"HELLO.......IS THIS MAEVE?"

It was over.

The ham sandwich made earlier sat untouched on the counter. A woman in her late 70s stood at the window just mindlessly looking out, waiting for the kettle to boil. She had no real appetite or interest in food, but a good hot cup of tea might hit the spot. And it was something to do with her hands.

Da was dead, the funeral over, her mother settled back into her long term care facility, and in a way, Maeve felt strangely liberated.

She pulled the kettle off the burner before the high pitched whistle had a chance to break the quiet kitchen silence. She swished some of the hot water about in her well used crockery teapot, a gift from her mother-in-law, poured it out, and set it down. In went a couple of fragrant tea bags, and plenty of the hot water to steep at the back of the stove.

The kitchen was small but bright, thanks to several long windows, and the wood burning stove that reigned supreme kept it warm and cozy, just what she needed. She was calmed by the steady ticking of the old wind up clock that had belonged to her Da, and now it comforted her like the quiet beating of his heart. Maeve set the plated sandwich on the table and added the matching cup and saucer. It always gave her such comfort to use her favorite things. The tea was smelling delicious, and she realized she was famished. That ham sandwich didn’t last long after all, nor the couple of date squares that followed it. She sat back with a heated up cup and just enjoyed the peace. It had been a chaotic couple of weeks.  

Her father had been just over one hundred years old, a proud Highlander to the end, and his funeral had been a celebration of his long and interesting life. A framed picture of him in his full uniform, gleaming medals pinned to his chest, gun resting on his boot, with his easy grin had prompted many a comment at the well attended wake.

“My god, wasn’t Ranald handsome? No wonder Siobhan held onto him all these years! Why, he could have had the pick of any girl he wanted.” Fiona MacDonald was a dear old friend of the family.

“Sure, I’ve said the same thing. And I wouldn’t have minded a hump behind the barn once or twice meself…………."

"Maggie, for god’s sake, be quiet!” 

“Oh Fiona, I’m pretty sure you carried a torch for Ranald yourself. Just not too many people knew about it.”

“Well, it’s all in the past now. We should have a cup of tea and a lunch before we get on. Maeve is probably exhausted and wishing for everyone to go.”

“Yes, it’s hard when you’re an only child, and her mother so ill.”

Back in 1941 World War 2 had made an awful mess of Europe. Countries, once neighbors, were invading, and being invaded. Enemies were made, enough for lifetimes.  A whole generation of youth, on both sides of the conflict were led to slaughter on the altar of freedom, their families broken and  left to mourn. Those who returned were shell shocked and never the same again.

Scotland, probably simply because the country itself was remote and rugged, was safe from battle. But it didn’t stop young Scots from setting aside their distaste of the British and throwing their support behind the Allies. Of course at the time it seemed like a lark, and far away from the comfort of their homes, but Germany had already annexed Poland and it looked like France was next. Their blood was stirred, and thousands signed up. 

Ranald MacVittie was one of them. 

Like most volunteers he was sent to England for training and testing to see where he could best serve the fight. And like a lot of Scots, he knew his way around guns. He could stalk a deer for days, and drop it just where he wanted. 

He was assigned active duty, signed his payroll over to his mother and took a flight. He and the other young soldiers weren’t told much about the trip or where they were landing, no doubt because no one knew if the flight would land anywhere, or just be shot down. The Expeditionary Forces were hungry for men.

It turns out that Scotland was essential in the War effort. Their contributions were many and  remarkable. 

And since a lot of the work was covert, some things would never be known. Not for generations. Not until Hollywood came calling for fodder for their movies.

But for a lot of his life, Ranald’s experiences serving the War effort were his proudest moments.

After the guns were quiet and peacetime beckoned, Ranald returned to the little Highland village of his birth and settled in to help his aging parents with their crofting.

It was an age old way to make a living, but now after the war, it was hardly sustainable anymore. The returning soldiers had gotten a taste for travel and had seen some of the world, and naturally wanted more. Migration was becoming a thing.

Ranald kept in contact with several of his comrades and shared a dram now and then at the local pub. Sometimes their stories got loud and boisterous, and sometimes they were just deep in thought, swirling their memories around in their glasses.

Death and destruction. 

Loneliness and shock.

Guns and grief and girls.

During the War there had been a girl or two for Ranald. He cut a fine figure, so tall and handsome and he carried it easily.  He didn’t let any of the relationships get too serious, as he knew he would just be stationed somewhere else, unable to divulge any of the details. So it was just easier to kiss and not tell and keep it simple.

Although there had been that one sweet girl in England who kept his head in a whirl. At another time and place they might have made a go of it, but although Ranald had let his heart lead his mind, he knew she had a husband at the front. She was quiet and shy but so pretty; he was smitten. And war made strange circumstances, so he let it go a little too far, but they both knew what they were getting into. Nothing permanent. But it felt so good to share a little love affair, something to feel normal about, something beautiful and not shameful. Something deeply human.  After all, neither of them knew what the future might hold or if there was any future at all….and their feelings were strong.

But before he knew it, he was on a train to fortify occupied France and had to say a hurried and tear filled good bye and hold her as she cried. She was willing to put her marriage on hold and love Ranald one last time. In her tiny apartment on the top floor of a small house overlooking  wheat fields and faraway mountains, they were alone and not likely to be interrupted. In an effort to make one last memory, Ranald removed her pretty white eyelet dress and sash, while she hurriedly undid his uniform buttons. 

They were naked and desperate and the time on her little cot was well spent in giving and receiving this last gift.

When it was over, she turned to the wall and brought the quilt up to her face. Ranald dressed quietly and left. There were no words necessary, as none were necessary anywhere else in Europe where lovers were split apart, either by the war, or their obligations to another.

How he missed her. His bright little love.  And how she mourned the loss of Ranald, who she knew full well she could never have. And she dreaded the return of her husband. She didn’t wish any harm to fall upon him, but he would be a stranger to her when he returned, and no doubt would see the lies on her face.

But even wars don’t last forever, the living must live and in some form, life goes on. After the Armistice was signed and he was discharged, Ranald was flown back to Scotland where his family was simply overjoyed at his return, looking dapper and as good as new.

But no one saw the memories he rolled over in his mind, or the untold scars he carried.

He settled back in to civilian life, looked after his Ma and Da until their passing, along with getting married to a darling local girl that he’d known all his life, Siobhan, and starting a family. They’d wanted as many children as God would send, but for some reason, they welcomed their daughter Maeve, and no more. An only child. But so loved. 

For now, Maeve was only as busy as she wanted to be. Her work life was behind her, her marriage was behind her, her father was gone, she had one daughter, Ruby, and her Mom.

Her marriage had been a solid one, if missing some of the excitement of other marriages. Hector had been a terrific provider for her and Ruby, and he had great respect for her parents. 

But he was a stoic man, as many dour Scots are, and simply didn’t share Maeve’s sense of humor. But she learned to live with that and was smart enough to appreciate the love of a good man, with his sense of order and responsibility. And of course, Ruby adored her Da.

But on this day, a short while after her own Da’s passing, she was finishing up going through his things in preparation for donation to a local charity. And it was hard. What do you keep? What makes sense? His uniform? Well yes, but what do you do with that? And what would Ruby have patience for? Time for a cup of tea……….

And then the phone rang, a sharp shrill sound if ever there was one.

Maeve didn’t recognize the number on the phone’s call display, but tentatively answered it anyway, ever suspicious of phone scams. But a lot of people had been calling, to see if she or her mother needed anything, and offers of food or rides.

“Hello?”  she answered in a no-nonsense manner.

And after a hesitation, a female voice asked, “Hello……..is this Maeve?”

Maeve hung up. There was something odd in that voice, in those few words. It put her on edge. She did not like it. And if that person called again, she would simply ignore it. 

The phone didn’t ring again that evening, nor the next day and of course Maeve was quite preoccupied with tying up the final details of her Da’s affairs and popping in to visit her mother.

Ma was nicely settled into the long term care facility and rarely asked about Ranald. Her memory was failing and Maeve hesitated to bring up anything upsetting. She missed her father, but the visits were far more productive if she only spoke of everyday things. The flowers in the garden, how nice the sheets smelled after being on the line all day. The tabby cat all curled up on the step outside. Gentle things.

And then one morning, just after breakfast, a second cup of tea and another glance at the paper, Maeve’s phone rang. Again she didn’t recognize the number on call display, but after several insistent rings, she slowly picked up the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Hello……is this Maeve?”

Funny, like deja vu, the same start to the conversation with this unknown person as last time.

 “Yes, who is this?”

“Please don’t hang up. It took all the courage I had to make this call. Do you have a moment?”

Maeve wanted to just quietly set the phone back down. This woman’s voice was making her uneasy.

“Okay, alright, I have a minute.”

“I don’t know how to start. My name is Morag Johnson. I live in the Rocky Mountains in British Columbia. I’m an only child, I was brought up by my mother after the War. My father was a soldier, he worked in the communications field for the Allies. I was born in Scotland, but I was too young when we immigrated to remember it. My parents’ marriage broke up shortly after he returned, the War was awfully hard on people. And by the time my mum found out she was pregnant, my dad wasn’t up to having a family and  just wasn’t well enough to fight it, so she just left for Canada as soon as I was born.”

“I only saw him once or twice since then, and now of course, they are both gone.”

“But it’s hard being all alone with no relatives, at least none that know anything about me. I never married and I have no children. But I have lots of time for research, so I’ve been building a little profile on a genealogy website.”

“There’s not much to find, just Census reports, and a few minor hits. But last month, I got a big hint.”

“Maeve McVittie MacPhee. Possible direct relative."

“Then Ruby MacPhee. Possible direct relative."

“Do you know of any other people besides yourself  that might fit this profile?”

“Any one else with the same name as you and your daughter, I presume?”

“I found a family tree with a few entries, and Maeve MacVittie showed up, and daughter Ruby.

“And of course your parents. And all the way from Scotland! I don’t mind telling you, I love a good puzzle.”

Nothing from Maeve. She was more than a little shocked at the possibility of what this woman was hinting at. She remained quiet.

“I’m sorry, have I upset you? I was just trying to make sense out of my parents' lineage. It never  occurred to me that I might find more. Would you have any interest in meeting? Not in person, but a zoom call perhaps?”

“Maybe……” mumbled Maeve. She was just frozen to the spot. What kind of can of worms was this stranger trying to open…….She was absolutely unwilling to give out any of her personal information to a stranger, and she was still mystified at how she got her home phone number in the first place.

But it seemed this “Morag” wasn’t willing to take no for an answer.

“Why don’t you take some time to think about it, and perhaps I can call again, if I may? I think we have a lot to talk about, and I’m so excited.”

Maeve thought about the call a lot. Quite a lot. She wasn’t ready to share it with Ruby. Morag could be the real thing, just curious, or a nut job. Time would tell.

In the meantime, Maeve went to the local college which had a terrific library, with people to help. She learned a lot about on line searches and dead ends. But after a few visits, she was getting the hang of it and a picture began to emerge.

On one of the genealogy sites she could clearly see what Morag had found. They didn’t just have a common relative, they were direct relatives, first degree. 

Sisters.

How in the name of god could this be. She knew her mother had only one child, and that was her. It had to be through her father. But how was she going to research that? He was gone and any secrets he might have had went with him. Did her mother know anything? With her advancing dementia, could she really be relied upon for accuracy?

For Ruby’s sake, she had to try. If for no other reason than to put it all to rest.

Visiting her mum in the home was getting harder and harder all the time. Sometimes she would smile when she saw Maeve, but other times she would be startled the way one is when a stranger walks in the room.

But today was good, Mum was able to greet Maeve with a smile and an outreached hand. She was seated in a comfy wingback chair, dressed in a lovely cotton dress, with a cozy quilt over her knees.

Since her mother in all likelihood wouldn’t know anything about another daughter, Maeve just jumped right in.

“Mum, do you have any information about Da when he was overseas? After he left Scotland to go to England, during the War? Did he travel around a lot, and I always wondered who his mates might have been?”

She thought a minute, then looked out the window. 

“His friends? I didn’t know them, I don’t remember…….”

“I wonder if he ever had any girlfriends, Mum, that was long before he met you and got married. He wasn’t very old Mum, when he signed up.”

Siobhan’s face changed. She had clarity. Then just as quickly as it had appeared, it slipped away. Where had her mother’s mind been? Did she know something?

The visit was brief as her Mum tired easily. Oh well, it was worth a try.

But as she kissed her mother’s warm soft cheek goodbye, Siobhan waved at the window, and said quietly, “Ranald always spoke of a penny. I don’t know why, or if he just wanted me to ask him what he was talking about. But he seemed to have a fondness for pennies.”

Well, Maeve wasn’t sure what that could possibly mean. 

Nothing. Her mother was suffering from dementia. She had loved her Da deeply and he loved her. They had a wonderful relationship and she had never felt the need to ask any questions about the past. She had been raised as an only child. No uncles. No aunts. No brothers. No sisters. Ruby had been raised the same. No cousins either.

But pennies. What was she missing? So up to the attic she went, slowly, minding her aging knees.

All her Da’s things were packed, so searching for pennies or any coins was going to be easy. Little items like that were stored in a small pipe tobacco tin, the kind her father used to fill his pipe, and the smell just brought back a memory of her father so strong, she could feel it in her bones.

There were a few coins, and pennies among them, but so what? There was also a set of cufflinks and a matching tie clip which she decided to take back down and keep in her jewelry box.

His boots, his shoes, his uniform. All were boxed. Oh well, it had been worth a shot.

But for some reason she couldn’t seem to stop. And before Morag called again, she needed to satisfy herself. 

So after a good breakfast of toasted bagel and yogurt, she carried her cup of coffee up to the attic to try again. For what, she couldn’t say. And Ruby was wondering what was going on between her mother and grandmother, but she was busy in college too, so she knew her mum would let her know if there was need.

Maeve stood in the middle of the dim attic, pulled the light string, and looked around, hands on her hips.

“Okay Da, help me out. Is there a mystery here that I don’t know about? Is Morag just a crazy lady? Somehow I don’t think so. You can’t believe everything you read on a computer, but I am very much afraid that this is legit.”

So methodically she began to empty each box, one at a time, and do a thorough search. This time with purpose.

She emptied shoes upside down.

She rifled through each and every pocket and found nothing besides a flattened out old hankie and one train ticket, which she kept out in case it was significant.

No pennies.

On to the next box.

The last box. It contained her father’s uniform, a very special thing that she still didn’t know what to do with.

She started by running her hands around the cap, with its leather strap and brass button. She peered in, shook it upside down. 

Nothing.

The pants, the same. Completely empty pockets, nothing hiding in the pleats or belt loops.

The jacket, heavy and dark, turned up nothing.

Until her hand brushed up against a tiny scrap of paper, wee and folded, no bigger than a postage stamp. Deep in the inside breast pocket. She had obviously missed it when she’d packed it.

She sat down on a stool and took a big gulp of coffee. She had a strange feeling of premonition.

It was a small sheaf of white tissue paper, the kind you use for rolling cigarettes, folded around a very tiny black and white picture.

The picture was of a beautiful young girl, radiant in the final stages of an obvious pregnancy.

No one Maeve recognized, and she had to muster up enough courage to turn it over. 

And with a black fountain pen was the short message…..

“Heading for Canada, with all our love,”

“Penny”