Finding Boaz

  When she arrived at the dock, the festivities were beginning. The tents were up, a piper was playing, and the smell of barbecue permeated the breeze. Every employee of MacLeod was dressed in a yellow kilt. It had the look of a county fair.

  A small clutch of well-dressed people stood around the reception tent. Abby hauled the box out of the backseat of her car and brought it over to the tables just in time. She smoothed out her yellow kilt that she had thought to take no care of until that moment. She was glad she hadn't torn it or smeared it hauling that box around. Her fingers flew to her grandfather's tie pin clasped under the collar of her plain white blouse. It was still there. The subpoena lay folded in her pocket.

  These were the first of the arrivals. Her guests. She stuck out her hand and introduced herself. White teeth, tanned faces, unnaturally thin, the waifs of the travel industry passed by with the usual banalities. It seemed to Abby that she had a tape recording in her head for this sort of thing. She took it out and played it at the appropriate times. Things like, "So nice of you to come" and "If you need anything let me know" came forth from the smile on her face as if she meant them. The folded paper in her pocket reminded her of the battle that lay ahead.

  The parking lot and the dock area were filling fast. Their guests came in clumps moving like jellyfish in the surf, ebbing and flowing with the tides, dipping below the surface to reemerge a few feet away from where they had been.

  Internal radar told her that Duncan had arrived. She could see him moving through the corridors made by the backs of the clusters, becoming one of them for a time, extracting himself, and then joining another. He was smiling broadly, gesturing towards the yacht that lay waiting at the dock.

  He had everything under control. He walked smoothly among the bunches of guests. She was proud of him. She wished she could share all her troubles with him. Surely those shoulders were strong enough for this fight.

  You've gotta stop thinking like that, she told herself. You can rely on God. He will help you out of this.

  A tap on the shoulder caused her to jump. She turned to find Pat.

  "Didn't mean to scare you, Abby. You seemed a long way off."

  "You're right. I was a long way off. So what brings you out here? Want to take a cruise?" They laughed together.

  "I came with Erin MacLeod. She thought it would be good to get me out. She was right." She looked around at the crowds. "You know, after a funeral, the oddest thing happens. All the people go home. Of course they have to. Martha had to take her boys home—they're in school, you know."

  "I didn't think of that. How quiet it must be."

  "It is. The day after Martha left, the doorbell rang. It was Erin. She knew. So here I am. Out and about. Have you seen Duncan?"

  "Yes. He's over there." Abby pointed toward the Erin~D. Duncan stood in front of a small cluster of people, obviously answering questions and inviting people to tour the vessel. Angus stood at the stern ready to receive any who came aboard. She could just see Kay standing behind him peeking out of the cabin.

  "He looks fine today," Pat said.

  Abby felt a blush rise to her cheeks.

  "So you did notice. Have you seen anything of him?" Pat asked.

  "No, not really. I think he's interested in someone else." Abby avoided Pat's eyes by keeping her gaze out at the festivities she was supposed to be watching.

  "Are you quite sure about that, Abby?"

  "Yes. Will you excuse me? I see that they are turning on the mike, and I have to get up to the stage. I'm on!" She smiled at Pat and made a speedy escape. Abby felt a twinge of guilt at rushing off, but it wasn't a lie. She did need to get to the stage. The squeal of the microphone had saved her.

  Abby stood around on her tiptoes for five minutes backstage watching for Duncan and Andrew.

  "Hello, beautiful." Andrew arrived first carrying bagpipes and a guitar.

  "Hi. Have you seen your brother?" Abby asked.

  "I'm here," Duncan said.

  His brown eyes were flat and guarded. The last time she had seen him, she hadn't exactly been friendly. Was he angry?

  When Abby stepped across the stage, the piper stopped. She picked up the microphone.

  "Hello, everyone!" People turned to face the stage slowly. "Welcome."

  When she had the attention of most of them, she introduced Duncan. He stepped up to the mike, and she stepped back off the stage. He would take it from here. It was his show. She found herself a metal folding chair stuck by a wooden crate near a tent stake and sat down. She listened to his voice. It had a lilt, soft and barely discernable. She felt it calling to her soul, tugging and pulling. Abby placed her hand over the pocket with the thick folded paper.

  No.

  Duncan briefly explained his vision for the Erin~D. He told how he and his father had dreamed up the scheme and the hours of phone calls and e-mails it had taken to make their dream a reality. He invited any who wished to climb aboard and experience her accommodations. Then he introduced Andrew, one of his four brothers.

  Well, that answers that, she thought wryly; there were four brothers.

  "I have an ancient song to play for ye." The lilt in Andrew's voice was more an impersonation than the real thing.

  "'Tis a good day for old songs... " He plucked and tuned his guitar. "This one was a favorite of Lachlan MacLeod's. Today I sing it for my mother."

  "Shall I tell you a tale of the first Duncan MacLeod?" Andrew began to sing and strum. Abby perked up. She loved old ballads.

  "He decided to seek, his fortune abroad

  a new land to conquer, begin a new life.

  He thought to take no one—not even a wife.

  On the day of his leavin' fair Fiona McBride

  She walked right up to him and made a small bow.

  It's high time I speak to thee my Duncan MacLeod.

  I vow to go with ye, I care not how.

  She gave him a cloth that her mother had made, it was

  made of fine linen, it was all that she owned.

  He took the gift from her and then he did say

  My life will be hardship and ne'r will be gay.

  I shall share in your hardship, your trouble, your pain.

  I shall bear you fine children to carry your name.

  Only leave me not behind thee, dear Duncan MacLeod.

  I vow to go with thee I care not how.

  So he took the fair Fiona to be his bride.

  She bore him five fine children that carry his name,"

  Abby's foot tapped with the beat. The song reminded her of "Sweet Betsy from Pike." It was the last verse that stuck in her mind.

  "The legend holds true of the Lairds of MacLeod.

  Today they'll not marry 'til she makes a bow.

  Approach him quite slowly and offer your prize

  "Tis the only way to become our Laird's fair bride."

  Andrew finished with a flourish. Abby clapped enthusiastically. What a wonderful song, she thought. I wonder if he'll teach it to me. As he began to play the pipes, she got up and wandered away humming the tune of "Duncan MacLeod." She thought to get a bite of barbecue. She had not eaten since breakfast, and her stomach was beginning to complain.

  Chapter 37

  “Doesn't he have a lovely voice?" It was Pat. She was dabbing a little barbecue onto a plastic plate.

  "It was an interesting song. I should ask him to teach it to me. Do you think he will?” Abby asked. She began to fill a plate for herself.

  "I don't know. I think it's one of their family songs, isn't it?"

  "He said that, but I thought he was kidding. He probably wrote it himself."

  "I don't know. A lot of the old songs are passed down this way. Sung at festivals of importance. But that's not what I want to talk to you about, Abby. Before Ossy died, he resolved an old problem, and I think you need to be told about it. I think he wanted me to tell you."

  Pat looked like she was going to cry, so Abby took her by the arm with her free hand and led her to t
he far corner of the dock where nothing of interest lay for the throngs.

  They sat down on the weathered boards and hung their feet over the edge. Abby worried a little about losing one of her pumps so she kept angling her feet up from the ankles. And though she felt odd trying to keep her shoes on, she thought Pat looked even more out of place. It was like seeing the first lady or some other dignitary sitting on the ground in fine clothes.

  "It's a little quieter over here anyway."

  Pat nodded in agreement. Abby waited until Pat was ready, glad to be away from the bustle of the opening and the hostile eyes of Duncan MacLeod.

  "When Max was a little boy his best friend was Duncan MacLeod." Pat kept her eyes on the Bay as if the past played on the waves and she could read its cipher.

  "The two of them—you should have seen 'em—they were wild. They did everything together...Boy Scouts...everything. Ossy encouraged it. He and Lachlan, that's Duncan's father, were friends, so it seemed natural. One night—oh, gosh, you should have seen them getting ready for the pinewood derby. They sanded those little cars and painted them right on our steps. Duncan spilled bright red paint on the step. It's still there. You should have seen him—white faced—telling Ossy what he'd done. He was a good boy. But they got wild as they got older." Pat continued to look out to sea.

  Abby followed her gaze and waited. Andrew was playing a jig on the bagpipes now. She could almost see men and women in old Scottish garb dancing on their toes. It made her want to River Dance.

  "One night," Pat started, "the boys were out bashing mailboxes—"

  Abby let out a giggle. How many boys had she known who had done that in high school? She had never done it herself; she was a good girl. But she had heard all the stories. It was a pastime that nearly qualified as a sport in the county. All that was needed was a driver and a baseball bat. Nowadays, the only thing she could think of was how much the mailboxes would cost to replace.

  "It wasn't funny that night. Max was driving; Duncan was hitting the boxes. Then they came to Hermit Hogan's place. He had heard them coming up the road, and he got ready. The result was that Max was shot. He lost the use of his left arm for life. Anyway, Duncan drove him to the hospital and called us. Then he left. Lachlan felt that the boy was out of his control, so he signed the necessary papers and put him in the Army. Duncan shipped out without ever coming to see Ossy."

  "So that's what it was about—Ossy telling me to stay away from Duncan."

  "Yes. The day after Ossy came home from the emergency room, Duncan came to see him. He looked just like that little boy so long ago. Just as white-faced as he was then. He asked for forgiveness." Pat's eyes filled with tears. One escaped and ran down her cheek. "Os forgave him, of course. He was only angry that Duncan had never come. He ran away. He asked Duncan to take care of my affairs. I've never had a head for money matters. Figures always eluded me."

  Abby took her hand. "It's gonna be OK, Pat."

  "I know it is. He's never let me down yet." Pat pointed a finger to the sky.

  The two women hugged before Abby stood up to go. She had finished her lunch and needed to get back to work.

  "Thank you," Abby said.

  "People change, Abby—Jesus changes them. Don't let pride get in the way of anything He is trying to do for you." Abby nodded and walked back toward the throngs of people.

  She was glad for Duncan that he had straightened out the past with Ossy. And she supposed that was the night that her mother attended Max Gordon, which was why she couldn't find out what had happened that night.

  So, her mother said that Duncan was OK. Pat said Duncan was OK. But she had seen him with Ruth, and she had a thickly folded notice in her pocket that told her Duncan was not OK. All bets were off. God would just have to send someone else. Duncan couldn't be the one.

  The sun was setting as the last car pulled out of the parking lot.

  Abby knew that Duncan stood behind her. Her spirit seemed to reach out from her heart through her back and bump into him. She waited before turning around, breathing deeply and bracing herself for the way she felt when she saw him. As she turned, the world went quiet. She was aware of her co-workers under the tents packing up boxes; of the caterers cleaning the grills and taking them down; the MacLeod men removing streamers, breaking down the stage, wrapping up cords. Duncan stood before her in a white shirt and kilt. His face spoke of concern. His eyes were soft brown again.

  He's the one. She heard the voice of the Lord as clearly as she could hear the laughter of the workmen.

  "Are you OK?"

  Duncan stepped forward to put his hands on her shoulders. Abby heard “OK.”

  "I'm fine. Thank you."

  She had no time to react to this new revelation other than to release the joy that sprang from her soul. She smiled at him. He stepped back quickly.

  Oh yeah—Ruth, she remembered. Of course he must be careful with her on account of Ruth.

  Well, maybe she was mistaken. Perhaps it was just her rebellious heart speaking to her after all and not the Lord.

  "You seem a little dazed. Are you sure you're all right?" Abby heard him ask. She still felt a little detached.

  "Yes, I'm fine. I'm sorry. I was a little lost in thought." She laughed. "Maybe a lot lost in thought."

  "I thought everything went wonderfully today. You did a tremendous job. Just tremendous." His eyes sparkled.

  "Thank you." She bowed a little.

  "I'd like to take you to dinner to celebrate. We can pick up Chloe and go," he said.

  "Chloe is spending the night with my mom."

  His eyes shot up.

  "Well, I wasn't sure how long this thing would go on, you know."

  "Of course. Whatdya think? We can drop off your car at your house and go from there."

  "Why not?"

  And why not? she asked herself as she drove home. If the Lord really did speak to her didn't she have the right—even the obligation—to check it out?

  Duncan followed behind her in his gray pickup. What should she wear? Hangers of clothes slid by in her mind. She should take a shower. She felt grimy from being out at the dock all day. Would he mind waiting? Never mind. It was too much trouble, and besides she didn't want to appear overeager. A couple of friends going out to dinner. That's all. And besides, if the Lord had spoken, then Duncan would have to take her as she was. Not dressed up. Just her—problems and all.

  It seemed to be fine with him because when she pulled into her driveway, he sat and waited in the truck with the engine running. Abby was glad she had thought better of a new outfit.

  The corner of the envelope poked her thigh and deflated her pleasurable feelings of excitement as she slid in beside Duncan. She felt an urge to grasp her daughter in her arms. This could be one of the last nights she could spend with Chloe. She had no business going out to dinner with Duncan. She could be putting Chloe to bed. She should be consulting her mother about what to do. She had had no time all day to think of it. What was she going to do about Bradley? Perhaps she would ask Duncan about his brother, the attorney.

  Duncan smiled at her once she had closed the door and settled under her seat belt.

  "I thought we would go to Limon's."

  "Oh, I've never been there."

  "It's my favorite seafood place."

  "Sounds good to me."

  Duncan watched the road. Abby watched the trees go by, their new green leaves glowing neon in the periwinkle dusk. As they drove on the winding road out of town, they passed cow pastures. Abby kept her eyes out for the first signs of lightning bugs. They made the nighttime woods around her home enchanted in the summer.

  They parked in a sandy lot and walked a short, twisted road to the famed Limon's. It was more upscale than Abby was used to. She hoped it wouldn't require vast knowledge of forks. It wasn't until they reached the door that she realized they were still wearing matching clothes.

  "Oh, my gosh, we are dressed like twins." She turned and nearly knocked him off the ste
p behind her. He reached out and grabbed her waist to steady himself, and guide her forward.

  "I like it."

  Abby flamed red and turned around. He held the door with an arm above her head and she stepped through the doorway.

  The room was golden and warm. They were standing in a long foyer carpeted in presidential blue. The walls were cream, and the accents were gold. Behind an oaken lectern stood a tall blonde man in a black tuxedo.

  "Good evening, Mr. MacLeod. If you'll follow me."

  Outclassed. No doubt about it, was all Abby could think as she followed the maître d’ as he glided through the maze of round tables with starched white tablecloths. At the back of the room was a large wall with windows cut of small panes. From the floor to the ceiling, the windows provided a view of the Chesapeake Bay. It was toward one of these window tables that he led them.

  It was quieter here than home alone at night with Chloe in bed. She was glad that her murmur of thanks was swallowed up in the plush room, as she had feared it would echo around the huge cavern and stun the other diners.

  The other diners were much older than she or Duncan, yet many of them nodded and smiled at him. Then they returned to their hushed conversations. Abby was glad to see only two forks. She could handle that.

  "You OK?"

  Duncan was laughing at her. The twinkle in his eye warmed her.

  "Yes."

  "You looked a little doe-eyed there for a minute."

  "It's a very nice place." She looked around again at all the finery in the room. Dark blue drapes hung at the windows were tied back with golden tassels.

  "The food's good."

  "Andrew was great today."

  "Yep, he was. I was surprised at his choice of songs, though."

  "What do you mean?" They were interrupted by a waiter with menus and a wine list. Duncan ordered stuffed flounder and a glass of white wine for each of them.