Boldly Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

Lorna's Story

"It was like it was all happening over again," Lorna said softly. Mrs. Sullivan, silent for once in her life, listened in curious awe. "I've niver told anyone... since it all happened... was afraid t' talk of it all. But I canna hold it all inside o' me anymore."

Night had fallen and the turmoil of the day had ceased at last. The source of the fire was proven to be a cigar, carelessly dropped, by someone outside of the school. Who had dropped it, they could never hope to prove. And what did it matter? There wasn't anything that anyone could really do about it. The school would be rebuilt immediately. Would take a couple of weeks, they told the shaken young teacher. And until then, she needn't worry about classes. And so Lorna sat in Mrs. Sullivan's parlor, recounting at last the story she had held inside of her till she felt about to burst.

"I grew up in Aberdeen... in Scotland. My mither... she died when I was born. My middle name... Jean... was her name. My father was Donal McAllister. An' I loved him as niver did anyone love a father. He was... wonderful. So big an' tall an' strong. I got my red hair from him... my mither had brown hair. He had fiery red... and a big bushy beard t' match it. But he always said I had my mither's eyes.

"We lived in th' highlands. Da herded sheep. An' I spun an' died an' wove fabrics t' sell. All o' my tartan... my arisaids an' my skirts I wove myself. I suppose they're horribly out o' fashion here but... I dinna care. They hold good memories f' me. This one... this skirt I'm wearin' now... is MacGregor tartan. I was almost a MacGregor. I... still have m' weddin' arisaid but... I've never worn it.

"Da let me run wild... when I wasna takin' care o' th' house or weavin' or studyin'. I climbed trees an' swam an' even learned tae shoot. Robert MacGregor... he was my nearest neighbor an' closest friend. He was just one year older than me. We grew up together. He's th' one that taught me how tae shoot. I'm something of a crack shot, if I do say it myself," Lorna laughed and Mrs. Sullivan shook her head. In her opinion, it was not an entirely proper thing for young women to know how to shoot. Nor was it necessary. Let the men do things like that.

"Here..." Lorna unclasped her locket and held it out to Mrs. Sullivan. "This is my mither and father... an' Robbie. Th' only pictures I have left." She closed the locket with a wistful smile and held it close to her heart as she continued.

"Robbie an' I were engaged... last summer. An' I've niver been so happy... not in all my life. Th' weddin' was t' be in th' end o' September. By that time... We had a little house an' I had moved most o' my things. That's why... why I still had my clothes an' everything. But somethin' happened an' our house... I mean mine an' Da's... the house I grew up in, caught fire. Robbie was outside when it happened. I was tryin' to get Da out... he had been hurt in an accident years before an' couldna walk fast. Robbie got me out o' there an' then went back in for Da." Lorna paused. There were tears in her eyes and she was breathing quickly, as if reliving that awful day.

"Th'... th' roof... fell in. An'... Da' an' Robbie... niver got out. I..." she was silent a long while and Mrs. Sullivan sat helplessly, speechless. It was a rare thing for Mrs. Sullivan to be speechless and she didn't much like the experience.

"I couldna stand stayin' there... in Robbie's house... although I still had that. I was so alone. An' so I came t' America... t' teach. T'... start over again."

"Well, now you're here, and starting over indeed," Mrs. Sullivan shook her head sadly and held out a tray heaped high with her chocolate cookies. "Have another cookie? There, dearie, you'll be all right." Lorna was crying again and Mrs. Sullivan laid the cookies aside to put her arms around the girl's shoulders. "It's all right, dearie, just cry it out. That's the best way. That's how it was for me when my Joshua died. I was only twenty-five and it hit me hard. Cryin' and prayin'... that was the only thing that got me through."

oOo

As was the custom with the Western people, the school was to be built… in a single day… at what they called a "raising". Lorna had never heard of such a thing before. When she was growing up, the buildings were built of stone and required many hours of careful labor and expert workmanship. Just the mere thought of it brought back memories of the days when she and Robbie were building their little stone house with the help of their families. It had taken months before it was finished. And here they were telling her that the school could be finished within a single day! In the week leading up to the school raising, volunteers began to bring logs down from the hills and laying the foundation… preparing for the construction. Lorna was at the site daily, watching eagerly as they rode in, wagons full of freshly-cut pine logs.

The school site was almost constantly swarming with people those few days as they cleared away the blackened ruins and set up the piles of supplies. Lorna mingled among the workers, listening and watching, and occasionally being accosted and forced to listen to long monologues on the construction of log buildings.

"If ya see here, Miss, they'll be a' puttin' chinks in th' logs so's that they kin fit t'gether…" Lorna tried to listen, for politeness' sake, at least, but she was dreadfully sick of hearing it all over and over again.

"Lorna!" she turned to see who called her name, relieved to find a distraction. Jason McCulloch had just driven in and was standing in his wagon, waving his hat at her. He jumped down as she hurried to meet him and nodded toward the foundation that was being staked out. "How d'ya like it? They'll be makin' it bigger than before. It might even end up bein' a good thing it was burned down… as awful as that was… since ya'll be gettin' a better school when it's done."

"Really?" Lorna cried in surprise. "I wasna payin' verra much attention t' the foundation… no one would really let me get a chance t' look at it and I didna notice it was any different than before."

"Here," Jason was smiling at her sudden delight. "Let me show you." And he pushed through the crowd of workers, pointing out the foundation and the various differences from the old building. And somehow, hearing more about log buildings was suddenly an interest to Lorna.

oOo

"Who'd have ever thought it? Oh, these people are the best at turning a catastrophe into something wonderful, I do declare. Such doings!" Mrs. Sullivan had cornered Lorna in the kitchen that morning, gushing over her excitement for the school raising the following day.

"They're just building th' school," Lorna frowned, unsure of the cause for Mrs. Sullivan's exuberance.

"No, no, dearie, it's much more than that, much more, indeed! Just wait till you hear. They'll be raising the school tomorrow evening… and when they're finished, they'll have a picnic auction. And then there'll be dancin'… an'…"

"Wait." Lorna stopped her. "Did ye… did ye say a picnic auction? What on earth is that? As far as I've ever known… a picnic isna somethin' ye can auction off."

"You mean you don't know?" Mrs. Sullivan asked blankly. Lorna shook her head. "Oh, well it's very simple, dearie. An old tradition… an' the best way to raise money. All the ladies make up picnic baskets an' the men bid on the baskets. Then they get to eat the picnic with the lady who made it."

"Ye have got t' be kidding me. D' they really do that? An'… what about th' married women?"

"I am most certainly not kidding," Mrs. Sullivan looked almost offended. "It's a perfectly logical tradition. And married women can only be bid on by their husbands. So the bidding doesn't go high until they start with the unmarried women. And… I know how you feel, Lorna, dear, but I'm sure you'd enjoy the evening so much more if you made a basket."

"Me?" Lorna grew pale and unconsciously reached up to touch her locket. Maybe… maybe it wouldn't be all that bad… just having supper. That would certainly be all right, wouldn't it? She had decided firmly once and for all to never again let love into her life. Not of that kind. But… the picnic would be perfectly safe. And everyone else would be there. And so she agreed, much to Mrs. Sullivan's further excitement. And the rest of the day was spent in delightful planning and baking of what Mrs. Sullivan considered to be the epitome of picnic suppers… but, of course, not without some argument from Lorna, who still rebelled slightly against the thought of becoming too American.