The Handfasting Read online

  “I’ll get it.” Becky checked to see who was outside. “It’s Christa.” Christa and her husband lived across the hall. “She has a vase of flowers.”

  “Hi, Christa, come in.”

  “Hi. I can’t stay. I’m just playing delivery girl. The florist dropped these off right after the three of you left. They’re for,” she looked carefully at the card, “Katie Lee Jackson. Is that you, Katherine?”

  That got Katherine’s attention. She paused to listen to Christa. No one called her Katie Lee—there was only one person. Her heart began to race. It was the summer before she went to college, ten years ago, that she’d last heard the name Katie Lee.

  Steven.

  Taking a deep breath to steady her hand, she reached out. “I’ll take them, Christa. Thanks so much for keeping them for me.” Katherine leaned in and inhaled their fragrance as she took the vase, holding it out to gaze at the blooms.

  Whenever you see a yellow rose, think of me. His voice rang true in her mind. It was almost as if she heard the words spoken aloud.

  “Aren’t they beautiful?” she asked.

  “A dozen yellow roses in a crystal vase—what’s the occasion?”

  “My birthday is Saturday, so I guess they’re a present.”

  “Well, you be nice to whoever sent these. I would topple over if Ben brought me anything like this.”

  “Ben is very nice to you.”

  “He is. He is. But flowers? This vase?” She shook her head on her way out. “Well, have a nice birthday.”

  Katherine turned to see Becky and Sara standing, hands on hips.

  “After all of the things you’ve said about Bill Wilson,” Sara reprimanded her. “Those are so pretty. Why did he think of yellow roses, I wonder?”

  Katherine’s hands shook as she placed the vase on the coffee table. She ran her fingers along the purple ribbon and fumbled with the card as she pulled it from the envelope. She had been looking for a sign for months, hoping for a call. The flowers—they couldn’t be, but surely they must be from Steven.

  She stared at the card, her mouth open.

  “What is it, Katherine? Who sent them?”

  When she didn’t answer, Becky snatched the card and read it aloud. “Hi, Katie Lee. Can you believe it has been ten years? Remember, I promised to track you down. If you would like to talk, I have dinner reservations at Villa Antonia on Saturday at six. Saturday is your birthday, isn’t it? If you can’t make it, please let me know. I can’t wait to see you! Steven.”

  Becky looked to Katherine, eyes full of questions. “Who is Steven?”

  Katherine flopped onto the sofa, shock setting in.

  “I said who is Steven?” Becky chided. “If you don’t tell me, I’ll call—there’s a phone number at the bottom you know.”

  “Steven is…an old friend.” She pulled a single rose from the vase and held it out, studying the swirl of the petals. “Think of me,” he had said. “Remember I love you.” She looked up. “I…well, I had hoped to hear, but I never really expected to…I mean…Steven and I, we’re engaged to be married.”

  “Tell us about Steven.”

  Katherine twirled a strand of hair into a tight curl around one finger. “I told you about my trip to England, the summer between high school and college.”

  “Of course.”

  “There were a lot of kids, a lot of Americans, there that summer. You would meet people, hang out with them, and travel with them for a while. You know what I mean. If you were interested in the same things, you found yourselves together frequently. Steven was one of the other kids, and we wanted to see a lot of the same things.”

  Katherine looked up at the ceiling, recalling that summer. She still held the rose that she had taken from the vase and she tapped it idly against the chair.

  “He was an art student, a sophomore in college. He was going to spend the next year in Italy, painting. He was gorgeous—all of the girls thought so—smart, had a wicked sense of humor. He was also kind of shy, and most girls didn’t make the effort to get to know him.”

  “But you did.”

  “I did.” Katherine smiled, remembering a night at the youth hostel in York when she and Steven had stayed up talking and laughing, long after everyone else had crawled into bed. “A group of us went north, to Edinburgh, in Scotland, then on to Glasgow. Steven and I went different ways then. He went north. I went west, to the islands. I felt sad when we split up, but you know…that’s what we did. We wanted to see different things, we went our own ways.”

  Sara moved to sit beside her. “But you got back together?”

  Katherine nodded. “A couple of weeks later, I was back on the mainland. I’d been on the ferry with these three guys from Indiana. We had slept under a tree in a field on the edge of town. We were headed back toward Edinburgh in the morning. I woke up at sunrise. The guys were dressed, ready to go, and one of them was rummaging through my pack.”

  She crossed her arms. “It still makes me angry. I had five hundred British pounds in my pack. Do you have any idea how much money that was? They took it all. I fought with them, hit them, scratched, kicked, but you know, three guys against one me. One of them smacked me in the face, busted my lip. The other two tackled me, dragged me back to the tree, and threw me against it. They told me not to fight back if I wanted to live.”

  She started to cry. “I’m sorry.” She wiped her eyes. “I was so afraid. I stopped struggling, begged them not to hurt me, to take the money and not hurt me. They laughed at me, made fun of me. The one who searched my pack, he called himself Tom, acted like he was going to,” Katherine looked down and toyed with the hem of her blouse, “do something else, but finally, they tied me to the tree and just walked off. As they left, Tom looked back and told me not to follow them. ‘If we even see you again, well, we’ll definitely hurt you.’ He threatened me. That’s what he said. He said he’d definitely hurt me.”

  “That’s horrible,” Sara exclaimed. “Did you go to the police?”

  “It took me half an hour to get loose. Took me another forty-five minutes to get back to town, find the police station, and tell the officers what had happened. They were sympathetic—they took the report.”

  Sara shook her head. “They couldn’t do anything else?”

  “What could they do? Three America males, one tall, the others average. No last names. All had dark hair and eyes. My word against theirs. If they had hitched a ride, they could have been forty miles or more away by the time I made the report. The police offered to let me use the telephone and gave me directions to Western Union.”

  “I wouldn’t have cared about their threats,” Becky shook her head. “I’d have gone after them.”

  “I believed them when they said that I shouldn’t fight back if I wanted to live.”

  “What did you do?” Sara asked. “Call your parents?”

  “I didn’t know what to do. My mother never wanted me to go to England in the first place. I could hear what she would say. It’s not ladylike. You should have spent the summer at home, helping with Bible school, working at the soup kitchen with the ladies from St George’s. You shouldn’t have been traveling with strangers, should have stayed in a hotel, were lucky all they did was take your money. Irresponsible…I told you so—you know mothers.”

  Becky nodded. “Sounds like my mother.”

  “I guess she would have been partly right. I felt so stupid, so incompetent, so not in control. You know how I hate feeling like that.” Katherine clenched her hand on the arm of the chair.

  “I walked around town most of the day, but I was afraid I’d run into the three guys. I had a little money, not all of it was in my pack, but not enough to last the two weeks before I was to meet my parents.”

  Katherine stood and walked over to take a seat in front of the window. She leaned her head against the windowpane. “Late in the afternoon, I was sitting near the dock—dirty, crying, my hair was a mess, my face was bruised—and I heard Steven’s voice.” She trac
ed a finger in the fog from her breath against the window.

  “Katie? Katie, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

  She wiped her eyes.

  “Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine.”

  “Right. I can see that.” He looked at her dirty clothes and face, her red eyes. “What happened?”

  Slowly, she told him the story, told him why she couldn’t call home.

  “What am I going to do?”

  Steven paused. “You can stay with me tonight. I have a reservation at a hotel. Clean up, sleep well. Things will seem different in the morning.”

  “Will they?”

  “It’s what my mother always tells me.”

  “I can’t stay in a hotel room with you. Sleeping under a tree is one thing, but a hotel room?”

  “It’s just an offer. I’ll be at the King William Hotel. Just up the hill,” he pointed to a gray stone building, “if you change your mind. Anyway, maybe I’ll see you tomorrow. I’m heading back toward Edinburgh.”

  Steven picked up his pack and started up the hill.

  She watched him go, wondering what she should do. Steven was a nice guy. Surely he wouldn’t try anything. She decided she’d be safe. He was right…a good night’s sleep, someone she knew to travel with—

  “Steven!”

  He was a block away and didn’t hear her.

  “Steven!”

  She started to run, catching up just as he reached the hotel. “Steven, wait.” She grabbed his sleeve. “You really wouldn’t mind?”

  “No, not at all. You can stay with me.” He smiled.

  She had always liked his smile. Her face felt warm, and she looked away, hoping he had not noticed her blushing.

  He started to go inside then he turned and led her to a bench.

  “Look, Katie, it’s just an offer of a place to stay. I won’t attack you in the middle of the night or anything.”

  She managed a weak smile. “I know. You’re really sweet. If my mother were to find out, though…”

  “I won’t tell her!”

  They both laughed.

  “Another thing, though. I know it is nineteen sixty-seven and things are changing and all, but I don’t think they’ll give us a room together…unless we’re married. I’ll have to say you’re my wife.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “You’ll say we’re married?” She crossed her arms and turned away, feeling as if they were checking into a five-dollar motel in a seedy part of Richmond.

  “I’ve seen them turn people away at other hotels,” he said.

  “Okay.” Her voice was shaking. “Okay.”

  She stood by the door while Steven registered. The clerk watched as they mounted the stairs. “He didn’t believe you, did he? He thinks—”

  “He gave us the room.” Steven unlocked the door. The room was small, but it looked clean. Windows looked out over the water. “The sunset should be gorgeous.”

  Katherine looked around the room and gasped. “Steven, there’s only one bed!”

  “I had to tell him we were married.” He raised his empty hands in a gesture of innocence.

  “Oh, yeah. That’s right.”

  “The bathroom is two doors down. Do you want to clean up before dinner?”

  “I look that bad?”

  “Pretty bad.” He laughed.

  “I’m not really very hungry.”

  “I’m sorry. I was going to take you to the Red Lion. It’s supposed to be the best pub in town.”

  “You don’t have to pay for my food.”

  “Of course I don’t have to pay for your food. I was asking you for a date, Katie.” He looked away. “If you don’t want to go with me, that’s fine—”

  She put her hand to his mouth to stop him. “I’m sorry, Steven. It’s been a really bad day. Until now. I’d love to go to dinner with you. Let me bathe and change.”

  “So, that’s what happened.” Katherine stood and returned to where Becky and Sara were sitting.

  “You spent the night with him?” Sara gasped.

  “Two weeks.”

  “Did you—”

  “No! We slept in the same bed, not together.”

  “What’s the big deal?” Becky asked. “Lots of people do that.”

  “In nineteen sixty-seven? When you were in high school?”

  “I wouldn’t!” Sara said.

  “How about in Boston?” Becky teased.

  “I told you. I’ll stay with Will’s sister. Anyway, we’re talking about Katherine.” She turned back to Katherine. “What happened next?”

  “Like I said, we traveled together for two weeks. I had a little money, enough to buy lunch. Steven asked me for a date every night.”

  “That so sweet,” Sara said.

  “At one hotel, the clerk asked us to prove we were married. I thought we were going to be sleeping under the trees, but Steven told her we were on our honeymoon, so there hadn’t been time for a new license or passport.”

  “You said you had hoped he would find you. What is that about?”

  “I really liked Steven, and he must have liked me. I mean, I don’t think he would have treated just anyone like he did me, giving me a place to stay, dinner every night. Well, over those two weeks, we fell in love.”

  She wiped her eyes, remembering the first time Steven had said I love you. They had stopped to rest on a little stone bridge before climbing the hill into town. It was the perfect setting.

  “We ended up in a little town, not too far from Edinburgh, where I was meeting my parents the next day. I had just enough money for a bus ticket. Steven was going to London and then to Italy—do you know what handfasting is?”

  “No.”

  “It’s an old Celtic engagement ceremony. You make a formal agreement to marry.”

  “You married him?”

  “No, we became engaged. In the old abbey church. It was ten years ago, in nineteen sixty-seven. It was late at night...”

  Handfasting

  August 1967

  Theirs was the only room on the third floor of the small hotel, so no one noticed when they walked, hand in hand, down the short hallway. Katherine had never done anything quite like this before, and her hand shook as she took hold of the rail at the top of the stairs. She looked at Steven and smiled nervously as he squeezed her hand in reassurance.

  Small lights gleamed on the landing below, but the stairs were dark, her steps unsteady, and she stumbled twice on the way down. Steven was holding her arm, though, and he caught her each time she tripped. They stopped as they reached the hotel’s front door.

  “Are you all right?” he whispered.

  “Fine. It’s just dark.” She hugged him. “Really.”

  “You have the key?”

  She reached into a pocket and pulled out the ring that held both the key to their room and the one to the hotel’s door. “Got it.”

  They opened the door and slipped out into the darkness. Even though it was summer, the night air was cold and Katherine pulled her sweater around her, tightly. Only in Scotland, she thought, would she need a sweater in August. It was just after midnight, and the small Scottish town was effectively closed for the night. Their hotel was dark, except for a light in one room on the second floor. The other hotel, directly across the street, was also dark.

  They turned to the left and walked down High Street toward the central plaza. They passed two pubs, one on each side of the street, both closed. Farther down, a third one, the Golden Lion, appeared to be open—lights were visible through the window at least. Katherine thought it unlikely that many patrons were still inside. If so, they were surely sipping their last pints for the evening.

  They reached the plaza, the one part of town that was brightly lit. It was surrounded by shops—a candy store, a shop that carried Scottish woolens, two cafés, and one filled with what Katherine called tourist junk—stuffed Nessies, t-shirts with cute slogans, tartan ties, plastic swords, anything that might induce a tourist to part with a few pounds or do
llars.

  The Mercat Cross, the ancient symbol of royal authority, stood in the center of the plaza. Some fifteen feet high, it had occupied the same spot in the center of town for over five hundred years, witnessing the town’s gradual change from a place of pilgrimage, to a bustling market town, to the tourist attraction that it had become in recent years.

  The tourists came to see the ruins of the great abbey, much as the pilgrims in centuries past had come to see it in its glory. Katherine and Steven were going to the abbey, tonight.

  High Street ran through the plaza and they continued for two more blocks before turning left on the B road that ran toward the ruins. The buildings blocked the lights from the plaza and they had to watch their steps to stay on the sidewalk that ran beside the narrow road. Since it was late, there was no traffic—if a car should come speeding along, the driver would be as surprised to find them on foot, as they would be to see the car.

  The walkway ended abruptly and they stepped off onto the grassy shoulder.

  When Katherine looked up, she could see the stars. She had been in Scotland for almost six weeks and this was the first time she had seen them. Perhaps it was a good omen.

  Ten minutes later, they reached the abbey. The floodlights that illumined the ruins had been turned off and a single streetlight in front of the visitor center provided the only illumination. A chain hung across the entrance to the abbey grounds. Few visitors would walk out from town, and since there was no place to park, other than in the car park, the chain effectively closed the site to visitors.

  Steven started across the road, but Katherine held back.

  The abbey seemed ominous in the darkness, and Katherine could easily envision that the spirits of the monks who had once lived within its walls still hovered about.

  Steven must have felt her hesitate because he squeezed her arm.

  Katherine looked up into his eyes. Coming here had been her idea and she wondered if he still thought it was a good plan.

  “You’re sure?” she whispered. “You want to do this?”

  Steven nodded and hugged her. “Positive.”

  They crossed the highway, stepped over the chain, and hurried across the brightly lit lawn, stopping when they reached the shadows of the abbey’s walls. They had to walk slowly because the ground was uneven and littered with stones, but they finally reached the side entrance to the abbey’s church.