Fair Is the Rose

by Liz Curtis Higgs

  “I am the child’s father,” Jamie said in a voice that demanded to be heard. “And Leana is his mother. No one is more concerned with Ian’s welfare than we are.”

  Reverend Gordon waved his hand in acknowledgment. “Aye, aye, we can see that you are.” Checking his notes once more, then folding them in half, the minister explained, “Leana may continue to serve as the child’s wet nurse.”

  “What?” Jamie spoke on her behalf, for Leana could not speak at all.

  “However,” the reverend amended, “come the twenty-seventh of March the child must be weaned from his mother and released to the McKies.”

  “You cannot mean that!” Jamie roared, leaning halfway across the table. “Is there some purpose for this cruelty? I thought you were concerned for the health of my son. Would you deprive him of what he needs most?”

  “Now who is being unkind?” Reverend Gordon countered. “To ask Leana to continue to nurse a child that is no longer her own would be merciless. Nae, ’Tis best to be finished on the twenty-seventh.” He waved his hand about. “There are wet nurses to be found throughout our parish, Jamie. You and Rose will have no difficulty there. But ’twould be unreasonable to expect Leana to serve in so menial a role.”

  Instead I will have no role at all. Leana drew her arms about her bodice, praying her milk would wait until Ian was in her arms. “The hour grows late. Are you … finished with me?”

  Reverend Gordon exchanged glances with the other elders. “Aye. Though the kirk session will continue for a few moments longer, you are free to go.” His gaze, now directed toward her alone, grew stern. “I will meet you on the Sabbath at the kirk door. Before the first bell.”

  “I will not forget.” Leana rose and fled from the room.

  Forty-Five

  Both man and womankind belie their nature

  When they are not kind.

  PHILIP JAMES BAILEY

  Rose tarried outside the nursery door, listening for Leana’s soft voice or Ian’s high-pitched cooing. All was quiet within. The door was already ajar; one slight push allowed Rose to slip past with no one the wiser. She eased the door back in place, then discovered the room was not empty after all. Leana and Ian were catching a late-morning nap.

  The wheeled hurlie bed had been moved from the servants’ floor into Ian’s cramped room yestreen after the family arrived home from the kirk session meeting. Father was not being unkind to Leana; he was simply fulfilling his promise to provide separate rooms for Jamie and her sister. Rose was relieved, of course. Yet seeing her sister here, curled up on the blue-and-white embroidered coverlet, sent a fresh wave of guilt washing over her. Could her father not have done better than this? The hurlie bed was too narrow for a grown woman. Low to the floor, it usually remained hidden beneath a larger bed, to be rolled out on the odd occasion when a visitor required bedding.

  The room was too small as well. A single, small window facing north toward the gardens and Auchengray Hill afforded the only light. Rose lifted her skirts and moved soundlessly across the floor, then turned her back on the window for a better look at things. She’d only meant to investigate Ian’s room, preparing for the day when she would need to know what it contained, and instead had chanced upon a still life worthy of a painter’s brush.

  Leana had not braided her hair that morning, so it fanned across the coverlet like a golden cloud. Her expression was serene, her skin as pale as Ian’s, both of them lit by the slanted rays of the forenoon sun falling across the room. The boy lay curled on his side with his chubby fists tucked under his chin, his wispy brown hair still damp from his bath. Leana circled round the child, making a C with her body, as if protecting him.

  From me.

  Rose bowed her head, tears stinging her eyes. I would never hurt your son, Leana.

  How had it come to this? Aye, Rose wanted Jamie and was grateful the kirk session had seen fit to honor the wedding vows spoken on her behalf. But much as she adored the child, she’d never meant to have Ian.

  Ye’re aboot tae become a mither. And a wife. Was this what the wutch had meant? Both at once? Rose longed for a son, aye, but her own son. Jamie’s son, from her own body. Though in truth, she had no notion of how to care for a child alone. Would Leana show her how to change and bathe the boy? Would Neda tell her Ian’s favorite foods? Or would they watch her frantic attempts to handle him with smug satisfaction?

  Nae. Leana could never look smug.

  Her sister was a finer mother asleep than many women were awake. All of Leana’s admirable qualities—patience, gentleness, contentment—served her well in motherhood. Rose knew she had none of those attributes. She was impatient, restless, always wanting more. Jamie had assured her he liked those things about her when they had first met, praising her speeritie ways. Your joy captured my heart. Aye, that’s what he’d said.

  Now he wanted quiet, peaceful Leana. The mother of his son.

  Rose bit her lip, looking away from the tender scene. Please want me instead, Jamie. Please want me at all.

  “Rose?”

  Jamie.

  He stood in the doorway, the man who was her husband, yet not her husband. “What brings you here?” she said, keeping her voice down. “Have the ewes tired of your company?”

  “The better question is, what brings you here?” Jamie walked softly across the room, casting a warm gaze at mother and child as he passed by. Without another word he grasped Rose’s sleeve and led her back the way he’d come and out into the hall, releasing her at once. His gaze was no longer warm nor his voice low. “You have no business in that room while my … while Leana is caring for Ian. You are not his stepmother yet, Rose.”

  “Nae, but I am your wife, if only in name.” She lowered her eyes, wondering how she might endear herself to Jamie. “I thought I’d learn something about your son. About his care and how I might tend to his needs.”

  “Look at me, Rose.”

  She did so at once, startled by the request, and gazed into his handsome face.

  He scrutinized her for a moment. “I merely wanted to see if you meant what you said.” Jamie folded his arms over his linen shirt, already stained from his morning labors. “To see if your eyes matched your words. You are quite the dissembler, Rose. If anyone could deceive a man in the dark, it would be you.”

  Her spirits sank. “Jamie, I ken you’re … angry.”

  “Angry?” He snorted. “That isn’t the half of it.”

  “You have every right to be furious. But not with me, Jamie. Please, not with me. The clerical error was no one’s fault. As to my testimony yestreen, I didn’t give them a single detail about our … that is, your wedding night.”

  His jaw tightened as she spoke, and then he mimicked her. “ ‘More than surprised, sir. I was shocked.’ You gave them all the evidence they needed, Rose. ’Twas very clever on your part. Naught weighing on your conscience, yet you got everything you wanted.”

  “Not quite everything,” she said meekly, with no artifice at all. “For I do not have your heart.”

  “ ’Tis true; you do not.” He stood back, unfolding his arms. “It belongs to the woman in that room and always will, as long as we two shall live. You’ve made a sorry bargain, Rose. Ask Leana what it is like to be married to a man who did not choose you and does not love you.”

  Her spirits rallied, for on this point she had the upper hand over her sister. “You did choose me once, Jamie. You favored me above Leana. And you did love me. I ken that you did, for you told me so. Often.”

  He shook his head. “You’re talking about the past, Rose. Did I love you once? I did … or thought I did. But you are not the same girl I met when I came to Auchengray. You are more secretive and prone to selfishness.” He looked troubled, as if he did not enjoy hurting her. “Your heart has grown hard, Rose. Perhaps ’Twas always thus, and I did not see it.”

  She looked away, ashamed of what he might find in her eyes. Guilt. Pain. And the sad realization that
he spoke the truth. “If my heart is hard, ’Tis because of so many repairs.” Drawing a handkerchief from inside her sleeve, she touched the linen to her nose with a dainty sniff. “All of what you say is true, Jamie. But I want to change. I want to be the blithe and carefree Rose you once knew. And loved.”

  “You cannot change all that has happened, Rose.”

  “Nae,” she agreed, stepping back as well. “But I can change me.”

  And she could. She would. Beginning this very instant.

  Rose spun about and hastened down the stair, strengthening her resolve with each step. Now that the kirk session had set things aright, she would work to deserve Jamie, to make him glad things had turned out this way. She would become Neda’s shadow in the kitchen, discovering what Jamie preferred at table. She would unearth her hatesome sewing needle and make Jamie a cambric sark—on her own this time, without Leana’s skilled hands doing most of the work. Perhaps a day in the stillroom would be well spent. And she’d learn about birthing and caring for bairns from someone other than her sister, for ’twould be most unfair to ask Leana to teach her.

  Rose no sooner reached the front hall than a name came to mind. Jessie Newall. Happily married, Jessie was twice a mother, with a babe weeks old. Who better than Mistress Newall to show her what was to be done to keep a child content? Rose would go at once and never mind dinner. The meal would be every bit as awkward as breakfast had been earlier with Jamie so sullen and Leana fighting tears. In another day or two, things might improve. But today the kindest thing she could do was disappear.

  Tossing her cloak over her shoulders, Rose was soon off to Troston Hill farm, grateful to breathe the freshening air that bore the scent of spring. New grass poked through the spongy ground beneath her feet, and bright green buds covered the branches of the stately oaks along March Burn. Like woolly white cairns scattered across the hills, the ewes, heavy with lambs, bleated for their shepherds. Och! How she’d missed being out on the braes. No wonder Jamie loved it, just as she once had—and would again, if it might win his heart.

  Though ’Twas newly March and chilly, the sun warmed her face and pointed the way over Auchengray Hill, down the other side, then halfway up steep Troston Hill. She’d forgotten how rough the pastureland was, thick with rocks and gorse, which plucked at her stockings. Her sturdy boots kept her feet dry at least, and her bonnet shaded her skin. Since it seemed Jamie preferred pale skin, she would not let the sun ruin her complexion.

  The Newalls’ farm came into view, with its tidy mains and steading and a small flock of blackface sheep. At the heart of the property was a one-story house built of whitewashed stone, overlooking both Lowtis Hill and Criffell. Buoyed by the splendid weather and the prospect of an afternoon spent with Annie and her newborn brother, Rose knocked at the door and sang out a greeting.

  A bleary-eyed maidservant ushered her withindoors, offering a timid curtsy. “I’ll tell Mistress Newall ye’re here. She’ll be along suin.” The maid faded off to the kitchen while Rose tried not to gawk at her surroundings. Her memory of Troston Hill—for two years had passed since she’d called on the Newalls—was a neatly furnished cottage where all was in order and scrubbed clean as new linen. Now there was barely anywhere to stand, let alone sit, for the stacks of laundry. The remains of breakfast were still strewn across the table, and the hearth had not been tended for some time. Surely two children didn’t throw a household into such chaos.

  “Jessie?” she called out tentatively, beginning to wonder if she’d come to the wrong house. Clearly she’d come on the wrong day.

  “Rose McBride, is it?” Jessie strolled into the room, a bairn in her arms, Annie clinging to her apron, both fussing. Her expression was anything but friendly, her tone barely civil. “Or should I say Mistress McKie?”

  Rose’s mouth fell open before she recovered her wits enough to ask, “However did you …I mean, ’twas only last night …”

  “Och! Did you think so scandalous a tale could be kept between Auchengray’s walls? Every man present yestreen told twenty others in the parish afore breakfast, and they’ve told another dozen afore noontide. My orraman, just back from Newabbey, says ’Tis all the villagers can talk about, hanging over their gates and blethering ’til they’re blue about James McKie and his women.”

  Rose wilted beneath her harsh spray of words. “I had no idea news would travel so quickly.”

  “If ’twere any other parish clack, ’twould take a day or twa longer.” Jessie brushed past her, inclining her head as an invitation to follow. “But one bride being traded for another? Really, Rose! Newabbey has ne’er fixed its teeth into so michtie a cut of meat as this one.”

  Rose sank into a chair at the kitchen table, and her hopes sank with her. “Now I’m ashamed to tell you why I’m here, Jessie.”

  “Better get used to the feeling, lass.” Jessie eased into a seat, pulling out a chair for Annie to join them. “For you’ll be wearing shame thick as your green cloak all through the spring. In truth, Rose, you’ll find nary a welcome at most doors.”

  “But Jessie …” Rose looked at her aghast. “ ’Tis not my fault …”

  Jessie’s sharp gaze put a stopper in her mouth. “Do you have any idea the high regard this parish bestows on your sister? Do you? Leana is her mother’s daughter, gentle and meek. You’ll forgive me for saying so, Rose, but you favor your father.”

  Rose said nothing. There was no point in arguing when ’Twas so painfully true.

  “None of us will e’er ken the truth of what happened that Hogmanay night. But I was at the wedding, and so was most of Newabbey. And we saw a blithe bride and a handsome groom look verra pleased to be in each other’s company, straight through ’til the first foot crossed the door at midnight.”

  Rose stared at the table as tea was placed before her. Although her mouth was dry as toast, she had no strength to reach for the cup.

  “While I’m telling you the truth, Rose, I’ll tell you the rest of it.” Jessie poured a saucer of tea for herself and milk for Annie, whose blue eyes were fixed on a plate of oatcakes. “I’m not the only one at the bridal who encouraged Leana to claim Jamie for herself. And I’m not sorry I did so. I’m just sorry you’ve undone my good efforts.”

  Rose stood, too upset to listen further. “I’ve told you, Jessie. None of this is my fault. The session clerk was meant to change the bride’s name in the records, and he didn’t.”

  “Such as that may be, lass. But the story going round names you as the one who pointed the cutty stool in Leana’s direction.” Jessie blew across her saucer of tea to cool it. “You’ll want to remember that come the Sabbath, when Leana mounts the stool and every eye in the kirk is on you.”

  Forty-Six

  O, white innocence,

  That thou shouldst wear the mask of guilt to hide

  Thine awful and serenest countenance

  From those who know thee not!

  PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

  Leana bowed her head and slipped the harn goun over her tightly braided hair. Her hands did not tremble, nor did her knees give way. For I am now ready to be offered. The Sabbath had come at last and with it an end to the agony of waiting.

  Ian lay in the crib at her feet, sound asleep after his early breakfast. The room was lit by a single candle and the pale gray light of morning. A silvery mist illumined the small window, and beyond it, birdsong filled the air. Leana had no need for more light or for a mirror; her gown was not meant to make her look appealing. She arranged the loose folds about her waist and shook out the sleeves, absent of cuff or button. Plain and white, it was meant not to adorn, but to disgrace.

  For three days counting she’d run her needle through the bleached linen, fashioning her robe of shame. I have sewed sackcloth upon my skin. The shapeless gown felt rough against her neck, chafing the sensitive flesh along her collarbone. Such coarse fabric was meant for a servant’s bedding, not for wearing on Sunday or any other day. But wear it she would
, and bear it she must.

  Jamie was innocent, yet he too would be forced to pay a terrible price. Ian, more innocent still, would grow up ashamed of his own mother. And raised by another.

  “Nae!” Leana moaned, her courage gone. She leaned over the crib, taking the sleeping babe into her arms. Forgive me, dear one! He molded himself to her, burrowing his head beneath her chin. Ian, sweet Ian. She tried to sing to him but could not. She tried to speak, but no words came. Instead, she bent her head and soaked his cotton gown with her tears.

  Minutes passed before she heard a soft tapping at the nursery door. “Leana?”

  Jamie pushed the door open, not waiting for a response. Had he heard her weeping? His eyes, rimmed in red as though he’d suffered a sleepless night, widened in dismay at the sight of her sackcloth gown. “Och, poor lass! Must you wear that wretched thing now? Can it not wait ’til we reach the kirk?”

  “ ’Tis best I dress here, for I dare not approach the kirk without it.”

  “Aye,” he said, the weight of his sigh heavy in the morning stillness. “You’ll not face this alone, Leana. When do we leave for Newabbey?”

  Oh, Jamie. Did he not understand? “You cannot go with me, love. ’twould ne’er be permitted.”

  “I’ll disappear into the pine woods when we reach the bridge,” he insisted, his voice brimming with conviction. “No one will be the wiser.”

  “And what of my father? And Rose? And the neighbors we might pass along the way? What would they think if they saw us together, today of all days?” She stretched out her hand to cup Jamie’s rough cheek. “Nae, Jamie. I must walk to the kirk alone. ’Tis right that I do so.”

  “None of this is right.” He pressed her hand against his face, then kissed her palm. “I wish I could do this for you. Stand there on your behalf.”

  “ ’Tis my sin that must be atoned for, not yours,” she gently reminded him. “ ’twould be worse for me to watch you mount the repentance stool.”

  His eyes, unblinking, shone with pain. “Instead I must watch you.”

  Dear Jamie. She stepped into his embrace, their child cradled between them. They stood just so for many minutes, shutting out the world and all its sorrows.