The Secret Gift by Jaclyn Reding Read Free Book Online Page A

’tis just the jet lag, dear. You’ve got to acclimate yourself to our time, you know. ’Twill take a few days, to be sure.”
    “Tea, dear?”
    The other sister, Miss Maggie, came into the room then, a vision of smiling pale green, tea tray securely in hand. A linen-wrapped basket of scones sat atop it with little accompanying pots of marmalade and jam. Just the sight of the tray made Libby’s stomach clench. She hadn’t eaten anything since the small snack she’d been given during the flight from London the afternoon before, and the granola bar she’d munched on while registering for the rental car. She took a scone from the basket. It was still warm. She didn’t even pause for jam but bit into it, and closed her eyes.
    It was delicious, just as wonderful as the scones her mother had made all her childhood. Never, in all the places she’d traveled, had she ever found a scone that tasted quite like her mother’s. Until now.
    Already she felt the tears threatening.
    “Oh, dear. You don’t like the scones?”
    “No.” Libby shook her head. “They are very good. It’s just that ...” She took a deep breath. “They remind me of my mother’s scones.”
    At this, her tears won the fight. In fact, she couldn’t seem to stop them. First, the night before in front of a total stranger, and now this. Good God, what was wrong with her?
    “Oh,” Aggie brightened. “Well, then, your mother must be a very good cook. Maggie’s scones are quite a prize, indeed.”
    “My mother
was
a wonderful cook.” Libby struggled to take hold of her emotions. She sniffed loudly. “She passed away two weeks ago.”
    “Oh, you poor sweet child.”
    The two women surrounded her, enfolded her, alternately patting her on the hand,
tsk
ing, and passing her fresh tissues.
    “I’m sorry,” Libby said, shaking her head. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m not usually this weepy.”
    “ ’Tis obvious, dear,” Aggie said. “You’re overwrought. But you’ve come to the perfect place to recuperate. You’ll find this village is just lovely for that sort of thing.”
    Libby nodded, collected her emotions. “It’s not the only reason I’ve come here, to this place. I believe my mother might have been born in this village.”
    “Was she?”
    “In this house?” Maggie added.
    Libby shook her head. “I do not know where she lived. I’m not even sure she was from the village at all.”
    She spent a quarter hour telling them her story, of the stone and the mysterious photograph. “So I have come here to try to find out if this man in the photo could be her family.”
    “Oh! How exciting. What was her name, dear? We know everyone from the village. Perhaps we have heard of her family.”
    “Her name was Matilde. Matilde Mackay.”
    “Hmm ... well, there are certainly a number of Mackays.”
    Aggie went to a desk and removed something from the top drawer. She handed a booklet to Libby, a directory, it seemed, of the village, its services, and its residents.
    “I’m afraid you’ve your work cut out for you, love. Most every family in the village is a Mackay, married to a Mackay, or a cousin of a Mackay.”
    And indeed they were. Libby paged through the booklet, scanning the columns of names. There were three Angus Mackays, five Donald Mackays, and nearly a dozen Robert Mackays among numerous others. “Surely they’re not all related?”
    “Oh, goodness, no,” Maggie chuckled. “We’re not as backward as all that up here. As I understand it, there is the Mackay family, and then there is the Mackay clan. Back in history, those who were a part of the clan, that is, under the protection and rule of the chief, often took his name. Surnames are a relatively modern invention in Scotland, considering how far back the history of this country stretches. It all stems from affiliation to the clan, and the major clan about these parts was the Mackay. Smaller clans that joined forces with the greater clan over the centuries