Fair Is the Rose

by Liz Curtis Higgs

  “And sick, dearie. So terribly sick.” Leana’s voice caught. “Several times that night I feared we might lose you.”

  She eyed the two of them: healthy, whole, and loved. Everything she was not. Realization, like a chilling wind, rushed over her. “ ’twould have made things easier for you if I’d died.”

  “Rose!” Leana gasped. “Don’t even think such a thing, dearie. I would rather have you alive and happily married to my Jamie, than see you buried in a kirkyard.”

  Stunned, Rose stared at her sister’s face, as open as any lined book. “Can you mean what you say?”

  “Aye.” Leana lightly rested a hand on each of them. “I love you as much as I love Jamie, Rose. I’ll keep saying that ’til you believe me.”

  Rose looked away, ashamed to confess that her sister’s love, however boundless, was not enough. She wanted Jamie’s love. She wanted a child to love. I want what you have, Leana.

  Jamie glanced at his pocket watch, then stood to leave. “Forgive me, Rose, but we’ll be late for services if we do not depart shortly. We’ll speak more of this later, when you … when you’ve had time to think things through. Leana, I’ll see to the chaise.”

  Leana gathered her skirts about her. “And I must tend to Ian. He’s missed you, Rose.”

  Precious Ian. “Might I see him? For I’ve missed my nephew as well.” Perhaps holding the child against her heart would help it heal, like a salve placed on an open wound. ’Twas clear the kirk session’s mistake would be remedied without delay.

  Leana returned shortly with the child sitting up in her arms, blinking as though he’d just awakened. “Look who wanted to see you! Is that your Aunt Rose?”

  Seeing Ian eased her pain, if only for an instant. “Such a dear boy. He truly is Jamie in miniature.” Grabbing a stockinged foot, no bigger than a hen’s egg, Rose gently squeezed it, feeling his wee toes inside the woolen folds. The voice of Dr. Gilchrist echoed through her heart. Unable to bear children. “I am glad I have this child,” Rose declared as though the surgeon were still in the room.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Rose looked up to find Leana staring at her, confusion in her pale eyes. “I mean to say, I am glad I have this child for my nephew and not some dull lad who does not smile back at his auntie.”

  “Of course.” Leana squeezed Ian tight. “Time to bundle him up for kirk. One cannot be too careful about the weather, though ’Tis a pleasant day for February.” She glided toward the door, bussing Ian’s cheek. “Saint Valentine’s Day last year was fine as well. You would not remember it, sweet boy, for you were hidden inside me, eagerly waiting for October to come, just as I was.”

  Rose stared after her as Leana’s voice faded into the hall. Her sister had no cause for concern, for she had Jamie’s love and Jamie’s son, even if it seemed she did not by law have his name at the moment. That treasure belonged to her, to Rose. Rose McKie. Alas, like words scribbled on paper for the Valentines Dealing, the name signified nothing if Jamie did not wish it so.

  “The truth, Rose,” Leana had insisted. Rose sank back in her chair. The truth was, she loved Jamie still. Even if he no longer loved her.

  Thirty-Eight

  The wife, where danger or dishonour lurks,

  Safest and seemliest by her husband stays,

  Who guards her, or with her the worst endures.

  JOHN MILTON

  Jamie, why are you fretting so? I’ve asked Rose to speak the truth, and I believe she will.”

  Halfway to the kirk, and he could still see the look on Rose’s face when he’d told her. By law, you and I are husband and wife. She’d nearly swooned at the news. Yet even as she’d begun to slip from the chair, he’d seen a ghost of a smile cross her features. Nae, Rose. Forgive me, but it cannot be.

  He lightly snapped his whip across the mare’s back, feeling his jaw tighten. “Rose will tell the truth, aye, but only if it gets her what she wants.”

  “Jamie, Jamie.” Leana soothed him with naught but the sound of his own name, spoken in love. “Rose no longer has such designs on you. Besides, she is not the only one who will testify to what happened, dear husband. You and I will both have the chance to speak the truth as well.” Seated beside him in the chaise with Ian nestled in her arms, Leana leaned her head on his shoulder. “God has blessed our union, despite the unseemly manner in which it began.”

  Ever punishing herself, this wife of his. “And who’s to blame for that beginning, Leana?”

  She did not hesitate. “I am, of course.”

  “Nae,” he chided her. She still did not understand who was truly responsible. “ ’Twas your father’s swickerie from the start. You’ve told me the despicable things Lachlan said to you that night, the threats he made, the half-truths he poured in your ear. Cease chastising yourself, Leana. ’Twas your father’s lies that sent you looking for answers in my bed.”

  “But I went there of my own will, Jamie. Never forget that, for I shan’t.”

  He took his eyes off the dirt lane for a moment to meet her gaze. “Do not heap all the guilt on yourself. Had I realized sooner what a fine wife I had, instead of pining after Rose all those months, your sister would have given me up long ago.”

  “Now, Jamie, ’tis another issue entirely and well behind us.”

  Her reminder was a prudent one. The two of them had plowed that garden before, numerous times.

  “A clerical mistake is not your fault, Jamie. Nor mine. Nor Reverend Gordon’s. ’Tis not even my father’s fault.”

  “We’ve no proof of that yet,” he grumbled, waving his hand in the direction of Lachlan McBride, who rode well ahead of them astride Walloch. The hard ground beneath the chaise’s two wheels bounced them alongside rough grazing land, where a flock of goats climbed and leaped about the craggy boulders. “I don’t care to be in the room when Reverend Gordon tells your father, do you?”

  Leana shuddered. “Nae, I do not. Still, I pray it happens soon. I will sleep better at night when you are my husband and mine alone.”

  The woman seemed so sure of the outcome. Did she love Rose too much to see the dangers that lay ahead? Better to broach the subject now than tend her wounds later. “Leana, have you given any thought to what we will do if Rose tells the kirk session what truly happened on Hogmanay? Because I have. If I am forced to honor my vows and take Rose as my wife, I will seek a divorce.”

  “On what grounds, Jamie?” She had considered it, for her answer came too quickly. “To our knowledge Rose has not been unfaithful to you. ’Tis the only way the kirk would allow a divorce.”

  “Then I will leave her here,” he insisted, “and take you and my son to Glentrool.”

  Leana shook her head, laughing softly, though there was no hint of joy in the sound. “You fool yourself, Jamie. Reverend Gordon would never give us our testimonials under such circumstances. The minister of your parish would turn us away at the door and refuse to let us near the communion table. We would be outcasts, unwelcome everywhere we went.” She shifted, pressing their sleeping son to her heart. The pain in her voice cut him to the quick. “Jamie, if the unthinkable should happen—please God, it will not—we will all remain here in Newabbey. And I will raise Ian and remember what it was like to be your wife.”

  “Och, lass.” Jamie moved the reins so he could slide his arm round her shoulders and pull her closer. “ ’twill not come to that. I will not allow it.” He prayed she did not hear the bravado behind his words. “In the meantime, how will you manage?”

  “By keeping my eyes on God, my hands on Ian, and my heart on you.”

  Overcome, he kissed the top of her head until he could speak. “And what of Rose?”

  Leana sighed, her mood shifting. “When Rose was a girl, I would step on her skirt hem so she couldn’t get away from me.”

  “Have you tried that of late?”

  “Nae, but I’ve considered it.” She gazed toward Criffell, rising not far to their right. Ev
en on a blue-skied morning, the summit was wreathed in mist. “Something happened to Rose during her time in Dumfries. I’m not certain of any details, but I sense it was unchancie.”

  Jamie nodded, trusting her appraisal. He’d noticed only outward changes in Rose—how she wore her hair, her newly polished manners. Leana noticed things he could never see.

  “To be honest …” Leana brushed Ian’s cheek with her thumb, back and forth, clearly struggling with what she wanted to say. “I have come to believe that Miss Jane Grierson, much as Rose spoke well of her, was not the most … ah, virtuous of company. Forgive me for saying so, God rest her soul.”

  “No need to apologize, Leana. Your instincts are usually right.”

  “Not always.” Her chin dipped and her voice with it. “It could have been our Rose in that grave.”

  For one shameful instant, he wished it so. Forgive me, Father.

  “Oh, Jamie.” Leana’s voice drew taut. “What if Ian had caught croup while I was caring for her? You were the one who recommended we summon a doctor. I’m sorry I held your idea at arm’s length for so many days.”

  “Och! Look who’s blaming herself again.” He brushed his lips across her forehead. “Slip an extra coin in the poor box, if you like, Mistress McKie, but any mistakes made concerning your sister are more than outweighed by your love for her.”

  “ ‘Charity shall cover the multitude of sins,’ aye?”

  “Like a thick plaid, lass.”

  Moments later he gripped the reins, holding Leana steady as they rattled across the Newabbey Pow and into the village. Cottage doors and windows were flung open, inviting the milder weather to bide a wee while. Birdsong in the gardens sweetened the air, and touches of green sprouted along the hedgerows. It was far from spring, yet far from winter.

  “A perfect Saint Valentine’s Day,” Leana said, brightening a bit. “Which reminds me, I brought you something for the ride home.” She dug inside the pocket of her cloak and produced an apple, red and firm, polished to a high sheen. “ ’Twas the nicest of the lot.”

  She’d given him an apple last February—“My valentine”—along with her whole heart. He had given her as little of himself as possible. Now, it seemed, he might pay for that foolishness.

  Leana nudged him with her elbow as the chaise eased to a stop. “You’re looking very solemn all of a sudden. Do you not like your apple?”

  “I do.” Jamie smiled at her, putting aside their worries for the moment. Whatever was to come, Leana was the woman he loved. He would not let her soon forget that fact. “The apple is fine. But I’d rather have a kiss.”

  “Here?” She beheld their neighbors milling about the kirkyard. Hamiltons, Kingans, McBurnies, and the rest. “In front of the kirk?”

  “I cannot think of a better place.” He glanced at the kirk door. “For ’tis here I kissed you first. Like this.” He held her face in his hands and fitted his mouth to hers. Leana did not resist him. On the contrary, she was rather more willing than the first time. The night of their wedding.

  At last she pulled back, though not far. “Jamie, everyone is watching us.”

  “Good.” Jamie kissed her again, more thoroughly than before, until he could feel the heat of her skin rising beneath his hands. He chuckled when he leaned back. “Have I embarrassed you enough for one day?”

  “Och!” Leana pressed the backs of her fingers to her cheeks to cool them, smiling even as she ducked her head. “They’ll ne’er stop blethering about this, I can tell you.”

  “I hope you’re right.” Jamie leaped to the ground with a jaunty spring, then tipped his hat toward their neighbors and walked round the chaise, grinning at Leana. Let them see who is married to whom and where my true affections lie. Though the voices round them did seem to grow louder, the tone was merry and the smiles genuine. He paused beside the carriage. “A husband kissing his wife? Disgraceful.”

  “Scandalous,” she agreed. She tucked Ian in his arms, then alighted. “Reverend Gordon might think it improper, though, considering how the record reads.”

  “A record soon to be changed,” he reminded her, escorting his family through the kirk’s narrow doors and toward their pew. Jamie prayed that the man who’d married them would be on their side when the time came. Please God, may it come soon. The less time Rose had to think and plan, the better.

  When the minister climbed the turnpike stair into the pulpit, he cast his stern gaze across all his parishioners, singling out the McKies with a brief nod. Good omen or bad, Jamie could not decide. Two hours later Reverend Gordon followed them out the door and into the bright light of midday, guiding them in the direction of the manse, then pausing at the gate. “We’ve no need to go inside, or Mistress Gordon will think she’s to have guests at table. But I did want to see if you are ready to proceed with that … ah, matter.”

  “Aye, we are,” Jamie assured him. “We’ve explained things to Rose,” he added, certain that would be the man’s next question. “When will the kirk session meet?”

  “The first of March. I’ll announce the meeting next Sabbath. But you’re getting ahead of yourself, lad. Your father-in-law must be informed of the oversight as well. ’Twas his testimony that was lost and his silver that did not bear the fruit he intended.”

  Jamie grimaced. “Sir, my uncle does not weather surprises like this verra well.”

  Reverend Gordon snorted. “Do you think I dinna ken that? ’Tis why I came to you first, a young man with a good dose of rummle-gumption, trusting you to tell the lasses. Now we must inform your uncle as well, though he will not stand before the kirk session. You three are the ones who must testify, for ’Tis your story to tell, not Lachlan’s.” The minister brushed away a spider that had landed on his sleeve, no doubt wishing he could dispatch Lachlan McBride as easily. “Suppose I come to Auchengray this Friday afternoon. At four o’ the clock, if it suits. Tell him to expect me. I’ll explain about the clerk’s bungling and our intent to right those wrongs at our kirk session on the first.” He bent toward Leana. “Your sister will be able to travel by March, aye?”

  Leana wet her lips, a habit Jamie credited to nerves. “I feel certain she will be ready to ride in the chaise by then.”

  “Good. And what was Rose’s response to the situation, if I may ask?”

  “Her response was …” Leana’s voice faded away.

  “Predictable,” Jamie finished for her. “Rose promised to speak the truth.”

  The truth was, he no longer loved her as he once had. Could she accept that truth and speak it aloud? Or would she cling to a distant vow and demand that he make good on it?

  Reverend Gordon grunted his approval. “ ’Tis the only thing the kirk session asks or requires before God: the truth.”

  Thirty-Nine

  And, after all, what is a lie? ’Tis but

  The truth in masquerade.

  GEORGE GORDON, LORD BYRON

  Reverend Gordon here tae see ye, sir.”

  Eliza curtsied in the open doorway of the spence, then retreated toward the kitchen while Leana escorted their visitor into the small room.

  “What’s this you’ve brought me?” Lachlan said in a gruff voice. “ ’Twas a pot of tea I called for, not a minister.”

  Leana smiled, as though he were teasing the reverend instead of simply being rude. “Eliza has gone for the tray, Father.” She pressed her damp hands against the folds of her skirts. “Kindly show Reverend Gordon to his chair, and I’ll be glad to pour tea for you both.”

  The men sat without a word. Their upholstered chairs were drawn close to the meager hearth, a small table perched between them. “Now then, Mr. McBride.” The minister spoke first, his face much like the day’s weather: cold and gray. “I’ll not stay long, but I do have an important matter to discuss with you.”

  “Aye, so Jamie mentioned.” Her father eyed Reverend Gordon with suspicion. Jamie had only told him to expect the minister to call. Though Lachlan missed ver
y little that went on beneath his roof, of late he’d been preoccupied with matters at Edingham Farm and had not pressed Jamie for further details of the minister’s visit. Thanks be to God.

  Eliza arrived with her tray full of tinkling china cups and saucers and gingerly placed them on the table. “Sirs.” She curtsied again, then stepped into the hall while Leana poured two cups of steaming black tea.

  “I’ll leave you gentlemen to your business.” Leana joined Eliza in the hall, longing to find some reason to tarry outside the closed door. “I’d give anything to be a book on his shelf just now,” Leana whispered. How many times had she leaned against those door panels, eavesdropping on her father? But she was older now, a respectable wife and mother. One did not do such things.

  Eliza’s dimples showed. “I canna turn into a book, but I can be a housemaid dustin’ in the hall. Ye see for yerself how it needs a rag taken tae it.” She flapped her white dust cloth and gave her mistress a saucy wink. “Tae hearken at the door is a maid’s duty, ye ken.”

  “Not this time.” Leana cast a wary glance at the spence. Better not to have anyone listening to what might be said this day. “You’ll please me most if you’ll leave the gentlemen to their tea.”

  “If ye say so.” Eliza, plainly disappointed, wandered toward the stair, humming to herself.

  Leana turned toward the kitchen. Though she would not eavesdrop, she’d not venture far either. She found Neda by the hearth stirring a pot of muslin kale for supper. Cabbage, barley, and onions swirled round her spoon in a fragrant broth. Leana had told her briefly of the situation that morning, confident the woman would keep the news to herself. “Where are the others?” Leana asked, for the house was quiet.

  “If ye mean yer Jamie, he’s hard at work in the pastures wi’ Duncan. The air may feel like winter, but the ewes will be lambin’ afore the month is oot.” Neda tossed a handful of salt into the pot, then brushed off the last grains on her apron. “Annabel’s busy wi’ Ian in the nursery, practicin’ her readin’. As tae yer sister, she’s nappin’ in her room. The puir lass is wabbit, and ’Tis but four o’ the clock.”