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Silver kept the whole selkie/caul business to herself, but she knew, just knew that Zara would understand, even if she herself didn't.
What was with these Scots?
Anyway, as the sun began to set and the tea was gone and the scones (Zara called them skawns, how delightfully quaint!) consumed, Silver began to feel the need for real food.
"Is there any place around to get a quick meal? A McDonalds or Burger King, something like that?"
Zara gave her a blank stare for a few seconds, then it must have registered. She laughed politely.
"Och, no! There's nothing like that around here. Maybe in Inverness, possibly. Definitely in Edinburgh, but I sincerely doubt you want to be troubled to go that far. There's the pub next door. They serve a good dinner, now that the new owner has taken it over. I'll tell you what, let me take you there and introduce you around. The men will appreciate a new face. Maybe they'll leave me alone."
Silver pulled back. "Are they all... jerks? I've had enough trouble with men lately. I don't know...."
"They're no jerks, they're just...how can I say this? They're men without women of their own, more interested in sport than settling down. Most of them live with their mothers I do not doubt.
But they're harmless. You'll see. No one will bother you if you set them straight."
The pub stood nearly a football field's length from Thorne Cottage. There were no cars parked in the small lot. At first, Silver thought it might be empty, but when Zara pushed open the door, robust male voices greeted them with that half-blustering, half joking tone men get when they're discussing anything they deem worth discussing. In this case, once Zara and Silver were noticed, all talk stopped dead.
And several male jaws dropped.
They made their way to a table near the fireplace and sat. Still, no one spoke. Silver couldn't brush off her uneasiness. She looked to Zara who shrugged, then after apparently considering what to do, stood and announced, "Ye great louts, this is Silver McLaren from New Jersey in the States. She's staying at Thorne Cottage and you'd best behave like gentlemen. Go on, go with your football or whatever." She shooed them with her hand and sat, nonplussed.
Silver stifled a laugh. "Well, that's telling 'em."
"You have to be firm with these lads. They're thick sometimes."
The barman came over and handed each of them short plastic-covered menus while pointing out the fare on the chalkboard. He smiled broadly, favoring each woman in turn, but didn't leave. He must have been expecting them to make their decisions quickly.
While Silver studied the menu and he stood there, gawping, a most peculiar thing happened.
She hadn't noticed it when they entered the pub, but there were several large dogs sitting at their masters' feet. This wouldn't have been allowed in New Jersey, but evidently it was perfectly acceptable in Scotland. The dogs didn't stay where they were. Instead, they began slowly crawling in that odd-doggie way that seemed to show they were showing great obeisance, toward Silver's table.
When one wet nose touched her hand, she flinched it away until she realized what had touched her. Gently, she pet the dog's head and had her hand licked. Ew, slobber. The other dogs, seeing this acceptance, followed suit. Soon all the dogs in the pub were crowded around Silver and Zara, begging for attention.
It was strange, but, oh, well, what the heck. Zara laughed lightly, sounding like some sort of elf or fairy and after a quick look at her, Silver was forced to join her. The barman tried in vain to shoo the dogs back, cursing in some incomprehensible language and calling out to the dogs' owners to come and get them.
"Don't ye be botherin' these ladies, ye great louts!"
But Silver, putting up her hand, stopped him from going further.
She bent her head to look under the table and said quietly, "You're all so sweet, but babies, would you mind backing off just a little? I'll pet you all after I eat my dinner, if you will behave yourselves."
The dogs, tails wagging furiously, backed away to sit at their owners' feet.
Silver sighed.
The men at the bar and at other tables watched, their faces betraying their amazement.
Silver looked around to make sure no one was disturbed by her actions. All the men smiled back then whispered amongst themselves and went back to their pints.
All but one.
In the darkest corner of the pub sat a lone man who watched everything through lidded eyes.
Silver noticed him, the darkness not hindering her night vision ability in the least. He sat hunched over, definitely not part of the crowd, but listening to everything with little interest. She had the crazy idea of how the Hobbits first encountered Strider, sitting with his big hat covering his face, in that pub at the end of civilization. Wow, what a weird thought.
This guy wasn't wearing a hat, but he wore an air of "do not disturb" so Silver turned away.
Zara supplied an answer to her unspoken question.
"That's the pub's new landlord. He doesn't talk much."
"Oh. What's his story?"
"I'll tell you later. Now, let's eat." The barman placed their food before them, lingered until they thanked him and gave him a nod, then left rather reluctantly. What was with these people? Hadn't they ever seen an American before?
The food was good, substantial, with a flair she had not expected in a little out of the way place like this. After the dishes were removed, some sort of signal went through the men who began wandering over to their table in a non-aggressive shamble reminiscent of their pets.
The first introduced himself as one of the McGregor lads as if Silver should know the import of it all. Zara gently elbowed her and whispered in her ear, "There are eight of them, just so you know. Harmless, except on the dance floor."
"Hello."
He continued. "So, you're from New Jersey. Tell me, do you favor the football Giants or those Jets?"
Beside her, Zara tched. "Right away, you have to bother the lady?"
Duly chastised but not to be stopped, he hung his head.
Silver held in her chuckle. "The Giants. The Jets are okay, too, but I guess I favor the Giants."
The MacGregor perked up at this. All ears in the pub were on this conversation now.
"Yankees or Mets?"
Silver laughed this time. "Yankees. The Mets are good for a laugh every now and then, but I don't know about them any more. I've been a Yankees fan since I was a little girl."
The MacGregor boomed out to the crowd, "Did you hear that, lads? She's a Yankees fan!"
The ice broken, smashed to tiny shards by this declaration, Silver found herself surrounded by "the lads", introduced to them all, and pummeled with questions.
The huge television at the end of the room magically turned on and a baseball game, just starting, forced some of the men to divide their attention between Silver, who responded honestly but with her natural uncertainty since she wasn't really that big a fan of any sport, and the game, broadcast via satellite on delay.
She did enjoy her first night at the pub, however. Despite the constant questions about sports and the states--Have you never gone to a game? Ye have? How long ago? How are the new sports stadiums? Do ye think the Yankees have a chance a the World Series? How about the Mets?--she didn't feel put upon and eventually relaxed after explaining that she liked sports, but surely not as much as these men did. They told her all about their planned trip to New York to see at least one baseball game later in the summer and she told them it would be a great idea.
To which, every man jack of them took her approval as gospel.
Zara left the pub at about nine, making sure Silver knew how to get back to Thorne Cottage.
About ten thirty, the long drive and the time difference took its toll on Silver and she rose to leave. The game was going strong and the men bid her good night.
Whew! She sucked in a deep breath of the clean air, coughed out some of the smoke that had filled her lungs inside the pub and started on her way back to her room.
She walked without really thinking about where she was going, a long straight path between the pub and the B&B, listening to the sound of quiet broken only by the lapping of the lake waters against the shore. Then she heard footsteps coming behind her.
The hair on the back of her neck rippled alert as the steps came closer, followed by the click of doggie toenails against the stones in the path.
She stopped.
The footsteps didn't.
Silver spun around and saw first one of the old dogs who had vied for her attention in the pub, then noticed that the man who had been sitting alone in the shadows, old Strider, kept coming closer. She reacted in typical Jersey style.
"Are you following me, buddy?"
The man stopped in his tracks, scowled at her in the moonlight and shook his head once.
"I'm going to my bed, lady. I have no interest in you other than the fact that you happen to be going to the same place. This is not America. I'm not going to attack you. I just want to get home."
"Well," she felt just a little foolish, but then, she wasn't about to trust this stranger. "Well, you don't have to creep up on me."
By this time, Strider had come to mere feet away. He scowled down at her. "Then get out of the way and let me pass if you intend to stand there all night, jabbering."
With that, he brushed past her, called his dog away and continued on down the path.
Under her breath, Silver muttered to his back, "Jerk!"
Copyright 2009, Irene Peterson