Chapter 46
Five days later, Emmy leaned against the rail of the Caladonean MacBrayne, the ferry from Oban to Craignure. The December wind was biting cold but Emmy was snuggled in the depths of her warmest winter coat, scarf and gloves. It had taken a few days to prepare herself to try again, no succeed, in her return to Duart. Laying it all on the line, she had even updated her will leaving everything she had to Johns Hopkins and St Jude’s.
By her side, her largest tote was stuffed tightly. Kicking it with her toe, Emmy considered the bag. It had taken her a long time to figure out what she wanted to bring with her, assuming that what she carried would go with her as it had before. Should she bring twenty new bras and pairs of underwear? As much toilet paper as she could carry? A lifetime supply of tampons? She smiled. All those things she would just have to do without, but getting what she did want had delayed her a bit since it wasn’t something she could just carry on the plane and get through customs without questions. She’d had to wait in Oban for two days waiting for the package she had sent herself to arrive.
Her focus shifted to the coastline of Mull as Duart came into view. There it was, waiting. The wind was crisp and cold against her cheeks yet she hardly noticed. All her thoughts, her consciousness were focused on one man, lost to the past. Simply yearning. A quiver of uncertainty flashed through her. What if she failed? She was at the whim of a crazy old man who, it seemed, could only be found when he wanted to be. What if she could never find him again?
So lost in thought was she that she did not notice the pair of eyes which had been focused on her for so long. She could have been mugged and not even noticed or cared for that matter. Nothing mattered any longer. She had no will, no direction, and no desire beyond what lay before her. Soft footsteps approached from behind. If she’d been paying attention, Emmy would have noticed they were slow and shuffling.
“Lass? Lass?” The low, gruff voice had to repeat the word several times before it penetrated her consciousness. When it finally did, she jumped as though burned. Emmy turned to see and elderly gentleman at her side. Though he must have been in is late 70’s or early 80’s, he was not bent with age but rather stood straight. He was broad across the shoulders and a bit heavyset. His hair gray and he wore a beard. From the looks of his clothing and the heavy cane he held in one hand, it seemed to do quite well for himself.
“Excuse me?” She questioned a bit warily, for despite his genteel appearance, he was still a stranger approaching her on a public ferry.
The old man chuckled deeply at her obvious wariness. “Don’t be afraid, please. I don’t mean you any harm.”
“I didn’t think you did,” she replied tartly.
He laughed again at the obvious lie. He moved to stand at the rail, a few feet away, and looked out over the sound as well. His long heavy overcoat flapped in the wind. “I remember riding the ferries that came before this with great fondness. They were smaller, of course, not so crowded and no cars.”
“Yes, I remember.” she sighed.
“Do you?” he asked gently.
Emmy started realizing her mistake. “What I meant was I can certainly imagine...”
He waved her into silence. “It’s all right. I know what you meant.”
For some reason, part of her warmed to the man without warning. “You do?”
“Aye,” he smiled with a nod staring out over the waters beyond. “And you will see it again. Everything.”
He seemed so calm and reasonable that Emmy was sure he must be mad. How could he possibly know what she meant? Did he know? Could he help her? She tried to joke lightly, “Are you a fortune-teller? Can you see my future?”
He did not laugh but merely regarded her seriously for a moment before he changed the subject. “You know, my grandmother used to bring me on the ferry often for trips into Oban to get ice cream. She said it was our special time.”
“She did?”
“She did.” He chuckled again. “She was quite fond of ice cream.”
“Really, this is very interesting,” she turned away from him a bit frustrated by his cryptic conversation. “What else did your grandmother say?”
“She said to always be a gentleman.” He turned to face her. “Please allow me to introduce myself. Connor James Lachlan MacLean the Fourth, earl Strathclyde.”
“Connor Jam...”
He reached out and took her suddenly limp hand, shaking it with his large rough one. “I know,” he chuckled again. “Grandmother always said you shouldn’t number your descendants.”
Emmy met his eyes for the first time and could only stare in shock. Dark brown eyes warmed with gentleness and caring. “You know.” she whispered.
“Of course I do.”
“H-h-how?”
“You know, I have not gone about this well at all. Not as all as I had planned to.” Connor the Fourth shook his head and tsked himself. “It was the surprise, you see. Of seeing you here. I didn’t recognize you at first.”
“You know.” She stated more clearly staring at him with owl-like eyes. She laid her hand firmly on his arm and forced him to look at her. His eyes so unnerving. “Please, do not play with me here. How do you know? Connor MacLean was your grandfather?”
He returned her gaze in all seriousness. “I do not mean to toy with you. My apologies. Aye, he was my grandfather.”
“So,
