At the sight of his mother, Ian squirmed in Jamie’s arms. “Easy now, lad,” Jamie said softly, pulling the child close. “See how still your mother sits? We must do the same.” The congregation seemed to sense her mood as well, for they soon fell silent.
The beadle turned the sandglass, marking the start of the minister’s sermon. Leana would be forced to sit through the hour-long discourse, awaiting the rebuke to come at the close of the service. Sermons were to be delivered without notes, yet Reverend Gordon glanced at his papers more than once, his sonorous voice pounding away at his parishioners like a velvet hammer. Jamie paid him little mind. Instead his gaze focused on Leana, who did not flinch at the minister’s verbal blows, nor did she blush when the message appeared to be directed toward her. That would come soon enough.
The sand in the glass seemed to stop as the hour dragged on. Stomachs growled and children grew fidgety. When Ian drifted off to sleep, Jamie passed the child to Neda, then resumed his vigil. Watching his wife. Loving her from a distance. Suffering with her. Wishing he might take her place.
At last the upper half of the sandglass stood empty, and the minister brought his sermon to an end. “And now ’Tis my responsibility to call your attention to Leana McBride, who sits before you.”
Jamie grimaced. Not a soul present had paid attention to anything else.
“Miss McBride begins her course of repentance this Sabbath day and will compear before this assembly again on the fourteenth and twenty-first of March. As she is charged with hochmagandy, so shall this morning’s rebuke address her heinous sin, duly described in the book of Proverbs.”
Jamie cringed as the first line was delivered.
“ ‘Such is the way of an adulterous woman; she eateth, and wipeth her mouth, and saith, I have done no wickedness.’ Yet is that not what we have seated before us? A wicked temptress, who has supped at our tables and wiped her mouth on our linens and walked among us as a gracie woman? And all the while she was engaging in deceit, pretending to be a wife when she was in fact a harlot.”
Nae!
The congregation fell back against their pews. Jamie’s skin grew hot. How dare the minister demean Leana so! Aye, the word appeared in the Buik, but ’Twas rare to hear it used so harshly from the pulpit. No doubt the reverend was determined to make an example of Leana. But had the man no mercy?
“And what is it that disquiets the earth?” the reverend continued, not waiting for a response. “The Buik tells us ’tis ‘an odious woman when she is married.’ And I tell you, this odious woman is far from married, though she fooled us all, including her sister’s husband.”
Nae! Jamie ground his teeth, wanting to argue, wanting to shout back at the man. She did not fool me. She loved me.
“A virtuous woman,” the minister intoned, “is a crown to her husband: but she that maketh ashamed is as rottenness in his bones.” Reverend Gordon swung about to face him. Though the man did not point an accusing finger, Jamie nonetheless felt it poking into his chest. “I see no crown upon your head, Mr. McKie. You are no prince of Scotland, nor is your son heir to a throne. For Ian was conceived in sin and born of a harlot—”
“That’s enough!” Jamie bolted to his feet. “I’ll not hear my son’s name sullied, for he is innocent.” And so is his mother.
“We are none of us innocent, Mr. McKie. ‘For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God.’ Your own bones are rotten, sir, spared only by the mercy of Almighty God and this kirk session.” He leaned forward, his thick eyebrows drawn into a terrible knot. “Are you not grateful, sir? At month’s end will you not claim your proper wife, the chaste and fair Rose McKie?”
Jamie gripped the back of the wooden pew before him, shaking with anger and frustration, biting back the words he longed to say. I am not grateful. I do not wish to claim her.
“Speak, man! For it is clear something gnaws at you.” He gestured toward Leana, who sat in silence, her face as white as her gown. “Is it this woman’s swickerie? Is that what you wish to decry? Would you rebuke Leana now, as is proper?”
Jamie looked up, higher than the minister’s lofty pulpit. Gird me with strength unto the battle. He matched his voice to the reverend’s, that all might hear. “I will not rebuke her.”
“Then you do not love her,” the minister declared, “for the Buik says, ‘As many as I love, I rebuke and chasten.’ ”
“Nae!” Jamie shouted, pointing at the cutty stool. “That, sir, is not love.” He vaulted over the empty pew in front of him and advanced toward the pulpit as though a mighty army followed in his wake. “Tell me, Reverend. Is this how you love your flock? By degrading them? Humiliating them?”
The minister held up his hands like a shield. “That is far enough, Mr. McKie.”
Jamie stopped at the foot of the stool and reached up to clasp Leana’s hand. “Rebuke her sin if you must, but do not debase the woman I love. For I do love her. Let there be nae misunderstanding on that point. Read all the marriage banns you wish. ’Tis Leana McBride whom I love and nae other.”
Forty-Eight
Sooner or later the most rebellious
must bow beneath the same yoke.
MADAME DE STAEL
Rose slumped back against the pew. Oh, Jamie. He would never say so scandalous a thing standing before the pulpit unless ’twere true. No one marked her suffering, so absorbed were they with the drama at hand, not even bothering to lower their voices as they commented to one another. Reverend Gordon stretched out his hands and bade the congregation be quiet. Though his features remained stern, his voice no longer thundered. “In this one instance, Mr. McKie, I will overlook your zealous behavior. No matter the extent of your regard for Leana McBride, your cousin’s sin demands a sound rebuke. It is the duty of this parish to hold her accountable.”
Jamie’s words carried above the din. “And it is my duty to love her, sir.”
And nae other. Not even me. Rose cringed, watching the two of them gaze at each other as if no one else were in the sanctuary. Jamie was hers, was he not? Even the kirk said so. But his eyes did not say so. Nor his words. Nor his hand, gripping her sister’s.
“Reclaim your pew now, Mr. McKie. ’Tis time Miss McBride made her confession, with proper humility, upon her knees.”
Rose straightened with a jolt, until she remembered it was Leana who was Miss McBride now, not her. Thanks be to God. She could hardly do what Leana was about to do.
Her sister eased down from the high stool, then turned and knelt on the lower one, bowing her head for so long that the congregation fell silent. Rose craned her neck to see. Was Leana weeping? Praying? Begging for mercy?
At last Leana lifted her head and addressed Reverend Gordon in a clear, unwavering voice. “I am guilty of the sin you have named. Though ’Twas not my intent to break the seventh commandment, ’Twas indeed the result.” With each phrase, her face grew more radiant, as though a cloud had moved aside to reveal the sun. “I blame no one but myself. All are innocent except me.”
Oh, my sister. How could she be so brave?
When Leana looked at her, Rose turned away, chastened. ’Twas innocence she saw in her sister’s eyes. And guilt she felt in her own heart. Had her sister wronged her? Or had she wronged her sister? Envy and mercy fought for the upper hand until Reverend Gordon’s strong words demanded an answer.
“Are you truly sorry, Miss McBride?”
The question pierced her through like the sharpest of knives. Are you sorry, Rose? In the privacy of her pew she bowed her head. “Aye,” Rose whispered. “And nae,” for that was the truth as well. Forgive me.
Leana’s response floated across the hushed assembly. “I am more sorry than I could possibly say. I have hurt my family and sinned against the Almighty.”
“And do you repent? That is, before so great a cloud of witnesses, do you pledge to sin no more?”
“Before God and this assembly, I repent with all my heart.” Leana rose from her
knees but only for a moment. Turning toward the congregation, she lowered herself onto the stone floor. Her knees touched, then her shoulders, until she lay prostrate before them, her cheek pressed against the cold flagstone, her arms outstretched. Below the blond coil of her braids, her stiff linen gown fanned about her like wings.
Her voice was soft, yet certain; strained, but not broken. “For the LORD is good; his mercy is everlasting; and his truth endureth to all generations.”
Silence reigned from floor to loft. Women pressed their fingers to their lips. Men slipped off their hats. Even the bairns sat still, eyes wide with awe.
Rose was in agony. Leana’s sins were confessed and forgiven; hers were neither. Her sister was washed clean, while she sat in the filth of her selfish desires, afraid to pray, wishing the flagstone floor beneath her pew would yawn and swallow her whole. Reverend Gordon’s prayer, then a psalm, then his benediction were yet to follow. The kirk door, locked at the start of the sermon, would not be unlocked until the minister’s final “So be it.” Could she wait that long? Could she endure it?
As the assembly sang from the book of Paraphrases, Rose could barely make out the words swimming before her on the page.
Lord, we confess our num’rous Faults,
how great our Guilt has been!
Foolish and vain were all our Thoughts
and all our Lives were Sin.
’Twas true, every word of it. Faults. Guilt. Foolish. Sin. She had sung the words before. Why had they never affected her so?
Rose fled from the kirk the moment the beadle fitted the key into the lock, almost knocking him down in her haste to escape. She would walk home. Nae, she would run.
Out of breath by the time she reached the mill, Rose slowed her steps across the bridge, brushing hot tears from her cheeks. No one had spoken a word to her all morning. Not one. Reverend Gordon had called her “fair,” yet ’twas her fair-haired sister who’d won their sympathy, just as Jessie Newall had warned her might happen.
Several neighbors passed by on foot or on horseback, traveling home for a brief Sabbath meal before returning to the kirk for the second service. They were polite but not friendly, tipping their hats rather than speaking to her. Discouraged by their cold greetings, Rose plunged into the piney forest near Barlae. Undoing her sash, she kilted her full skirts out of harm’s way and ventured deeper into the woods, plunging her shoes into the thick carpet of dry, brown needles and leafy bracken. Without the sun’s warmth, the air grew cool. She would follow the burn, circle round behind their neighbor’s property, and approach Auchengray from the hill. Let the rest of the household remain for another sermon; her heart could bear no more.
The pines began to thin as she skirted along the base of Barlae Hill, careful to keep her shoes and skirt hem from dipping into the burn that pointed toward home. Far on the other side of the hill another stream ran parallel with this one. How long had it been since she’d risked life and limb to pick hazelnuts there?
“ ’Tis four months and counting since ye visited March Burn.”
Startled out of her wits, Rose spun round. “Lillias,” she breathed, seeing the wutch emerge from a copse of wild crab apple trees. “Whatever are you doing abroad on the Sabbath?”
The wise woman laughed, tossing back her head, putting her mouthful of crooked teeth on display. “ ’Tis me favorite day tae roam the land. A’ the halie fowk are in the kirk, and I’ve the parish tae meself.” She peered at the ribbon round Rose’s neck. “I see ye’re wearin’ the necklace I gie ye.”
Rose touched the stone, well hidden beneath her bodice. She was ashamed to wear it, yet desperate for a babe the moment Jamie was truly her husband.
“Have ye worn it every day syne ye came tae Nethermuir?”
“Aye,” Rose lied, forcing herself not to look away. “Dr. Gilchrist told me—”
“Bah!” The old woman swatted at the air. “Me magic is stronger than his.”
“Your spells are powerful, Lillias,” Rose agreed. Though the woman made her ill at ease, the wutch’s skills were undeniable. Jamie was almost hers, wasn’t he? “If there is something else I might do …”
Lillias Brown rubbed her wizened mouth, drawn tight as a leather pouch. “There be mony things,” she said at last. “ ’Tis cleckin’ a bairn on yer waddin nicht ye’re wantin’, aye? The moon will be nigh tae fu’, though not quite. Ye had a fu’ moon the nicht of yer meetin’ at the manse, and ye see how weel that turned oot.”
Rose could barely swallow, so dry was her mouth. How did Lillias know these things? “On my … my wedding night,” she stammered. “What must I do to be sure … that is, to …”
“Have ye a green goun tae wear for yer vows?”
Rose nodded, relieved. Her prettiest dress and a favorite of Jamie’s.
“See yer cook serves ye hare soup the nicht ye join wi’ yer husband.”
Hare soup? Rose wrinkled her nose. “Neda can certainly prepare it, but—”
“Guid. Ye’ll remember I draped ivy round yer neck. Cut some fresh vines that morn and style them in a bowl nigh yer bed.”
Aye, she could do that, for ivy grew along their hedgerow.
“ ’Tis the wrong season for findin’ cones and nuts, though if ye’ve almonds in yer cellar, add them to yer mornin’ parritch.” Lillias tipped her head, regarding her. “ ’Tis a shame ’twill not be a guid time o’ the month for ye.”
“Nae,” Rose sighed. She knew very little of such things, though now her fears were confirmed. “Is there naught can be done?”
“Oo aye, lassie.” She chuckled, clearing a grassy spot. “There’s meikle can be done. Sit doon, if ye will, wi’ yer face tae the village.”
Rose hesitated but not for long. If the auld wutch could help her, would that be so terrible? She did a half-turn, then eased down onto the ground, her arms covered with dappled sunlight. “Why toward the village?”
“Newabbey sits tae the east.” Lillias knelt behind her, placing her hands on her shoulders. “We’ll draw the power from the sun tae warm yer wame. And gather the strength o’ the earth tae make ye fertile as the soil in spring. Bide a wee while and dinna speak.”
Rose closed her eyes, aware only of the cool grass beneath her and the gentle weight of Lillias’ sun-browned hands on her shoulders. How much more pleasant this was than sitting in the kirk and feeling guilty! Birdsong filled the air, and a light breeze lifted the tiny hairs that framed her face. Rose smiled, relaxing her spine, succumbing to the pleasant sensation of sinking into the ground like a plant sending forth roots.
Naught was said. Naught was done. Minutes were left uncounted.
When she felt compelled to open her eyes, Rose found her shoulders no longer bore the wutch’s hands. “Lillias?” she whispered, looking to either side.
A chuckle came from behind her. “I’d niver leave ye in sic a state. D’ye feel stronger, lassie?”
“Aye.” Rose said, amazed to discover it was true. She scrambled to her feet without assistance and brushed the woodland debris from her skirts, invigorated, as if she’d taken a brisk walk in fine weather. “I’ve not felt this healthy since—”
“Since afore ye had croup.” Lillias frowned, digging in her pocket. “If yer friend had breathed the feverfew, she might be wi’ us still.”
Rose sensed the hairs on her neck rising. “You mean Jane Grierson?”
Lillias shrugged. “I couldna deliver a sack o’ herbs tae Dunscore.” Her gaze met Rose’s. “But I ken ye found yers on yer doorstep.”
“Reverend Gordon was the one who found it.”
Lillias shuddered visibly. “But he didna touch it?”
“Nae.”
“Guid, for his power is borrowed and not from the truest source.”
Rose stepped back, her uneasiness returning, knowing what Reverend Gordon would say. Woe unto them that call evil good, and good evil. “I … I must go, Lillias. I’m … expected. At home.”
; “Ye’ll not leave afore I gie ye a praisent.” Lillias produced a thick green cord tied with knots. “ ’twill make ye mair than fertile, Mistress McKie. ’Tis the most powerful spell o’ the lot.”
Rose stared at it, her eyes widening. “My … my father has such a cord.”
“Aye.” The gray head bobbed up and down. “Mr. McBride has it hidin’ in his thrifite, does he not?”
“He does.” Rose swallowed the sickening taste that rose in her throat. “Leana described it to me. Except for the color, I believe ’tis like that one.”
“I made them both.” Lillias fingered the cord with obvious pride. “ ’Tis a seven-knot charm, each knot tied as the power rose inside me, then I waved the cord through smoke doused wi’ herbs. Yers is green tae make ye fertile.” She held the cord out to Rose once more, bidding her take it. “Yer faither’s is goud tae grow his riches.”
“When …” Rose eyed the green cord, not touching it. “When did my father … come to you?”
“I came tae him, same as I did tae ye in the hazel grove. Headin’ hame from a meetin’, he was. Walkin’ up the road from Newabbey, bauld as ye please.” The wutch twirled the green cord round, as if ’twere a snake and she its handler. “We chatted a bit, yer faither and I. Same as ye and I did, Rose. Then he knocked on me door at Nethermuir just afore yer cousin came tae stay. And took hame seven knots.” Her laugh made Rose cringe. “This verra cord will be yer salvation.”
I am thy salvation.
“My … salvation?” Rose echoed, confused. ’Twas as if two voices spoke inside her at once. One low and sure. The other louder but less certain.
“ ’twill save ye from barrenness and bring ye twa bairns.”
Fair Is the Rose Page 33