Tuesday Tales: From the Word PITCH

Welcome to the last post for the month of August. This week, our word prompt is PITCH. I’m a few words over the 400 word limit, but I wanted to finish the scene.

Cell phone to his ear, Jerome Gillies listened to the disembodied voice and paced his study. Inverness had been his home for fifteen years now, but he never felt as though he truly belonged here. Trained as an archeologist, he’d worked on several digs in and around Scotland, Ireland, and England as well as Northern Ireland, eventually hired by the University of the Highlands and the Islands to work on the restoration of Urquhart Castle, once the home of Robert the Bruce, first king of Scotland. The ruins on Loch Ness drew thousands of visitors each year. This was only a place to work and live until he could return permanently to the island that called to him.

He stopped and stared at the collection of photographs decorating his office wall, all pictures he’d taken on his last visit to the Isle of Lewis. In one, there were the ruins of a few of the black houses on the island; in another, black houses that had been modernized and maintained. The stone buildings had been called black houses because they were essentially houses without windows, the only source of natural light coming from the small doors in their sides. Pitch black inside, the homes had been specifically built in that fashion to keep out the cruel winds and bitter cold of winter storms that assaulted the island each year. The wind never stopped blowing on Lewis, although at times it was nothing more than a comforting breeze keeping the tiny gnats from driving a man crazy.

The houses still being used now boasted windows and skylights. They no longer housed animals along with their human hosts, and while natural light flooded them, they still did the job they’d been designed to do decades ago—keeping their occupants warm and dry despite whatever Mother Nature threw at them. While most no longer used peat as fuel, a few of the old crofters continued to do things the way their ancestors had. They harvested the peat, let it dry on the heather, and carted it home to fuel their fires all year long.

A third photograph showcased a herd of sheep grazing in a common pasture shared by the crofters, but it was the fourth one, the one of stones standing sentinel-like on a cliff that captured his attention. He’d stumbled across these years ago while hiking on the island. Every time he visited the area, he was pulled to the stones that had inspired him. Now, he was hellbent on buying the land they stood on, and nothing would stop him from reaching his goal.

That’s it. Stay safe, and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.