The Promise Made

If there had been the proverbial fly on the wall more interested in the other occupant in the room than of his desire to escape, he would have been watching closely; observing the antics of a woman in her thirties, on edge and pre-occupied.  A female fly, in observation, would understand her predicament; in fact, she would nod her own head and think these actions showed promise! Shona was certainly pensive, though that afternoon she had had a question put to her that most women dream about and many manage to hear.  Yes, it was sudden, but why had she not responded with enthusiasm instead of a look that clearly said “I’ll get back to you.”; as though she were ordering clothing or flowers, finding the cost too great?  She had instead of answering, run out of Andrew’s house as though she had committed some punishable offence, and her mother was threatening the wooden spoon.  What must he think?

Why wasn’t she happy; a proposal is something you treasure but Shona if she were honest with herself, was doubting her abilities to match her ideals about marriage; and totally scared, she ran. Would she be good enough for Andrew, whom she had known and loved for a few months and whose children she adored?  As their mother had died suddenly about eighteen months previously, she, Shona would become their stepmother. How was she a selfish spinster going to cope with that?

Taking a sip of her brandy she reflected on the merits of the man who continued to run his business with a few staff, provide in every way possible despite his grief, for two vulnerable ten-year-old children, and though it seemed absurd, think that she, Shona Reid, was a suitable future wife.  She was aware of the music on the radio, one of her very favourite Scots Gaelic songs; the DJ’s introduction was simple.
“The Boatman is a Gaelic love song, based on a poem written by Jean Finlayson in the eighteenth century It is poignant, and most folk these days sing the English words but a Gaelic chorus has remained. I hope you enjoy it.”
“How often haunting the highest hilltops, I scan the ocean a sail to see. Will it come tonight love? Will it come tomorrow? Or ever come, love to comfort me?
Oh, my Boatman no one else, (Fhir A Bhata, no horo eile)
Oh, my boatman No one else
Oh, my boatman (there is) no one else.  Fare thee, well love, where’re thou be”

Shona smiled, imagining the inclement weather of the Scottish Highlands the turbulent seas and the concern for the Boatman who had clearly won a village maiden’s heart, despite his imperfections.
“They call thee fickle they call thee false one and seek to change me but all in vain, No, thou art my dream yet throughout the dark night and every moment I watch the main.   Oh, my Boatman…”
There was nothing about Andrew that seemed fickle or false. The only young lady in his life was his daughter with whom he had a wonderful relationship; then it hit her. 
“You fool Shona, do you love Andrew enough to keep a promise?  the thought, unbidden reverberated in her mind.   Dating is one thing; marriage is a whole new ballgame.

Change of key signature, change of pace, suggesting shock.
“Doth thou remember the promise made me? A tartan plaid a silken gown?
That ring of gold with your hair and portrait.  That gown and ring I will never own.”
Fancy standing watching the sea knowing something had happened to the one you loved; that despite his imperfections, despite those knowing looks you get from the folk who distrust him, you love him with all your heart, and he is gone forever “Oh fare thee, well love.  Where ‘er thou be.”

The tears were so close, Shona turned the radio off and the television on.  It brought cold comfort.  The news bulletin advised of a fire in Henderson Street, the business district.  Andrew’s business was in that very street.  She watched horrified unable to think straight.  Andrew, where was he? 
She picked up her phone and dialled, but there was no answer from his mobile, it just rang out.  She was about to ring Ella, then thought better of it.  Trying Andrew’s number again she attempted to control her panic. This time he answered:
“Andrew Gow speaking.”
“Andrew, it’s Shona, are you ok?”
“Yes, perfectly What’s up?”
She heard a knock at the door; it was persistent
“Oh, just a second, someone is at the door.”
“Okay”
She opened the door Andrew was standing there still with the phone at his ear grinning. What is more, Ella and Rory were beside him giggling.

“May we come in Miss Reid?” asked Andrew “we come bearing pizza because we thought you might not have eaten and we also come bearing wine, or if you prefer fruit juice.”
Shona laughed, letting them in and rushed to get glasses. Fruit juice? no thanks, save that for the twins! As she bustled about from kitchen to lounge, she told them about the news bulletin, and how upset she was.
“We are perfectly safe, Shona, the fire was nowhere near the office.” he put his arm around her “thank you for caring.” 
He turned to his children
“Right kids.” said Andrew “I have something to ask you.”
“Dad,” said Rory seriously “if you don’t make your move…” the knowing look “Shona, we love you.”
Ella nodded her head vigorously.  Andrew looked puzzled
“How did you two know?”
“Daddy you have been carrying on like a pork chop afraid of the griller for ages.”  Ella was serious but likely to laugh at any moment.

Andrew got up from his seat stood before Shona, then got on one knee.
“Shona, this is the second time I have asked you this question today ‘Will you marry me…and in a way us?”
She looked at Andrew and answered quickly but sincerely
“Yes, oh yes, I will marry you Andrew” she looked at the children “I promise I will be as good a stepmother as I can be.”
“Shona you don’t have t be like Mummy, just be yourself,” said Ella
That was just the point, Shona did not have to be anything other than herself. The future was as bright and shiny as the solitaire diamond Andrew had chosen for her.