Quarterback's Secret Baby(103)

I lied to my grandmother about the costs of her care. The truth would have been too cruel. There was no way I was going to let her know that all the pennies she had scrimped and saved up to leave me had been eaten up by hospital bills. When she finally passed a feeling of being profoundly and utterly alone in the world settled over me as I walked, dazed, out of the hospital for the last time. The sense of loneliness hadn't lifted since then and it slowly became my new normal. Friends and professors counseled me to see a doctor or a therapist or to consider anti-depressants but I stubbornly rejected all the advice, telling myself that I only felt alone because I was alone and the only thing to do was to face it rather than to try and apply band-aids to open wounds.

So when I got the call from Mrs. Clyde, the steel-haired Scottish woman, telling me I was accepted for the position of nanny, I went straight to the internet and spent the next few hours looking at images of Scotland and listening to the echo of connection between my heart and the empty, open spaces of the Highlands. It was a foolish thing to do, to seek my own salvation in a country I'd never been to and for reasons that were vague even to me but it was the one factor that got me to the airport and onto a plane and, eventually, to a train station in Inverness in the dead of a surprisingly chilly June night.





Chapter 2


"Jennifer Robinson?"

I turned towards the voice but it wasn't because I recognized my own name - I didn't. Mrs. Clyde must have seen the look of confusion on my face because she repeated herself, slower this time so I could understand it.

"Mrs. Clyde! Hello!" I tried to sound cheery even though I was falling-down tired after more than thirty-six hours of travel and newly terrified by the undeniable fact that I was in a country where I didn't know a single person - except the matronly Scotswoman standing in front of me with a smile on her face.

"You poor wee thing, you look half-dead you do." Mrs. Clyde's expression dissolved into something like sympathy when she got close enough to get a better look at me and feel the limpness in my handshake. "We'll get you back to the house and you can have a nice sleep - the Laird and the little one won't be back until Sunday night."

My ears perked up at the word 'Laird' - I knew it was the Scottish word for 'Lord' but no one had mentioned anything to me about any lairds or ladies. We drove for over an hour and I spent most of it repeatedly nodding off and jerking awake, embarrassed at my inability to keep my eyes open.

Any assumptions I may have made about working for a normal, middle-class family were wiped out when Mrs. Clyde turned the car onto a graveled driveway and a castle - an actual castle complete with ivy-covered turrets and heavy wooden double doors for a front entrance loomed up in front of me out of the misty night.

"Wow." I breathed, unable to contain myself at the sight of it. "Is this - is this where I'm going to be living?"

Mrs. Clyde chuckled and nodded her head.

"Aye, lass, this is Castle McLanald - I don't suppose you see many houses like this in America."

Houses? It wasn't a house. It was definitely a castle. And Mrs. Clyde was only partially right - I didn't see any places like it in America. I followed her up a set of wide, shallow stone steps and through the front door, where an older man greeted us with a nod. He turned out to be Mr. Clyde.

"Are you hungry, dear? I can see your tired, perhaps you just want to get into bed?"

She was right. Castle or not, vague worry that I'd managed to travel back in time or not, I was so tired I was starting to slur my words.

"I think I should just, uh, go to bed," I replied, blinking in the dim light.

Mr. Clyde took one of my suitcases in either hand and disappeared through a low, arched doorway - one of many that led out of the foyer - and Mrs. Clyde ushered me after him. I didn't notice my room. As soon as the door was closed behind me I threw back the covers on the bed and managed to mostly undress before climbing in, curling up into the soft mattress and falling asleep.

When I woke up, it was with the feeling you get after a long and much needed rest. All the blurriness of last night's arrival was gone and I felt refreshed and ready to explore what was to be my home and workplace for the next two and a half months. My phone said it was 11 a.m. but that was New York time - it was actually 4 p.m. in Scotland. I cringed a little, hoping Mrs. Clyde would be understanding about just how long I'd been traveling, but then I looked up from my phone and saw my room and forgot all about what time it was.

I'd only ever seen rooms like it in movies - usually movies set in the past. It appeared to be situated in one of the turrets of Castle McLanald, with walls that curved around the sturdy wooden bed and tall, rectangular windows that followed the curve. The view outside the windows was as quaint as the one inside - an open courtyard with a fountain standing in the middle and surrounded on all sides by thick, gray stone walls. I opened one of the windows and took a deep breath of air so fresh it almost smelled sweet. The bright sunshine made me feel momentarily brave. It wasn't even three months here, in a beautiful castle nestled in the Scottish countryside. Even without familiar faces and friends around, surely I could manage? You might even enjoy yourself.