Mr. Boyle, the owner of the farm, seemed to find it hilarious that the person that James had gone off to see had shown up on his doorstep. He had no idea what perils James had exposed himself to by going north. But Karla didn’t share her worries with Renfrew or the staff.
She kept telling herself that he would be fine. Papa had never met James so any chance encounter would be harmless. Knowing nothing of her whereabouts, James would probably wander aimlessly around Glasgow center, scanning crowds in hopes of spotting a familiar face. It was doubtful he would go anywhere near Springboig. Why would anyone?
Failing to find her, he would return to Brynmawr Sunday night, they would have their tearful reunion, live happily ever after and that would be that.
She could only hope.
***
Jessica and Helen whipped up a dinner of stir fried corned beef and cabbage ignoring Karla’s protestations and despite having just eaten themselves and washed their dishes. To top it off, they brought out a cherry crumble for dessert.
Helen noticed Isobel admiring a book on a kitchen shelf. “Would you like to have that?”
“To borrow?”
“To keep. I’m done with it. It’s not something I would want to read twice. And no one else here is a much of a vampire fan.”
“Vampires were banned from our house,” said Isobel.”
“She doesn’t mean literally,” said Karla, balancing her last bite of cherry crumble on her fork.
“Oh?” Helen smirked. “So actual vampires were welcomed?”
Karla laughed. “I wouldn’t have been surprised, considering some of Papa’s friends. What Izzie means is that he did not allow us to read any fiction he did not approve, and there was very little that met his standards.”
“Three books,” said Isobel. “The Keys of the Kingdom, The Power and the Glory and Atlas Shrugged. And the only one of the three not about a priest was absolutely wretched!”
“Public libraries were off limits,” said Karla.
“Well then, sounds like you have some catching up to do,” said Helen. “I’ll put together a grab bag of must-reads. I promise to go light on priest protagonists.”
While they were cleaning up, Mr. Boyle introduced a neighbor, a man named Ben who was carrying a guitar in a battered case. Harry hobbled in with a fiddle tucked in the crook of his elbow and they commenced to play.
It turned out that music making was the custom at the farm every Friday night. Other musicians came with mandolins and more guitars, bodhráns and banjos. They played everything from ancient Welsh ballads to American bluegrass to Beatles.
Karla listened for an hour with Isobel holding her hand, snuggled up against her shoulder, until Jessica sidled over.
“You two look exhausted. How about we get you settled in for the night?”
“We can stay here?” said Isobel, all excited.
“Of course!”
She led them out and around the corner to a little one room and a bath cottage with its own fireplace.
“This is lovely!” said Karla, admiring the spare but elegant decor. “It reminds me a bit of Bern and Lille’s. If there’s a spare quilt we can borrow, we can find a spot on the floor.”
“Nonsense. You two get the bed,” said Jessica.
“But where will you…?”
Jessica was already unrolling a yoga mat in front of the hearth. She pulled a sleeping bag from a closet.
