Finding Fraser(46)

And that is what I did.





Forts & Friendship…

9:00 am, March 17

Fort William, Lochaber, Scotland



Today as I type these words, I find myself in one of the most beautiful parts of this country I’ve seen yet. Upstairs, through my bedroom window I can see the peak of Ben Nevis, Scotland’s highest mountain. And just south of here are breathtaking glens that roll away for miles between jagged peaks. Last night I couldn’t see any of this, but the bus driver filled me in on a few of the details, since it turned out I was the lone passenger.

Not much call for midnight bus service to Fort William on an icy March night, apparently. Fort William was named for Prince William of Cumberland, a fact most of the Scots around here don’t really enjoy. “He were a goddamned butcher, ‘at he were,” was how the bus driver put it.

And yes——there is a hostel in Fort William. How can there not be when this is the center of all Scottish mountaineering? But I am not there. We pulled in long after midnight and the driver took me to his auntie’s house before heading further south. I have already availed myself of a most excellent full Scottish breakfast cooked by the driver’s proud Auntie Gwen, connected with you——my fine friends——on her home computer, and now, on this beautiful almost-spring day … I go to see a friend in need.



- ES

PS Yes, I did notice it is Saint Patrick’s Day. And no——I will never celebrate the wearing of the green ever again.



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The truth was that Auntie Gwen’s breakfast had put me into a food coma from which I didn’t emerge until noon. I popped back onto her computer before I left for the hospital to see the comments had begun arriving pretty much immediately after I’d posted. They were almost to a letter all asking about how I was able to stay on in Scotland when I had been robbed. This made me a bit nervous. What if my nefarious deed got back to the airline? I decided that sticking with a general travelogue format on the blog was the best idea for the moment. It was important to engage my readers so I needed to keep the travel tips coming, but maybe I’d hold the more personal stuff to myself.

Even after all that time, I wasn’t really clear on the finer details of posting to my blog about real people. I mean—was it okay to mention names? I’d been pretty careful about it so far. Even in the case of Gerald posting straight to my blog, I still wasn’t sure about using his name online. I decided to check with him when I saw him. Better take the safe route.

Auntie Gwen’s place was gorgeous, and still smelled of bacon and warm bread. I couldn’t help feeling a pang of guilt as I headed out the front door, her hand-drawn map safely tucked into my pack. She’d risen at that god-awful hour to let me stay the night before, and even offered me winter rates, but the cost was still triple what I would have paid to stay at the hostel.

I decided I needed to sort out the money as soon as possible. But I also I knew I was going to have to find a job to make up the shortfall, anyway, so a night or two of totally reckless spending wasn’t going to kill me. My ill-gotten gains had only fostered my rebellious spirit. I had no work permit, so under-the-table employment was going to be my only option. A pirate’s life for me, yes? I laughed out loud at the thought.

Walking down the street, I could feel a real change in the air. There was a lightness to it that lifted my heart, even on the way to a hospital. The grass may not have been green yet, but I had a bit of my pirate gold in my pocket and the birds surely believed spring was on its way. The air was filled with feathered Bocellis, all singing their hearts out.

After a twenty-minute walk, the roof of the hospital arose just up the road. It was the standard three-storey affair that I would have known even without the address. What is it about hospitals that they look so similar, regardless of where in the world they are?

It turned out to be a good thing that I’d gone back for a post-breakfast nap, as visiting hours were only in the afternoon and the early evening. After taking a wrong turn into the maternity wing, I found my way into the ward where Gerald was staying. His bed was closest to the window, but he shared the room with three other beds, two of which were occupied.

He hadn’t seen me at first, and my heart went into my mouth a little at the sight of his pale face against the pillow. The hospital smell didn’t help. Disinfectant, mixed with … what? Sickness and worry, maybe.

A nurse was adjusting his IV, and Gerald caught sight of me just as she finished. “Emma! I can’t believe you’re actually here.”

His smile lit up his face, making me hope he was less proximate to death’s door than he had first appeared. He patted the side of the bed, and the nurse returned to sweep a curtain around to give us a little privacy.