“Miss McBride,” Neil said again, sketching a slight bow. “I’m glad … that is, we’re all delighted … to have you join us.”
“Sit you down, lad.” His father, presiding at the head of the long table, waved his butter knife toward an empty chair. “No need to stand on ceremony with a neighbor you’ve kenned all your life.” The grocer turned his large, cabbage-shaped head toward her and smiled affably. “Have a rasher of bacon, Rose. Sold most of what I had on Friday at the Dumfries market, though I kept some back for our Sabbath breakfast. Right good it is.”
Rose dutifully ate, taking small bites and minding her manners, aware that Neil Elliot was watching her every move. She could not help but notice that his suit of clothes fit him rather smartly. His teeth weren’t as crooked as she’d remembered, and his thick auburn hair was tamed into a handsome tail at the nape of his neck. Not that he could hold a candle to Jamie, she reminded herself, stealing another glance across the table. But a girl could do worse than the eldest son of Colin Elliot, a prosperous grocer with farmland outside the village.
Listening to the family’s good-natured banter, Rose noted the affection Neil had for all of them and they for him. How different breakfast was at Ingleneuk compared to the austerity of Auchengray! Though not as boisterous as his younger brothers, Neil held his own, watching her all the while, as if seeking her approval. Susanne didn’t seem to notice, but her father did, grinning behind his jam-covered bannocks.
When the meal came to a close, Rose dabbed the corners of her mouth with a napkin, then folded her hands in her lap and smiled in Neil’s direction. “Mr. Elliot, I—”
“Neil,” he corrected her. “My father is right. Formalities are hardly needed between old friends.”
“Neil, then.” Her cheeks warmed beneath his steady gaze. Och, how strange it felt to have another man look at her so! “I am bound to serve as my nephew’s kimmer this morn and so must take my leave.”
Neil bolted to his feet. “Might I walk you to the manse, Rose?”
“You might.” Rose pretended not to see the blush of pleasure that colored his neck or the look of astonishment on Susanne’s face. Though the arm he offered shook, his step was sure as he guided her toward the door.
Rose bade the family farewell, then followed Neil into the street. Despite the gloomy skies above, the day was off to a promising start. Four kittens had been spared a gruesome fate, and her own gloved hand rested on a manly forearm.
Tentative with each other at first, they spoke briefly of the weather and of the kirkin to come. “He’s a healthy lad, I hear,” Neil said, then colored slightly, as if discussing such things might not be proper for someone outside the family.
“Verra healthy,” she assured him, trying to put him at ease. Did Neil want children of his own someday? Might she test the waters without stirring too deep? She smiled up at him as they walked toward the manse. “Now that you’re eighteen, will you be joining your father in the grocery business? Or do you have other plans for your future?”
“Plans?” His mouth fell open, then just as quickly shut. “Aye, my plans are to settle in Newabbey. To … to marry. Start a family.” Neil looked straight ahead as he spoke. His flat tone of voice gave away nothing.
“I see.” He wanted children then, though perhaps she had misjudged his interest in her. “And who’s the bonny lass you hope to claim as your bride?” She pulled a name out of nowhere, baiting him. “ ’Tis no secret you favor Grace McLaren.”
“Grace? Och, I barely ken the girl!” Neil fumed, pulling Rose to an abrupt stop. He planted himself in front of her and captured both her hands in his, ignoring the curious stares of nearby villagers. “See here, Rose McBride. You ken verra well—”
“I ken nae such thing,” she teased, slipping her hands free from his grasp. She’d judged him correctly; he did care for her, it seemed. Still, it was one thing to walk out arm in arm yet quite another to let him declare his intentions so publicly. And so soon. She lowered her voice. “Suppose we save those words for a more private time and place.”
A look of triumph shone in his brown eyes. “Suppose we do, Rose.” Neil resumed their walk, launching into a description of his last trip to market in Dumfries, no doubt hoping to impress her.
“I will be in Dumfries come January,” she confessed, “attending Carlyle School for Young Ladies. Perhaps you might visit me when you come to town for market day.”
“Aye,” he said, though with little enthusiasm.
Och, Rose! Whatever was she thinking, making such an offer? Too bold by half, not at all proper for a lady. She looked away, ashamed of herself. “Forgive me if I’ve offended you.”
“Offended me?” He laughed, patting her hand. “Lass, ’Twas the thought of you leaving Newabbey that gave me pause.”
Oh.
Moments later Neil deposited her at the manse gate with a gentlemanly bow, pressing a kiss to the inside of her wrist, just above her glove, before releasing her. The intimate gesture brought a flush to her cheeks—not of pleasure but of embarrassment. “Thank you, Neil,” was all she managed before she spun away, running the last few steps, her heartbeat matching her rapid knock on the door. If she was not very careful, Neil Elliot might presume too much.
The manse door swung open. “Your sister awaits and the babe as well.” Mistress Gordon beckoned her inside, glancing over Rose’s shoulder as she did. “Young Elliot, is it?”
“Not really. You see—”
“I see a fine young man and a fair young miss.” A knowing smile decorated the woman’s plain face. “Such things often lead to marriage banns, you ken. And perhaps children of your own someday.”
Children. Aye, Rose wanted those. She watched Neil saunter toward Ingleneuk, his broad shoulders thrown back. Might Neil Elliot be the man to make her a wife and a mother? She stood there, letting the possibility sink in, feeling her heart sink with it. Jamie was the husband she’d truly wanted. And she’d hoped her babe would bear the name McKie.
Yet hope could not live where it was not welcome.
Let me go, Rose. Please.
Seven
Where did you come from, baby dear?
Out of the everywhere into here.
GEORGE MACDONALD
Here you are, Rose.” Leana delivered the infant, heavy with sleep, into her sister’s waiting arms. “Your nephew is clean and fed, ready for his walk about the village for the kirkin.” She rested her hand on Rose’s shoulder and was glad when her sister did not pull away. “Bless you for doing this.”
“ ’Tis the babe who receives the blessing today, not me.” Rose traced Ian’s eyebrows with her fingertip. “I am only his kimmer.”
Her sister had not stopped gazing at Ian since she’d walked into the spence. “He has Jamie’s mouth,” Rose said at last, smiling to herself.
“Aye, and his broad forehead.” Leana brushed back the downy tuft of hair that fell across his brow. She’d done the same for his father a time or two. And so has Rose. Many times more.
A familiar ache swelled in Leana’s heart. Had Jamie put Rose aside for good, as Neda had assured her yestermorn? “See for yerself, Leana,” she’d said. “Yer sister nae longer hides the lad’s heart in her pocket.”
Leana prayed it was true. Loving Jamie came easily; trusting him had proven difficult. Though he’d not taken Rose to his bed, Jamie had lavished her sister with tender kisses and constant endearments, month after painful month. Had he indeed changed? Leana would never wish Rose one moment of unhappiness. But Ian needed a good father and she an honest husband. Surely the Almighty would provide another suitor for Rose.
Leana enveloped her sister and son in a loose embrace, gathering them close to her. Please see to their needs, Lord, for I love them both. For a long moment the two sisters stood in silence, breathing in the milky scent of the slumbering babe between them. “The laird and servants of Auchengray will pound down our door shortly.” Leana pressed her cheek agains
t Rose’s, a habit from childhood, then released both sister and child. “ ’Tis time we made ready for them.”
She’d already packed the few personal items Neda had brought to the manse for her during the week—a spare gown, linen shifts, stockings, and the like. Leana was grateful for the small task of packing since a new mother was not permitted to work in any fashion until she was churched. Had it been only a week since Ian was born? The cradle waited for the journey home, empty except for a small pillow, a Galloway custom meant to keep the babe safe from harm until he was returned to his oaken bed.
“Be a good lad for your auntie, aye?” Leana pinned a tiny bag of salt to Ian’s blanket, an auld wives’ method of warding off witches. “She will make you a splendid kimmer.”
Rose looked up, truly meeting her gaze for the first time since she’d arrived. “I’m an unmarried girl, the only requirement.”
“Nae, that’s not so. Godparents must also bear good luck about them.” Leana tucked back the wispy strands of hair along her sister’s brow. “No one is luckier than a dark-haired lass like you.”
“Lucky?” Rose stuck out her lower lip. “You are the one with a husband and a child, Leana.”
She tried not to hear the hint of envy in her sister’s words. “Your time is coming, Rose. God will provide.”
Both sisters turned at the sound of a male voice in the hall, then a knock at the spence door. Jamie, his face flushed from the ride, stepped into the room and swept his hat from his head. “What a grand sight. My son in the arms of his kimmer and my wife in her favorite gown.”
“With a new sash.” Leana pressed a hand to her waist to show him, then wished she hadn’t drawn attention to the thickness she found there. No whalebone corset could undo the damage that nine months had wrought. She waved her hand toward the door and prayed Jamie hadn’t noticed the changes in her figure. “If you might store my things in the chaise, I believe we’re almost ready to set out.”
No sooner had Jamie disappeared with her trunk than Neda bustled through the doorway, followed by Eliza, a sandy-haired lass of fifteen years who served as lady’s maid to Leana between endless domestic duties. “Ye’re wearin’ somethin’ new wi’ yer auld gown,” Neda said, approval in her voice. “Yer faither will follow shortly. Eliza, see what ye can do wi’ Mistress McKie’s hair.”
A brush was located, and efficient Eliza went to work, smoothing her mistress’s blond strands into a becoming twist, chattering away all the while. Rose sat on the edge of the bed cooing at Ian, while Jamie wrapped a handful of smoldering peat in a bit of leather. Duncan tended to the last of her parcels, directed by her father, who seldom missed an opportunity to give orders. In the midst of such hubbub, Leana could do little more than press a hand to her stomach to quell her nerves.
Mistress Gordon appeared at the door, her starched white cap in place for the Sabbath. “The kirk bell is about to toll the hour,” she announced. “Best be about your business while there’s time.”
They arranged themselves in order, then Rose proceeded from the room first, clutching Ian against her as she headed for the stair. To assure any newborn a prosperous future, tradition required that he be carried up three stairsteps before venturing out of doors. Lachlan McBride stood waiting for them at the bottom step, a determined look on his face. “I’m here to make certain no detail is overlooked for my grandson’s kirkin.”
“Especially a custom involving riches,” Leana whispered to Jamie, who walked hand in hand beside her. Her husband acknowledged her comment with a wink and a warm squeeze of her fingers, an unexpected pleasure.
They watched Rose ascend and descend without mishap, then followed her through the hall while the household lined the walls on either side, smiling and calling out, “God bless the bairn,” in honor of the occasion. Once through the door, the party aimed toward the kirk, mere steps away.
Gray as the sky was, Leana blinked at the raw light of day. Her sensitive eyes had grown accustomed to dim interiors and the soft glow of candles during her week of confinement. As her vision adjusted, she discovered a blur of faces waiting for them, most familiar, some not. It seemed the whole village lingered in the street, delaying their Sabbath duties to watch the familiar ceremony unfold.
Jamie threw his pouch of still-hot peat onto the street behind them, warding off any mischievous fairies who might spirit Leana away to nurse their own fairy children in some distant glen. He brushed the ash off his gloves, then claimed her hand once more. “Much as they might want my wife, they cannot have her.”
My wife. Her mouth formed a timorous smile as she walked forward, happier than she could ever remember.
Just in front of her, Rose performed her role of kimmer with relish, holding her head high, giving a regal nod to favored neighbors along the way. The Auchengray household began the first of three turns round the kirk, traveling the same direction as a clock, not widdershins. Leana breathed a prayer with each step—for Ian’s good health, for Jamie’s newfound faithfulness, for Rose’s future happiness, for her father’s willingness to let them leave for Glentrool before Yule. Jamie intended to press Lachlan for his blessing that evening at supper. She feared how her father might respond but dared not dampen Jamie’s resolve.
All at once Elliot Elliot, Susanne’s youngest brother, broke free from his mother’s grasp and ran up to Rose. His brown trousers, handed down from an older brother, were already too short by a handbreadth, and his wrists protruded well beyond his neat cuffs. Mistress Elliot would no doubt see both hems lengthened by the next Sabbath. “You had breakfast at my house today,” said the boy twice blessed with the family name. He yanked at Rose’s sleeve and jostled the baby. “Now it’s your turn to give me some food.”
Leana could not hide her surprise. Whatever had prompted Rose to join the Elliots for breakfast? Her sister had said nary a word about visiting Ingleneuk that morning. Then Leana noticed Susanne’s oldest brother, Neil, regarding Rose with frank adoration. Ah. Already a prayer answered.
Her sister turned, her cheeks as rosy as her name. “Neda, if you would, please.” Neda handed the eager lad a sweet cake flavored with arrowroot and vanilla and a bit of hard cheese, which he gobbled down beneath Rose’s watchful gaze. “What say you, Elliot?”
“God bless the bairn!” he crowed, and all within earshot applauded. The gift from the babe had been offered and received and the child blessed, a portent of good things to come for young Ian McKie. The family circled the kirk twice more, then were greeted at the door by a somber Reverend Gordon, his face as dismal as the sky.
“Mistress McKie,” he intoned, handing her a lighted candle. “Enter into the kingdom of God.” Leana, Jamie, and Rose were ushered inside and directed down the narrow aisle until they stood before the raised pulpit with its turnpike stair. From his lofty post the minister prayed at length, calling down a blessing on mother and child, then led the congregation in reciting a verse from the book of Paraphrases.
My soul and spirit fill’d with joy,
my God and Saviour praise;
Whose goodness did from poor estate
his humble handmaid raise.
As the last echo of their voices faded, Leana watched Rose present Jamie with the babe, as befitted the kimmer’s duty. ’Twas the father who would see the child blessed by the minister and held up for the congregation’s inspection. The ebony centers of her sister’s eyes, wider than ever in the dim sanctuary, shone with unshed tears. “Behold, your son,” Rose whispered, holding Ian before her like an offering.
Leana released Jamie’s hand with some reluctance, taking a half step backward, giving him room to cradle his arms beneath Rose’s. Leana observed their bent arms touch, then tarry. Jamie did not move. Nor did Rose. Though she could not see Jamie’s face, the look her sister gave him burned like coals freshly stirred to life.
Nae! Leana stared down at the floor. The candle in her hand shook, spilling wax on the flagstones beneath her feet. Please, Jamie! Sh
e could not bear to look at her husband or her sister or the son she’d borne seven days past.
Nothing had changed after all. Jamie could never care for her. Not when he still loved Rose.
Help me, Lord, for I cannot bear it.
A tear dripped to the floor and landed beside the candle wax as Leana fought for composure. The words she’d spoken when the first pangs of childbirth had brought her to her knees returned to taunt her now. Jamie, I love you. I’ve always loved you. How foolish she must have sounded! How foolish she must look now, unable to hold her head up at her own kirkin.
“Leana?” It was Jamie’s voice. “Leana, what is it?”
Eight
Is it the shrewd October wind
Brings the tears into her eyes?
Does it blow so strong that she must fetch
Her breath in sudden sighs?
WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS
Leana raised her chin, pretending it did not quiver. The room swam into focus: Jamie holding their son, Rose taking her seat in the family pew, Reverend Gordon staring hard at her across the top of his spectacles. Leana blinked, feeling disoriented. “Wh-what am I to do?”
“You are to sit,” the minister informed her. “The precentor is ready for the gathering psalm.”
Jamie tipped his head toward the nearest pew, and she dropped into it, her face hot with shame. Whatever must Jamie think of her, standing there like a statue? He placed Ian in her arms, then eased down next to her, sitting closer than was proper in the sanctuary. She held the babe to her chest, tucking Ian’s head in the curve of her neck, her thoughts racing all the while. Perhaps she’d imagined the desire that had flowed between Jamie and Rose. Was it fear that conjured such scenes in her mind?
The service began, and Leana did all that was expected of her—standing, sitting, singing psalms, reciting verses—praying it would end quickly. Ian was growing restless, and her swollen breasts ached. Most of all, she longed to be home. Soon, she told herself, drawing strength from Jamie’s nearness.
Fair Is the Rose Page 5