The Novel Effect

So here it is, the first 20 pages of my middle grade novel. It’s rough and imperfect. Be kind . . .

The Hartmann Family and The Legend of Coin Castle
Turret Sabhail Estate – The Highlands of Scotland
July 7, 1707
Isobal
Isobal waited for the clock on the ledge above the hearth to strike midnight. She had been waiting for the seventh of July since her brother Charles died. The day for which she and Charles planned and worked so diligently had finally come. Isobal went to the door of her home, gathered the cloak around her body and walked outside. She crossed the lawn and hurried through the darkness to the cottage in the woods. A lantern hung from her right hand and in her left, she gripped eight coins.
Isobal entered the cottage without knocking. The old woman expected her, their plan was over a year in the making. The date had been chosen for it’s numerical significance,; the seventh day of the seventh month of the year seventeen and seven. Mertha stirred a steaming cauldron that hung above billowing flames. She wore a brown shapeless dress, nearly a rag. But a crisp, white apron was tied at her waist. Long hair hung in twin silver braids on either side of her wrinkled face. Mertha’s eyes were a bright, almost translucent blue.
Isobal removed the hood and shook her red curls loose. Crossing the room, she handed Mertha the coins. The old woman studied them, extracted one from the pile and placed it in the pocket of her apron as payment.
Holding the other seven coins in her palm, Mertha admired them in the firelight.
“These will do well, my dear. Already, I feel power in them. Sit.” Commanded the old woman, pointing to a crude wood chair next to the fire.
Isobal kept her cloak on despite the warmth of the blooming flames. Mertha began chanting in a strange language. Transfixed by the ancient ceremony, Isobal’s eyes never left the old woman. With each passing moment the her voice grew higher and more fervent. One by one, Mertha selected a coin from her upturned palm, held it between the arthritic finger and thumb of her right hand and sang to the chosen coin. The song reminded Isobal of a summoning, a calling forth. The old woman’s voice beckoned to the coin as she caressed it between her fingers.
“Acle mest mon trisc. Juilst twe la speshtl vee . . . .”
Once Mertha was satisfied, she dropped the coin into the steaming pot. A smell wafted from the cauldron that Isobal could not identify. At first the air smelled of herbs, pungent but natural. But, as each coin was added to the pot, the smell changed and grew into a heavy presence in the stifling cottage.
Finally, the seventh coin was sung to, caressed and added to the cauldron. Mertha’s high chant continued, but another inhuman noise swelled from the pot. At first, Isobal barely heard the new sound, but it was there, growing louder. As if now the coins whispered their own piercing chant. The high-pitched song of the coins made Isobal’s ears ring. Across the room, a dog began to howl.
The howling. The ringing. The chanting. The odor. The heat. Isobal was overwhelmed with fear and could not tolerate it any longer. She surrendered, stood to go and collapsed in a heap on the floor.
Hours passed before Isobal regained consciousness. When her green eyes opened, Mertha hovered over her,
“Make haste, dawn approaches. Take the coins. They are ready for the task.” The old woman forced the scalding hot coins into Isobal’s hand. The girl’s ears rang more fiercely, her vision blurred and she fought to hold the seven coins in her fist. Her skin burned and her bones vibrated. Isobal struggled to contain the power.
She climbed to her feet. Instead of leaving the cottage through the door, Isobal walked to the corner of the room where a hole in the floor waited to swallow her. Climbing down through the opening, she descended the ladder before the old woman closed a metal door over her head. Isobal was plunged in darkness. She found the pocket of her cloak and dropped the coins in. Immediately, she was able to concentrate better and the ringing in her ears quieted. Isobal could not imagine what Mertha had done to bring forth such a powerful magic in the coins.
Isobal used her fingertips to find the metal dials on the handle. Sight was not required to spin the discs. As she twisted the seven dials in different directions the lock squeaked and clicked. With a counter clockwise turn of the handle Isobal locked the door.
She climbed down the ladder and guided her fingers along the wall the length of the tunnel. It was dark beyond comprehension, but Isobal had worked too hard to allow fear to stop her.
When she reached the end of the tunnel, Isobal found the candle she placed there earlier. It cast a weak flame across the round, stone room. She crossed to the candle, took the deed to the estate from her pocket and placed it in a white wood box on the table. Her task was almost complete. Isobal looked around the room. It was filled with treasure of every kind; gold bars, coins, priceless books, paintings and sculptures, jewel encrusted crowns, urns and crosses. Perhaps most valuable were the piles of weapons; swords, daggers and even guns. As Isobal looked around the room, she prayed that Mertha’s spell and the powerful coins would keep her family, the estate and the Neill fortune safe.
She carried the candle to the foot of another ladder, blew it out and began climbing up. Soon she was at the top, through the floor and back in her own home. She closed the round, iron door and forced seven metal flaps down.. Isobal listened to the door squeak and click until she knew it, too was locked.
“Charles, it’s done. You may rest in peace,” Isobal told the spirit of her dead brother. She hoped she spoke the truth.
With the coins back in her hand, Isobal’s ears began to ring and she felt dizzy again. It was clear that the coins were too powerful to be kept together. Transferring them to her pocket, she felt some relief. The coins would have to be hidden separately, throughout the house, only to be joined together to unlock the doors. She was drained, but felt the first glimmer of peace that she’d known since her brother’s death. She walked to her room and wondered where and how to hide the coins.

Chapter One
“To whom I can trust my beloved estate”
Ansel Hartmann had never heard of the Highlands of Scotland until three days ago. It was finally the last day of school and Ansel’s parents wanted to take the family to Gotham City Pizza for dinner. Maybe his parents were craving pizza, but his older sister Sophie offered another explanation,
“It’s a celebration. I’m going to junior high in the fall, ya know!” Sophie walked to the door of their apartment.
“Believe me, I know. Everyone knows!” Ansel couldn’t wait for Sophie to go to a new school so she could be Miss Perfect Genius Teacher’s Pet somewhere else and leave him alone!
The Hartmann’s apartment sat over their shop on Bleeker Street. Across the street was Gotham City Pizza, the best pizza place in New York City. Once the family was settled in a booth near the window, Dad said,
“A toast to the last day of school.” He raised his water. Dad, Mom, Sophie and Ansel bumped their plastic bottles together and laughed.
“Dad, can you take me to the skateboard store tomorrow?” Ansel shook a chunk of blond hair out of his green eyes. “I’ve finally saved up enough allowance money to get my new board.”
“He can’t!” Sophie interrupted, “Dad’s taking me to get clothes for Classics Camp. I only have one week left to pack.”
“Actually guys, Mom and I have some exciting news.” Dad’s brown eyes shone with anticipation.
As he watched the pizza chef tossing a huge disc of dough in the air, Ansel waited for his dad to toss his own news at the family.
“I got a very interesting phone call a few days ago.” Dad went on to explain that he was contacted by a man in Inverness, Scotland named Alexander Neill. “Mr. Neill recently inherited a large country estate filled with antiques. He wants to hire us to go through the collection and he even offered to let us live on the estate while we work. This is an amazing opportunity for our business and our family. Mom can identify the antiques and I’ll take photos and pack the collection for auction.”
“Sounds thrilling!” Sophie said sarcastically as she flipped her long, red ponytail over her shoulder for the hundredth time. “Too bad I’ll be all the way up in Maine at Classics Camp. Send me a postcard from Scotland, Ansel!” She taunted her little brother.
Ansel rolled his eyes. She and her nerdy friends were so annoying. They were obsessed with everything ancient and she’d been dying to go to Classics Camp ever since one of her dork friends told her about it. Who wanted to spend the whole summer learning about dead people, weird languages and countries that didn’t even exist anymore?
“Sophie, we know you’re excited about going to camp.” Mom reached across the table for her hand, but Sophie snatched it away. “You’ll have to go next year. You and Ansel are both coming with us. Living in Scotland for the summer is a once-in-a lifetime opportunity.” Mom’s green eyes darted back and forth from Ansel to Sophie, urging them to agree.
“Not for me it’s not! I’m spending the summer with my friends in Maine. It’s all planned. Going to Classics Camp is my dream. I’ve been studying Latin for three years just to get ready.” Sophie almost yelled across the table. Tears filled her green eyes and made tracks down her freckled cheeks.
“Soph, we’re going to need your help. There’s a library at the castle that has to be cataloged. It has over 4,000 books.” Dad’s tone was less sympathetic. “We’re planning to pay you to work with us. It will be your job to catalog the books.”
Sophie didn’t say a word but the look on her face spoke volumes. Here cheeks were red and she was blowing little angry puffs of air out of her nose. She was more than mad, she was Mount Vesuvius about to erupt.
“I don’t want to go either!” Ansel joined the conversation. He hated to agree with his sister, but he was planning to spend the summer with all of his friends, going to the skate park and having sleepovers.
“Ansel, you’ll love Scotland.” Dad smiled. “The estate has over 100 acres with a loch, that’s a lake. There’s fishing and woods and there’s even a mountain range. It’s a ten-year-old boy’s dream.”
“It’s a twelve-year-old girl’s nightmare! He gets to spend the summer fishing and hiking while I’m buried under piles of old books!” Sophie fumed. “So, is this, like, a done deal?”
“Yes!” Mom and Dad said at the same time.
“Ever since we started our antiques appraisal and photography business we’ve dreamed of a job like this,” Mom explained as she tucked a piece of strawberry blond hair behind her ear and bit her lip. Ansel could tell Mom was worried about the trip, too. “It’ll pay for three more summers of Classics Camp for you, Sophie.”
“And three more skateboards for you, Ansel.” Dad added.
#
Three short days later, the Hartmann’s boarded a plane in New York City headed for Inverness, Scotland. Ansel packed his new camera and his skateboard. He planned to find the nearest skate park as soon as the plane landed. Sophie packed her cell phone, MP3 player and laptop. It looked like she planned to stay in touch with her friends all-day, everyday. As they flew over the Atlantic Ocean, Sophie and Ansel had one thing in common, they were both miserable.
Chapter Two
“A divine home, spared an ill fate”
“It’s June! Why is it so freezing in Scotland?” Sophie watched her parents trying to squeeze suitcases into the trunk of the rental car.
“I’m hungry.” Ansel whined from the curb.
“Kids, please stop complaining. I know it was a long plane ride, but we have to get to the estate to meet Mr. Neill.” Mom implored as she hauled another bag from the curb to the car. Dad stood studying the trunk like a puzzle he was determined to solve.
Sophie shoved her ear buds back in and cranked up the music. She climbed into the back seat of the car with a “huff!” After what seemed like an hour, the trunk slammed. Mom, Dad and Ansel invaded the car.
“Where are we going anyway?” Ansel asked.
Dad looked at a piece of paper, “It’s called Turret S-a-b-h-a-i-l Estate. Megan, don’t you know a little Gaelic? How is that word pronounced?”
“What’s Gaelic?” Ansel asked.
“It’s the native language of Great Britain, it’s not used much anymore.” Mom offered. “The first part is “Saab” like the car. The h-a-i-l is pronounced ‘heel’ like on your foot. Saab-heel, it means to save. Turret and Estate are English, of course. There must be a turret, a round tower, on the house.” Mom looked over her shoulder at Sophie and Ansel with a forced smile. I can’t wait to see the estate!”
“Here’s the map. You better navigate, Megan. I’m going to have my hands full driving on the wrong side of the road.” Dad laughed, handing the map to his wife.
Mom looked out the window while Dad pulled away from the curb. “Look at this city. It’s gorgeous. My mother’s family was from The Highlands.”
“Do you know what part?” Ansel asked.
“I have no idea.” Mom answered quietly. “Her maiden name was Grant. Maybe we can look into that while we’re here, too.”
“Cool, maybe we’ll find some long lost cousins or something.” Ansel agreed.
Sophie was almost as angry with Ansel as she was with her parents. He seemed to have given up on hating Scotland already. She resented Ansel for being such an annoyingly happy person. Apparently he wasn’t capable of staying mad at anyone for longer than ten minutes, except for her, maybe. Sophie, on the other hand, knew how to hold onto her anger and had barely spoken to her parents since they’d announced the trip to Scotland. She’d spent the entire plane ride ignoring her family and didn’t plan to give them any of her attention now either.
Dad, Mom and Ansel pointed out buildings and landmarks as they drove. “There’s the River Ness.” Ansel read a sign on the side of the road. Every few minutes he snapped a photo through the window with his new digital camera. “I’m so glad I bought this camera instead of a new skateboard.”
“Ansel, get a picture of that building. I bet it’s Inverness Castle.” Mom pointed to a huge building to the right of the car. “This is going to be a great trip!”
Sophie never even bothered to look up; she just stewed in her own self-pity, listening to music and surfing the Internet. She got the surprise of her life when Mom said,
“This must be our turn-off.”
Instead of being in a city, they were in the middle of a deserted country road.
“Where are we?” She yelled over the music in her ears.
“Shhh!” Mom said “This is the road to the estate. According to the directions, the house is seven miles down the road.”
Sophie looked back down at her MP3 player and to her horror saw that as soon as they pulled into the driveway, she’d lost her Internet connection. After several attempts at reconnecting, nothing happened.
“There’s no Internet connection!” Sophie announced as if it were a matter of life or death, like lack of oxygen.
“Maybe when we get to the house you can get a connection?” Dad offered.
Forced to look out the window, Sophie was not thrilled with what she saw. They were driving slowly along a one-lane dirt road. There were no buildings in sight, only rolling fields of green grass with a few sporadic trees and boulders jutting from the ground. Off in the distance there was a range of small mountains whose peaks were still covered in snow. As a New York City girl, Sophie was accustomed to the comfort of towering buildings, bustling crowds of people and honking taxis everywhere she looked. Looking out on the deserted estate, she felt like she’d just entered the most desolate, lonely place on earth.
As the car rounded a bend, Ansel pointed out the front window and gasped, “Dad! Look, there’s the lake. It’s huge! We’re going to catch some monster fish in there.”
“They call it a loch in Scotland, moron.” Sophie said, angry with Ansel for his betrayal. It had been easier when they were both miserable.
“Sophie, don’t be nasty to you brother. Just because you’re pouting doesn’t mean you get to ruin our fun.” Mom turned and her look gave Sophie a firm warning.
As they drove closer, the loch grew in size. It was narrow, but expanded and stretched between rolling hills as far as Sophie could see. The road began to slope down towards the loch and she saw the roof of the house come into view.
“There it is!” Ansel yelled again. “It’s a gigantically amazing castle!”
No one else spoke, as if stunned by the majesty of the building. It was made of gray stone and looked like four different structures that had been pushed together by a sloppy architect. The part closest to them was four stories high and windows of all shapes and sizes dotted the massive structure. As the car drew closer she saw that behind the four story section there was a long, rectangular, three story wing. Beyond that a much smaller wing took another step down to a squat, crumbling branch that ended in an impressive circular tower. The turret was tall, but not as ornate as the newest wing of the castle. Circular stained glass windows made a ring around the top of the tower.
Sophie felt as if she’d fallen back in time several hundred years. The age and grandeur of the castle and the isolation of the estate and loch had a distinctly mesmerizing effect. Her palms began to sweat and her scalp tingled. She rolled down her window, breathed in the fresh air and felt a chill fill her lungs. For the first time in days Sophie allowed herself to feel more than anger. Seeing the castle made her nervous and excited about the prospect of adventures that might unfold in Scotland.
An older man sat on the front steps with two large steel colored, wire haired dogs at his feet. As the Hartmann’s pulled up to the building, he stood and waved. The man wore boots, work pants, a jacket and a plaid cap. Wild tufts of curly, white hair escaped from under the cap.
“Mr. Neill?” Dad asked, getting out of the car. Ansel jumped out and ran directly to the dogs. He loved animals and had been begging his parents for a pet since he was old enough to talk.
“No,” the man laughed. “I’m Ronald Mactodd, call me Mackie. I’m the caretaker for the estate. You must be Mr. Hartmann.”
As the men shook hands. Sophie climbed from the car, stuffed her MP3 player in her pocket and smiled shyly at the man. Ansel was already on his knees scratching one dog’s stomach and the other’s head.
“Mr. Neill called and he won’t be here until tomorrow.” Mackie explained.
“I’m Will. This is my wife Megan, our daughter Sophie and our son Ansel, the dog whisperer.” Dad laughed.
“What kind of dogs are they? What are their names?” Ansel asked faster than Mackie could answer.
“They’re Scottish Deer hounds. The breed has been raised on this estate for centuries. The big one is Tearlach and the other is Gilbarta.” Mackie said in a thick Scottish accent that Sophie strained to understand. “Let’s take your things inside.”
While Dad and Mackie unpacked the car, Sophie looked at the building. Up close, it was obvious that the different sections had been built centuries apart. Judging by the age of the stone, the turret and adjoining two story wing were the oldest structures.
Mackie explained that Mr. Neill would show them the castle and the collection when he came out to the estate the next day, “I’ll just show you your rooms and the kitchen. That’s all you’ll need for tonight. I’ve got plenty to eat if you’re hungry.”
“Yes, I’m starving!” Ansel said before anyone else could answer.
The Hartmann’s picked-up as much as they could carry and followed Mackie up the front steps. The enormous door was made of a dark wood. Carved in the upper part, was a strange shape that has been worn away by years of exposure. It looked like a flower, a daisy perhaps, with seven round, intersecting petals. Each circular petal had carvings inside it, but the figures were unrecognizable. As Sophie passed through the door, she reached up and ran her fingers across the carving. She knew she’d never seen the shape before, but it had to be important if someone took the time to carve it on the front door.
“This is the newest part of the castle. It was built around 1820.” Mackie said as he lead them into a grand foyer. The entrance hall had wood paneled walls, marble floors and a monumental staircase that sat opposite the front door. The walls were filled with oil paintings of historic figures; men in kilts and ladies in gowns. Half way up to the second floor the dark wood staircase split into two smaller sets of steps.
“Impressive.” Mom said as they followed Mackie up the stairs.
“It’s a grand house. And the lands are spectacular. Been in the Neill family since about 1600.” Mackie explained.
The castle was so imposing from the outside that it was difficult to think of it as someone’s home. When they reached the second floor, Sophie’s eyes followed the staircase up and saw that it turned again and again as it went to a third and fourth floor. Mackie lead them across the landing and into a long, dark hall with walls lined in wood.
“There are six bedrooms in this hall and two bathrooms. You can have your pick. Take a look and I’ll go fetch the rest your things.”
“Um, Mackie? Is there an Internet connection here?” Sophie asked before he walked away.
“No, sorry. Cell phones don’t work too well out here either.” Mackie said. Sophie tried not to show her devastation. She didn’t want him to think she was just another bratty teenager.
Dad started down the hall and Ansel opened the first door on the left.
“I call this room.” He cried at the sight of a small, cozy room with a window overlooking the loch. Ansel walked into his new bedroom and Sophie heard him exclaim, “Home sweet home.”
She followed her dad who opened the next door on the left. They found a larger, more feminine room with a desk in front of a bay window that also had a view of the loch. Sophie walked into the bedroom, dropped her things , threw herself across the large bed and moaned,
“Home sweet home – NOT!”
#
The room Sophie had chosen was twice as big as her bedroom in the Hartmann’s Manhattan apartment. Aside from the desk and a double bed, the side walls were lined with bookshelves. One shelf caught Sophie’s eye immediately because it was filled with a row of identical purple, leather-bound books. At the end of the shelf there was a green candle, a box of matches and a black and white photo in an antique frame. In the photo, two women stood on the steps of a church. The older woman held a baby in a long white christening gown and bonnet. The woman’s hair was in a loose bun and she wore an old-fashioned modest flower print dress. Next to her, the younger woman had long, curly hair that hung across her shoulders. In a flowing white dress with sandals, she was beautiful with had an elfish charm. She looked at the older woman and smiled with squinted eyes as if she were trying to control laughter.
Sophie ran her finger across the row of purple books. The last book on the right had a tassel made of gold thread dangling across the spine. She pulled the book with the tassel from the shelf and opened it. Instead of printed words, she found handwritten ones. It wasn’t a book, it was a journal. Sophie felt guilty about finding someone’s diary. She was fiercely protective of her own journal and the private thoughts she wrote in it. But guilt didn’t stop her from doing what she did every time she picked up a new book, she turned to the last page. It happened to be the page that was marked by the gold, tasseled rope. Written in a jagged, irregular script, Sophie found a mysterious poem dated July 7, 2007:
As my time on earth nears its end
I fear I have not a virtuous friend.
To whom I can trust my beloved estate
A divine home, spared an ill fate.
My heir, I know, I cannot trust
So protect the one true deed, I must.

Long ago hidden under lock and keys
Once seen in a place to hide treasure from thieves.
The legend states the deed can be earned
Possess both blood and honor, and see it returned.
To earn the deed one must pass tests
There are seven, plan for little rest.

First the heart must be pure and worthy of trust
For the next test, learn temperance you must.
The third key will follow a great act of charity
And after that, diligence brings clarity.
The fifth is won with forgiveness granted
And another comes after kindness planted.

The final key, certainly the hardest to win
Earn it by defeating the evilest sin.
The keys were all born on different dates
Minted from ore in many states.
Each key bares a fantastic creature
More importantly, they share a bewitching feature.

The keys were won by a man pure of heart
A gift to his sister, who then did her part.
The brother bravely passed, his death came too soon
His sister, he left, to wander these rooms.
She feared for her family, her lands and her home
She knew a bleak fate, if she dared roam.

Her lost brother provided the keys to safety
All she need do, guard her home faithfully.
Centuries passed since the keys were brought here
When together they be, there is little to fear.
But now that our Grand line has died off
I seek a new guardian to protect my croft.

Possessing the keys is only the start
No door will unlock without a mighty heart.
Your challenge is this; earn the keys, find the door
Then place them under the sept-fleur on the floor.
Open the door and treasure you’ll find
An authentic deed bearing the privileges of body, soul and mind

The poem was signed, “C.A.N.”
As Sophie read, darkness fell across the estate. Something about the poem made her heart race and her neck tingle. She didn’t have a clue what it meant, but she intended to find out.
#
Sophie quickly found her own journal in her backpack and started to copy the poem line- by-line. Dad walked in the room with her luggage and said,
“Let’s head down to the kitchen in a few minutes. Mackie showed me the way. I hope I can find it again. We don’t want to end up lost and starving in some far-off tower.”
Sophie didn’t mean to ignore her dad, but she was concentrating on copying the poem exactly as it was written.
“Soph, isn’t it time to drop the silent treatment?” Dad stood in the door.
She looked up from the journals, “What?”
“I asked if you’ve finished giving us the silent treatment. This place looks pretty cool. I know it’s not Classics Camp, but we’ll make it a fun summer. I promise.”
“Yeah. I guess it’s okay.” Sophie told him before returning to the poem.
“I’ll leave you to your journal. Meet out in the hall in five minutes.” He walked out.

Chapter Three
“First the heart must be pure and worthy of trust”

Dad wasn’t exaggerating when he said, “I don’t know if I can find my way back to the kitchen.”
Instead of heading down the front stairs, he took them further along the dark hall. It lead to another passage was in an even older part of the house. The ceilings were lower and the walls were stone instead of paneled wood. It even smelled different, older, mustier and it was definitely colder, too. Everywhere he looked, Ansel saw large wood doors that were closed tight. What was behind all of the doors? Were they locked? He wondered.
He was surprised when the hall ended abruptly at a narrow stairwell. Ansel followed his dad down steep steps that emptied directly in a large, fairly modern kitchen and hearth room. It was like being in another house completely. One corner of the room looked like a typical kitchen with cabinets, a counter top, a refrigerator and stove. A round wood table with six chairs dominate the center of the room.
There was a stone fireplace on one wall with two big leather chairs in front of it. Tearlach and Gilbarta lay at the foot of the fireplace. Ansel walked over to the dogs, fished his camera from his pocket and took a picture. He sunk to the floor between the dogs and scratched their heads.
Mackie greeted the Hartmann’s, “Please sit, I’ll be puttin’ dinner out soon. Didn’t know what you’d like so I made stew.”
Ansel took a seat at the table and was surprised to see the same flower from the front door carved in it’s center. The center of the flower was a circle, about the size of a grapefruit and seven identical sized half-circles formed the petals.
From the table, Ansel studied the rest of the room. Across the kitchen there was an open door that lead to a darkened room. Another, larger door sat opposite the fireplace and was shut tight. Ansel could tell from it’s size that it lead outside.
Dad joined Ansel at the table and asked Mackie, “Have you lived here long?”
“All my life. My father was the caretaker before me. I grew up in a bothy, that’s a wee cottage, in the woods, behind the castle.” Mackie looked very comfortable at the stove stirring a large pot. “When I was young this place was filled with people. Mr. and Mrs. Sean Neill were the laird and lady of the house then.”
“How fascinating,” Mom smiled and nodded at the older man. “I’m sure I’ll have questions for you once I start working on the collection.”
“I don’t know if I can help with that, but I’ll try.” Mackie added a few shakes from a spice jar to the pot.
“Do you mind telling us about the family?” Mom asked.
“Not at all. Mr. and Mrs. Neill had two children, a son, Ian and a daughter, Caitriona, we called her Miss Cat. She was the mistress of the house until she passed last month. I miss her something terrible.” Mackie said.
“I’m so sorry for your loss.” Mom offered.
“She was like a dear Aunt to me. Miss Cat was already a grown woman when I was born. Spoiled me rotten as a child. Taught me to fish, read and write before I even went to school.” He laughed through the tears in his eyes. “She tried to teach me to paint, too, but I have no talent for it.”
Mackie carried a large pot of steaming food to the table.
“After her parents died in the 1980’s, I moved over from my cottage to the castle. I didn’t want her to be alone in this big place.”
“Is the man who hired us her son?” Dad looked at the food hungrily.
“No, Alexander Neill hired you. He’s her nephew.” Mackie answered. “Miss Cat’s brother, Ian, was his father.”
“What was she like?” Sophie asked.
“She was a lovely woman. She’d read a book a day if she had the time. An artist, too. There’s a loft filled with her paintings upstairs.” Mackie explained as they settled at the table and started passing plates. “That room you’re in, Miss Sophie. That was Miss Cat’s room. She was a bit of a writer, also. Sat at that desk, looking out on the loch, writing her stories.”
As they enjoyed dinner, cleared the table and washed the dishes, Mackie told the Hartmann’s about life on the estate. Members of the once large Neill family had lived in the castle since around 1600. It’s amazing this castle survived. The part we’re in now was the original home from around 1600. Behind that door is the turret,” he pointed to a door in the corner of the kitchen that Ansel hadn’t noticed before. “The turret was built at the same time as the original house. It’s a library now. Filled with books top to bottom.”
“Sophie, that’s what you’ll be working on.” Mom winked at her. “We’re paying Sophie to catalog the books for Mr. Neill.”
“That’s a big job for a little lass.” Mackie laughed.
“What about the rest of the house?” Dad asked.
“The part your rooms are in was built around 1700.” Mackie said. “By that time there were probably four generations of Neill’s living here.”
“Interesting. That’s who all the paintings are of?” Mom asked.
“Many of them. The Neill’s are part of Clan Grant so a few of the paintings are of Clan Grant Chieftains, too.”
“Oh, Grant was my mother’s maiden name.” Mom looked surprised. “Maybe we’re from this part of Scotland, kids.”
“Perhaps, but Grant’s a very common name here in the Highlands. You can’t throw a trout without hitting a Grant. I’m actually part of Clan Grant myself. Who wants a wee sweet before bed?” Mackie placed a tin of biscuits on the table.
The Hartmann’s passed the tin around. They each took a cookie or two except Mackie. When Dad tried to hand them to him, Mackie waved it away.
“I can’t,” he said. “Sugar is bad for my blood. Doctor tells me I have diabetes in my old age.”
“So you and Miss Cat were related?” Sophie asked.
“It’s possible. But everyone in a Clan is not necessarily related. Long ago, clans were formed when different families joined together. Allegiances were sworn to a common Chieftain. Most clans were geographical.” Mackie explained. “There was safety in numbers back then.”
“So we’re in Clan Grant, too?” Ansel asked with pride.
“Aye brother, I should have known by the looks of ya. We’ll have ya in a kilt by ‘morrow.” Mackie played up his accent and teased Ansel.
“Kids, it’s getting late. Let’s get to bed,” Mom stood and stretched.
“Mr. Neill will be here by lunch time.” Mackie told the Hartmann’s as they headed for the kitchen steps.
“Can we go fishing in the morning.” Ansel asked Mackie.
“Aye, as soon as you wake up, lad. Goodnight.” Mackie answered as the Hartmann’s headed up the steps.
Dad led the way back to their rooms. The house wasn’t as hard to navigate as Ansel first thought. He was going to have fun exploring this old place.
#
Ansel was dreaming about a terrifyingly long deserted hall lined with enormous doors. With each step he took the passage stretched out further in front of him. He was searching for Sophie and panic settled over him like a thick blanket. Ansel woke with a jolt, jumped from bed and raced to Sophie’s door,
“Sophie, are you awake?” He whispered frantically.
“Now I am. What do you want?” She buried her head deeper in the mound of pillows. The light blazed, the clock on the bedside table read 3:47 am.
“I had a bad dream.” Ansel crossed the room and stood by the desk watching his sister rub her eyes.
“Go get in bed with Mom and Dad.” Sophie crawled from the bed and crossed the room to her brother. She put an arm around Ansel, but before she could steer him out of the room the sight of a box in the middle of the desk stopped him in his tracks. Smaller than a shoe box, the it was made of wood and had the seven petal flower carved in the center of the lid.
“What’s that?” Ansel pointed.
“I’m not sure.” Sophie said, tracing the flower with her fingertip.
“Is there anything inside?” Ansel reached for the white container.
Sophie lifted the lid and revealed a gold coin inside. The siblings gasped in unison.
“Sweet!” Ansel leaned in for a closer look.
Picking up the coin, he found it warm between his fingers. On one side a unicorn stood in profile with one hoof on top of a shield. Writing encircled the image.
“I can’t read these words.” He turned the coin over and showed Sophie the back. “I have no clue what this is.”
Sophie took the coin from her brother, “It looks like a sun, or a Compass Rose.”
“A what?” Ansel asked. The coin was the size of a quarter but much thinner and lighter. The writing around the edge was worn away in parts, but many letters were recognizable.
“It’s the north, south, east, west cross on a map. I can’t read the writing on that side either. Too bad we can’t look it up on-line,” Sophie yawned.
“Is there a date on it?” Ansel whispered.
“Not that I can find. No numbers at all,” Sophie said. “Oh look, it’s a fleur de lis above the unicorn.”
“A fleur de who?” Ansel asked.
“A fleur de lis. It’s the traditional French symbol of a lily flower.” Sophie explained.
“So it’s a French coin?” Ansel asked.
“Maybe. But the writing looks Greek or Latin. Ugh, I’d need to look it up on-line to be sure.” Sophie studied the coin in frustration.
“Or we could show it to Mom and Dad.” Ansel offered.
“In the morning. Now back to bed.” Sophie placed the coin back in the box and escorted Ansel to his room and tucked him in bed. “You’d better get used to sleeping in here or do we need to buy you a night light, little brother?”