Keepsakes from the Cottage by the Loch (Loch Cameron #6)

Epilogue

EPILOGUE

SIX MONTHS LATER

‘Right. Who’s going first?’

Tara stood in her newly built classroom at Loch Cameron Primary amid a group of nine-year-olds. All ten of them each held a piece of paper on which they’d written a hope for the future, and they were standing around a large coffee tin that Tara had found for the occasion.

Ten pupils was a much smaller class size than she was used to, despite the fact that Emily had told her about the bigger intake of children that were starting in Reception now, because of the new families that were continuing to move to Gyle Head.

‘Robbie?’ Tara asked a shy boy who she had helped with his time capsule message earlier in the day. They had taken time to think of their hopes and then decorated them with drawing, glitter and stickers in whatever way they’d wanted. Robbie’s wish, like Ramsay’s from so many years ago, was a simple one. He had wished for his mum to be happy, which had made Tara’s eyes mist up a little and her throat tighten.

‘Yes, Miss?’

‘Why don’t you go first? Yours is so lovely. As they all are,’ she said, beaming at her little class.

‘All right, then,’ he said, and held the carefully folded piece of blue art paper above the open coffee tin. After a couple of seconds, he dropped it in, a sudden grin lighting up his face.

She had taken over the new class in January, and it was now March. In a couple of months, she felt as though she had got to know her pupils quite well, although she was still enjoying building relationships with them all.

She’d given in her notice at Lomond Primary as soon as Emily had called her, excitedly, later on that day at the park with Ramsay and Kelly, and assured her that the job was hers, whenever she wanted to start. She had worked until Christmas; it had been bittersweet, saying goodbye to some of the children. But, the new Head was on the warpath, and Tara knew that she would have been next to be moved or politely asked to leave.

As well as that, she and Ramsay had started a little dance school for the village children at the community centre. It was just a couple of evenings a week, but he’d suggested it after they’d both started to teach Kelly the steps to the Highland Fling. Kelly had taken to dancing like a duck to water, and Ramsay had said to her, afterwards, you know, we could do this for other kids, too.

As soon as he’d suggested it, Tara had loved the idea – and, like any plan that was meant to be, it had come together surprisingly easily. They’d started using the same rehearsal room she’d been renting out at the community centre, and they’d both spent some time cleaning it up, bringing in some nicer decorations and making leaflets that they’d distributed around the community. There had already been a lot of interest, and they now had ten pupils that were learning the basics of Highland dancing.

It gave Tara a great deal of joy to be passing on her dancing know-how, and it was even more of a joy to be doing it with Ramsay. They’d always been a great team, and, now that he was a father, Tara could see how great Ramsay was with children, too. He was a natural teacher: patient, kind, sweet. And, Tara could also see that teaching the little ones was healing something in Ramsay, too: perhaps every hour that he spent helping a child erased an hour that he had spent being abused and ignored, himself.

The time capsule had been her idea. She’d suggested it to Emily who had approved, and today, each class was making a tin of their hopes for the future, and burying them under the new flower beds that the local gardener, Christian, had dug for them.

She let all of the children drop theirs in, and then held out her own folded piece of paper.

‘Are you going to put yours in now, Miss Ballantyne?’ Aisha asked.

‘Yes. Here it goes!’ Tara said, and dropped her piece in ceremoniously.

‘What did it say?’ Aisha asked.

‘Ah, that would be telling!’ Tara replied, playfully.

‘But we had to tell ours!’ Aisha said, her bottom lip sticking out.

‘I know. You’re right. I wrote that I wish for happiness and safety for all of the children of Loch Cameron,’ Tara said, placing a calm hand briefly on the top of Aisha’s head. ‘Now. Are we ready to bury the capsule?’

‘Yes!’ they shouted in unison, and Tara laughed.

‘Okay, okay. Coats on, then, it’s cold out.’

They trooped outside to the central playground, where a burly, bearded gardener wearing a khaki-coloured knitted hat waited for all the different classes to assemble. Some of the children waved and called out to him, and he waved back and chatted to the children that strayed over to see the seven holes he’d dug for the canisters, with seven fruit bushes – raspberries, loganberries and gooseberries – ready to plant in the holes on top of them.

‘Now then, everyone!’ Emily bustled to the centre of the playground and waved to get the children’s attention. She started clapping in a recognised rhythm, and all the children followed it instinctively, quieting down immediately.

‘Okay. Well done. Now, I know that today’s an exciting day, and we’ve got Christian here to help us bury our time capsules. Thank you for coming today, Christian! And you’ve dug the holes ready, and you have the fruit bushes to plant over them?’

‘Yeah, all ready.’ Christian nodded and grinned, leaning on his spade. Tara had learned that as well as working on many of the gardens locally, Christian belonged to a local biker gang that did a lot of work for charity. He had offered to help with the time capsule project for free after Emily had happened to mention the project to the local hairdresser, Bel, when she was getting a cut and blow dry.

‘Okay, then. Primary One, Bees, off you go!’ Emily nodded to the teacher of the youngest class of four- and five-year-olds who led them to where Christian was standing. He hunkered down and gently helped the smallest member of the class – a tiny girl called Essie – place the time capsule into the hole. Everyone clapped.

‘Primary Two, Butterflies, your turn!’ Emily called out, and the next class took their turn.

As she watched the children excitedly clustering around the flower beds, and listened as they chattered with Christian, Tara thought of Agnes. She had loved the children of Loch Cameron so much, and had endured abuse to remain their teacher. What would she think of all this?

As Tara’s class made their way over to the flowerbeds, Tara clapped her hands in the rhythm Emily had used just earlier, and everyone followed, looking at her expectantly.

‘I just wanted to say something, while we’re doing this,’ Tara began. ‘Not all of you will know this, but I went to this school when I was your age, many years ago.’ She smiled at the little faces turned to her and the surprised expressions that statement elicited. ‘And, part of the reason that Miss Jones and I thought that it would be a nice idea to bury time capsules is that we found a time capsule that I made with my classmates when I was here. Isn’t that amazing?’

Tara looked around at the children of Loch Cameron, listening to her. She caught Kelly’s eye, who was in the class above hers, and smiled.

‘And, when we found that time capsule, we found an even older one too, which was from 1941. That’s such a long time ago, isn’t it? And we found a letter from the teacher in it and some toys and letters from the children, and the toys and the children’s letters are all inside for you to see in Reception, in a special display,’ Tara continued. She and Emily had taken the decision not to display Agnes’ letter with the rest, as its contents were of an adult nature and weren’t appropriate for children. Instead, they had framed it and hung it in the staff room, so that Agnes would receive the honour she deserved – and as a reminder that abuse and harassment would never be tolerated at the school.

‘And in her letter from 1941, the teacher wrote about how much she cared for her pupils. Her name was Agnes Smith, and she was a teacher here from 1938, and headteacher here from 1943 to 1980. There’s a photo of her in the hallway. Have you seen it?’

Some of the children shouted yes!

‘Well, the other amazing thing is that Agnes Smith was actually my great-aunt. So, her memory is very special to me, and to all of us, because she was such a good teacher and she cared about every child she ever taught. So, I wonder if we can all close our eyes for a minute and just think about Agnes Smith and say a little thank you to her? I think that would be nice.’

There was a small silence, and then a host of little voices filled the playground.

‘Thank you.’ ‘Thank you, Agnes Smith.’ ‘Thank you, Miss Smith.’

Bless you, great-aunt Agnes , Tara thought, closing her eyes briefly and recalling Agnes’ sepia toned school photo. A stern-faced woman with her hair in a bun, wearing a sensible skirt and blouse, with a brooch at the neck, just like Dotty. I’ll always think of you, and remember you.

But, Tara knew that stern school portrait wasn’t all of who Agnes was. She had Agnes’ secret diary, and she had copied and framed the pictures of Agnes and John, and Dotty had put them up in the bar of the Loch Cameron Inn. Now, she proudly told all the customers the love story of Agnes and John – having learned some of their letters off by heart – and had even started learning some of Agnes’ favourite poems to read aloud to tourists.

Agnes had been a strong woman, yes. Just like Dotty, and just like Tara. Agnes had not taken any crap: she had decided that Paul McLeish wasn’t going to break her, and he hadn’t. She had won, and taken over as headteacher from him. And she had spent her whole working life at the school thereafter.

But it was Agnes’ capacity to love that Tara knew was the most important thing. And she and Dotty had inherited that, as well as Agnes’ strength. Tara wasn’t particularly religious – she had been raised Church of Scotland, like most in the village – but she knew, deep in her heart, that Agnes and John were together again now, somewhere, in spirit. That kind of love endured the ages, and death was no competition for it.

Tara thought again of the Jane Eyre quote that Agnes had underlined – I am no bird, and no net ensnares me: I am a free human being with an independent will.

Agnes was a free spirit; an independent woman. She would not allow death to part her and John.

Tara wondered what Agnes would say about her and Ramsay. She hoped that Agnes would be pleased that they had found each other again. Agnes believed in love: her heavily annotated copy of Jane Eyre was testament to that. Despite losing John, she had believed.

Tara thought of Ramsay’s own note from the time capsule. He had wanted a family, and to be happy, and Tara had wanted to help and inspire others. And, there was something about this process of burying the time capsule with these new hopes for the future which made Tara feel grounded here in Loch Cameron. Most of the time she’d been here, over the summer, she’d felt disconnected from what she thought was her real life, back in Glasgow. She’d felt odd, unmoored, being back in Loch Cameron and feeling like she was always running into the ghosts of her past.

But, now, Loch Cameron was home again, and life had looped backwards and forwards at the same time. She had made her home in the village again, and there would always be shadows of the past here. She saw them every day at the school: memories of her and Ramsay, in the classrooms, in the playground, running down the corridors and playing under the trees. But that was okay. She could hold and love those memories whilst knowing that she and Ramsay were making new ones with Kelly, with her new pupils, within the loving community of Loch Cameron that had always been there for both of them.

She felt that they had both achieved what they wanted, or were at least on the way to it. Something had come full circle, and as she watched Christian start to cover their capsule with earth, she said a silent thank you to Agnes and whoever else was listening. Thank you to all the ones before me. Love to all before, love to all that will come , she thought. And may lovers always find each other again: in this life or the next.

* * *

If Tara and Ramsay’s story touched your heart, you’ll absolutely adore Lost Memories of the Cottage by the Loch .

Old Gretchen Ross has a secret she’s never told anybody before, and village newcomer Lottie Fox could just be the person she’s been waiting to tell all to. But Gretchen’s tale of a great love and terrible betrayal could shatter the Loch Cameron community…