Part 1 is HERE if you would like to review it.
I apologize in advance for the attempt at the West Highland dialect here. I obviously could use a bit a LOT more practice.
Ian and his daughter stand at the edge of the Atlantic, dabbling in the morning tide. The froth runs in quickly and Jean is hopping and splashing, as the little ones do. The cold water cramps their feet.
“Da? How big is the sea?”
“Och, it’s big, lass! Almost big as forever.”
“What’s out there, then … across the water?”
“Well… there’s fish. Only fish fae more than 2,000 miles … and then there’s another land.”
“Is 2,000 miles a long way, Da?”
“Och, aye, it’s a fine long way.”
He picks up the five-year-old and seats her firmly on his shoulders as he always does and they gallop down the empty beach. They find a place to sit with their backs to the rocks, sheltered from the onshore wind. Ian opens his pack to retrieve their pasties and the flask of tea.
“I have your wee book here, Jean. Would you like tae read it?”
“Nae, Da, I want tae hear my story. Tell me again about the faeries.
“Och, I telt ye that story a hundred times, my Jean.”
“Aye, but it’s a good story, Da.”
“Och, well, then. Alright …. It was on a fine spring day. I was alone right here on this beach, and the fair folk came tae me, and they telt me about a lost baby. They showed me where tae find the wee bairn, and I found her. And do you know who that bairn was?
“It was me, Da.”
“Right ye are. That wee bairn was you. I found ye in a basket on the machair, right up there. You were crying ‘coz you were alone.”
“And the faeries, they took me mam. Coz it was her time tae go. And they took her tae Elfhame tae be wi’ them.”
“Aye, I think that’s right, my Jean. And then I carried you home wi’ me and then I got tae be your da.
They sat quietly together for a time, watching the sea birds wheeling and diving above the water.
“Da?”
“Hmm?”
”Where will I go when it’s yer time, and the fair folk come fae you?
“Och! Dinnae fash, lass. It willnae be my time for many a long year. Let’s go now and tend tae the roses that we planted fae yer mam.”
“Da?”
“Aye?”
“It’s good ye found me. You saved me, Da.”
“That I did, my Jean, an’ you saved me.”
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*Machair: low-lying, flat fields in northwest Scotland and the Scottish Outer Hebrides, which lie next to the sea and are formed of blown sand and crushed shell. They are covered in grass and wildflowers. Machair, from Scots Gaelic, is roughly pronounced mock’-her.
Cut to five years later. Perfect. We know what we need to know and we can guess at the rest if we want to. I will admit to a tear in my eye, starting about halfway through. I love the way you brought this story home, Sharron. Just beautiful.
Alright, eyes a bit wet, not too bad, don't need a tissue <sniff> well maybe one...
Well done, dear lady! 💚💚💚