My Journal

By Harriman Nelson

86

I was rather uncomfortable as I strode downstairs in my kilt this morning but as Lee had said, it was to honor any O’Hara Nelson’s at the cemetery.

Miss McAffee was already setting the table. She laid out the  finest, if mismatched, china on the white linen tablecloth (hand embroidered by herself it turned out). Then she disappeared into the kitchen for awhile, retuning with an ironed (yes, ironed) newspaper.

“Dries the ink,” she said at my raised eyebrow. “My father always insisted on it. I know you Americans usually prefer coffee, so I have instant if you’d like that instead of tea.”

“Tea is fine,” I lied. “A welcome change, in fact.”

If I’d expected a fine china teapot, I was soon mistaken. It was a small brown stoneware  teapot that she brought to me. Along with a stoneware cup. I think the tea might even had tasted the better for it. But I’m no expert in such matters as Chip is.

It was odd, I had to muse as I enjoyed the warm brew in the chill air. (Well, yes, it was bound to feel chilly if one was ‘au natural’ under one’s skirt. (I’d decided against my former decision in order to be ‘authentic’. For the sake of any earthbound spirits haunting the cemetery. And yes. ‘Kilt’ it might have been called, but it was still a skirt.) Anyway, here I was in a foreign land, temporarily residing in the home turned B&B of a total stranger, yet I felt completely at home.

Miss McAffee began to hum as she returned to the kitchen. Then it turned into song. It was in Gaelic, (at least it sounded like it might be ancient Irish to me) and of course, I didn’t understand a word. She wasn’t a good singer, in fact it grated on one’s nerves, but I could tell she was happy. And as the Good Book says, ‘make a joyful noise’ so she was certainly doing that. I couldn’t help smiling.

It wasn’t too long before Lee and Joe returned from their run, damp from the heavy fog. So much so that Lee’s hair had curled wildly.  Joe had had the sense to don a lightweight windbreaker, so he wasn’t quite as soggy as Lee was in his sweats.

“Do we have time to shower and change before breakfast?” Lee asked our hostess.

“Of course, but, remember boys, it takes the hot water tank a little time to reheat after each bath or shower.”

“Oh, that won’t matter,” Joe said, “we’re  used to three minute showers. It’s a submariner thing.”

“Heavens.”

“What we miss one day we can get another, " Lee said.

“That was a line from ‘Operation Petticoat’,” Joe said, “that was a post war movie,” he added seeing that she was unfamiliar with the classic.

 “They probably stole it from listening to real submariners,” Lee said.

“Yes, of course, now you boys go get cleaned up. I’ll have breakfast ready shortly.”

“Yes ma’am,” both said happily as Joe went to his room to collect some of his things to take to the upstairs bathroom, though it was a foregone conclusion that Lee would beat him to it.

“Would you like marmalade, jam, or honey for your bread?” she asked me.

“I think I’d rather you decide.”

“You are a brave man, Admiral.”

“Just call me Harriman. Or Harry, if you prefer. After all, for the duration, I’m your nephew.”

“And I’m Aunt Rosamunde. Or Rose.”

“Anything I can help you with, Rose?”

“No, you just relax with your paper. I know folks our age prefer the hands on kind of newspaper over that newfangled internet kind.”

At last, someone who understood.

 “Oohh,” Rose squealed in delight as Lee and Joe reappeared in their County Clare kilts, “now, don’t you lads look a treat!”

Lee had the grace to blush a little, though only I saw it, as he took the seat across from me.

 “Oh, and you do too, Harriman,” she added. “Sorry I forgot to mention it earlier.”

“Thank you, though to be honest, I’d hoped the weather would give me an excuse not to wear the thing.”

After serving us our meal and disappearing outside into her foggy garden (we could barely see her from the window), we began our meal  with trepidation. But that soon turned into relish. It was a scrambled hash of some sort accompanied by traditional Soda Bread, which we could cut into whatever sizes we wanted. There was butter, of course, and a jar of homemade Marmalade.  I think I gained ten pounds just from looking at everything.

Rose soon appeared with a basket of cut flowers.

“These are for the graves if you’d like, though I’m not sure you’ll be able to read all of the inscriptions on the headstones. Time and lichen you know. It’s an ancient place, and there are a lot of unmarked graves, so be careful where you step. Some of the ground’s subsided a little. Easy to trip up if you’re not paying attention. And remember, boys, it’s hallowed ground. No playing Frisbee or anything like that. I’ve seen tourists do that sort of thing. Though mostly they were teenagers. Now, I’ve got transportation for you from one of the local farmers. Only knows you’re ‘family’ from overseas and you want to pay your respects.”

It wasn’t long before we departed, and I could tell Lee was having a hard time to keep from laughing as we climbed aboard the horse drawn (and fully loaded) hay wagon

I’d taken the space next to the driver so the boys had to content themselves in the hay.

The draft horse clip clopped along the lane, then turned onto a simple unpaved trail. It was like being in another age. Too bad the fog kept us from seeing much of the unspoilt scenery.

The driver noticed my goose pimply legs and offered me a blanket to cover them. Lee and Joe seemed to be perfectly comfortable in the warm insulating hay they’d snuggled into.

The postcards of Clare Abbey usually show the old ruin and the graves in the sunshine. Today, however, it was a spooky place, the fog and tendrils of mist swirling about. Most of the place was practically  invisible.

The driver offered me a hand down from my perch, as Lee and Joe jumped off, almost forgetting the basket of flowers until I reminded them about it.

 “Don’t be over long,” the driver said. “Belle’s a good old nag, but I don’t like keeping her out in the mist for too long,” he said as he draped my blanket over her. “I keep her mostly for show now. Posing for pictures. But she can still put in a good day’s work. Well, half a day…maybe only a couple of hours. I just can’t abide the thought of turning her into glue.”

“I know I’d like a picture,” Lee said, nodding to Joe who hunted for his phone.

“Oh, that’s okay sonny, I got a camera. A real one. Not one of those fancy phone kinds…”

Lee, Joe and I posed for pictures standing with Belle and the wagon, and the driver promised to give them to ‘Rosie to give them to us when they’d been developed.

We thanked him, handed him a generous amount of American dollars and Euro’s, and told him we wouldn’t be long, as he pulled out a feedbag for the horse.

As we walked onto the grounds, I couldn’t help chuckling to myself. My knees and legs had been warmed by a horse blanket! Lee would never let me live it down.

The old stone ruin, and the toppled and leaning headstones looked spooky, not picturesque, and were sobering.

“Picking anything up, Lee?” Joe asked as we meandered, inspecting the gravestones for names.

“No. Nothing. You know, it’s very peaceful here.”

“Hey, here’s one,” Joe said, “I think. Can barely read it… what do you make of it?”

Lee squinted his eyes as he took some flowers from Joe’s basket and lay them in front of the tombstone, “Looks like O’Hara Nelson, but it might not be.”

“Sixteen hundred something,” I added from my own inspection, "first name looks like it could be Douglas."

“Well,” Lee said, placing some flowers, “rest in peace Douglas O’Hara Nelson.”

“Rest in peace,” I added, bowing my head. This man might not be a relative, but one never knew. We found a few more O’Hara Nelsons; some plain Nelsons, and a few O’Hara’s. But most of the stones illegible. In the end, we placed flowers on as many graves as we could.

Suddenly, Lee stumbled and fell.

 Before Joe and I could lend a hand, the ground caved in under him.

“Lee! Lee!” I yelled, hurrying over and bending down to assist, but  found myself  trying very hard not to laugh. The macabre image of Lee entangled with a skeleton had been lightened by its bony fingers caught in Lee’s hair.

“Must be a girl,” Joe said.

“Will you quit joking and help me up out of here?” Lee shouted.

“Sorry, son,” I said, but not before Joe whipped out his phone and took a picture.

“Even when they’re dead,” Joe laughed. “Lee, bro. One of these day’s you’ll have to have your hair examined…must have some kind of supernatural power over women.”

“We don’t know if it’s a woman,” Lee said, as we slowly extracted him, trying not to cause any harm to the bones.

“We have to call the police,” Lee added, brushing the dirt off himself, at least I hoped most of it was simply dirt, and not the dust we all return to.

“It’ll mean the jig is up,” Joe warned. “Can’t we just cover it up and leave? No one will be the wiser. We can pay off the driver for his silence, if he even saw anything in this fog.”

“I’ll be the wiser,” Lee said. “This was a human being. Deserves a little respect. And a proper reburial.”

“Okay, okay…”

“Lads? Lads?” the driver appeared through the mist, “I heard a yell and….Lord O'Mercy…”

“I tripped,” Lee said. “And the ground collapsed…we’ve called the cops…”

“You didn’t do anythin’ wrong to be arrested for, sonny. Lot’s of unmarked graves hereabout. Bound to happen sooner or later.”

“They’re on their way,” Joe said, closing his phone.

“Sorry about the delay,” Lee said. “Do you think Belle will be okay?”

“Ach, don’t you be a worrying about her. This is more important than me horse. In a strange sort of way…”

We finally heard the sirens, as the police car approached. Followed by a coroners van.

‘Crime scene’ tape was set up around the grave, and official pictures taken of the skeleton before we were asked for our ID’s and eyewitness reports.

“Wait a minute,” one of the cops said after we’d all identified ourselves. “Not THE Admiral Nelson and Captain Nelson-Crane?”

“Afraid so,” Lee sighed.

“You’re supposed to be in Greenland!”

“I heard that too. Must have been an illegitimate source the press used.”

“We thought we might have relatives here,” I said.

“You,” the officer said, “perhaps. But you, he pointed to Lee, "you’re hardly a blood relation, are you."

“No,” Lee said, before I could say anything,  "but I’m a Nelson, just the same.”

 “Yes, yes, of course…now, one at a time. What happened? You first, Captain.”

And so Lee, Joe, the driver and I gave our versions of what had happened. Belle, of course was unavailable for questioning.

The officers requested we remain at the B&B for any further questioning, but pretty much chalked up our disturbing the dead as an accident.

The coroner confirmed, on the spot, that the skeleton was indeed female, about thirty years of age. He decided to remove it to the forensics dept. for further tests, as the public would be interested to learn more about it. There was a lot one could learn from bones, he’d said, winking at Lee.

Our ‘cover’ of course, was blown, and we returned, on the hay wagon, to Miss McAffee’s, surrounded by press, thanks to an overzealous police department.

For the next half hour, we fielded questions, as they and the curious villagers snapped pictures. Then, one of the reporters changed the topic.

“Admiral, how is it you’re a nephew of Miss McAffee?”

“My sister did some family tree research. It's a several times removed relationship," I said, groping at what little I knew of genealogy.

“Captain,” another reporter asked, “ now that your sight’s returned, and your tour is over, will you be returning to Seaview?”

This was it. The moment of truth. I held my breath.

“Undetermined,” Lee said, “now, if you’ll excuse us, we’d like to get out of the damp. Belle?” he told the horse, patting her nose, “thanks for the nice hay ride. I think I’ll remember that the most from my time here.”

“Not sharing the grave of a five hundred year old skeleton?” one of the locals asked.

“How do you know it’s that old?” Joe asked.

“Has to be. That part of the cemetery was from the earlier kirk yard.”

“Oh.”

“Well,” Lee said, “I guess the forensic team will determine its age for sure.”

“Captain, I’m surprised you didn’t ‘feel’ something before you fell,” a reporter said.

“No, nothing. Now, if you’ll excuse us…”

As soon as we were safely behind closed doors, Lee sighed, leaning against the staircase.

“Miss McAffee, I’m sorry about all that. We’ll leave right away, get a hotel…we can’t leave the town yet. Police orders.”

“Nonsense, sweetie,” she patted his arm. “You’re my honored guests for as long as you wish. Now, run along upstairs and get dried off. I’ll put the kettle on…”

Lee nodded his thanks and trod upstairs.

“Poor lad,” she said, then, to Joe and me, “you get yourselves dried off too.”

And so, pending on the police, we’re stuck here. Not that I mind  much. Means another breakfast like this morning’s.

I am concerned about Lee, though, and his ‘undetermined’. I’d hoped he would have made his decision by now. Seaview will be leaving for Santa Barbra soon and I know in my heart that if Lee isn’t aboard her when she does go, that it’s doubtful he’ll ever return to her.