Finding Fraser(56)

“Are ye sure, pet? Them stones are … well, are ye sure?” Her voice had dropped to little more than a whisper.

I nodded, and decided to risk the truth. “I’m really just checking it off my list. It’s a—it’s a bit of a long story.”

She pulled her glasses off and they slid down her chest with a quiet rattle. The wind whistled around us a little, skittering last year’s leaves along the ground. She looked down at her wristwatch and muttered. “Half-twelve. Should be enough time …”

Her gaze returned to me, over the top of her glasses. “Well,” she said, “if ye are sure, then best I drive ye, pet. Come along—it’s just this way.”

The little terrier on the leash gave me a short, sharp bark as if to say ‘get a move on’, and we were off.





Valerie Urquhart, for that was her name, had lived in Drumnadrochit all her life, as had her father, and her father’s father. “The family’s got property in the area,” she said. I later discovered that the entire region was in the realm of Clan Urquhart, including a nearby castle on Loch Ness that had been in her family for generations. Whether it was modesty or for some reason I never learned, she shared none of these details with me.

What she did share, however, was her gift.

We were in her small Volvo, rocketing along the road less than ten minutes after I’d first met her.

“It’s all right, pet,” she said, expertly gearing down to take a sharp corner. “I knew right away you were a good person. I read faces like books, aye? An’ when ye showed us the map, well, it was clear I had to help.”

The countryside was primarily farm fields, each lined with low rock walls that wound up the hillsides. Any forested patches were mainly peppered with deciduous trees, so the area still had a bit of a bleak, pre-spring look. I could see alders and willows and even a few elm trees through the windows as we whipped past. And there was the barest trace of green to the blur of trees going by, showing spring weather might not be too far away to hope for, at least.

The little terrier, whose name was Wullie, stood on his hind legs the whole way, front paws balanced expertly on the back of the front seat as we rounded the corners. Gerald’s map indicated the distance as twenty minutes from the town. Valerie had the car parked and was hopping out with the dog in under twelve.

My heart sank. I could see before I even got out of the car that this area was flat, again— not on a hillside, and not really even among the trees. Sheep placidly grazed one field over, beyond a ragged rock wall.

The small parking lot was entirely empty, and Valerie had stopped to wait for me by the path leading to the stones.

“So, ye’ve seen the stones at Clava, I take it.”

I nodded and stepped past her onto the path, but she put a hand on my arm. “Emma—your family. Before they went to America—were they Scots?

“Not that I know,” I said. “My dad’s family was Irish, and I may have had a great-grandmother from Aberdeen, but I think that’s it.”

“Ach, that’s Celtic on both sides, then,” Valerie said. She reached out and took one of my hands in both of hers, and then closed her eyes.

We stood there in a most awkward silence, me desperate to withdraw my hand but not wanting to offend the kind lady who had, after all, driven me well out of her way. And she, standing still, humming softly to herself.

After what seemed like an eternity, she opened her eyes and looked at me earnestly. “There is a great longing in you, Emma. And yer willin’ to work hard fer what ye want, there’s nae doubt about that.”

She was still holding my hand, and she unclasped hers from around mine but did not quite let go. Instead, she turned my hand around, so the palm was open and facing up. “Sometimes the best thing is to jes’ hol out yer hand like this, in yer mind’s eye—p’raps when you are about to drift off to sleep or even jes’ when ye have a quiet moment. Hold out yer hand and picture what you want in it—in your own grasp.”

We both looked down at my palm, held out between us. And for an instant in my mind’s eye, I saw a hand there, clasping my own. My fingers curled inward to a fist, involuntarily, and she patted it softly before releasing me.

“That’s the way,” she said. “Now let’s see about these stones, shall we?”





I hadn’t said a word about my travels, or my intent regarding visiting the ancient site, but after our brief moment in the parking lot, I felt almost as if I had no secrets from Valerie—as though she had some weird grasp on my inner life. But instead of making me feel self-conscious and ridiculous, I felt strangely at peace.