I CAME TO SCOTLAND because I had nowhere else to look.
Standing in Edinburgh Airport, exhausted and alone, I clutched the piece of paper I hoped would give me what I needed. On it was a name and address: Eleanor Brightwell, 267 Aubergine Way, Edinburgh.
I'd found Eleanor a month ago. She worked for the National Records of Scotland, but more important, she was an expert in genealogy. I wrote her my story, and a few weeks later, I got a phone call.
"Come to Scotland," she offered, her accent so lush and unfamiliar it took me a moment to process the words. "There are plenty of records in Edinburgh, but they aren't digitized and will be impossible to access from Texas. You can even stay with me. Make the trip."
So I did. Out of leads, I took leave from my job for three months and booked a flight to Edinburgh. It was easy as a traveling nurse who had no place to return between assignments except a silent and empty house.
As deplaned travelers eddied around me, I shifted my travel bag to steady my shaking hands. Eleanor Brightwell was not on any limb of my family tree, but rather a bird that had alighted on a branch.
What if this was all for nothing? What if she was a bird that flew away?
A FAMILY TREE IS a glorious set of blueprints. Like a plan for a home, it illustrates every detail and turn through the doorways that make up life until the present moment: Who was born. Who fell in love and had children. Who lived long, and who died young. The branches stretch out like rooms, each one housing a life and its story. When you flip through the pages, you should feel a sense of completeness, of place. This is the house of my life, a good family tree says. This is where I belong.
Only I didn't belong anywhere anymore.
Instead of a well-organized tree with branches telling every story, I had a diagram full of starts and stops, jagged and incomplete lines, some branches stretching into nothing at all.
But when I walked through Eleanor Brightwell's door that frigid February evening, I felt something I hadn't felt in a very long time: home.
Her walls were painted lemony yellow, and gilt-framed photos hung in a cluster near the entryway: a sepia wedding couple, a dark-haired family poised at the base of an ancient castle, a handsome young man in graduation regalia smiling with the sun behind him.
In the corner of the room, a log popped in a fireplace next to overstuffed floral chairs and couches, a spot where people obviously gathered. Indistinct jazz played from an unknown location and mixed with the sounds of clinking dishes and two teenagers--a boy and a girl--who shouted and chased each other around the room. Despite the cold outside, this sight warmed me, and I stood transfixed at the threshold, absorbing all the color, life, and energy of this Scottish family home.
"Children!" I jumped at the firm voice next to me. So mesmerized by the scene, I hadn't noticed the figure to my right. "Brian! Ansley! Please don't try to kill each other just yet. We have company." He turned to me, and I felt the open space of the room narrow.
The man was tall with a powerful build. He either worked labor or worked out, as evidenced by firm biceps under his navy tee. Thick black hair fell without direction across his forehead into his eyes, which were a hard-to-miss sapphire, as blue as the Texas sky before sunrise. Those eyes immediately reminded me of the past, and I felt a pain blossom in my chest.
"You came at a fine time. My wee brother and sister have decided to kill each other right before dinner, a usual occurrence in this zoo." The tenor of his voice and roll of R's sent a current down my spine. He must have been a few years older than me, maybe thirty-seven or thirty-eight, because then he chuckled, and little furrows of laugh lines appeared around those penetrating eyes.
Oh, my.
He was altogether charming, and a rush of blood colored my cheeks.
He shuffled barefoot around me to shut the front door, and I realized a little girl was wrapped around his leg. Blue eyes, but these the shade of cornflower, popped beneath a knitted pink cap. She smiled at me, dimples puckering her cheeks. She must be his daughter, I thought, and my disappointment
surprised me.
"Cairn!" the teenage girl yelled from across the room, yanking me from my thoughts. "The only reason this is a zoo is because your wee brother makes it his purpose in life to drive me nuts!" She started to taunt the boy again, but a movement from the doorway interrupted her.
"Brian. Ansley. For the love of everything holy, the two of you must get yourselves under control or I will make it my purpose in life to drive you nuts." The two teenagers deflated, and Eleanor Brightwell, a woman who had to be in her mid-fifties but seemed younger, wrapped her soft, sugar-scented arms around me.
"Bea, you made it!" Her smile was broad. With her large, blue eyes, feathery brown hair, and round cheeks, she reminded me a little of my mother. I absently rubbed my chest where the old pain flared again.
"Welcome to my home. You have met the twins, my two middle children, Brian and Ansley. The onset of hormones," she sighed. "My favorite part of motherhood. And this is my oldest son, Cairn." She gestured to the man now standing to my left, his hands on his hips, unfazed by the child still clutching him like a monkey. I smiled nervously, and he raised a dark eyebrow in return. "And this is my youngest daughter, Lizzie. Lizzie, say hello to our visitor."
"Hallo!" Lizzie chirped.
"Hello," I laughed. As I glanced from Lizzie to Cairn and then to the teenagers, Eleanor caught my questioning expression.
"We have a range of ages in this house, don't we? When I was sixteen, I never would have imagined how far apart I'd have my children." She shook her head as she smiled. "The twins came with the empty nest when he was away at university." Eleanor jabbed her thumb at Cairn. "And then this one," Eleanor swooped to tickle Lizzie, who exploded in a fit of shrill laughter, "we adopted two years ago."
"It seems like a lot of gifts to me," I said.
Eleanor's features gentled. "Yes. A lot of gifts. That's a wonderful way of putting it. Right, Lizzie?"
Lizzie grinned and released her brother's leg, and Eleanor pulled her into a little dance, humming and maneuvering her around the room toward the kitchen. Only when her back was turned did I realize no hair peeked from beneath the bright pink cap.