Fair Is the Rose

by Liz Curtis Higgs

  When the benediction was spoken, the congregants rose to stretch their stiff legs and wander out of doors, looking for a suitable spot where they might partake of the dinners they’d brought from home. Pickled beef and mutton pies were pulled from baskets and pails, as Leana and the others made their way through the crowd of well-wishers, many of whom reached up to touch the babe’s blanket as Ian passed by. The threatening sky and skittish breeze did little to dampen the high spirits of the villagers for whom a healthy babe was a cause for rejoicing.

  As the new family walked toward the chaise, her father fell into step beside them and appraised his grandson. “He behaved well.”

  “Aye, Uncle,” Jamie answered for them both. “My mother in Monnigaff will be most eager to see her granbairn.”

  Leana stiffened. Not here, Jamie. Not yet.

  Lachlan McBride waved his hand in an expansive gesture, as though he were scattering coins instead of words. “Tell my sister the doors of Auchengray are always open to the McKies of Glentrool.”

  Jamie’s eyes narrowed. “I had something rather different in mind. Leana and I—”

  “Look forward to visiting with them.” Leana spoke with such haste that both men stopped in their tracks and turned to stare at her, prompting her to add, “Wherever that visit might take place.”

  Her father shifted his gaze to Jamie, then back to her. “Leana, if you are thinking of traveling to Monnigaff, you are barely fit for a short carriage ride to Auchengray, let alone an arduous journey across the moors and braes between here and Loch Trool.”

  “Perhaps I’m not ready at the moment,” she agreed. “But I will be soon.”

  “Verra soon,” her husband added, his voice taut. “We will speak more of this after supper, Uncle.” Jamie pressed his hand against the small of her back and steered her toward the waiting chaise. Though he did not speak, his boot heels made sharp dents in the sod.

  “Jamie, I’m sorry.” She ducked her head to avoid the hard look in his eyes. “I should not have interfered.”

  “If I am to be laird of Glentrool, I must first be laird of my own family, aye?” When she nodded, he leaned closer and spoke in a gentler voice. “Trust me to handle things with your father, Leana. He will not like my decision, but he will learn to accept it.” Jamie patted the curve of her back once more, then released her, raising his voice and her spirits with it. “Come, dear wife. Willie stands ready at the carriage, and Bess seems anxious to head home to her bag of oats.”

  The wide-eyed servant held the babe while Jamie guided Leana into the chaise. She gritted her teeth to keep from crying out in pain. Her father was right: She was in no condition to travel to Glentrool.

  “Here’s yer bairn.” Willie relinquished Ian into her embrace. “Been mony a year since I held sae dear a bundle.”

  Leana cradled the child against her as Jamie straightened his tricornered hat and yanked his gloves in place. “I shall follow close behind on Walloch, should you need anything,” he told her. “As to your sister …” He looked about, scanning the parishioners scattered around the kirkyard. Leana knew the moment he spotted Rose, for his posture stiffened, and the last trace of a smile disappeared.

  Rose was engaged in conversation, looking up at Neil Elliot from beneath the brim of her bonnet. Laughing, flashing her teeth, twirling a tendril of hair round her finger—even from a distance Leana could see her sister’s formidable charms on full display. But for whose benefit?

  Jamie watched but a moment before he stormed off in her direction. “Rose! Your sister has waited long enough. Come now, at once.”

  Leana watched Rose make her apologies to Neil, then grab her skirts and parade past Jamie, her chin pointed straight forward. The two exchanged nary a word as they marched toward the chaise. By the time they arrived, both were red faced.

  “You’re to walk ahead, Rose,” Jamie reminded her. He mounted Walloch as Willie urged Bess forward with a crack of his whip. Rose flounced down the main thoroughfare of Newabbey, not looking over her shoulder to see if the others followed suit, while Jamie rode alongside the carriage. “See that you keep up with her, Willie.”

  The orraman pulled the chaise in line behind Rose as thunder rumbled in the distance. Duncan and the other servants, who’d started for home ahead of them, would be spared the worst of it. The kirkin party might not be so fortunate. As the rising winds lifted the brim of Willie’s bonnet and blew wisps of hair about Leana’s face, she prayed they’d not pass a soul on the road. On the day of a babe’s kirkin the family was obliged to stop and greet any and all who came along. They clattered past the corn mill at the edge of the village, crossed the bridge over the Newabbey Pow, and pressed on for Auchengray. As the rural road grew narrower and the ruts deepened, the carriage jostled about, bouncing Leana hard against the side. She cried out, awakening Ian, whose wail brought Jamie galloping to her side.

  “Whatever has happened?” The carriage halted, and Jamie peered at the babe’s pinched features, now the color of fresh-scrubbed beets, his toothless gums bared as though he were in agony. “Is he harmed?”

  “Only hungry,” Leana murmured, brushing her cheek against Ian’s velvety head to soothe him. “The moment we reach Auchengray I’ll see he’s fed.” She glanced down at her tight-fitting bodice, laced up the back as befitted the gentry, and wished it were a peasant woman’s dress with fastenings in front she could untie herself. She’d stitch such a gown before the week was out, to be worn in the privacy of her own home.

  Willie had given the mare a signal to continue when a figure glided out from the tall pines that edged the road. An older woman in ill-fitting, colorful garb. Not a Gypsy, for the face below her tattered bonnet was pale, the eyes a piercing blue. Leana thought she looked familiar, the sort of woman one noticed on market day lurking between the stalls, age-bent fingers hovering over the bushels of ripe fruit. Noticed, then soon forgot.

  The stranger shuffled toward the chaise, her sharp gaze pointed at Ian. “I heard the greet of a newborn babe, did I not?”

  Leana’s pulse quickened at the voice. Not a stranger after all, but Lillias Brown, a wise woman—a wutch, some said—still keen on the auld ways. She lived in a stone cottage planted among the wild moorlands north of Auchengray and seldom ventured onto a public road.

  Willie gripped harder on the reins. “Widow Brown, is it?”

  The old woman shrugged, not taking her eyes off Ian. “Fowk call me Lillias.” Since she refused to attend the parish kirk, Lillias was not permitted to receive communion. Most folk gave her a wide berth if they passed her on the road. Leana shrank from the edge of the carriage seat, pulling Ian tight against her.

  Undaunted, the crone drew closer and smiled, revealing a crooked row of teeth. “Will ye not gie me a look at him?”

  Despite her qualms, Leana could not refuse, not on the day of the child’s kirkin. Lillias Brown was counted among their neighbors, however odd her ways. Leana unwrapped the blanket round Ian’s face, holding him a bit higher so the woman might see him.

  Lillias stared, her smile soon fading into a fierce scowl. She shook her head, backing away, and muttered something in Gaelic.

  Leana thought she might be asking for the customary bit of cake and cheese. “W-we have no food to offer you, I’m afraid.”

  “Och! I wouldna tak it if ye did.” The woman spun toward the woods and disappeared among the branches thick with pine cones, her departure punctuated by an ominous roll of thunder and a nervous whinny from Bess.

  Rose, who’d stood speechless through it all, now hurried back to the chaise, her mouth agape. “Why did you let her look upon Ian? That woman has the evil eye, you can be sure of it!”

  Leana held up her hand, dismayed to find it shaking. “Dearie, there is no need for such drama—”

  “Drama, is it?” Rose’s color was high and her voice with it. “You are afraid as well, my sister. Don’t pretend you aren’t! ’Tis a grave thing to refuse a gift of food from
a bairn on his kirkin.”

  “Rose, you’re frightening your sister,” Jamie cautioned, dismounting as he spoke. “Willie, you ride Walloch while I see my wife and cousin home in the carriage.” The exchange was quickly made, with Jamie seated in the middle, a McBride sister crowded on either side.

  Leana was ashamed to admit how grateful she was to feel his strong shoulder pressing against hers as he held the reins, urging Bess forward. Lillias Brown had unnerved her, with her barbed gaze and her decided frown and her refusal of food, even though they’d had none to offer. By rights, Lillias should have walked a few steps with them, blessing the bairn with her favor. Much as Leana longed to discount the old customs, some beliefs were more troublesome to put out of mind, a curse on her babe chief among them.

  “Do not worry yourself further.” Jamie bent his head toward hers. “We will flit from this neighborhood by autumn’s end, far from that woman’s influence. Be comforted in knowing the lad is baptized and kirked and therefore belongs to Almighty God and no other.”

  “Aye,” Leana agreed, looking up at the darkening clouds. “I shall remember.”

  Nine

  Why was an independent wish

  E’er planted in my mind?

  ROBERT BURNS

  Nephew, I’ll not hear of you taking my grandson on so perilous a journey.” Lachlan McBride waved his hand dismissively, as if the matter were settled. “Auchengray is your home now. ’Tis time you accepted that fact.”

  Jamie gripped the mantel, where the clock ticked with dreary persistence, reminding him of the late hour. Nearly ten. The storm had subsided, leaving a few raindrops still tapping on the windowpanes. Inside the crowded spence that served as Lachlan’s bedroom and study, the stale air smelled of beeswax and old books. Leather-bound ledgers, their spines cracked from constant use, lined his narrow desk. A round sterling tray with a decanter of whisky remained untouched that night. Half the household had drifted off to sleep by now. But not his uncle. Nor Jamie himself, not until he had made his intentions clear.

  “I’ve done my duty by you, Uncle Lachlan. Even you cannot deny it.” His face felt hot like the peat fire by his boots. If only his words were as sharp as an iron poker. “The time has come for me to attend to matters at Glentrool.”

  “I’m certain Rowena has things well in hand.” Lachlan smiled, a crooked line drawn across a face weathered by sixty Scottish winters. He ran his hand back and forth over a rough spot on the mahogany table beside him, all the while staring at the carpet as though remembering something. “My sister has a talent for managing a house.”

  “Aye, and everyone in it.” Jamie pushed himself away from the mantel to pace the floor of the small room. His mother took great delight in ordering others about—her husband, Alec, included. Jamie had vowed never to marry so willful a lass as Rowena McKie, and indeed he had not; Leana was as pliable as a willow branch. He turned toward his uncle and reminded him, “Mother sent me to your door a year ago, intending that I remain at Auchengray only long enough to marry one of your daughters.”

  Lachlan’s hand stilled, though he did not look up. “You nearly married them both, lad,” he said. “Sorting out such irregularities took time.”

  “Time?” Jamie paused to stare at the man seated before him. “Seven months of caring for your flocks are what it took! Seven months that have come and gone, Uncle. My debt is paid, and my life is my own.”

  “Is it, now?” Lachlan sat back in his chair, appraising Jamie with eyes as cold as a gray, wintry sky. “Duncan trusted your husbandry skills enough to let you choose the tups. Will you not stay the month and see our ewes bred?”

  Jamie’s shoulders sank. Only a churl would leave in the midst of breeding season. “Through October then. For Duncan’s sake.”

  Lachlan propped his elbows on the arms of his chair and made a tent with his fingers, tapping them in time with the clock. “Even if Leana and the babe were fit to travel by Martinmas, which I doubt, your assistance would be missed at the feeing in Dumfries when we hire new shepherds. So would Leana’s careful tending of my ledgers.”

  “But if we wait ’til late November, the weather—”

  “Aye.” Lachlan cut him off. “Another good reason to wait ’til spring.”

  Jamie spun on his heel. “Spring?”

  “After all the work you’ll do to breed them, you’ll want to see the lambs birthed, aye?”

  When Jamie was too stunned to respond, his uncle pressed his advantage. “In any case, Auchengray cannot afford to lose Leana, Eliza, and Rose all at once. The lasses are vital to the running of this household, and you ken it well.”

  “Rose?” Jamie looked at him askance. “But she won’t be going with us.”

  “Och! Of course she won’t.” Lachlan wagged his head. “Rose is bound for school in Dumfries in January. Or have you forgotten?”

  “Nae,” he groaned. “I remember.” Jamie sought the nearest chair and dropped into it, a dull pain thudding behind his temples. Lachlan McBride had an answer for every argument and little concern for a son-in-law’s wishes. To his shame, Jamie had bowed to the man’s persuasive ways before, with disastrous results. He did not intend to do so now. Despite his headache, a plan took shape in his mind.

  “Suppose Eliza remains here at Auchengray.” Jamie kept his voice steady, without a hint of pleading. “Once Leana and I leave with Ian, you’ll have three fewer mouths to feed and Eliza’s undivided attention to her tasks.”

  Lachlan regarded him with one eyebrow arched, an expression quite like the one Jamie often saw on his mother’s face when she thought him clever. His uncle said nothing to Jamie’s suggestion at first, then slowly nodded. “Aye, you have more than enough maidservants at Glentrool. Eliza could remain with us.”

  “You see? We’ll hardly be missed.” Jamie masked his relief. They could leave the day after Martinmas and arrive by the Sabbath. However gray the mid-November skies might be, they’d not yet be thick with snow. Feeling generous at the prospect, Jamie added, “Mother will no doubt be writing you within a fortnight after we arrive, begging you to take us off her hands.”

  “That reminds me …” Lachlan patted his waistcoat, as if in search of something. “Rowena sent you a letter.” He withdrew a folded paper and shook it open with some effort. “As you can see, one of the servants carelessly broke the wax seal, but all the pages seem to be in order.”

  Jamie claimed the letter, his blithe mood fading. “How would you ken if they’re in order, Uncle, unless you’ve read them yourself?” Biting back his anger, Jamie scanned his mother’s words that covered each page with swirls of black ink.

  To James Lachlan McKie

  Wednesday, 7 October 1789

  My dearest son Jamie,

  We delight at the blithe news of Ian’s birth. I trust Leana continues in good health and the babe as well.

  Jamie’s grip on the letter tightened. “How is it she’s already heard the news? Did you write my mother before I did?”

  Lachlan gave an indifferent shrug. “She is, after all, my sister. ’Tis my right to pen a letter at her grandson’s birth.”

  “Aye,” Jamie grumbled, “and see that it’s delivered by courier rather than by post so you might hear back from her at once.” Whatever the contents of his uncle’s letter, it had not paved the way home.

  Alas, here at Glentrool your father has developed a worrisome cough. Sheltering your new son under the same roof would not be wise, I’m afraid.

  Since Evan is looking toward Wigtownshire for land, spring might be best for your return to Glentrool. Once your father is well again and your brother and Judith are settled far to the south, you and your family will find a warm welcome here …

  Jamie glanced up at Lachlan, whose features remained impassive. Clearly Lachlan had read the contents and already knew how their meeting tonight would end: with the McKies forced to remain at Auchengray through the lambing season.

  Please God, ’twill
be a short winter. Jamie stood, determined to strike a blow at Lachlan’s most vulnerable spot: his thrifite. Though the money box was not in sight, it was seldom far from Lachlan’s mind. “If we tarry here through the spring lambing, Uncle—and I warn you, we’ll not stay a moment longer—then ’Tis only right that you raise my wages.”

  Lachlan straightened in his chair, his features alert despite the hour. “Aye, that’s fair enough.” A light shone in his eyes like that of silver coins held up to the moon. “Suppose I pay you so many shillings for each ewe that survives the winter and so many shillings for each lamb that survives its birthing. What say you to that, lad?”

  Jamie could hardly agree to so vague an offer. “How many shillings?”

  “Come now.” Lachlan held up his hands in protest. “Without my ledgers tallied before me, I cannot give you an exact price, Jamie. We’ll work out a suitable arrangement before the first snow. For now, let us agree that you and your family will remain here through spring.” Lachlan did not offer his hand to seal the bargain but instead rose to his feet and turned toward the bed, signaling the end of their discussion.

  Jamie left the room without another word. If his uncle would not be bound to their agreement, then neither would he. He’d been caught in a vicious trap of words last Martinmas when he’d asked if he might have Rose’s hand in marriage and Lachlan had said, “You might.” The treachery of the man! He’d later shaken his finger and said, “There is no promise in the word might, now is there?” The memory of it still stuck in Jamie’s craw.

  “Then we might stay through spring,” he muttered under his breath, stamping up the stair without a care for the slumbering household, his mother’s letter clenched in his left hand. He flung open the bedroom door, nearly crashing it against the wall as he did, then shut it behind him with a satisfying bang.

  “Jamie?” Leana’s voice floated across the darkened room. “Did something go amiss?”