A View to a Kilt Page 3

  Once she was officially open for business, Liss checked again on the Scotties. Neither had moved.

  She picked up a dust rag and a container of lemon-scented furniture polish and launched into her one never-ending task—cleaning the hundreds of small, Scottish-themed items displayed on her shelves until they sparkled. Although she began the chore industriously enough, her initial burst of energy soon faded. It wasn’t long before she abandoned dusting to stare out through the plate glass display window at the rain.

  Her view encompassed the entire town square and most of the buildings surrounding it. There were usually people out and about on even the coldest winter days, but on this particular Wednesday in mid-March, all the paths were empty. The ground was dotted with patches of snow that were no longer either white or pretty. The gazebo, the monument to the Civil War dead, and the playground appeared as amorphous shapes.

  When the rain finally stopped, it was not replaced by sunshine. The landscape remained as dismal as ever. The redbrick municipal building, directly across the square from the Emporium, was shrouded in a murky miasma of low-hanging fog. Liss could make out only the barest outlines of the white clapboard structures that housed Moosetookalook’s shops and homes.

  She was still standing there, her chores forgotten, when the blurry headlights of an approaching car broke through the gloom. It turned the corner onto Pine Street and pulled into the driveway located between the Emporium and Stu’s Ski Shop. For a brief moment Liss thought either she or Stu might have a customer. Then she recognized the light yellow sedan, what locals called a “Florida car.” Repressing a sigh, she headed for the stockroom to unlock the side door for her mother.

  Violet MacCrimmon swept inside like the north wind—brisk, refreshing, and chilling, all at the same time. She was a small, compact woman, several inches shorter than her daughter. For this hour of the morning, on such an uninspiring day, she struck Liss as being entirely too cheerful.

  “Hello, darling,” Vi trilled as she discarded the plastic rain poncho she’d thrown on over her winter coat.

  Beneath that garment she wore gray wool slacks and a bright-colored knit top. The bold combination of chartreuse and pink stripes wouldn’t work for most people. It shouldn’t have worked with Vi’s gray hair, fair skin, pale blue eyes, and glasses, yet somehow it did. The glasses had bright red frames. They looked stylish rather than garish on Vi.

  “Good morning, Mom. What brings you into town in such wretched weather?”

  “Do I need an excuse to visit my darling daughter?”

  Liss stared at her. “Who are you and what have you done with my mother?”

  Vi’s laugh sounded forced. “So suspicious! Can’t I just stop by on a whim?”

  “You can. You don’t usually bother to.” Liss knew her mother would explain, but only in her own good time.

  Vi ran a critical eye over her daughter’s working clothes. Since walk-in customers were few and far between at this time of year, even when the day was fine, Liss had dressed for comfort in loose, comfortable jeans and a sweatshirt. At least it’s a new one, she thought rebelliously. She’d taken it from the Emporium’s stock. The front was decorated with a pretty pattern of Scottish thistles.

  Vi refrained from comment.

  So did Liss.

  There had been a time, not so long ago, when it would have been impossible for them to be in each other’s company for more than a few minutes without a quarrel. After years of butting heads over almost every issue imaginable, they’d worked hard these last few months to avoid conflict.

  Together they left the stockroom and entered the shop. The Scotties were still sitting in front of the door to the stairwell. Liss frowned, finding it peculiar that they hadn’t left their post to investigate the sound of voices. Ordinarily, they were curious about visitors.

  “I guess they miss Margaret,” she said aloud.

  “I’m sure they do. How is that cat of yours getting along with her new housemates?”

  “Not very well. She hisses every time one of them gets too close to her.”

  Vi frowned. “I thought it was the other one who took exception to having dogs in the house.”

  “His name was Lumpkin, Mom.” She applied the dust rag she’d been carrying to the nearest shelf with slightly more force than necessary.

  Vi attempted to make herself useful by shaking out and refolding the dozen or so tartan scarves displayed on one end of the sales counter. To Liss’s relief, she refrained from rearranging anything else in the shop.

  “It’s the strangest thing,” Liss said, just to make conversation. “Glenora seems to have picked up several of Lumpkin’s habits now that he’s gone. She’s doing things she never did before.”

  Vi unearthed a feather duster from behind the sales counter and began to redo the section Liss had just finished. “What habits?”

  “The worst ones, naturally.”

  The glare she directed at her mother went unseen, since Vi’s back was to her. With an effort Liss bit back a heated objection to this none-too-subtle criticism of her cleaning technique. She’d known since childhood that Violet MacCrimmon believed there was only one way to do things, whether it was cleaning house or putting together a macaroni-and-cheese casserole, and that was her way.

  “Has she taken to biting ankles?” Vi asked.

  “Glenora? No, not yet.” Thankfully, they’d broken Lumpkin of that tendency years ago. “She’s mostly been chewing on things, just the way he used to—slippers, the Velcro on the ankle weights I use when I exercise, the plastic handle on the box of kitty litter, the charger cord for the iPad, and even the leather strap on my good shoulder bag. You name it and it goes straight into her mouth. She’s gotten a lot noisier lately, too. Dan thinks she may be channeling Lumpkin, but I think she just misses him. I know I do.”

  Hearing the catch in her voice, she stopped speaking.

  “Really, Liss,” her mother said. “It isn’t as if you lost a child. He was only a cat.”

  It was fortunate that the phone rang just then. The need to answer it prevented Liss from saying something she’d regret. By the time she’d dealt with a minor crisis to do with the March Madness Mud Season Sale, she was calm enough to remind herself that her mother didn’t know what it was like to get attached to an animal. Vi had never had pets, either as a child or as an adult.

  “Problem?” Vi asked.

  “Not anymore.”

  “Good. As it happens, I’ve had a little idea to do with the festivities.”

  Uh-oh, Liss thought. Here it comes. The real reason she braved miserable driving conditions to visit the Emporium.

  “Plans are pretty well set,” Liss said aloud. “After all, we do this every year.”

  Moosetookalook’s oddball celebration of dirty, half-melted snowbanks, sloppy sidewalks, and acres of mud had been conceived to boost the local economy when there was still snow on the ground, but it was no longer the kind that made for great skiing and snowmobiling. Since Liss’s parents had been living out of state until the previous fall, this was the first year they’d been around to participate in the event.

  “Your father and I would like to be more actively involved,” Vi announced.

  “I had considered asking Daddy to work a few hours in the Emporium. He seems to enjoy filling in for me from time to time, and he already knows the business.”

  That went without saying. Moosetookalook Scottish Emporium had been founded by Mac MacCrimmon’s father back in 1955. Later, Mac and his sister, Margaret, had operated it jointly. After Mac and Vi moved to Arizona, Margaret had run the place on her own, right up until Liss’s return to Moosetookalook. At loose ends following a career-ending knee injury, uncertain what she wanted to do with the rest of her life when she could no longer dance for a living, she’d slowly come to realize that creating the best possible future for herself involved embracing the past. She’d ended up becoming Margaret’s partner and had later bought her aunt’s share of the business to become sol
e proprietor.

  “There’s one thing that’s been missing from March Madness,” Vi said.

  Liss braced herself.

  “You need to add an indoor yard sale to the festivities.”

  “A flea market?”

  “Well, yes, if you want to call it that.” Vi made a little moue of distaste at the name.

  “It’s a little late to—”

  “Not really. I’ve already found a venue, and I have plenty of items to sell. All you need to do is add it to the program and whatever you’re doing for publicity.”

  Liss began to have a bad feeling about her mother’s proposal. “What sort of items did you have in mind?”

  “Oh, you know—knickknacks, household goods, the odd bit of furniture. Nothing tacky. All very tasteful.”

  “Are you talking about the things you had shipped from Arizona when you moved back to Maine?”

  Vi showed no sign of embarrassment. “Why, yes. We put them in storage, thinking we might still have a use for them, but I really don’t think that’s likely. It’s past time we downsized. Of course, if there’s anything you and Dan want, it’s yours. I don’t suppose you’d like your grandmother’s good china? She had a complete service for twelve, all hand-painted.”

  Liss remembered seeing those dishes, but only in packing crates, never on a table for a meal. “My dinner parties aren’t that formal.”

  Vi sighed. “Neither are mine. It’s time for it to go. So, what do you think? I’m sure there are other people in town who have nice items they’d like to get rid of.”

  “I’ll run it past the organizing committee, but less than three weeks beforehand is really a little late to add an event.”

  “Just do your best, dear. Either way I’m determined to clear away the clutter. You’d better plan on coming out to our place to take a look at what’s there. After all, some of it belonged to you when you were a child.”

  With that astonishing statement, Vi tossed Liss’s feather duster onto the counter and sailed regally off toward the stockroom. By the time Liss caught up with her, she’d already donned her coat and poncho.

  “Mom! Wait a minute! What belongings are you talking about?”

  “Pretty much everything you left behind when you started college. Since it was only a few months later that we sold the house and relocated to Arizona, we told the movers to pack everything. We put most of it in storage down there and brought it all back with us when we moved home again.”

  “My scrapbooks?” Liss had been under the impression that those were long gone.

  Vi paused in the act of opening the back door. “Everything,” she repeated. “You can see for yourself when you come out to tell me that the committee has approved adding a yard sale.”

  * * *

  Liss’s parents were living temporarily in a winterized camp on Ledge Lake, eight miles away from Moosetookalook proper. The next day, as soon as her father took over store-and-dog-minding duties, Liss drove out there, marveling that her parents’ car managed the trip without ending up in a ditch. She’d had to put her Jeep Compass into four-wheel drive twice before she arrived at her destination.

  Vi already knew her daughter had secured approval for the yard sale from the organizers of the March Madness Mud Season Sale. Liss had dutifully called everyone on the planning committee and made her pitch. There had been only one dissenting vote. The others had endorsed her mother’s idea with enthusiasm. Several of them, apparently, also had items they were eager to get rid of.

  When she’d phoned her mother with the good news, Vi hadn’t bothered to thank her. She’d expected no other outcome. Liss told herself to take that as a tacit sign of approval. After all, some parents expected their kids to fail. Her mother always assumed Liss would succeed.

  “Coffee?” Vi offered.

  “No, thanks. I’m good. Where have you stashed my stuff?”

  Vi leveled a critical eye at the well-worn football jersey her daughter had chosen to wear to go through boxes that had been sealed up for two decades, but kept any critical comment to herself. “Everything is in the guest room.”

  She led the way past a living room that ran the width of the house and looked out over Ledge Lake through a series of oversized windows. The view alone made Liss shiver and wish she hadn’t taken off her coat. On windy days like this one, the cold gusts sweeping across the surface of the ice seemed to continue right on through the double glazing. Winterized or not, this structure had originally been built as a camp for the summer and fall, and Liss was surprised her mother was willing to put up with the drafts. Then again, Vi was wearing another of her colorful, bulky sweaters. Maybe she bundled up so she wouldn’t feel the cold.

  As Liss climbed the stairs to the second floor, she considered asking if she could borrow a cardigan. Then she got her first glimpse of the interior of the guest room and knew she wouldn’t have to worry about getting chilled. If she went through all these boxes, she’d definitely work up a sweat. Vi hadn’t been kidding when she claimed she’d kept everything. There were cartons stacked floor to ceiling, all of them neatly labeled in black Magic Marker. Liss’s childhood possessions had been sorted into categories that ranged from GIRLS’ SERIES BOOKS to BARBIES.

  “I don’t know where to begin.”

  “You’ll probably want to take the jigsaw puzzles.”

  Liss shook her head. “We have plenty of those at home, and to be honest, that’s a hobby I haven’t had much time to indulge in for the last few years.”

  “I just assumed you still did them, given Dan’s specialty.”

  “Well, I will take credit for that. It was because we needed to find a way to keep Lumpkin from scattering the pieces that Dan designed his first jigsaw-puzzle table. He made it for me, and then his sister wanted one, after which her friends got into the act. The next thing we knew, he’d found a niche market for his woodworking.”

  She stopped and stared at a cardboard box labeled DIARIES. Shuddering to think what angst-laden thoughts her teenaged self might have recorded, she decided to take that carton with her when she left. If she were smart, she’d destroy the contents unread. She didn’t dare ask Vi if she’d peeked inside any of the closely-written volumes before she packed them away.

  Her old scrapbooks, as promised, were intact, containing mementoes from the many Scottish dance competitions she entered while she was growing up. She’d also saved memorabilia from birthday parties, school activities, and other rites of passage. There was even a certificate to prove that she’d had a perfect attendance record in Sunday school.

  “If you start reading all those clippings,” Vi warned her, “you’ll never get around to examining the contents of the other cartons.”

  Liss returned the scrapbooks to their box. A puff of dust rose up when the top one landed, making her sneeze. While she fished in the pocket of her jeans for a tissue, Vi resealed the carton and used one foot to shove it closer to the door, next to the box full of diaries.

  “I put loose photographs in that box,” Vi said, pointing.

  Liss dutifully opened it next. When she frowned, Vi came over to stand beside her in a cloud of her signature violet-scented perfume.

  “The ones on top are of your father’s family. I keep meaning to have him go through them and write names on the back.”

  Liss was tempted to move on to something else. There were a lot of pictures. Resolutely, she dug in, sorting as she went. She kept out photos from her own childhood and returned older pictures to the carton after barely a glance. Most were shots of people she didn’t recognize. A few even dated back to the days when women wore corsets and bustles.

  Three hours later, dust-streaked and disheveled, Liss climbed back into her Jeep. There were more boxes in the back than she’d intended to take away with her. She had a feeling she didn’t possess the downsizing gene.

  * * *

  Friday started out in the ordinary way for Liss and Dan. They got up at seven. Although daylight saving time had begun the previous
Sunday, and it was darker than it had been the week before, there was enough light for Liss to avoid tripping over Glenora as the small black cat raced ahead of her toward the stairs.

  She made a brief pit stop at the half bath next to the kitchen. All the while she was in there, a loud, steady yowl issued from the other side of the door. The sound just about broke Liss’s heart. That had been another of Lumpkin’s bad habits, demanding breakfast at the top of his lungs until somebody, usually her, opened that day’s can of cat food.

  When she emerged from the bathroom, she went straight to the baby gate they’d put up across the door to the kitchen to keep the two Scotties from roaming the house at night. She’d barely begun to fold back the sections when Glenora took a flying leap, which carried her over both the gate and dogs.

  Ignoring their presence, she crossed the room to the pantry, where her food was stored. She passed right by the feeders full of water and kibble that Liss had left out for her on top of the kitchen counter. Those are supposed to be on the floor, her manner seemed to say, but they’d been temporarily displaced by the dogs’ bowls.

  If the Scotties were bothered by being snubbed, they showed no sign of it. They were more interested in getting outside. They waited impatiently in front of the back door for Liss to let them into the yard. Their poses reminded her of the way they’d spent almost all of Wednesday camped out in front of the stairwell leading to Margaret’s apartment. To her relief, they hadn’t resumed their vigil the next day.

  “I can only do one thing at a time,” she told Glenora as she opened the door for Dandy and Dondi, “and they’re more likely to leave a puddle on the floor than you are.”

  Liss’s backyard was not fenced in, but the house and garage together formed a natural barrier on one side and Dan’s workshop blocked a second. The snowbanks were still high enough to discourage wandering in the remaining directions. A person might be able to clamber over them. A small dog? Not likely.

  Without the Scotties underfoot, Liss moved automatically into the familiar pattern of opening a can of cat food, starting the coffee brewing, and putting away the supper dishes she’d left to dry in the rack overnight. She was up to “clean the littler box” on her morning to-do list when Dan joined her, already shaved and dressed for work while she was still in her nightgown and robe.