She is grateful for a night off. Melody just wants to switch her brain off, move it from the worry, and have one good night where she can enjoy the ambience and the Celtic charm of Talon's Point.
It is now Saturday evening. The Howling Dog inn is busier than usual, and those who live in Talon's Point are revelling in the atmosphere. It smells of stale beer and whiskey, and there are enthused shouts of joy as a band plays in the corner. The melodious sound of the accordion, fiddle, and bagpipes feels to Melody as Scottish as the landscape itself. It is as though the joyous, life-affirming place that is Deacon's Island, has given birth to good cheer at the correct hour — what should be a tonic to Melody's worries about her father.
Having some relief from the domineering atmosphere of Deacon House is welcomed, though she still feels very much like an outsider feigning enjoyment to a degree.
She cannot stop thinking about her father, entirely. It comes in waves, a mixture of anxiety, grief, and unresolved questions. Growing in her mind is the belief that her father may have come to a frightening end at Deacon House, and that she is working for those involved.
“Do you like the music?” Rob asks, sitting beside Melody in front of a wooden table that gets shunted every time a dancing villager knocks into it. Both the shunt and the question break Melody's diminished mood. She is happy to see people enjoying themselves.
“Yeah,” Melody says over the cheery music. “I've heard some Celtic music before, you know, during St Patrick's Day. It's pretty big in Boston as a lot of people moved to the East Coast from Ireland.”
Rob laughs and then shouts across to Morrison behind the bar, serving at speed. His bushy moustache is still as full of character on his top lip as ever.
“Morrison! Do you hear that? Melody says it's like St. Patrick's Day at the Howling Dog!”
From behind his bushy moustache, Morrison lets out a lively laugh and a few of the local barflies sitting on stools nearby join in.
“Nae, lassie!” Morrison yells over the music. “This is Scotland! Not Ireland! Though we do count the Irish as our Celtic brothers and sisters here.”
“I didn't mean any offence,” Melody says, thinking once more about her old professor's words about Academic Whiplash. Melody had read a lot about Scotland, but it was no substitute for being there.
“None taken,” Rob says, taking a sip from his whiskey glass. “Ireland and Scotland have influenced each other greatly for centuries. A lot of people have moved across the sea one way or the other. This music... This is called a cèilidh.”
“Kaylee?”
“That's right, but don't try to spell it. There aren't many Gaelic speakers left in Scotland, but there are a lot of words that have slipped through into common use.”
The band finishes a song and there are wild hoots and hollers from around the room. The singer, with an accordion wrapped around his neck and held between his arms, addresses the inn.
“We have a very special guest wae us the night,” the singer says. “Aw the wae fae the good ole U.S. Of A.” He tries his best to put on an American accent but butchers it to Melody's native ears. She realizes that must be how she would sound to them if she tried to put on a Scottish accent.
Many drunken faces turn to Melody, their cheeks red, their skin weathered by countless trips out to fish the wild seas. Many raise their glasses and smile.
It then gets a little embarrassing for Melody as the band clanks through a rendition of the Star Spangled Banner, before breaking into Don Maclean's famous American Pie. The latter is much more musical to Melody's ears and it's clear it's one they've played before, unlike the American national anthem.
Rob grins from ear to ear and grabs Melody by the hand. He ushers her up into a space on the floor between several couples dancing away, fuelled by spirits both emotional and fermented. They dance, and Melody feels good in Rob's strong embrace. She likes him, though she knows she cannot allow herself to fall for him; not when so much is at stake.
I need to keep my mind clear. Still, Rob seems to be enjoying himself, picking Melody up in his arms and moving her around at pace. After a time, Melody starts to get the steps, and by the end of the song she's jigging away like the rest of the pub.
It strikes Melody as she sees the world becoming a blur of happy, smiling faces, that some there might know about her father. But she dares not ask openly in case someone involved in his disappearance is listening. Instead, it is little Rebecca's assertion that she was taught by a Mr Sanders, that allows Rebecca a cover story of sorts; a route of inquiry that might help yield some answers.
As the band finishes the line “this'll be the day that I die,” and the inn erupts in applause, Melody leans into Rob's embrace and whispers in his ear.
“Did you ever meet Mr Sanders up at Deacon House?”
Rob continues smiling as she leans back, but Melody is certain that, upon his brow, worry has momentarily made itself known. It's as though her words have clouded his enjoyment. More than that, he now seems intent on addressing Melody's words in a more secluded environment, as though conversing about them might be dangerous.
Taking Melody by the hand, he leads her to the stairs that shoot up to the rooms above. Melody is worried by this herself. She never allows a man to push her around, but she must play
