headgear.”
Annie opened her mouth to deny Alice’s observation, something she’d begun to do instinctively over the prior few months, but she saw the Carsons making their way toward them. “Oh, there they are.” She waved vigorously at the parents and daughter.
Peggy had slung a large bag stuffed with an old quilt from her shoulder, her wrist now free of any bandaging. Alice called out to them, “Come stake your claim. Ian’s been working hard to keep that patch clear of squatters.”
“Thanks, Mr. Mayor,” Peggy said as she approached Ian. “The crowds are growing fast.” She lowered the bag to the ground and pulled the quilt free to spread it next to Ian’s chair. “Even Em won’t have any trouble seeing everything from here.”
Emily jumped up and down, pointing across the field. “Mom, look! All those people are in skirts, I mean, kilts.” She ran over to her father, who was talking to Ian. “Look, Daddy! Those are the kilts I was telling you about. Would you ever wear one?”
Annie consulted her brochure. “Wally, if you and Ian can each buy a kilt before noon you could enter the Bonnie Knees contest.”
The face of the quiet handyman flushed, but he laughed at the suggestion. “Annie, you’re one of my best customers, along with Ian, but there’s no way you could get me in one of those things. No matter what fancy word you use, it’s still a skirt.”
“I guess it’s a good thing you’re not Scottish then,” Peggy said, straightening a corner of the blanket and sitting down. She looked across the field to see the bands arranged in neat lines. “Looks like it’s starting soon.” She patted the blanket beside her. “Come relax after your busy week.”
“Do I have to sit?” asked Emily. “Can’t I just stand right here?” The ride from Stony Point had been more than enough sitting for the young girl.
Understanding, Peggy looked behind them to make sure her daughter wouldn’t be blocking the view of other people. “It’s all right, as long as you don’t forget and dance in front of folks so they can’t see.”
“I won’t,” the girl promised. She reached down to hug her mother and then stood beside the blanket swaying like a young sapling in the breeze. “Here they come!” she squealed as the stewards gave the signal and the first bagpipes-and-drum band marched onto the fields playing God Bless America , led by three flagmen.
It had been several years since Annie had heard bagpipes being played. As the following bands joined the first, and the sound swelled, her attention was captured by the unique sound. She reached into her bag and fingered the solitary ferrule. Had any of her family members played the haunting instrument?
“They have funny shoes,” Emily commented, holding back a giggle. “Or are they funny boots?”
“They’re called spats, Emily,” answered Ian. “They are made from thick canvas, usually, and attached over boots or shoes.”
Emily’s eyes were trained on the bands, but her slim body kept moving to the rhythm of the drums. “Spats. I like that word. Snazzy spats.” She did giggle that time. A moment later she gasped and pointed to the band that had just stepped on the field. “Look at the band in red and black. See that kid? He looks about my age!”
Wally shielded his eyes with a hand as he peered at the band. “He sure does, Em.” They all watched as the pint-sized piper moved smoothly across the field in perfect step with the rest of the band.
“He’s got a good sense of timing, you can tell,” said Annie. “I wonder how heavy those bagpipes are. Do you know, Alice?”
Alice shook her head. “Not really. I’ve never held one, but I suspect they come in different weights, especially since they can be made from different types of wood and with plastic or metal parts.”
“Sounds like a good question to ask those vendors you’re planning to visit, Annie,” Ian suggested.
A gust of breeze threatened to snatch Annie’s
Annie opened her mouth to deny Alice’s observation, something she’d begun to do instinctively over the prior few months, but she saw the Carsons making their way toward them. “Oh, there they are.” She waved vigorously at the parents and daughter.
Peggy had slung a large bag stuffed with an old quilt from her shoulder, her wrist now free of any bandaging. Alice called out to them, “Come stake your claim. Ian’s been working hard to keep that patch clear of squatters.”
“Thanks, Mr. Mayor,” Peggy said as she approached Ian. “The crowds are growing fast.” She lowered the bag to the ground and pulled the quilt free to spread it next to Ian’s chair. “Even Em won’t have any trouble seeing everything from here.”
Emily jumped up and down, pointing across the field. “Mom, look! All those people are in skirts, I mean, kilts.” She ran over to her father, who was talking to Ian. “Look, Daddy! Those are the kilts I was telling you about. Would you ever wear one?”
Annie consulted her brochure. “Wally, if you and Ian can each buy a kilt before noon you could enter the Bonnie Knees contest.”
The face of the quiet handyman flushed, but he laughed at the suggestion. “Annie, you’re one of my best customers, along with Ian, but there’s no way you could get me in one of those things. No matter what fancy word you use, it’s still a skirt.”
“I guess it’s a good thing you’re not Scottish then,” Peggy said, straightening a corner of the blanket and sitting down. She looked across the field to see the bands arranged in neat lines. “Looks like it’s starting soon.” She patted the blanket beside her. “Come relax after your busy week.”
“Do I have to sit?” asked Emily. “Can’t I just stand right here?” The ride from Stony Point had been more than enough sitting for the young girl.
Understanding, Peggy looked behind them to make sure her daughter wouldn’t be blocking the view of other people. “It’s all right, as long as you don’t forget and dance in front of folks so they can’t see.”
“I won’t,” the girl promised. She reached down to hug her mother and then stood beside the blanket swaying like a young sapling in the breeze. “Here they come!” she squealed as the stewards gave the signal and the first bagpipes-and-drum band marched onto the fields playing God Bless America , led by three flagmen.
It had been several years since Annie had heard bagpipes being played. As the following bands joined the first, and the sound swelled, her attention was captured by the unique sound. She reached into her bag and fingered the solitary ferrule. Had any of her family members played the haunting instrument?
“They have funny shoes,” Emily commented, holding back a giggle. “Or are they funny boots?”
“They’re called spats, Emily,” answered Ian. “They are made from thick canvas, usually, and attached over boots or shoes.”
Emily’s eyes were trained on the bands, but her slim body kept moving to the rhythm of the drums. “Spats. I like that word. Snazzy spats.” She did giggle that time. A moment later she gasped and pointed to the band that had just stepped on the field. “Look at the band in red and black. See that kid? He looks about my age!”
Wally shielded his eyes with a hand as he peered at the band. “He sure does, Em.” They all watched as the pint-sized piper moved smoothly across the field in perfect step with the rest of the band.
“He’s got a good sense of timing, you can tell,” said Annie. “I wonder how heavy those bagpipes are. Do you know, Alice?”
Alice shook her head. “Not really. I’ve never held one, but I suspect they come in different weights, especially since they can be made from different types of wood and with plastic or metal parts.”
“Sounds like a good question to ask those vendors you’re planning to visit, Annie,” Ian suggested.
A gust of breeze threatened to snatch Annie’s
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