Selkie

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

When you visit the Orkney Islands, I recommend flying to Kirkwall airport. Or, you could fly through Inverness and to Flotta airport directly. Flotta is in Stromness, and you can catch the ferry from there.

That is not what I did. I flew into Glasgow. I flew from Dawson's Creek to Vancouver, Vancouver to Toronto, and Toronto to Glasgow. It took me twenty-seven hours. Now, you might rightly ask, who in their right mind would fly into Glasgow if they were going to Hoy?

Don't get me wrong. This isn't a dig at Glasgow. I'd go back in a heartbeat. The Necropolis alone is worth the trip! It is just that Glasgow is in the lower middle section of Scotland, and Hoy is in the northernmost part of the country. I mean, it's not as far as the Shetland islands, but it is just north of the landmass of Scotland itself. So the answer to the question, 'who in their right mind would fly into Glasgow if their destination was Hoy?' is no one. That's why I did it. The Reverend thought of everything. He had planned to lead my birth father on a merry little dance and perhaps lose him along the way. Well, he thought of almost everything.

It was a grey day when we landed. The sort of day that makes you want to curl up with your favourite book. I've been a big reader my whole life, especially - and don't you dare laugh - fantasy romance—gothic novels with vampires, werewolves, and fae. I used to have more book boyfriends than friends, but I hadn't read a single word since my Dad got sick.

When I started reading again, it was different from my usual fare. On the plane from Toronto to Amsterdam, I read a short history of Taylor B.C. I picked it up during my time in Taylor. It was a shiny yellow colour, with an old, grainy, black-and-white photograph centred on the cover. It looked like something a Grandmother put together over many years. I was charmed.

I wasn't surprised that there was a curious chapter in it about the little church—the one across the street from my birth mother's house. What did surprise me was the spooky-looking photograph of a family that went with it. The church was built when a former Anglican Priest had died tragically along with his wife and children. A flash flood in the Peace River swept their car away.

The Priest looked familiar.

The tragic accident was on July 8th, 1930. It happened before my Mother moved to Taylor by at least 20 years. The Reverend had been in Taylor since at least 1917! The eldest of his four daughters was thirteen. Not only that, but he had a family! Four daughters and a severe-looking wife! He'd had an entire family, and they had all died. The house was close enough to the Peace River that I could hear the water running if I kept the window open.

The Reverend had been on his way home from a 'sports stampede' in Dawson's Creek. The whole thing sounded awful. My heart broke for him. But, I couldn't wrap my head around Rev Sampson being the same man as Rev Otto. But the photograph couldn't be denied! How had no one noticed?

What's more, from what I could tell, he was still my age. He was still my age, and he'd had four kids in the 1930s and had fallen in love with my Mother in the 1950s. Maybe he was what my birth mother is? Perhaps he was something else?

I think the shock was why I slept like the dead on the last flight. It was all so much. My body and mind had had enough. I slept like the dead.