Fair Is the Rose

by Liz Curtis Higgs

  “Och!” He nearly spit on the floor. “I am not a trinket in some packman’s sack, bought for a penny. You will ne’er have my heart, even if you manage to claim the rest.”

  Leana’s shoulders sagged. “The elders will decide who Jamie’s wife will be. Perhaps they’ve already done so.” She stood once more, less steady on her feet this time. “Rose, even though you cannot forgive me, I forgive you. For whatever you said in that room tonight, true or false. For all you’ve done since the wedding day. None of it matters now.”

  A sharp wind blew through the open front door.

  Lachlan McBride’s voice carried down the hall. “So we’re done with things, are we?” He scowled at them as he crossed the threshold, then shut the door with a resounding bang. “Your bairn is greeting for his supper, Leana. ’Tis long past time you were home, all three of you. Surely you’re finished here.” Lachlan strode past them, then knocked on the dining room door before anyone could stop him.

  The door swung open, and Reverend Gordon stepped out. He was taller than Lachlan McBride and at the moment more perturbed. Looming over the bonnet laird, the minister said curtly, “You were not summoned to this evening’s proceedings, Mr. McBride. What business do you have here?”

  “Merely collecting my family, Reverend, for the hour is late.” He peered over the minister’s shoulder, rising on his toes to do so. “Shouldn’t your elders be about their rounds, making certain that all in the village are home where they belong and not loitering about the streets?”

  Reverend Gordon consulted his pocket watch, though Jamie suspected it was more to curb his temper than to learn the time. “Shortly but not yet. Since you are here, and we have made our decision, I suppose you may join us.” The minister pointed a finger between his uncle’s gray eyes. “But you’ll not speak unless spoken to, nor offer an opinion. Is that understood?”

  “Aye,” Lachlan said gruffly, stepping back from the menacing digit. “Follow me, Jamie, and bring your women. Pray you’ll not lose one of them to the cutty stool before this night ends.”

  Please God, may it not be so. Jamie led Leana into the room, with Rose trailing along behind them. Seats were taken amid much scraping of chairs. The fire had died down, yet the air was warmer than ever. Seated between the sisters, Jamie prayed for strength. And aye, for mercy, though ’Twas too late for that now, for the elders had set their course. Their hands were folded on top of their numerous papers. The session clerk had put down his pen, his finger resting on a particular entry, the last on the page. All eyes turned toward Reverend Gordon, who stood at the head of the table, his imposing form outlined by the light of the fire.

  “We have been presented with a most difficult task this evening, yet one we are ever charged with as parish leaders: to uphold God’s law.” He nodded at his elders, and they responded in kind. “What began as a simple clerical error has grown to a moral issue of grave significance. In all my years in the pulpit, I’ve ne’er seen its match. When emotions are put aside, however, ’Tis a clearer case than one might first imagine.”

  The minister glanced at his notes and then at Rose. “On behalf of the elders, for my vote counts no more than theirs, I will present to each one of you in turn our decisions. Rose, you are first.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Jamie noticed her sitting up straighter, a look of expectation on her face. Nae, Rose. Do not wish for this, for I cannot love you again.

  “We find that Rose McBride—or should I say, Mistress McKie—is innocent in every regard.”

  Rose gasped aloud, her eyes and mouth widening.

  Jamie gripped the arms of the chair so hard he feared the wood might crack. Not Rose. She cannot be my wife.

  Reverend Gordon continued as though reading a market list. “Though you’ve waited a long time to be pronounced Mistress McKie, you must wait a bit longer to claim your husband. However, by law, you already have a legal right to his name and his property. And soon, his person.”

  Jamie watched in despair as Leana slid her wedding ring off her finger and quietly placed the silver band before her sister, who stared at it for a moment, then slipped it on.

  Nae. This cannot be right.

  He grasped Leana’s hand under the table, but it was limp, and she did not squeeze back. Oh, Leana. ’Tis not over. Do not despair.

  “Mr. McKie, we have a decision for you as well.”

  He looked up but did not acknowledge the man. Hadn’t his life already been decided for him? Not for. Against.

  The minister’s pronouncement was matter-of-fact. “Leana has attested that you meant to wed Rose and not her. Since you were deceived at the outset—entrapped, as it were, by your cousin Leana—we will not hold you accountable for your remarks to this kirk session regarding your relationship with her.”

  “They were not remarks,” Jamie corrected him through clenched teeth. “They were the truth. I love her.”

  He held up his hand, stemming his words. “Aye, so we’ve heard. That you have come to cherish Leana is both admirable and regrettable but does not change the facts of the case. We have concluded that you were merely trying to protect her. An honorable effort and therefore not to be held against you.”

  Were they not listening? Did they not hear him? Jamie spoke more forcefully. “ ’Twas not an effort, Reverend Gordon. Leana is my wife.”

  “Was, Jamie. Leana was your wife but is no more.”

  “But she—”

  “The law of the kirk recognizes Rose as your wife per verba de praesenti. Leana’s claim of habit and repute came after her sister’s, and therefore is invalid.” Reverend Gordon shrugged his shoulders. “You cannot be married to both women, Jamie. ’Tis against the law of God and society.”

  The room seemed to shift, as though nothing were nailed in place. Jamie heard the minister speaking, yet the man made no sense. Per verba, he’d said. By whose words? And what words? If he’d broken the law, then he would pay the price. Jamie looked up and prayed the ground beneath his feet would stop moving. “What is my punishment then?”

  “You do your cousin Rose an injustice, sir.” Henry Murdoch glared at him from across the table. “You once chose her, loved her, pursued her, and labored for her hand in marriage. Most men would not consider marriage to such a woman punishment.”

  Jamie sank in his chair. “I am not most men.” I am the least of men. The room had stopped spinning, but his stomach had only begun.

  Reverend Gordon leaned across the table, his voice lower. “Understand this, Jamie: Had the circumstances been different, we would have charged you with adultery. Had you told us that you chose Leana for your wife on your wedding night, having spoken the vows to Rose, our only recourse would have been to punish you both. But …”—he straightened, holding his hands out—“as you were deceived, our decision of innocence stands.”

  Innocent? Jamie knew he was guilty in every regard. For hurting Leana and loving Rose. For loving Leana and now hurting her again. For whosoever shall keep the whole law, and yet offend in one point, he is guilty of all.

  “I am not innocent,” he declared, standing to his feet. “I am guilty.” He said it again, with more force. “I am guilty. Leana is not the deceiver here … I am. I deceived my father. I deceived my brother. Worse of all, I deceived myself into thinking I loved a bonny lass who loves no one but herself.”

  “Jamie!” Rose cried.

  He did not look at her. He looked only at Leana. “Please … please forgive me.”

  Her eyes held no judgment. “You are already forgiven, Jamie.”

  Henry Murdoch pounded on his notes. “If there is forgiveness and mercy to be extended in this room, it must come from this side of the table.”

  “Nae, sir.” Jamie looked at Henry but did not quite see him for the tears that stung his eyes. “ ’Twas not your mercy I required, gentlemen, but Leana’s.” He gazed down at her, speaking to her with his eyes, knowing she would hear him. I will never leave you.
/>   Her pale blue eyes spoke in return. I will always love you.

  “Well then.” Millar, the clerk, tapped at his record book. “Since Leana seems to have forgiven you, you are a free man, James McKie.”

  He looked away as Rose reached for his hand. “I am anything but free, sir.”

  Forty-Four

  Misfortune had conquered her,

  how true it is.

  MADAME DE STAËL

  The truth had made her free, but it was the one freedom Leana did not want: a life without Jamie. Leana knew the elders would find her guilty. Guilty of loving Jamie. And guilty of being a woman who deceived men. Cursed be the deceiver.

  “Leana?” Reverend Gordon’s voice. Gentle, not harsh, yet firm. “ ’Tis time we addressed you.”

  She lifted her head. The room grew very still. Even the hearth seemed to hold its fiery breath.

  “Leana McBride, on behalf of the kirk session of Newabbey parish, it is my unfortunate duty to pronounce judgment on your sin. Are you prepared to receive our word on the matter?”

  “Aye, for the word of the Lord is right.” She drew herself up, as if she were about to be lashed to a stake. “I am ready.”

  “Let us begin by clearly stating the nature of your transgression.” The minister held his notes close to his spectacles, reading them aloud as though they were someone else’s words and not his. “On the night of 31 December 1788, did you willfully take this man, James McKie, as your husband by a deliberate act of deception?”

  Willfully. Deliberately. Deceptively. Was that the way of it? Nae, but it was the look of it. “I did not identify myself by name when I went to Jamie. And so, aye … he was deceived.”

  Reverend Gordon continued, “Having then deceived Mr. McKie, you forced him to commit adultery without either his knowledge or his consent.”

  Adultery? “But I thought Jamie was not—”

  “He is not being charged, Leana.” The minister’s stern brow appeared above his handful of papers. “We’ve already determined that.”

  “Good, good.” She was ever aware of Jamie’s presence beside her. “I could not bear for him to suffer on my account.”

  Jamie’s hand reached for hers beneath the table. She could not look at him, or she would be undone. Thou art my strength.

  Reverend Gordon shook his paper, calling her attention back to the matter at hand. “Though you did not intentionally impersonate your sister, that was the upshot of things. Is that correct, Leana?”

  “Aye. In the dark Jamie thought I was Rose.”

  “But you knew that you were not married to this man.”

  “I knew,” she whispered.

  “And yet, knowing Jamie was not your husband, you … you engaged in …”

  “Aye.” She hung her head. “I did.”

  “You are therefore charged by this kirk session with hochmagandy—”

  “Nae!” Jamie shot to his feet, even as Leana’s heart gave way, like a sand dune crushed beneath a great wave.

  “Sit down, Mr. McKie, or leave the room.”

  “ ’Tis not right.” Jamie threw himself into his chair, shaking with anger, muttering under his breath. “ ’Tis not fair.”

  Reverend Gordon, ignoring him, continued. “Paul’s letter to the church at Corinth speaks against this detestable sin: ‘Now the body is not for fornication, but for the Lord.’ Do you agree, Leana, and commit your body to the Lord and his care alone?”

  She nodded. In him will I trust.

  “I’m sorry, lass, but you must respond verbally. Do you repent of your sin?”

  Leana lowered her eyes, though her voice did not falter. “I do repent. I am truly sorry.” For godly sorrow worketh repentance.

  She looked up, not at Reverend Gordon, but at her beloved Jamie. He must understand, he must know without a doubt what she was saying and what she was thinking. I am sorry I deceived you. But I am not sorry I love you.

  The words in his eyes were a mirror of her own. I love you still. They kept their gazes locked as her sentence was read.

  “Leana McBride, you are hereby required to compear on the stool of repentance in sackcloth, barefoot and bareheaded, for three consecutive Sundays beginning this coming Sabbath, as befits your grievous sin.”

  Stunned, she clung to Jamie’s hand. The cutty stool. Not even as a child, playing between services, did she go near the hated stool. ’Twas for wicked people. Reprobates her father called them. Sinners.

  Now the stool was for her.

  My punishment is greater than I can bear. The words of Cain. My words.

  Jamie’s hand squeezed hers so tightly she feared he might crush her bones.

  The minister spoke again. “Any conjugal rights and privileges between James McKie and Leana McBride are now severed.”

  Nae. She could no longer look at him, for the pain was too great. Oh, Jamie. Never to hold you. Never to touch you. Never to kiss you. ’Twas the harshest punishment of all, the very worst.

  Reverend Gordon pressed on, as though he were reading an announcement at the start of services. “Lachlan, you are to see they reside in separate rooms from henceforth. James, your marriage is to be consummated on Saturday, 27 March, following a second reading of your marriage banns each Sunday that Leana appears on the stool.”

  Rose spoke up. “If Jamie and I are already wed, what use can the banns be?”

  Mr. Millar hastened to reply. “The banns allow persons to come forth who would dispute a claim of marriage. Considering all that has transpired in this case, we thought the idea prudent.” The session clerk consulted his book, then turned to Lachlan, who’d sat through the proceedings sullen and silent. “There is also a fine of thirty shillings of silver to be paid without delay. That responsibility falls on the one who is legally responsible for the party. As Leana McBride is unwed and living under your roof, sir, the debt falls to you.”

  Lachlan reached into his waistcoat and produced a calfskin bag, heavy with coin. When he tossed it on the table, the bag landed with a mighty crash, startling the poor schoolmaster. Lachlan’s voice was as cold as his silver. “ ’Tis always a costly thing to sit before the session.”

  Reverend Gordon ignored the purse, but not the man. “Mr. McBride, as the only witness in this room who heard your testimony on 5 January 1789, I must confess that the truth revealed this night has little resemblance to the story I heard you tell last year. However, as no written record exists of your testimony, such discrepancies cannot be counted against you, nor may any punishment be levied.”

  “ ’Tis just as well, Reverend.” Lachlan pinned his hard gaze on Leana, disgust written across his features. “I have a howre for a daughter. That is punishment enough.”

  She bowed her head and bowed her heart. Deliver me, O my God, out of the hand of the wicked, out of the hand of the unrighteous and cruel man. The thought of living beneath her father’s roof, suffering beneath his judgment for the rest of her life was beyond bearing. Deliver me, O my God.

  The minister gestured in her direction with his papers. “Now to the matter of Ian.”

  Ian. Leana’s heart stopped.

  “ ’Tis Mr. McKie’s decision whether or not the lad is to be recognized as his rightful heir or considered a bystart.”

  Jamie’s voice rang out like a bell. “Ian James McKie is my legal heir and my only heir.” He shot a pointed look at the session clerk. “See that my claim is duly recorded.”

  Leana smiled at him through her tears. Such a good father. Jamie’s claim on their son meant she would always be a small part of Jamie’s life as well.

  “On the subject of Ian,” Lachlan said, “I will not claim him as my grandson nor name him as heir to Auchengray.” His manner was indifferent, as though the child was of little consequence and only the property mattered. “As I have no sons, ’Tis my legal right to choose my heir.” He pointed a thick finger at the clerk. “You will record that in the minutes of this kirk session meeting
as well.”

  Leana was almost relieved. The less her father had to do with Ian, the better. She would raise him herself, in their own corner of the house, knowing Jamie was not far away. My sweet boy, my dear Ian.

  “Very well,” Reverend Gordon agreed, though ’twas plain Lachlan’s callous decision did not sit well with him. “Our greater concern for the child is not his future inheritance but his present moral upbringing.”

  “Aye,” Leana sighed. She could not agree more.

  “It is our wish to see Ian McKie reared in a devout and pious home, free from … ah, improper influences.”

  A sharp intake of breath. He means me. I am improper.

  “Therefore, the sole responsibility of caring for the boy will fall to his father, James McKie, and to his stepmother, Rose McKie.”

  Nae!

  Leana nearly fainted before Jamie grasped her arm. “Gentlemen, Leana is the child’s mother. You cannot do this to her.”

  She tried to breathe. “Please …” It came out on a sob. “Please … don’t take … my son …”

  “I am sorry,” the clerk said, sounding as though he meant it.

  “Please,” she moaned, “you cannot do this. Ian is … my only … Ian is …”

  “Look at her!” Jamie lunged to his feet, pulling her up with him. “Can’t you see what you are doing to my … to this good woman? Isn’t the cutty stool punishment enough? How much must she endure for the sin of loving me?”

  Oh, Jamie. She struggled like one climbing out of a deep well, clinging to Jamie’s arm, as if ’twere a rope thrown down into the darkness to save her. Without Jamie, she would drown. Without Ian, she would not fight the water’s pull.

  Reverend Gordon called the room to order, for in every corner were murmurings and anxious faces. He stretched a calming hand toward Jamie. “Come now, Mr. McKie, there is no need for this outburst. You will all live under the same roof, at least for the moment.” The minister nodded at his elders. “No one here is without sympathy for your situation. We are merely concerned with your son’s welfare, as you should be.”