Peasant Style

Peasant Style

 Packing her clothes was the last thing she had to do before leaving. Vail had been her home for years but with their recent divorce and Martin working at the same lodge, it was time to leave. The large maroon bag was zipped and hauled onto the floor, ready to be rolled out into the tiny kitchen.

The house they’d shared was only a rental, the pile of ski’s, poles, and pieces of clothing she couldn’t fit in her luggage was just stuff. Her job as a ski instructor was cliché for a Colorado girl, but she’d loved it. Growing up in the mountains, skiing to school, racing to a Silver medal as a junior in high school, it had all been part of who she was. The move to sunny Los Angeles was deliberate; she needed to be somewhere different from her current home so she could grow. Finding out what and who else she was besides ‘ski hill’ Amber was crucial.

Her hands swept over the pile of jeans and shirts on the couch before she thrust them into black bin bags. The last item was a ‘maybe’ when she’d folded it, it would actually serve her well in California. Short sleeves, white with blue flowers and enough stretch to pull it down, peasant style onto her shoulders. Running the blouse through long tanned fingers, her mind went to finding it at the Brick Lane Public market in London. This was followed by memories of parties she’d worn it to and nights when it was tossed to the floor before rolling in bed with her husband.

They’d had a great sex life, she could admit that at least. They were both just nineteen when they met, married a year later despite her father’s concern. They had made a go of it, learning about savings and future planning, cooking together, and he’d even taught her how to drive amidst some swearing from them both. They had a tight connection, almost never fought, and always said ‘I’m sorry’ when they did.

When Maggie showed up for front desk duty at the lodge six months ago, Amber had a gut feeling that the marriage was washing up on the rocks. Truthfully, she didn’t see as there was anything she could do to stop it. Martin seemed besotted, at first she’d tease him about his ‘crush’ and they’d laugh. After a friend witnessed them emerging from the hotel sauna, things really hit the fan. The divorce papers were now signed and so the next part of her life was about to start. Her fingers untied the knot on the garbage bag and the blouse was thrust in. She turned and walked out the door with her suitcase, her pride, and her car keys.        

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Kat had heard the expression years ago, ‘the clothes on the line snapped in the wind’ and it hadn’t resonated with her. Standing in the doorway of the limestone cottage she finally got it. The pillow cases, two pairs of jeans and her favourite peasant top were performing a strange kind of dance, swaying to a beat she couldn’t hear.

She’d been at the cottage for nearly two weeks, it was supposed to be a writing retreat, her muse though had apparently missed the CalMac ferry. On the northern Hebridean Island of Lewis she had set up her laptop and stocked the fridge. The daily hikes over to the lighthouse were giving her excellent views and improving her lung capacity but doing nothing for plot development. She shook her head, red curls swirling around her face with the gusts. She grabbed the length and tucked it tightly under the baseball hat she’d brought outside with her.

Hazel eyes scanned the horizon, noting a herd of cattle in one field and black faced sheep in the acre next to it. Her stomach rumbled and she snorted, her body always had this strange reaction to the sight of meat sources. She’d tried vegetarianism in her twenties but walking past a pub one night she inhaled the scent of burgers and that was one experiment over. Bare feet stepped down abrasive stone steps to the soft grass under the clothes line. Fair and freckled hands reached out to touch the denim and cotton dancing partners. She’d agreed to meet someone from the publishing firm in Stornoway tonight and planned to go informal.

Made of light white cotton, the blouse had dark blue flowers stitched into the neckline, around the sleeves and the hem. She’d found it in a second-hand shop in Colorado four years ago and It had been in her luggage around the world. As a journalist she’d covered social and political stories in Asia, Africa, Central America, and her home country of Canada. She couldn’t be sure of the shirt’s history and why someone had given it up, but it had served her well. She liked that it could be worn under a blazer with jewelry or worn with a pair of cut-offs, bare shoulders, and all. It was a combination of easy going and classic. ‘Just like me’, she laughed out loud and startled a ewe which made her giggle even harder.

The rep from the UK arm of the publishers had emailed on the weekend, asking her to meet with him this evening and she’d agreed. The novel was slower coming than all parties had expected, perhaps this discussion would stir something. She had gone online and booked a room for the night in case they had a couple drinks with dinner. Cruising down the narrow roads from village to city she rehearsed the synopsis. The drive to Stornoway from the Butt of Lewis was only about forty-five minutes, but needing a coffee boost she pulled into the parking lot of the Callanish Stones site. It could often be quite busy but she was lucky today and got her to-go mug filled in minutes.

 She leaned across the hood of her little rental car and sipped her drink. Her DNA was half Scottish, and the country had already made it’s mark on her heart. She looked around at the immense stones and felt a foreboding kind of shiver. In a cross-shaped setting, they had apparently been erected about five thousand years ago. Kathleen knew that meant they pre-dated even Stonehenge. For someone with friends that thought the 80’s were a long time ago it was spectacular history. Glancing at her watch she folded her frame back into the car and left the stones in her rear-view mirror.

 Her eyes were open but she couldn’t yet make out where she was. A stale gust of air touched her brow every couple of seconds and a snort near her ears alerted her to someone sleeping right next to her. What on earth had happened last night? Her brain tried desperately to hold onto fleeting images. She remembered meeting the publishing rep, Alex, at a gastro pub downtown and that her outline was amended. They then relaxed and had a couple glasses of wine with dinner.

It got hazy after that and though she knew they’d gone dancing at a club nearby nothing was coming to mind, not the music or conversation, just nothing. She lifted her arm from under the covers and ran it through her hair, past her face and down her body. She was naked aside from panties that held her knees together. She shifted and lifted the blanket so she could sit up then ease herself out. Lifting her underwear over her hips she leaned to retrieve her jeans and top from the carpet. She made her way to the curtains and opening them an inch, peeked outside. The streets nearly empty of people, the sun just making it’s way over a nearby church. With the light from outside she could see her belongings on the small table in the corner. She showered and donned a change of clothes from the backpack she’d brought in. The peasant blouse reeked of booze and smoke with under tones of overpriced cologne so she wrapped it in a bag before stuffing it into her rucksack.

It wasn’t until she threw a cosmetic cloth in the trash can that she noticed the small container. She recognized the product name from a story she did on date rape drugs in Vancouver two years before. Her stomach lurched and emptied into the bowl.

When she was done and had brushed her teeth she removed the bottle with a tissue and placed it in her pocket. She stood and gazed at her reflection, what were her options here? Report him to the police, the company, both? After she made her decision she shouldered her purse and laptop case, slid on her shoes, and turned toward the door.

The following week found her sitting on the picnic table outside the cottage. She was listening to the head of the publishing company tell her that they had fired Alex on moral grounds. He’d been charged with sexual assault by the Stornoway police force as well, based on her statement. She felt a bit overwhelmed by the whole experience and had put the novel on hold for awhile. The books and clothes she’d brought to Scotland with her had been shipped to her niece Becky in Sydney, Australia. She lifted her head when the loud baa’s reached her ears from the nearby field and her stomach growled as normal.

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The yipping and meowing from the enclosures in the back room reached ears of already worried pet owners in the reception area. Becky smiled and reassured those dropping off their ‘fur babies’ that everything was fine. She’d been working at the Bondi Bay Vet hospital for nearly seven months now and had yet to see a heartless human within it’s walls.

She knew about the clinic’s history and reputation. Several of it’s vets had appeared on a television show a few years back, and the exposure was so great that the clinic was busy even in 2021. For her, it was a dream job. She’d always loved animals and so trained to be a vet, she was a junior staff, so balanced surgery time with front desk duties. It was a process she was willing to go through for eventual certification. As she carried the newest intake down to the offices her mind cast back to her arrival in Oz.

When her parents moved to Brisbane, Australia from Canada ten years ago she hadn’t wanted to come. Being only sixteen at the time though, she had no choice. Her only relative was an aunt a mere nine years her senior. Aunty Kathleen was just starting in her career as a journalist and couldn’t be expected to take her on so here she was. Thinking of her aunt she wondered what was in the chest her parents’ had received last weekend. They’d called her and asked when she was coming up next, they didn’t want to go through the trunk without her as it was addressed to her.

She lay the Beagle on the exam table and conferred with the senior vet, relaying the concerns and condition of ‘Snoopy2’. He was just eight months old and while still had some puppy energy wasn’t eating well lately. They set a time to do the scan in the afternoon after a physical exam ruled out anything obvious like mites. She also asked about the vacation schedule and arranged a week at the end of the month.

Sitting sideways on a lounger she opened the trunk, it wasn’t a big one like you’d see in the old movies but was solid and heavy all the same. The recognizable scent of her aunt wafted out from the small mound of shirts and sweaters in the center. All around the clothing were books and journals, the latter went back to 1989.

Becky looked up at her mom, matching brown eyes took stock of the chests’ contents.

“Why do you think she’d send me her journals mom?”

“I don’t know love, maybe there are some lessons in there for you? Best ask though before you read them, just in case. I recognize that blouse on top though, I’ve seen her wear it in an interview in Joburg last year.”  They gently pulled the pile of clothes and lay it on a nearby side table. Unfolding the blouse on top Becky had a strange reaction to it. It was a gorgeous top, white with blue stitching and just her size but it repelled her somehow so she put it down. After they picked out a few pieces for Becky to try on they packed the rest of the things back into the box and stashed it away in the spare room.

The following week, back in Sydney Becky was talking to her roommate about her time away, showing her the few things she’d brought back with her. Heather’s eyes went to the blouse immediately, “Oh my goodness, that’s gorgeous Becks! I bet you can’t wait to try that on for Steve tonight.” Becky shook her head.

“I don’t know why I brought it back Heather, it gave me the willies when I first touched it, maybe I was being silly. Do you want it? It would look amazing with your skin tone.”

“Crikey, are you sure. I’d take such good care of it, just in case your aunt wants it back. When is she coming to Oz anyway? It will be so cool to meet her.” Becky just shrugged. She’d talked to her aunt about the journals and after receiving the go ahead to read them if she wanted, asked her about her schedule. Kathleen had sounded really sad and said she wasn’t ready to make any decisions yet. So, the conversation hadn’t provided much information.

“I don’t know, she didn’t sound certain about life in general, I didn’t want to press her. That incident in Scotland really took it out of her.” The two women talked a bit about assault and the dangers of drugs before getting ready for their respective dates. Heather came out of her room in the top and a pair of jeans that perfectly matched the blue flowers and Becky nodded with a smile. “Perfect on you girl, have a blast tonight, just be careful okay?”

She and Steve just had dinner out, he had to work in the morning so she was fine with an early night. Returning to the flat she wasn’t surprised that Heather wasn’t back yet, and it was actually nice to have the place to herself for a bit. At some point she went to bed and woke to the sun in her eyes, a glance at the clock told her it was half past eight. After a quick shower she strolled to the kitchen for tea when there was a knock on the front door. The two policemen on the other side gave her an apologetic glance before asking if Heather Crowe lived there. On her nod they told her the news, Heather had been killed in a car accident in the early morning. Becky just reeled, sat on the couch, and muttered, ‘I knew there was something dark about that shirt.”