Chapter 3
According to Whose Plan?
Very early the next morning as Ewan mentally prepared for that day's fishing excursion with Donald, and Duncan came round the Big House to snatch a bit of breakfast before tackling his chores, Archie unexpectedly came tearing into the kitchen.
"Ewan, did you know that the bins in the court yard weren't emptied?"
Ewan shrugged, "They weren't?"
"No, they weren't, and do you know how I know this?" Archie flapped his arms and wagged his finger mere inches from Ewan's face. "Because I could smell them a mile away, that's how!"
"Um, Arch," Duncan interjected, "I was actually supposed to empty the bins this morning, not Ewan." He put down the small container of yogurt he'd been eating, "It's just that, you see, I'd agreed to collect the rest of the trash from the house first." His explanation completed, Duncan picked up the container and started eating again.
"And," an infuriated Archie demanded.
"And well, I haven't yet, have I?"
"So?" Archie's eyes widened as he motioned for Duncan to continue.
"So," slowly, Duncan came round to Archie's way of thinking, "so I should go do it now, shouldn't I?"
"Yes, yes, that would be great!"
Without saying another word, Duncan dumped the half empty plastic container and spoon into the sink, mouthing good luck to Ewan as he raced out of the kitchen.
"For goodness sake," Archie had still not finished his rant and now Ewan alone was receiving the full brunt of it, "just what do we pay you people for? Oh, heaven forbid someone should do something without being asked to do so first! Now after the breakfast service is done, I'd like to go over all of the ordering slips and the receipts, please."
"Ah well," Ewan confidently spoke up, "Lexie does the actual ordering and then I just double check orders and sign for them when they come in."
"Listen to me very carefully," again, Ewan found Archie's finger dangerously close to his face, "I would like to go over them with you. Is that clear?" Ewan nodded. "You are the cook, are you not?" Nodding a second time it was, he found, best not to say a word. "Good. Then would that be so difficult?"
Exterior, Glenbogle Estate
Donald thought back through the years when his father used to keep the tackle and fishing gear in a building at the back of the property. Though the elder MacDonald was quite adept at the sport neither of his sons, unfortunately, had followed suit. It was true that Hector had determinedly spent numerous hours trying his hand at the trade, but aside from catching the errant boot or other man-made debris that happened to find its way into the loch and onto his hook, he'd never been very successful at the task.
Approaching the far end of a building that faced the court yard, where the slatted doors blended in with the walls, Donald ran his fingers along the entire length until he reached an opening. Pushing the door open he stepped inside the dim, musty space. Images of how it had previous looked came flooding back to him but this many years later how things had changed. Its use had been repurposed. Gone were the nets and tackle boxes and pails. In their place were dog leashes made of all kinds of materials hanging together on hooks along the wall, old grooming tools lying here and there and a few plastic-wrapped cases of tinned dog food, piled like bricks in one corner simply collecting dust.
Not knowing exactly where to look next Donald stumbled back outside. The day being unusually bright and sunny, he squinted as he paced about the area, swatting at the midges—whether real or imagined, though being mid June, the time was right for them to be swarming in droves. As he neared the stone archway which opened into the court yard, he caught sight of Golly's shed. "Ah-ha!" he exclaimed to himself. And that is where he headed next.
Entering the shed from the end door he began his search with only his eyes at first, scanning the shelves which ran along the left wall. But there were so many boxes, wooden and cardboard both, sitting shoulder to shoulder down the entire length it was impossible not to start pulling each forward in order to take a squint at their contents. Though curious as he normally was, Donald felt odd rummaging through another man's collected treasures. What eased the process was the misguided appearance of the untidy surfaces which, perhaps, had been intentionally left in disarray for the very purpose of discouraging people from poking around. For the contents of the boxes themselves, he found, seemed to be organized in some fashion. One held old glass peanut and olive jars—some with rusting metal lids, each filled to capacity with nails, cup hooks and screws. Others contained balls of string, spools of waxed twine and a variety of different nozzles for the ends of garden hoses.
Donald continued his laborious search of the middle shelf stopping only when it abruptly ended and intersected with a section of the wall that jogged out, forming a little alcove. Leaning upon this part his gaze fell upon a painting of a majestic stag. For a brief moment he remembered stalking with his father and Hector, in the days when a map of the surrounding hills was imprinted on his brain, or so it had seemed.
Abandoning the boxes, which, if truth be told, he knew, were too small to hold fishing poles and the like anyway, Donald continued his hunt along the work surfaces running beneath the windows that overlooked the court yard. In amongst the pliers, wire cutters, awls and metal vices he noticed two good-sized boxes, each containing eight rows of tiny plastic drawers. Peeking out from in between them was a bit of ecru-colored fabric. Recognizing the material at once, Donald gave it a strong tug. It was Hector's old fishing hat.
"Can I help you find somethin' there Donald?" Golly MacKenzie stood in the side entrance to the shed, eyeing Hector's hat. "Were you plannin' on doin' some fishin'?"
Dining Room, Glenbogle Estate
Lexie yawned and stretched as she entered the dining room. Though the sideboard was lined with chafing dishes filled with eggs, bacon and the like, she bypassed these items, favoring instead a hot cup of tea and a piece of buttered toast. Settling into a chair she rested her elbows on the table, letting her hands cradle her head.
"Where's Archie this morning?" Having fully tucked into her breakfast of scrambled eggs, mixed fresh fruit and a bit of sausage roll, Molly pushed aside her plate and picked up her half full glass of cranberry juice.
Lexie breathed deeply. "Och, I don't know. He was up hours before me today, though I thought I'd heard him barking out orders in the kitchen a while ago." She turned her head to the right, looking directly at her mother-in-law. "Do you want to shed some light on what happened yesterday, Molly?"
"What happened yesterday?" Finishing her juice, Molly placed the glass beside her plate and dabbed at her mouth with a napkin.
"Yes, yesterday. You know, Archie was really hurt by what you said, or, rather, by the lack of what you said. He counts on you for support, Molly. We both do!"
"Well maybe it's about time everyone stopped counting on me! Lexie look, I can't get into this now."
"That's fine, Molly because it's not me you should be talking to."
Molly rose from the table and whispered, "A few months of marriage does not make you an expert on all relationships, Lexie."
"Molly! What?" Perplexed, Lexie sat back in her chair, watching her mother-in-law leave the room, "Molly? That didn't even make any sense!"
Banks of a Loch, Glenbogle Estate Property
Not being a rugged, manly sort, Donald did not own, nor did he choose to drive that day, any of the all-terrain vehicles parked at the estate. Instead, he reasoned, he and Ewan would be travelling in style. So together they'd packed everything into his old-fashioned but refurbished convertible. The Morgan he affectionately called Molly.
Donald hadn't seen the folly of his ways until it was too late, realizing he'd need to park his auto about a mile away from the loch. Grumbling at the thought of traipsing across the uneven terrain, weighed down with gear, he wondered aloud why Ewan had not thought to mention this inconvenience.
Excited by the prospect of riding in and possibly having a slim chance of being able to drive the flashy antique, Ewan eagerly went along with Donald's choice for their mode of transportation. And fortunately, the lad had also planned ahead, preparing an ice chest for salmon storage but also for use as a makeshift seat for his elder companion. It had also provided a helpful way of conveying the necessary items to the bank, leaving Donald to carry just a rod and the flies.
Having situated themselves near the edge of the loch, Ewan began sorting through the assembled tools, "I'm really impressed, Donald. You managed to find a 14 foot single-handed rod."
Donald, looking a bit like a caricature sitting atop the ice chest in a mismatched suit and ascot, with Hector's hat—many sizes too small—perched on top of his head, smiled and gave Ewan a thumbs-up.
"Do you even know why you chose what you did?" Ewan continued checking out the reel and testing the line. "Because this time of year, the water's lower…did you have help with all this?"
"Well yes, Golly may have given me some instruction. I mean it's been umpteen years since I've done this, lad. You couldn't expect me to remember everything, could you?"
"Oh aye, but, ha, I knew you'd be needed some help. Okay, let's see what kind of flies Golly's chosen for um, eh-eh, you!"
Ewan found a few red and black Ally Shrimp flies, some Yellow Ally's and a Cascade, with orange and black coloring. The Cascade was the one he chose and attached. He remembered back to the first lesson his grandfather ever taught him, letting him cast with a slack line, which caused the line to jerk and halt, rendering the cast unsuccessful. Being a quick-study, however Ewan had mastered the correct steps while still very young, now making him a near-pro.
With his gear checked and ready, Ewan began the process by organizing, or straightening the line on the water's surface, making sure the rod tip was low and tight. He accelerated smoothly and then stopped, moving the rod forward and back in a soothing, hypnotic motion.
Whilst Ewan worked Donald, fearing he might fall asleep, engaged the lad in conversation. "Did you find any books on smoking fish?"
"Nay, Donald, this is the 21st Century, we use computers now! There's a laptop in the kitchen that Lexie lets me borrow so I looked up a couple things this morning. We'll have to salt the fish first, you know."
"Salt it? You mean like cure it?"
"Aye, well, sort of. It's important to extract most of the liquid out of the filets. We'll have to leave them in the salt for a couple a days, at least."
"A couple of days, you say?"
"Mmm-hmm," Ewan pulled his line out of the water, adjusting the reel before casting off again. "Which is just as well," Ewan glanced back a Donald, "because I'll need to put in an order for more salt—this little jobby's going to clean us clear out! And Arch's been on the warpath today! So I'd advise you to keep your ideas to yourself and stay out of his way."
Taking all of this in, Donald continued with his questions. "Then what's next? I mean, what happens after we've salted the fish…"
"Shh, wait…yes…Donald…I've got a bite…"
Estate Office, Glenbogle
After searching through the house for her husband, Lexie finally tracked Archie down in the Estate Office. When she entered, he was talking intently on the phone and he quickly closed a manila folder, covering it with his arm.
"Yes, um…I'm sorry. Could I possibly call you back, mate?" Archie abruptly ended his conversation, "Great, thanks…bye."
Lexie sat down opposite him. "What was that about?"
"That?" Archie pointed to the phone, "Oh, nothing, it was just some insurance business." Archie shuffled the manila folder in amongst the piles on the desk.
"Right."
"What…you don't believe me?" Lexie didn't answer. "Was there something you wanted?" Archie's tone had changed from that of being slightly nervous to that of slight impatience.
"Aye, I wanted to talk to my husband. What's going on with you, Arch? I mean I can understand you're being upset with Molly, you have a right to be, but don't take it out on me."
"I'm not!"
"You are, and everyone else besides. I'm on your side here." Lexie leaned forward in her chair, forcing her husband to look directly into her eyes. "How are we doing?"
"Actually, we're doing fine. I mean the estate's breaking even at this point. If we can keep the school group attendance up at the Activity Centre and keep folks visiting the Wildlife Centre, barring any major catastrophes of course, we'll start seeing more of a profit." Lexie sighed and shook her head. "What," Archie implored.
"I don't give a toss about how the estate's doing at this very moment, Archie. I meant us, Archie. How are we doing, you and me?"
Basement, Glenbogle Estate
Since using kitchen wasn't going to be a viable option—too many people roaming in and out of the area throughout the day, and especially after his meeting that morning—all he needed was for Archie to see him preparing a huge salmon that he knew wasn't going to be on the menu for the week—Ewan had planned in advance where he would gut and filet the fish. There was still the problem of ferrying the large ice chest through the court yard and into the building just beyond, undetected. But this proved easier than expected.
As Ewan and Donald approached the court yard's stone archway, they spotted Golly sitting outside his shed, oiling a small piece of equipment.
"So Captain Donald," the Ghillie spoke without taking his eyes from his work, "Will we supping on salmon or trout this evening?"
Ewan laughed, "You'll be starving tonight if you're waiting for him to feed ye!" To Donald Ewan said, "Listen Donald, I'll put this ice chest away for you, mate, you having had a hard day of fishing and all."
"What?" Though lost at first, Donald eventually caught on to Ewan's ploy. With a wink he said, "Oh, right. Yes, thank you, my boy! Take it away!" Turning to Golly, Donald laughed, "Guess I was a little too ambitious, today. Um, don't suppose you could offer me a tipple?"
Golly smiled and threw down his soiled rag. "Aye, I'm sure I've got somethin' hidden in the shed."
With both Donald and Golly occupied, Ewan set himself up in a back room in the basement of the estate where he'd already stashed some needed supplies. The room had been equipped with an old kitchen table and chairs, a little worktop and a small sink, which he'd scrubbed out thoroughly before getting starting. Setting in place the light he'd nicked from another section of the cellar, he began the arduous and messy—but also mind-relaxing task of gutting the salmon.
Using a combination of knives and kitchen shears, he sliced into the tail-end of the fish, running the blade smoothly up the belly toward the head then switched to the scissors for some of the tougher sections like the gills and pectoral fins. With a little tugging, he managed to pull out the tongue—that bit always made even him a mite wee squeamish—and the innards quite cleanly. Turning on the cold tap so a nice steady stream flowed, he rinsed the fish, scraping any remaining blood and bits left along the ribs and backbone. Picking up the knife again, just as his granddad had taught him, he searched for a clear opening in between the hard-to-reach bony area surrounding the kidney, piercing this with the tip of the knife to release its blood, and then rinsed the flesh once more. Having drained the water from the melted ice out of the chest, he placed the fish carcass on the remaining icy layer and quickly proceeded with the next.
Molly's Bedroom, Glenbogle Estate
"Mother," Archie knocked impatiently on his mother's bedroom door.
Busy rearranging something on a high shelf in her huge, pale-aqua wardrobe, Molly called out in a muffled voice, "Come in, Archie."
"The final changes have been made," though Archie's voice was civil, it was tinged with a hint of the underlying anger he still harbored, "I spoke with the company this morning."
"Fine, I'm glad everything's been sorted." Molly took a deep breath, "Archie, we can't go on like this. We need to talk."
"We're talking right now, aren't we?"
"Oh! You know what I mean! Goodness, you're just as stubborn as your father ever was! You know out of all of my children, your older brother Jamie had been the most like your father. If only he'd never had that accident on the loch, such a tragedy, it's such a pity. And Lizzie is well, Lizzie. But you, my youngest child, you are the most like me and the one that I had the highest hopes for."
Archie sighed, "I don't have time for this Mother." He started to head out of the room.
"If things had gone the way they should have," Molly practically yelled, "then you wouldn't have been stuck here."
"Ah, there it is, isn't it? You mean you wouldn't have been stuck here, Mother. Left to muddle through things with me, right? Me, your only living son who's doing as crappy a job as Father had done, aye? Am I right?"
"Now hold on a minute, Archie. Your father may have taken a non-traditional approach to running the estate, and yes, as he aged he let more and more things slide but Glenbogle meant everything to him and he gave it his all, every last ounce of himself. Even until the very end! He did well by the people of the community, by his family and friends. So don't ever think for a minute or let anyone tell you that he was just this dotty old man whose only concerns were playing with trains and walking his dogs."
"All right, Mother, get to the point, will you? Are you saying that Jamie could have done a better job? Well here's a news bulletin for you, Mother; Jamie's dead! Jamie. Is. Dead. Call Duncan's Aunt Liz, wasn't it she who put you in contact with one of her psychics, convincing you to hold a séance in the library so you could have a go at contacting Father's spirit? Maybe one of them can conjure up Jamie's ghost for you and then you can ask him for advice on how best to run the estate."
"Archie, how dare you!" Easing her set jaw, Molly collected herself, thinking the better of spewing forth whatever venomous words had come first to the tip of her tongue. When she felt she was more in control and had cleared her head, she proceeded. "Your brother wouldn't have necessarily done a better job, but he was better-suited to this environment. Archie, you've always wanted to explore things, to see not only if but why the grass was greener on the other side of the fence. Before moving back to Glenbogle you'd started your own business with Justine for goodness sakes. There's no doubt you're capable. I've every confidence in you! Since you've been here and in charge, you've managed to get Glenbogle back on its feet in record time. But, is this really what you want?"
Archie shook his head and mumbled, "Whatever!"
"I stayed here because I wanted to," Molly persisted, "but you don't have to. You don't have to settle. All I'm asking you to do is think about it. You have a hard time accepting help but maybe that's just what you need. Glenbogle's a very big place Archie." Molly approached her son and embraced him. "Go ahead with what you've planned for Lexie. Spend some more time together, just the two of you, just being newlyweds."
Basement, Glenbogle Estate
"Eww!" Donald opened the ice chest and spied the gutted fish.
"Sure, they look awful now, but they'll be mighty tasty once we've finished with 'em."
"What did you do with all the, you know," Donald made a face and looked skittishly around the space.
"What, the innards you mean? I put them in this plastic container I found," Ewan kicked a large round tub with his foot, "What's important is that the lid seals properly—the last thing we want is the stench of fish wafting up through the house." Wiping his hands on a towel, Ewan approached the wooden table where he'd set up the laptop he'd taken earlier from the kitchen. "Okay Donald, come over here. Have y'ever seen one of these before?" Donald shot him a look. "What I mean is have you ever used one? It's really simple; here, let me show you."
"Well what exactly am I to do with this?"
"You mate, are going read up on the processes used for smoking fish. I told you I did a little research already and I've bookmarked some sites for you to check out."
"Bookmarked?"
"Hey buck up, Donald, you're not getting out of doing this, so pay attention. I'm wasting my time here helping you! See," Ewan showed him how the buttons worked, "you use this to scroll down the page and then when you want to read something, you click this button here. See along the side, there's a list. Choose, read and explain to me what our next step should be."
Ewan returned to his work. The next item on his agenda was filleting the salmon. Placing one of the de-headed fish on a cutting board, he carefully began separating the skin from the meat in one slow steady movement. Having loosened the skin on one side, he flipped the fish over, repeating the same actions. Next he laid the filet flat and cut away the rib cage, depositing these bits of fragments and bone into the bucket containing the rest of the innards. After rinsing off the firm pink-orange flesh in the even flow from the cool tap, he set them on some paper towels to drain and picked up the next carcass, continuing the procedure.
As Donald was reading about the pros and cons of hot-smoking versus cold-smoking processes, making the occasional comment to himself under his breath, Ewan placed the first pieces of fish on a thick layer of salt at the bottom of a deep tray. Picking up another large crock, one he'd filled with a mixture of salt and brown sugar—a bit of sweetness to temper the sharpness of the salt—he started to sprinkle the cure over the filets, being more liberal at the head, which was meatier and less so near the more delicate tail.
"Damn!"
"What is it?" Donald pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, then looked curiously over at Ewan.
"Nothing, I forgot to get some dill, is all."
"Dill," Donald spoke the monosyllabic word as if it were in a foreign tongue.
"Aye, you know, Donald a few herbs and spices to add a more complex flavor. Listen, I'm gonna nip out to the court yard and snip some fresh herbs—don't touch anything!" Agreeing to abide, Donald resumed his reading.
As Ewan entered the short hall leading to the court yard door, he came face to face with Duncan.
"Hey," Ewan eyed Duncan suspiciously, as the ranger was standing in a sort of spread eagle fashion just in front of the huge open lift which was used to convey things to and from the upper floors of the house.
"Huh? How's it going then?"
"Fine," Ewan tried to look around Duncan. "Whatchya doin'?"
"Nothing, nothing and you, mate. And you, what're you up to?"
"Aye, it's the same as you, Dunc, nothing at all."
"Right then, so carry on, do."
"Want some help with those?"
"With what," Duncan shrugged then turned his head quickly over his shoulder, "oh, these," he pointed to the assembled bins and plastic bags jumbled together on the lift floor. Though late in the day he still hadn't managed to collect and dispose of the trash. "No. I'll just grab some bin bags and then I'll be on my way, me. Listen, mate there's no need to tell Archie 'bout this, is there?"
"No, in fact wait here just one sec." After some quick thinking, Ewan ran back to the makeshift salmon prep room and grabbed the bucket of fish guts. He thrust the sealed bucket at Duncan and the contents sloshed sickeningly about. "Get rid of this too and we'll call it even."
The Ghillie's Rest
Archie pulled his jeep into the local pub called the Ghillie's Rest. "Dougal," he spoke to the barkeep, "is everything all set for Friday night?"
"Yup." Dougal looked up from polishing a glass, "Is this a milestone birthday for Lexie?"
"Not really, but it is her first as mywife. I'll have Ewan drop off the cake Friday morning, if that's all right."
"Aye, that'll do just fine." Archie lingered, turning to look at the room. "Are you nervous Archie?"
"Nah, well, on second thought, aye maybe just a wee bit."
"Och! Don't you mind, you'll do fine. Just remember, you'll be surrounded by family and friends."
"Yes, that's what worries me!"
"Are you having any back-up?"
"Um yes, but they don't know it yet. And I haven't exactly been the easiest person to get along with lately but I'm sure it will be fine!"
"Ah!" Dougal winked. "The things we do for love."
Basement, Glenbogle Estate
After ridding himself of the trash, curiosity got the better of Duncan and he slid into the back room where Donald and Ewan were working.
"Exactly what was it I got rid of for you?" Being caught off guard, Donald instinctively shut the laptop while Ewan almost dropped the large crock containing the cure mixture.
"Oh, it's just," before Ewan gave a proper explanation, Duncan spied the filets of fish.
"Oh, fish guts! Is that all it was? Oi! You scared me there for a minute." They all breathed a sigh of relief. "So, do you have a place to refrigerate them, then?"
"No, actually we hadn't even though about that, had we Donald?" Donald shrugged and shook his head no.
"Well, are you just curing them or are you going to smoke 'em too?"
"Sit down, lad!" Donald pushed aside the laptop. "What do you know about smoking fish, hmm? And remember," Donald pleaded, "This, is top-secret!"
"Noooo, it isn't. Oh," Duncan caught Donald's drift, "you mean you want to keep this quiet. Aye, I've got you. I know just about everything there is to know about smoking fish." Donald urged him to continue. "It was my granddad, you see. Used to smoke fish all the time…sent my granny absolutely bonkers!"
Donald slapped his hand down hard on Duncan's arm, gripping it tightly. "Yes, that's a delightful story, lad but can you show us what to do?"
"Aye!" Duncan pulled his arm away from Donald's grip, giving him a nasty look in return. "For starters, you can store those filets in my fridge—it's not like there's anything else in there," he added with a chuckle. "I might still have the barrel my granddad used to use, too. I'll go and a have a look-see!"