Frank found himself smiling as he rode back to Wellsgreen. The money wasn’t great, but he found he liked woodworking. He liked the smooth coolness of the sanded beech. He liked admiring the curves of the wood as he sanded, noticing the fine grain and how the curves of the club head revealed it. He certainly liked it more than being a messenger.
Frank turned off, but instead of heading home, he headed to Cowdenbeath, Garden Close. He knocked on Margaret’s door.
“Hello, Mrs. Ferrie. I was wondering if Margaret would like to take a stroll?”
“Well, how ye be, Frank. I’ll fetch the lass.” As she turned, Margaret came down the stairs.
“Hello, Margaret!” Frank’s face lit up as he saw her. “Care to take a stroll?”
“A fine idea!” Margaret grabbed a shawl, gave her mum a quick peck on the cheek, and left with Frank.
“I have a job, Margaret! It’s in Pittenweem, and I’m not making much money to start, but I like the work. I’m making golf clubs.”
“Yes. I like working with wood. A fair sight better than running messages at the Rosie.”
“Tha’s no aroond the corner, Frank…Pittenweem.”
“Until something better comes up, Margaret. No much work these days, ye ken?”
“Ah ken yer right, Frank. Me brothers cannae find guid work, ither. Ah’m happy fer ye.”
“Happy for us, Margaret.” Frank reached around and gave her a little hug.
“No in public, Frank! Wha’ wull people say?” She wiggled out of Frank’s arm, alarmed.
“So, I cannae gie ye a little hug?” Frank teased.
“No in th’ street, Frank. It’s unseemly.”
“All right, then, Miss Ferrie.” Frank spun off, turned towards Margaret with great solemnity, and took a deep, deep bow.
“I beg your forgiveness.”
At this, Margaret laughed and shook her head.
“Ah dinnae ken wha’ tae dae wi’ ye, Frank Sharp.”
“You’re going to marry me one day, Margaret. That’s what you’ll do with me.”
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