Lara had heard stories about Grandfather Maxwell.
“The auld bastard tried to keep me frae marryin’ his precious daughter,” James Cameron would complain to any of the boarders who would listen. “He was filthy rich, but do ye think he wad gie me aught? Nae. But I took guid care of his Peggy anyway…”
And Lara would fantasize that one day her grandfather would come to take her away to glamorous cities she had read about: London and Rome and Paris. And I’ll have beautiful clothes to wear. Hundreds of dresses and new shoes.
But as the months and the years went by, and there was no word, Lara finally came to realize that she would never see her grandfather. She was doomed to spend the rest of her life in Glace Bay.
Chapter Four
There were myriad activities for a teenager growing up in Glace Bay: There were football games and hockey games, skating rinks and bowling, and in the summer, swimming and fishing. Carl’s Drug Store was the popular after-school hangout. There were two movie theaters, and for dancing, the Venetian Gardens.
Lara had no chance to enjoy any of those things. She rose at five every morning to help Bertha prepare breakfast for the boarders and make up the beds before she left for school. In the afternoon she would hurry home to begin preparing supper. She helped Bertha serve, and after supper Lara cleared the table and washed and dried the dishes.
The boardinghouse served some favorite Scottish dishes: howtowdie and hairst bree, cabbieclaw and skirlie. Black Bun was a favorite, a spicy mixture encased in a short paste jacket made from half a pound of flour.
The conversation of the Scotsmen at supper made the Highlands of Scotland come alive for Lara. Her ancestors had come from the Highlands, and the stories about them gave Lara the only sense of belonging that she had. The boarders talked of the Great Glen containing Loch Ness, Lochy, and Linnhe and of the rugged islands off the coast.
There was a battered piano in the sitting room, and some-times at night, after supper, half a dozen boarders would gather around and sing the songs of home: “Annie Laurie,” and “Comin’ Through the Rye,” and “The Hills of Home,” and “The Bonnie Banks O’Loch Lomond.”
Once a year there was a parade in town, and all the Scotsmen in Glace Bay would proudly put on their kilts or tartans and march through the streets to the raucous accompaniment of bagpipes.
“Why do the men wear skirts?” Lara asked Mungo McSween.
He frowned. “It’s nae a skirt, lass. It’s a kilt. Our ancestors invented it long ago. In the Highlands a plaid covered a mon’s body agin the bitter cold but kept his legs free sae he could race across the heather and peat and escape his enemies. And at night, if he was in the open, the great length of the cloth was both bed and tent for him.”
The names of the Scottish places were poetry to Lara. There was Breadalbane Glenfinnan, and Kilbride, Kilninver, and Kilmichael. Lara learned that “kil” referred to a monk’s cell of medieval times. If a name began with “inver” or “aber,” it meant the village was at the mouth of a stream. If it began with “strath,” it was in a valley. “Bad” meant the village was in a grove.
There were fierce arguments every night at the supper table. The Scotsmen argued about everything. Their ancestors had belonged to proud clans, and they were still fiercely protective of their history.
“The House of Bruce produced cowards. They lay down for the English like groveling dogs.”
“You dinna ken wha’ you’re talking aboot, as usual, Ian. ‘Twas the great Bruce himself who stood up to the English. ‘Twas the House of Stuart that groveled.”
“Och, you’re a fool, and your clan comes from a long line of fools.”
The argument would grow more heated.
“You ken wha’ Scotland needed? Mair leaders like Robert the Second. Now, there was a great mon. He sired twenty-one bairns?”
“Aye, and half of them were bastards!”
And another argument would start.
Lara could not believe that they were fighting over events that had happened more than six hundred years earlier.