. By the time I realized what was happening, I’d landed. Hard.

The wind had been knocked out of me. I couldn’t breathe. Which caused me to panic.

Lack of air. Gasping to find it.

As suddenly as the spasm began, it ended. I managed to gather in lifesaving oxygen, filling my lungs but not yet attempting to move, staying as still as possible while I accessed the damage.

I had landed on my side with my back against the bottom step. There wasn’t any pain—not yet, anyway. But my body might have been in shock.

Then the barn began to spin before my eyes, my ears rang, and everything around me went white. I closed my eyes quickly . . .

. . . and must have passed out, because the next thing I knew I’d awoken flat on my back. I felt myself being lifted up. A siren screamed close by, and I thought we should pull over, let it pass. It was so loud and piercing.

Somebody told me to take it easy, that we were almost there. “Where?” I thought I asked, but then wasn’t sure, because no one would answer my question even though I continued to ask it. After a period of time I couldn’t measure, I felt myself lifted again.

Fragments of conversations floated past.

“Concussion.”

“Lucky.”

A familiar voice next, the first that I recognized. “Will she know who I am when she wakes up? She won’t have amnesia, will she?”

“Vicki?” I said or thought, attempting to reassure her. Then more time went by and more voices, fading in and out.

“CT scan.”

“Overnight for observations.”

All I wanted was to be left alone to sleep. So tired.

The next time I opened my eyes, sun was beaming in and a cheery nurse with a tray was elevating my bed and asking me if I could sit up to eat. “What happened?” I asked her, my thoughts all jumbled as I slowly sat up. “Where am I?”

“Yer at the Kirkwall Hospital.”

“And where is that?”

“Right here in Glenkillen. Now eat yer porridge.” She placed the tray in front of me and left the room after showing me a button that I could press if I needed any assistance.

The last thing I cared about was porridge or eating anything at all. I racked my brain trying to remember what had happened. Why hadn’t I questioned the nurse further? I lifted the sheet and peered below. I was in a hospital gown, but otherwise everything seemed as usual. No lost limbs, no sutures, no pain.

Memory of voices. The word “concussion.” I touched my head. No bandages.

Then I heard a throat being cleared. A voice said, “Good mornin’.” I glanced up to find Inspector Jamieson observing me from a chair in the corner.

“Oh, is it morning?” I said, relieved to see a familiar face, but finding out that I’d lost a significant chunk of time rattled me. “Ah, I suppose, since this is”—I glanced at the contents of the tray—“oatmeal. Or rather porridge.”

“A brilliant deduction on yer part, considering yer precarious condition.” He stood up.

“How long have you been there?”

“Not long.” But I noticed he was a bit stiff, slightly bent, hesitant with the first few steps: all indications that he’d been in the chair longer than he cared to admit. “You gave us quite a scare. How’s the head?”

“Doesn’t hurt,” I told him, pushing the tray away. “But I’m not hungry.”

“No headache?” he asked, sounding surprised.

“No,” I replied, just as surprised. Yes, I really was perfectly okay. A bump on the head. That was it.

“And do ye remember what happened?”

“I fell.”

“Vicki found ye unconscious.”

“Ah.”

“And ye know who I am?”

“Of course I do. You are Special Constable Sean Stevens.”

The inspector stared at me, not sure how to respond. “I better get the doctor,” he said, but right then I burst out laughing, and he realized I’d been teasing.

“Don’t bring up that dolt’s name,” he warned me, trying to hold back a grin. “He’s out at the farm now, digging around fer clues.”

“Ahhh, you gave him some busywork.”

“It’s the only way I can get anythin’ accomplished.” Then he grew serious, his face clouding over. “I should have taken yer concerns aboot John Derry more seriously. He left ye to think ye had to carry those heavy bales up tae the loft, when all along he had a pulley system set up to do the job fer him. He’s the one responsible for yer fall as surely as if he’d pushed ye himself.”

What a rotten excuse for a human being the man was! My instincts had been right all along. To pull such a stunt!

“Ye better eat your porridge before it gets cold,” the inspector said. “It’ll make ye strong and healthy. The doc will want to see ye now that yer awake, but he already said ye can probably go home after he pays ye a visit, though he cautioned that ye might have your brain affected for a while.”

“That isn’t anything new,” I quipped, content to know I was being released soon.

“Ye took the words right out o’ my mouth,” he said, turning away. But he hadn’t been fast enough. I saw the amused grin.

Over the next few hours, while I waited for a doctor to come to my room, I had the opportunity to observe a Scottish hospital in action. I’ve spent many long hours in waiting rooms and at my mother’s bedside while she struggled to overcome her debilitating disease, so hospital policies, procedures, and routines aren’t anything new to me, and this one was very much like those back home. However, I’d never been the patient before. I learned right away that I wasn’t a very good one. Polite? I tried. But willing? Absolutely not.

“Get me out of here!”
was my most frequent internal refrain, my bruised and swollen brain clearly still in charge and not coping well.

I had time to consider my options once I was released. Part of me wanted to hurry out and change that return ticket home from December to tomorrow. From the minute I’d gotten in the driver’s seat of that rental car, nothing had gone the way it was supposed to. Nothing. The other part of me rationalized: I had a brain injury, no matter how minor, and that could be clouding my judgment. Best to wait a few days before making any decisions.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, the doctor came along, and my moment of freedom arrived.

“Everything’s going to be fine and dandy after all,” Vicki said to me when I scooted into the Citroën. “I didn’t know what to think when I found you unconscious in the barn. I thought you were dead!”

“I owe you again,” I told her with sincere gratitude. “You’re my guardian angel, appearing every time I’m in serious trouble.”

“You’d better put a stop to that before you’re the death of
me
.”

Vicki kept up the chatter, mostly motherly concern for my well-being, until we arrived back at her farm entrance. We drove past Sheepish Expressions, where several cars and tour buses were parked outside. Glancing over at Vicki, I saw her jawline tense up and her knuckles whiten on the steering wheel. She had more than her fair share to cope with. “Don’t you have anybody back in the States you should notify?” Vicki asked as we got out of the car. “You know, family? Loved ones?”

“Vicki, I’m perfectly fine,” I insisted. “Why worry anyone else when it’s over and done with?”

But then it struck me: I really
didn’t
have any family to contact in case of an emergency. I had Ami. She was a loyal friend and could always be counted on, but as far as relatives—they were all gone.

My sense of isolation almost overcame me as I got out of the car, but I used sheer willpower to keep the tears from flowing. Where had this bout of self-pity come from? I chalked it up to the blow to my head I’d suffered. I usually embraced being solitary, the kind of freedom that was now mine. The depths of self-pity wasn’t a place I cared to visit, now or ever. Life is what it is, and during struggles and hardships we do what we have to do. This was a new beginning, an unpredictable next stage in my life. I couldn’t invent new family members, but I
could
make more lasting friendships like the one I had with Ami. I was committed to that. And no better time to begin than right now, with Vicki MacBride.

“Thank you, Vicki,” I said. “For everything.”

“You’d do the same for me,” she said serenely, letting Coco and Pepper out of the house before heading for her favorite outdoor chair and sitting down. “But enough sentimental sap for now,” she said, smiling. “Here comes Sean from the barn. Wonder what he’s been up to. He looks like the cat that got the cream, doesn’t he?”

Sean practically jogged up to us. Whatever he’d been doing, his uniform was still crisp and his shoes remarkably shiny. Wasn’t today Sunday? Shouldn’t he have been home with his family? Regardless, here he was, holding a piece of splintered wood that I was pretty sure was part of the staircase I’d fallen from.

“What’ve you got?” Vicki wanted to know.

“I have tae find the inspector,” Sean fairly shouted, even though we were right next to him.

He seemed to notice me for the first time. “Yer fit and fine then? And having yer wits about ye?”

I wasn’t sure about that, but I said, “Yes, I’m going to be just fine. What do you have there?”

“Ye see this?” He held up his discovery with undeniable pride and ran his finger along the smooth end before pointing out the other side. “It’s been sawed clean off, and musta been glued back on just enough tae stay put until ye stepped down on it.”

“Are you sure?” I asked, my stomach doing involuntary flip-flops.

“Right sure,” he told me.

Vicki let out a shriek and then covered her mouth. She’d caught the implication at the same time as I had.

Someone had intentionally tampered with the stairs to cause a fall.

Had Vicki been the intended victim? If not for her bad back, she would have been the one on the loft stairs, not me. It made sense that she’d been the target.

Someone had been trying to hurt her, and I had literally taken the fall on her behalf.

I put my arm around Vicki and gave her a reassuring squeeze. “It’s going to be okay,” I told her, hoping I was right. Then: “Should you be handling the evidence?” I said to Sean, thinking about the possibility of the culprit’s fingerprints.

“I’ve been trained tae deal properly with evidence,” he said, but I saw the telltale signs of a big fat fib in his startled eyes. Then: “I need a plastic bag. Quick. And make it a big one while yer at it.”

Vicki hurried inside and came back out with a trash bag. Sean carefully placed his forensic treasure inside and tied it up gently.

We all stared at it.

If Inspector Jamieson was a violent man, which I suspected he wasn’t, he’d use the bagged stair piece to knock this volunteer cop’s block off for his carelessness with potential evidence.

“I best be off,” Sean said, breaking the silence and moving at supersonic speed toward his car. We watched him roar off.

“What do you make of that?” I asked Vicki.

“That volunteer policeman doesn’t seem to be very competent, if you ask me,” she said, taking my arm. “Come on, let’s get you in the house and settled in a comfy chair.”

“That might have been you on the steps.”

“Don’t go thinking the worst until we know all the facts. We best wait and see.”

Back inside, I dozed on and off for the rest of the afternoon, then went to bed early. The blow to my head had taken a lot out of me, more than I’d originally thought. All things considered, today had been an uneventful day: no ladder mishaps or room fires, no scary road trips with me behind the wheel, not a single dead body showing up.

I didn’t want to think about what tomorrow might bring.