Page 81 of Some Like It Scot
The crowd laughed and Graeme’s expression grew a little more relaxed.
“There’s no greater compliment to Graeme than that,” Mirren whispered. “But Mr. Cane is right. My father couldnae have come close to the skill Graeme’s shown.”
Silence settled over the group crowded around the tent, and Graeme shifted a little, obvious discomfort growing with each extra second. I knew this feeling. It happened the first few times I interviewed people. The awkward shift from what I knew in my head to actually engaging with the person. All I needed at the time was a little boost to get started. A question here. A comment there. A smile from someone in the crowd.
I stepped forward, gaining his attention, holding his gaze.
“So, how do you get started? Do you have a picture in your mind already, or do you create as you go?”
His shoulders dropped a little with his growing grin. Relaxing, I hoped. “I... I usually have a type of creature I want to know more about and start by researching photos of my subject and take a few of my own, if I can.” Graeme reached for a paper on the table. “And then I’ll sketch out my design.”
The paper showed a beautiful pencil sketch of a puffin standing on a rock, reflecting what the unfinished wood already revealed in rough form. Amazing.
And he drew as well?
“I rough out the design first, usually using my chisel, and then refine the piece with more detailed tools.” He took a seat in front of the puffin, a small tool set scattered atop the table.
“You sell them, do ye?” a lady asked.
“Aye,” he answered, taking up a small knife-like tool.
“Do you just sculpt birds?” another man queried.
His gaze found mine again, eyes lit, before turning to answer the man. “A few other things, like sheep, foxes, rabbits, but birds mostly.”
“Have you done a gull?” someone asked.
“Aye. Several.”
“What about doves and starlings? Those are near my house,” a young lady asked.
“I’ve carved a few,” he answered. “And some mistle thrush, sparrows, even a golden eagle.” He raised the knife to the wing of the puffin. “And for my demonstration, I’m going to show you how I create the finer parts of a wing using my burn pen. It’s very effective.”
A murmur went through the crowd as he lifted the strange knife for everyone to see, then began detailing the wing.
“Look at him. He’s getting comfortable now,” Mirren said. “And see how proud he is. All he needed was a little nudge in the right direction, Katie-girl.”
I still couldn’t believe I’d been that nudge. That he’d valued my words enough for them to... matter. My throat closed up, my heart shook. Something inside me gave way to a feeling I tried to ignore, teasing a hope I didn’t fully trust, so I decided to go for what I knew.
Distraction.
“What does watergaw mean?” I whispered down to Mirren, and the way her eyes softened at the edges hinted at her answer.
“’Twas one of my daughter, Greer’s, favorite old Scottish words. She was always finding old words to revive in our vocabulary because she loved the language so much. No wonder she loved unique words. She and Graeme had their own twin language for so many years, and none could understand except the two of them.” Mirren sighed with a smile and then gestured toward the sign. “Watergaw means a part of a rainbow. Only part. A broken piece one might see through clouds.Greer garnered hope from it as a way to search for beauty, even within brokenness.”
A piece of rainbow. Shattered light but still beautiful.
“Life is filled with broken pieces, and we’re bound to have more hurt and brokenness along the way, but she always searched for the small pieces of beauty and held on to them.”
I was choked up and couldn’t respond with anything but a nod, so I looked back at Graeme. His hands carefully and gently moved over the wood. My eyes burned.Watergaw.He was making something exquisite out of a broken piece of wood.
I was broken. Down deep. In places I couldn’t touch. But was it possible someone like Graeme or his family found me... beautiful? Enough to care about me in all my fractured past and chaotic present?
How many times had I missed finding out the answer to that question because I ran away? Because I never stayed long enough for relationships to take hold?
And what would I do now with this knowledge? What if this attraction and interest proved truer than I could imagine and knocked all my fears to the curb? What if I’d convinced myself that I didn’t need what my heart truly wanted or needed most?
Would I run away like I always did?
