Page 12 of A Flower for Angus

Lucerne just shook her head. “That man...always gets in the last word.”

“Are all Scottish men so...so self-assured?” Macy fumbled for the right word without being offensive.

Lucerne laughed. “You mean arrogant, dominant, and bossy?”

“Well...since you put it that way...”

“Aye, most of them are.” Lucerne’s eyes twinkled at her. “Angus seems a bit taken with ye. He’s even cut his hair and shaves since ye’ve been here. Is that what’s worrying ye?”

Macy’s mouth opened to a horrified O. “Uh...no...I mean...h-he can’t be. Surely, he has a lady friend?” She stammered the words, trying to collect her thoughts without turning five shades of red. She had no intention of getting involved with another man.

Lucerne shook her head gently. “He lost his wife over a year ago from Covid. Sometimes I suspect he is a bit lonely, but he never lets on. At least not to me. He and Darro are very close, so he might confide in him. Darro isn’t one to gossip or share a confidante’s secrets though.”

“I can certainly understand that, but I’m afraid I’m not in the market for a husband again,” Macy stated firmly. For a moment, Julian crossed her thoughts, then they flew from him to his son, Adrian. Was her stepson still looking for her? She was sure by now that he knew she was gone. Why was he being so greedy anyway? He had the majority of Julian’s fortune, his company, and the beautiful ancestral home. What more did he need?

“Macy? Are ye all right?”

Macy started and caught Lucerne staring curiously at her. “What? Oh...yes...I’m sorry. I just got distracted for a moment. We were going to make porridge, right?” She smiled at her employer, hoping to get off the subject of the garrulous station manager. “Where do we start?”

By the time the porridge was ready, Lucerne was giggling at Macy’s efforts to memorize everything there was to know about porridge.

In the MacCandish household, they used Bob’s Red Mill Steel Cut Oats used in the 2009 World Porridge Championship for the winning porridge. The porridge must be stirred often to prevent lumpiness. Don’t add the salt too early, or it can make the oats tough. The longer you cook it, the thicker and creamier it will be unless you cook it too long, and then it becomes‘stodgy’. If you don’t cook it long enough, it will be thin and soupy.

Oh, and you must stir it with a spurtle, a wooden rod shaped like a chicken leg. Or you can substitute a wooden spoon and it will still turn out properly.

“For something that only contains three ingredients, this recipe is very complicated,” Macy decided, suddenly giggling hysterically. “Oats, water and salt. How hard can it be? You Scots must take your oatmeal, as we call it, very seriously. In Chicago, we throw instant Quaker oats in a bowl with water, nuke them for one minute, add milk and sugar, and it’s done. Blueberries or nuts are optional.”

Lucerne nodded and then dissolved into giggles too. “I know, I lived in New Orleans off and on during my growing up years, so I’m well aware of the American tradition of taking shortcuts with everything in the interest of time.”

“I bet they’ve never heard of bologna here,” Macy chortled. “I was raised on bologna sandwiches.”

“Nay, we have something similar called Mortadella, but it’s not widely used around here.”

“I loved fried bologna with a tomato slice and some mayo,” Macy added fervently.

“Then how do ye have an aversion to haggis? Bologna is leftover meat fats and all sorts of awful meat byproducts packed into a round casing that you slice and eat cold. Same with the American Hot Dog, although people do cook that first.”

Macy stared at Lucerne and they both burst out laughing again. “You might have a point. Okay, I’ll try making haggis just to be fair.”

“Sounds like you two lassies are having a grand old time. Did I hear someone mention haggis?”

Macy turned and spotted Darro and Angus leaning against the doorjamb from the back door hallway. Her breath caught in her throat and she choked on a giggle.

“Aye,” replied Lucerne. “We were just discussing the differences and similarities of foods of different cultures. Macy has an aversion to haggis but loves American hot dogs and bologna.”

“So ye grew up in Chicago,” Angus commented. “I knew a lass from Chicago once.”

Everyone groaned.

“I know I’m going to regret this, but what was her special skill?” Darro asked with a chuckle, coming over to give Lucerne a kiss.

“Let’s just say she took after thewindycity in great style,” Angus replied, grinning unrepentantly at the responding groans and giggles. “That and the onions she ate on her hot dogs made it hard to have a decent conversation with a clothespin on yer nose.”

“What were you doing in Chicago?” Macy had to ask.

“Ye’re going to be sorry ye asked,” Darro replied, shaking his head.

Angus shot a look at Darro. “I was with Whipcord on a business trip, and that’s all I’ll say about that.”

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