Love Worth Fire, Part 1

Camille (Cannon) Eide

Chapter 3

A fine Scottish fog, rising from the twisting burn below, blanketed the hills beyond the little cottage and settled over the glen. From the window, Ian barely noticed the spreading mist as bits of the last phone call still echoed in his ear. When he’d heard himself say the words out loud, it finally sunk in: he was going to the United States.

So long as everything went according to plan.

He had first phoned his travel agent, confirming his flight plans, and last, his editor at The Master’s Call magazine, confirming the deadline for his special feature article. It finally felt real and now, he was eager to make the trip. But even though traveling to Portland, Oregon would give him the material he needed to write the article, what he looked forward to most about this trip was seeing Janet Anderson again.

Janet would be in her mid-sixties now, Ian guessed. He couldn’t believe that it had been more than five years since he last saw the woman whose biography he had written. When he phoned to ask her for an interview, she agreed, as long as he came in person. And not some ‘Q and A’ kind of interview, but a hands-on experience of her ministry. He agreed to spend a week following her, journaling her remarkable life on the street.

Everything was settled now [I notice repeated words, and that’s the third “now” in as many paragraphs.]: the contract signed, the deadline set, the travel arrangements made. But for a while, one glaring issue had remained unresolved, leaving Ian to wonder if he’d be able to make the trip at all.

[I’d rather see this chapter only moving forward. Make the obstacle a current one instead of something he's already overcome. That way it doesn't sound like backstory.]

Maggie.

The day his half-blind grannie discovered where he’d hidden the keys to the truck was the day Ian knew he had a serious problem. The minute he had the keys safely in hand, he dashed to the cottage to phone the only other person he knew who could handle her.

[A different form of repetition… “The day his” and “The minute he” is a repetition of style in the same paragraph.]

“Sorry, little brother,” Claire said in answer to his plea, “but David and I are taking the kids on a bit of a holiday at that time. [One of the benefits of his being unemployed, I suppose.]” [The part in red brackets reads like an info dump to me.]

“Where are you going? Can’t you take her with you then?”

Claire laughed. “Nice try. We’re going to Loch Lomond for some water-skiing. Can’t you just see her tearing off across the Loch like an angry goose? Besides, we’re staying with a friend. I can’t just show up with my grannie, now can I?”

Ian ran his fingers through his hair, expelling a long, hissing breath.

“Why don’t you take her along on your trip?” Claire asked. “She’d fancy that.”

“Too expensive. I’m covering my own costs on this one.”

She was quiet for a moment. “Well … she’ll probably be fine on her own, Ian.”

“She found the keys to the truck, Claire. While I was home. I can only imagine what she’ll do with more time on her hands. No doubt she plans to hunt down everything else I’ve hidden from her the minute I’m gone.”

“Why don’t you ask a neighbor, or someone from the kirk to come and check on her every day?”

“What poor soul do you suggest I send over? You know how she is. Nobody sets foot in that door, not if she thinks they’re coming to check up on her. She’d likely run them off with a butcher knife.”

Her muffled giggle told him that Claire didn’t see that as much of a problem.

“So, what’re you going to do?”

Ian heaved another sigh. “I don’t know. Either I leave for ten days and pray to God that she doesn’t do any serious damage, or I cancel my trip.”

“I am sorry, Ian. I don’t know what else to tell you. I wish I could help, but this holiday with the kids, with Davey … it’s long overdue and we need to spend some time together, as a family.”

A week later, Ian still had no idea what he was going to do about the trip and the obstinate old woman. He sat in the cottage kitchen, staring at the telephone, racking his brain. But all he could think of was their new minister running down the drive as fast as his bony legs would carry him, with Maggie on his heels, glinting blade in hand. [I like his grannie already.]

God, tell me again why I’m here?

Ian stared at the phone as though it would ring and God would give him an answer. He felt like pounding his head against the wall, his mind spinning with doubts about moving back to the farm, and his efforts to help a mule-headed old woman who battled his help every step of the way. But deep down, Ian knew better than to ask why. This was where God wanted him, and only God knew all the reasons. So, he found himself praying, again, for more patience. He didn’t know what God had in mind, but he relinquished control, ready to accept whatever came.

And what came, when the phone rang less than a minute later, was the solution to his problem.

When Ian heard Claire’s voice telling him that David got the job that they’d been praying for, postponing their vacation, Ian laughed, long and loud, ignoring the slightly affronted silence on the other end of the line. She and the girls would be able to come and stay with Maggie after all. Maggie would be pleased to have her great-granddaughters come for a visit, and even more pleased that Claire had taken a sudden interest in making jam with her for the Summer Festival.

So the trip was finally settled with Ian in his sister’s debt. Claire would have her hands full, without a doubt. He laughed to himself now as he pictured feisty little Claire trying to wrestle the axe away from their eighty-year-old grannie. [good characterization]

It would be a nearly even match.

Staring out the cottage window, Ian could see the postal truck ambling up the road through the fog. It came to a stop at their mailbox.

Maybe there would be a letter from Grace and Emily today. [Present tense word—doesn’t belong.] In spite of Maggie’s insistence, he still wasn’t sure if his trip to Oregon would put him near enough to visit them, and if there would be enough time. He needed to find out how far it was from Portland to Juniper Valley. [I can’t explain why I don’t like that sentence. It just doesn’t flow.]

Ian quickly gathered up the notes he had jotted down with phone numbers and flight details, and dashed out to get the mail.

Maggie must have heard the mail truck coming from a distance, since the farmhouse sat up higher on the brae, [I like the word brae. However, I don’t think you need to explain how Maggie could have heard the mail truck first.] because she was already halfway down the drive by the time Ian came out of the cottage. He joined her as she trudged past the cottage, her knobby walking stick in hand.

“Well Maggie? Do you think there’s a letter today?” He fell into step beside her.

“Aye, ye daftie, o’ course there’s a letter.” Maggie’s bearing was steady and sure, in spite of her poor eyesight. She could walk this path with her eyes closed. She’d prove it too, if you dared her. [Rephrase: She could walk the path with her eyes closed, and would prove it on a dare. (sounds less like you’re talking directly to the reader)]

Ian laughed. “Is this a race?”

“No, laddie; I don’t have the heart to beat ye.” She frowned and pressed her lips tight as she concentrated on the path ahead.

They hiked down the sloped drive that started from the paddock on the west side of the main house and curved down past the cottage before it joined Lower Craig’s Hill road, which ran long the lower march of the farm. When they reached the mailbox, Ian stood by and let Maggie check it. The envelope she drew out was marked with airmail stamps and Emily’s familiar handwriting. She brought it to her nose and sniffed.

“Aye, honeysuckle. That’s it.” She turned to Ian. “What’re ye doing footerin about here, laddie? Didn’t I tell ye there’d be a letter? Away ye go, mon; I’ve got our tea ready and waitin’.” She poked at him with her stick.

Ian sidestepped the jab and shook his head with a twisted [this raises a POV alarm for me, but it might be okay] smile, setting out for the house as commanded. Nothing would delay the reading of the Letter; nothing would dare.

***

Wednesday I’ll post the rest of chapter 3. If you want to back up and see what happened in chapter one, it’s posted on her new blog, Extreme Keyboarding. Be sure to read her 8 random facts, too. She’s got a quirky sense of humor.