vignette

“So, Robbie,” Megan said across the top of the bar, “Did ye and Mollie fall out then?”

Robbie stopped drying the pilsner glass and stared at her. “Fall out? Fall out? What do yeh mean, fall out? Weir friends just like always, Meggie. Noobody’s been fallin’ out o’ anythin’,” and he returned his attention to the glass.

“Oh, weil then, it’s jes a wee misunderstandin’ on me then, seen us how MacTavish is inner bedroom as weir speakin’.”

Robbie froze and the pilsner crashed to the floor. “The MacTavish is inner bedroom?” he exclaimed. Then he took a deep breath, calmly drew his shotgun from below the bar, and softly spoke to the end customer on his way out the door. “Would ye be watchin’ things fur me a wee bit, Neil.”

Neil simply changed his position from in front of the bar to behind it, sipped from his mug, cast a glance at Rob heading down the front steps, and gave a wee bit of a smile to Megan. “Got tired o’ waitin’ fur him, did she?”

Seeing Robbie stalk his way down the street, Mollie turned away from her window and said, “It won’ be long now, Devon. Thanks fur doin’ me this favor then.”

“Ach, Mollie, ‘tis nothin’. Ye’d do the same fur me if I wiz havin’ trouble with muh Senga.” MacTavish took off his boots, then his shirt, and got under the covers.

Mollie, completely dressed, set herself about, tidying up the room, then glanced out the window as the front door slammed open. A few of the laoculs had gathered outside to watch.

“MacTavish!”

The bedroom door crashed open and Robbie stood in full fury. Then he calmly raised the shotgun to his shoulder as Mollie leaned back against the bookcase and politely said, “Robbie, ye’ve no right to come into muh home. And since ye want to continue as yer own man, I am deteirmined to be muh own woman.”

“That’s no what I said and well ye know it, Mollie.” He took aim. “I said I wiz happy with muh own things and muh own place and ye as muh own girl.”

“Ach no, Robbie. I am muh own girl, nae yers, and ye will leave here afore I take a maddy.”

He lowered the gun as he stared at her. “But Mollie-girl, I thought we fit together like leeks an tatties. I thought we were furivver.”

“Marriage is furivver, Robbie MacFarland, and we do nae have a marriage. We have yer own way and it’s no longer my way, so kindly get yer gun and yer self and go on aboot.”

MacTavish said, “Sorry, Mollie, but I need to pick up Davy from school now.” He got out of bed, slipped on his shirt, gathered his boots, and walked around Robbie out the door.

“Tell Senga I’ll bring the recipe to the paintin’ class tonight, Devon,” said Mollie.

Robbie, not even realizing MacTavish had left, stared at Mollie and then sighed, resigned to the inevitable. “All right girl, I take yer meanin’. And if it has to be, it has to be.” Resolutely dropping to one knee he took a deep breath and said, “Will ye marry me then, Mollie muh heart?”