“Aye. Dr. Gilchrist said she’d be some time getting her strength back.” Leana said no more. Seldom did she think of Rose’s health and not remember what else the surgeon had said: unable to bear children. She could not imagine a crueler sentence levied on a woman’s soul. True to her word, Leana had not told anyone, nor would she. God alone held sway in such matters.
Leana spent a few moments in the stillroom tidying her shelves, then returned to find Eliza’s anxious face at the kitchen door. “Mistress McKie! D’ye not hear? Yer faither is nigh tae shoutin’ at the reverend!” Her hands twisted round her apron strings. “Should we do somethin’? For I fear they’ll come tae blows.”
Neda left her spoon in the soup pot and stepped closer to the doorway, her feet soundless on the brick floor. “Ye kenned it might come tae this, lass.”
“Aye,” Leana confessed. “But I prayed it would not.”
The spence door was flung open with a mighty crash of wood against plaster, causing the copper pots to sway from the kitchen beams.
“Leana!” her father shouted with vehemence.
“Coming.” She gathered her skirts and all but ran down the hall. Reverend Gordon was nowhere in sight, though she heard the sound of hoofbeats on the lawn. Her father was still withindoors, pacing the floor of the spence. “What is it, Father?”
Lachlan’s neck was so swollen inside his collar he could barely get the words out. “I have just been informed that my labors on your behalf January last were for naught.”
“I see.”
“Do you?” His teeth were clenched hard enough to snap a stick. “Maybe you do, Leana, and maybe you don’t.”
“Oh.” It seemed the safest thing to say until she learned what else Reverend Gordon might have told him. “What’s to be done, Father?”
“You will wake your sleeping sister, call your husband in from the flocks, and meet me here in the spence. At once.”
At Auchengray news traveled through door cracks like smoke from a fire. By the time Leana informed Neda and reached the door to her sister’s room, Annabel was already splashing cool water on her mistress’s face.
“Rose,” Leana said softly, helping her out of bed. “Father has been told the situation, though ’Tis not clear how much he kens.” She guided Rose down the stair and aimed her in the direction of the spence. “Say nothing until we join you, dearie.” Leana flew out the front door and headed for the byre. The damp ground soaked her calfskin slippers, and a chilling breeze knifed through her linen gown.
Jamie was already heading her way, waving his bonnet at her. “Neda rang the bell,” he explained. “I take it Reverend Gordon has arrived.”
“And departed. In a huff, I’d say.” She took her husband’s arm and walked with him toward the house, past the overgrown hazel plucked clean last autumn. “Father is in an ill-scrapit mood, demanding to see the three of us without delay.”
Jamie kissed her cheek before they crossed the threshold. “Remember, this clerical error is not our doing, Leana. Do not let your father convince you otherwise.”
When they reached the spence, the tea tray was gone. Three wooden chairs were lined up with their backs against her father’s box bed. Rose sat in one, clutching the sides of the chair and looking faint.
Lachlan paced back and forth before the hearth like a snarling dog tethered to a leash. He stopped long enough to point to the chairs. “Sit.”
Leana and Jamie did so, their hands discreetly joined beneath a fold of her skirts. The three of them waited in agonizing silence until Leana started to say something and Jamie tugged on her hand. A warning.
Lachlan planted his feet in front of the grate and folded his arms across his embroidered waistcoat. “I have only now learned of the kirk session’s ‘unfortunate oversight,’ as Reverend Gordon called it. All these months I thought my testimony and my silver had covered your sins. But nae. They’ve been dragged into the cold light of a winter’s day for all the parish to see.”
“That’s not true, Father,” Leana protested. “The whole parish has not been told …” She stopped, realizing what she’d done.
“So.” Her father pinned his gaze on her. “This oversight is not news to my family, eh? I thought as much. The good reverend was not so forthcoming with information as you, Leana. What else do you ken of this affair?”
Jamie answered instead. “He told me first, Uncle, for I had the most at stake.”
“Och!” Lachlan turned on him, livid. “Is my silver not at stake? Wasted on the poor, who do nothing to better themselves. And my name, is that of no value? Do you think I relish the thought of the elders laughing up their coat sleeves at this bonnet laird, whose daughter and nephew have lived without the benefit of the kirk’s blessing for more than a year and given him a bystart for a grandson?”
“Enough!” Jamie surged to his feet. “Ian is my lawful son. Leana is my loving wife. By habit and repute we are well wed.” His words struck like hammers, ringing through the room. “We will fix this oversight come the first of March, and we will wipe the dust of Auchengray off our feet come May.”
Oh, Jamie. Leana bowed her head, lest her relief show on her face.
After a weighty silence, Lachlan spoke in a voice that shook with unspent anger. “Do not make an enemy of me, Nephew.”
“I would make nothing of you.” Jamie’s voice was even, a cold blade against Lachlan’s heated words. “Reverend Gordon assured me you will not attend the kirk session. Our testimonies—Leana’s, Rose’s, and mine—are the only ones required.”
Lachlan’s chuckle was an ugly sound. “Aye? And who will provide the silver?”
“We have no need of silver,” Leana replied.
Rose suddenly sat up straight, like a marionette on strings. “The Buik says, ‘the tongue of the just is as choice silver.’ If I speak the truth, is that not of more value than coins?”
Ignoring her, Lachlan lashed out at Leana instead. “And do you ken the rest of your sister’s proverb, lass?” His voice rose. “Well, do you?”
Aye, she did. “The heart of the wicked is little worth.”
“And would you call me wicked, Daughter?”
Leana did not bend beneath his anger. “ ’Tis what you called me not long ago: ill-deedie. However wicked my behavior may have been on my wedding night, I have freely confessed my sins before God. And before Jamie and Rose. And before you, Father.”
Lachlan’s eyes, dead until now, sprang to life. “See that you don’t confess those sins to the kirk session, or you’ll be spending the Sabbath on the stool of repentance.”
He turned toward her sister. “The only one innocent that night was Rose. It is she who will testify first. And here is what you will say, Rose. For I will not have you spin a different tale than the one I told January last, or I will appear to have given false testimony. The kirk session does not tolerate liars. I care not which woman ends up in my nephew’s bed, but I care very much that I not end up in Dumfries standing before the synod. You will tell the session what I direct you to tell them. Nothing more.”
Rose spoke in a voice as small as a child’s. “What am I to say?”
Lachlan counted each point on his blunt fingers, making sure Rose heard every word. “You will tell them that you never loved your cousin, James McKie. That you wanted him to marry Leana. That you agreed to the wedding out of obligation. That you changed your mind and ran off to Twyneholm. And that you intended your sister to marry Jamie in your stead.”
“But, Father—”
“That is what I told them, and that is what you will say. Five points, Rose. Repeat them. All of them.”
Her voice shaking, Rose did so, counting on her own hand. “But, Father, ’Tis not the truth—”
“It is my truth!” he snapped. “If you hope to marry well someday, you will abide by my wishes, Rose. Otherwise I have a long list of decrepit auld farmers in this parish who’d pay good silver for a bonny wife like you.”
Lachlan McBride’s threat was not an idle one, and his daughters knew it well.
He pointed his finger at Jamie now. “You will be next to testify, Nephew, for yours is the other name that appears in the kirk session record.”
Jamie thrust out his chin, daring him. “And I suppose you have words you propose to put in my mouth as well.”
“Only if you want Leana. And your son. If you do not, say whatever you like. But if you would keep my daughter and grandson as your own, you will repeat what I said on your behalf, which was this: When you realized that Rose did not love you nor want you for her husband and that her older sister was only too happy to join you at the bride stool, you married Leana instead with Rose’s blessing.”
“Forgive me, Uncle,” Jamie said, his words rife with sarcasm, “but how many points was that?”
Lachlan glared at him. “Count them yourself, lad.”
Leana stood as well, if only to draw upon Jamie’s warmth and strength. “And then I will speak to the kirk session, Father.”
“Aye, you will. Yours is the most important testimony of all, Leana, for you have the most to lose: your husband, your son, and your reputation. Listen carefully then. I said that you loved Jamie from the first hour he arrived. That you were certain he cared for you. That your sister came to you, weeping, confessing that she did not love Jamie. That she begged you to marry him instead. And so you did. Say no more than that, Leana.”
“I’ve no need to repeat it,” she murmured. “I’ll not forget what you said.” Leana bit her tongue before a snippet from a psalm rose to her lips—The wicked plotteth against the just—knowing that her own sins did not allow her to judge the sins of others.
Lachlan turned his back on them to pour a dram of whisky, then pointed toward the door with his pewter cup, as if he’d grown weary of their company. “I’ve had enough drama for one evening. Tell Neda I’ll take my supper alone in here.”
“Alone you shall be,” Leana said, slipping an arm through the crook of Jamie’s elbow. “For we shall be together. And come the first of March, we shall speak the truth.”
Forty
I must not say that she was true,
Yet let me say that she was fair;
And they, the lovely face who view,
They should not ask if truth be there.
MATTHEW ARNOLD
A full moon rose in the eastern sky that first evening in March. In Reverend Gordon’s brightly lit dining room a wood fire was ablaze on the hearth, and candles shone round the room, holding the darkness at bay.
“Miss McBride, we will begin shortly.”
Rose bobbed her head at Andrew Sproat, dominie of the parish school and the youngest of the three kirk elders sitting across from her at Reverend Gordon’s long table. Not yet forty, Mr. Sproat had an earnest look about him. His thinning blond hair allowed momentary glimpses of his freckled scalp, and the spectacles perched on his nose magnified every blink of his blue eyes. He looked the sort to be sympathetic.
Reverend Gordon had yet to take his place at the head of the table, though he was a punctual man and would no doubt walk into the room promptly at seven o’ the clock. Perhaps he was conferring with Jamie and Leana, who waited their turn in the hall. Had they considered what she might say? Leana had begged her to be fair, to be merciful. And above all, to be truthful. Aye, but which truth would she speak?
The three of them had arrived at the manse earlier than expected. With a fresh wind from the southwest pressing hard against their backs, they’d traveled the road from Auchengray to the village at a sprightly clip, setting the lantern on the chaise swinging. Since Lachlan had refused to allow an early supper, Neda had tucked warm mutton pies into their coat pockets for the journey. Too nervous to eat, Rose and Leana had given their pies to Jamie, who’d polished them off long before they rode past the snuff mill.
’Twas unbearable, the three of them riding in the chaise—Jamie in the middle, a sister on either side. He’d lavished his attention on Leana, of course. Whispering endearments, assuring her the meeting would end well. When he’d helped Rose alight from the chaise, he’d met her gaze with a kind but distant look in his eyes. “ ’twill be over soon, Rose.”
Aye, ’twill.
She folded her hands, covering an unattractive spot she’d discovered on her gloves, and took a steadying breath. Aye, she would be more than fair. She would see justice served.
When Reverend Gordon announced the kirk session meeting from the pulpit Sunday last, he’d requested no more than a quorum be in attendance. Three men. The auld clerk’s bungling did not speak well of parish business, she guessed; the fewer who learned of the oversight, the better for all involved.
A useless precaution. The entire parish would soon know the truth.
Like Andrew Sproat, the other two elders busy shuffling their papers were men of good repute, respected in the neighborhood, able to resist strong drink and weak women. Henry Murdoch was a prosperous merchant, a legitimate importer of goods, not a free trader evading the Crown’s excisemen. Short in stature, with the keen eye and jaded nature of a businessman, Mr. Murdoch sported thick gray hair that sprang from his head like coils. He would bear the most watching, for his mind was as sharp as his tongue.
She regarded the man next to him with misgivings. Jock Bell was a close neighbor and associate of her father’s, yet he knew Jamie as well. Each September, the bonnet laird of Tannocks Farm sold Lachlan tups for breeding Auchengray’s ewes. An affable man in rumpled clothing that belied his true wealth, Mr. Bell was seldom seen without his plaid bonnet and blackthorn walking stick. No doubt Jock would favor Jamie’s account of the wedding, though she would smile at him nonetheless.
At the far end of the table sat the new session clerk, his record book open, his pen poised and waiting. This was not dotty George Cummack, come back from the grave to err again, but Walter Millar, the kirk elder newly appointed to the clerk’s position in late January. A thin, nervous man, whose head and hands seemed too large for his body, he sat silent and alert, as if at any moment something might require his careful notation.
Reverend Gordon appeared and took his seat, his back to the roaring hearth. Not many folk used wood for fuel in Galloway, scarce as it was, but one of the parishioners supplied the manse with cut, dried pine. Rose loved the smell—clean with a sharp tang, not musty like peat. The wood cracked and snapped as it burned, sending an occasional spark onto the flagstone floor, where it cooled in an instant. Like Jamie’s love for her, burning hot one minute, turning cold the next. All because of a wee babe. Born across the hall in this very house.
Rose touched a hand to her heart and felt the stone amulet beneath her linen gown, comforted by its solid, unseen presence. Though it made Rose uneasy to think of depending on such a woman’s counsel, all that Lillias had promised seemed to be coming true. ’Twas clear she knew how to draw a husband near. Perhaps her cantrips would also heal a barren womb.
“We are ready to proceed,” the minister announced, opening the Buik with his usual ceremony, his hand sketching an arc through the air. “A reading from Paul’s letter to the church at Ephesus. Herein is the purpose of a gathering like ours this evening: ‘that we henceforth be no more children, tossed to and fro, and carried about with every wind of doctrine, by the sleight of men, and cunning craftiness, whereby they lie in wait to deceive.’ ” He pinned his gaze on the five present, not moving from one face to the next until he seemed convinced each person understood the words and their portent.
Sleight. Cunning. Craftiness. Deceit.
Her father was not in the room, or the minister
would have good cause for concern. Rose did not need swickerie. She only needed the chance to tell the truth.
The minister’s attention returned to the page, and his deep voice filled the room. “But speaking the truth in love, may grow up into him in all things, which is the head, even Christ.” He closed the book with a mighty clap. “Aye, there is our directive.”
Speak the truth in love. Leana had said those same words for a fortnight, urging all three of them to be in agreement, to put their love for one another and for God above all. Lachlan McBride had given them a different assignment altogether: Speak the truth according to my wishes. If her father were here—and Rose was grateful he was not—she would have a message for him as well: I will do nae such thing.
“Miss McBride.”
Reverend Gordon’s commanding voice made her sit up straighter and aim her gaze across the table to the three elders and the clerk, who sat, hands folded, prepared to listen and judge. “Aye, sir. I am ready to give testimony to the events of 31 December 1788.”
“Understand, lass,” Henry Murdoch cautioned, “you may be asked to comment on events that happened prior to that date.”
She nodded, more than willing to answer their questions. The farther back their examination stretched, the stronger her claim on Jamie would appear. “Am I to stand?”
The men looked at each other, then shook their heads. “ ’Tis not necessary,” the minister said. “This meeting is merely a formality to amend the kirk session records.” He rested his elbows on the table, making a tent with his hands, a pose her father often struck. “Now then, your cousin James McKie first appeared in Newabbey parish in …”—he checked his notes—“October 1788. When and where did you strike an agreement to marry Mr. McKie?”
“Martinmas, the following month. He made his request to my father at the Globe Inn in Dumfries that afternoon in my presence. That evening at Auchengray Jamie and I made our formal pledge of betrothal with the entire household serving as witnesses.”
Fair Is the Rose Page 27