Talismans by Jamie Kirkpatrick

Yet another dank and dreary pre-spring day, the kind of weather my Scottish forebearers would refer to as dreich. I have to go out. I reach into the depths of the hall closet searching for some  measure of protection against the rain and wind buffeting the windowpanes. My hand gropes in the darkness and finally settles on my worn, loden Barbour jacket. Other coats have been pressed into service this winter, but somehow this trusty outerwear has gone unnoticed. Until today. I pull it out and slip it on. Somehow it knows it has been recalled into action, and like a sled-pulling husky, it can’t wait to do its duty. Just before I step out into the elements, I slip my hand into one of the coat’s several pockets and my fingers close on two small stones that have been wintering deep in the waterproof cloth. Two? There used to be three. Three talismans. What has happened to the third?

The stones come from Scotland. One—a white, heart-shaped pebble—comes from the shores of Loch Lomond, hard by the wee village of Luss, the seat of our ancestral clan. Another, a smooth and faded green stone comes from the Castle Sands in St. Andrews where I lived for a few months while on sabbatical. The third—the missing one—came from a cold, clear stream called Luss Water that flows down from the hills above the village of Luss before emptying into the cold, deep water of Loch Lomond. Once I thought I would ask a friend to deposit my ashes in that stream so that I could be carried out into eternal repose in the depths of that loch, but now I’m not so sure about that. I like where I am these days, so maybe I’ll just stay here.

For many years now, these three small stones were the talismans that kept me connected to a land I love. I kept these talismans buried deep in my jacket pocket, tumbling them between my fingers like prayer beads, feeling their smoothness, remembering their provenance. They soothed me like a lullaby. Now, I have found them for a second time, and their power is as strong as ever. But today there’s a cloud hanging over them. Two stones have been waiting patiently for me, but the third one—the one from Luss Water—has gone missing. Stones don’t just jump from deep pockets, so how did number three become separated from numbers one and two?

A talisman is nothing more than a common object—often a ring or a stone—that is thought to have magic powers and to bring good luck. Feeling my three small stones always centered me. Just knowing they resided in the pocket of my old Barbour gave me a pacific sense of connection. Even on the hottest day of the summer, I knew those cool stones lay there, waiting to be called forth into action as soon as the weather changed. But now one is mysteriously gone, and I’m left to ponder if a third of my mojo has also gone missing. That would explain a lot.

On that morning, I had donned my old jacket at our home over on the Western Shore. I wore it coming over the Bay Bridge. There were several big cargo ships out in the bay waiting for berths in Baltimore. The rain was abating, but the day was as blustery and dreich as ever. 

Back in our cozy home in Chestertown, I shed my jacket and carried our suitcases upstairs. I was happy to be back on the Eastern Shore. As I turned to go back downstairs, my eye fell on a glass dish that lives on our dresser. My wife uses it for her jewelry. It’s there every day, but I don’t pay it much mind. But today I did. Because there, amid my wife’s rings and necklaces and knickknacks was the third small stone, the one pulled from the icy stream flowing into Loch Lomond. 

I cannot explain how it became separated from the others, nor why it escaped my notice these many months, nor when it came to rest on this side of the bay when both its mates were closeted on the other side. But it’s back home now, and so am I.

I’ll be right back.

Jamie Kirkpatrick is a writer and photographer who lives in Chestertown. His work has appeared in the Washington Post, the Baltimore Sun, the Philadelphia Inquirer, the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, the Washington College Alumni Magazine, and American Cowboy Magazine. His debut novel, “This Salted Soil,” a delightful children’s book, “The Ballad of Poochie McVay,” and two collections of essays (“Musing Right Along” and “I’ll Be Right Back”), are available on Amazon. Jamie’s website is Musingjamie.net.