Aunt Mildred's Diary

The clock struck 3:00 as Michelle sat down at Dumbarton Central. “What am I doing here,” she thought as a train horn blew and steam billowed in the distance of the bustling central Scotland station. Just after her 25th birthday, much to the dismay of her mother, she flew off to the UK on what her family thought was a worthless endeavor. The tall, slightly gangly, but beautiful strawberry blonde justified, “Well here is better than there,” after months of spinning her wheels and getting nowhere. Bored was an understatement; the fresh college graduate was finding her small hometown of Middletown exceedingly slow after the whirlwind urban adventure that was her 5 years at NYU.

After finishing her theater degree, Michelle had grandiose dreams of Broadway, but as it often does, life had different plans. Months of role-less auditions and dwindling savings equated to a one-way ticket back to no man’s land. “But at least Aunt Mildred is there,” she thought while boarding the plane home. Michelle was very close to Mildred. Weekends up the coast to her quaint woodland cabin in Mendocino, the sound of the tea kettle boiling and smell of fresh crumpets wafting out of the kitchen, and Mildred’s stories of the gorgeous rolling green hills of northern Scotland. Aunt Mildred’s emotive tales made Scotland sound like the most beautiful place on Earth.

Unfortunately, shortly after Michelle arrived home Mildred became ill. The years had not been kind to her, and soon it came time for the family to say their goodbyes. As she sat next to her aunt for the last time, Mildred handed Michelle her diary, an old and tattered little black book. “Michelle, I want you to have this,” she said, “so many of the stories I’ve told you about Portree are in my diary, I hope this little piece of me reminds you of the great beauty of this world” ,“Thank you Aunty,” Michelle said, “I will never forget.”

For weeks, Michelle poured over her aunt’s diary, absorbing every word, every story, ceaselessly. She dreamed of beautiful Portree, the harbors, the coastlines, the salty sea birds and wooly sheep, the rolling green hills, all of it. As Michelle sadly neared the end of Mildred’s diary she noticed the inside back cover had a little notch in the top corner. She pulled back the lining and found a small piece of paper with a few words, “Find the blue cottage.”

Michelle stared at the paper, “What blue cottage? Where? In Middletown? Mendocino? No…Portree!!” Michelle knew in her heart the Aunt Mildred had left this little note for her to find, and that it meant something.

When Michelle told her mom about the hidden paper, her mother crossly said in her forced American, yet still Scottish accent, “your aunt was loopy, I wouldn’t put much stock in her mindless musings.” Michelle knew her mom and aunt hadn’t gotten along well in recent years, but also knew and trusted her aunt to not lead her astray on some wild goose chase for nothing.

Case and point, Michelle at a random, and desperately cold, train station in Scotland without her mother’s blessings. One arduous walk and two long train rides later…Portree. Oh and it was just as lovely as Aunt Mildred had said. Sailors swabbing the decks of small fishing boats as loud seabirds eagerly awaited rejected catch, multi-colored homes lining miles of tall coastlines, the baaing of fluffy white sheep peppering oat paddocks, and of course the endless cascade of awe-inspiring rolling green hills. It was wondrous to behold.

As Michelle walked through the adorable town, bewildered by its beauty, it took her a moment to remember her purpose. “Right, the blue cottage,” she reminded herself. But where to start, she thought. There seemed to be blue houses everywhere, which one did Aunt Mildred mean? Did she used to live there? Is it even there still?! Michelle’s mind began racing at the only now realized great difficulty of her task. A bit anxious and somewhat defeated, Michelle decided maybe a pint would right her. She scanned the street, then opened the extremely heavy door of the little pub on the corner, The Old Growler’s Arm.

As she entered, all the patrons, mostly old fisherman from the harbor, stared blankly at Michelle, who stuck out like a sore thumb when compared to the surrounding imbibed company. “Come on in lassie,” called the sweet bar matron as Michelle stood there abashedly frozen. She pulled up a seat in front of the casks and asked for a pint. “Yer not from around ‘ere are ye,” the bar matron asked. “No, but my family’s from Portree and I’ve come to find something for my aunt….well she’s gone now, so I guess it’s for me actually,” she said somberly. “And what might that be, me dear?” she asked. “Well in her diary she said I should ‘Find the blue cottage’. And honestly, I don’t even know where to start….oh Aunt Mildred what am I even doing here!” Michelle defeatedly exclaimed throwing her hands up as she laid her head on the bar. “Mildred Connolly?!” the bar matron said. “Yes!” Michelle replied, “Did you know her?” “Know her, me oldest friend she was!” she explained. “Hadn’t seem her since she hopped ‘cross the pond, but I known her since I was a wee lass. Yer not meaning the Connolly cottage on Wilshire are ye? It’s just down the way a bit, why don’t ye stay upstairs for the night and I’ll take ye in the morning.” This has got to be it, Michelle thought, grateful for the serendipitous meeting of Aunt Mildred’s old friend.

After some much needed rest, Michelle awoke to the deep, mellow sound of fog horns from the harbor and delicious smell of crumpets coming from downstairs, much like her Aunt Mildred’s. She gathered her things and met Mackenzie, the bar matron, at the foot of the stairs. “Ready me dear?” Mackenzie asked. “Ready,” Michelle replied keenly.

A short jaunt down an old cobblestone road and Michelle quickly found herself in what felt like the quintessential Garden of Eden. Endless fields of wildflowers lining the road, song birds singing blissfully, colorful butterflies fliting about, she thought it was too good to be true. “I’ve never been somewhere so beautiful!” she exclaimed to Mackenzie, awestruck.

They round a corner and there it is….a lovely, slightly worn little BLUE cottage. “This bonnie bhothan has been in the Connolly family for generations, I’m surprised yer family never comes for a visit, or ever told ye about it! I guess its yers now.” Mackenzie explained. “Mine? Really?” Michelle said. “Well why don’t ye get settled in. I’m always down at Growler’s if you want a spot of nosh or just some company.” Mackenzie said with a smile and a nod. “Very much like Mildred ye are, I bet she was proud to have ye.”

Michelle waved to Mackenzie as she walked down the road, and turned to face the cottage. “What a wonderful place,” she thought, “Thank you Aunt Mildred, I knew you wanted me to find this.” Michelle entered the cottage and while a bit dusty, it was absolutely darling to say the least. Hand knit throws on the claw footed couch, an old style wood-burning stove in the corner and doilies spread throughout, it was exactly how she imagined it. She walked down the hall to the small bedroom which was just as quaint as the front, then out the back door into the adjoining field. Immediately, she is greeted by a dainty, orange-striped, female cat. The cat rubbed up against her leg, purring gleefully and began trotting away into the field. “Where you going?” Michelle said to the cat, following alongside her to a small green hill at the back of the field. The cat perched atop the hill, laid down and began to blink her eyes kindly at Michelle, purring all the while. “This sure is a lovely place, isn’t it?” she said to the cat as she laid down on the hill beside her. As Michelle’s back hit the ground, she heard a hollow clunk. “Well that was weird, what was that?” she said. She turned around and began digging out the dirt underneath her to see what made the noise. After a few minutes, and very dirty nails, she unearthed a small wooden chest. “What are the odds?” She said to the cat, inquisitively, the cat letting out a small, quiet meow between purrs.

She opens the chest and finds a small tapestry bag and an envelope. Michelle opens the bag and cannot believe what she finds: a large sum of money. “Oh my goodness!” she exclaimed. “What do I do?!” looking at the cat. The cat purring rubbed against the chest. Michelle looks in and opens the envelope: “My dearest Michelle, I wanted you to know just how much you meant to me. You were my company when there were no others, my last years in this world were beautiful because of you. Thank you my darling Michelle. I hope this will help you on your journey. All my love, Aunt Mildred”

Completely overcome, Michelle falls to the hill and begins to cry. “Oh Aunt Mildred, I can’t believe this! What a wonderful gift.”

The next day, Michelle stopped into The Old Growler’s Arm to tell Mackenzie the news. “$20,000 dollars, Mackenzie! I loved my aunt dearly, we were so close, but I had no idea she did this. I don’t even know what to do with all this money!” she said. “I am sure you’ll figure it out me dear, I know Mildred gave it to ye for a reason.”

As she left the pub, she strolled through the town to sightsee and explore. Feet aching and a bit lost, she happened upon an old run down theater for sale that looked like it had been closed for half a century. She immediately fell in love and knew why her aunt gave her the money. “I knew it meant something, Aunt Mildred,” she said, looking up to the sky with a smile.