Fair Is the Rose

by Liz Curtis Higgs

  “I’m glad you are here, Leana.” Her sister stood at the bottom of the stair with her hands clasped behind her, a familiar pose from childhood. “Annabel, might I have a moment alone with my sister?” With a curtsy the maidservant was gone and Ian with her. “I ken you are leaving to attend to your band and will not keep you. But I must …” She looked down at the toe of her new brocade slippers. “That is, I must ask your forgiveness.”

  Leana was stunned. “My forgiveness?”

  “For the things I said yesterday. For the … foolish questions I posed. Nae, not foolish. Thoughtless. Insensitive. Cruel.”

  “Oh, dearie. You are but sixteen and a new bride.” Leana gathered her in her arms, taking care not to crumple Rose’s gown. “I am only sorry that I cannot bring myself to tell you what you need to know.” She swallowed hard, knowing what must come next. “Will you forgive me, Rose?” For all of it. For everything.

  “Leana, there is nothing to forgive.”

  “Nae, but there is.” More than I can say. More than you want to hear. “If I have your forgiveness, my journey will be easier this afternoon.”

  Rose stepped out of her embrace, her eyes shimmering. “Then I forgive you, Leana. For on her wedding day, a bride’s every prayer is answered. Away to the kirk with you now.”

  Reverend Gordon opened the door at her knock. “I’ve been expecting you, Miss McBride.” Though he did not smile, he also did not frown, and his tone was as pleasant as the weather. “Come in, for the session clerk awaits. He’s not had his dinner yet and so is a bit peckish. Don’t let him rush you though. ’Tis an important task you have ahead of you, for ’twill be a matter of record as long as you shall live.”

  He escorted her into the spence, where Ian had been born. Memories of her confinement swept over her and tightened her throat. Not here, Leana. Not now. “I have fond memories of this room,” she said simply, sitting at the small table where she’d taken a week’s worth of meals. Mr. Millar, the clerk, adjusted his spectacles, then extended a pen to her, the book already open to the proper page.

  “Miss McBride, unless you have a question, you are free to begin.”

  There was no need to hesitate, for she had composed every word on the road from Auchengray. Now she prayed her hand would not shake as she put pen to paper.

  I, Leana McBride, unmarried daughter of Lachlan McBride, do acknowledge with deep sorrow of heart my sinful behavior on the night of my sister’s wedding.

  She paused long enough to breathe a fresh prayer of confession. Aye. That night and yestreen as well.

  It is my earnest desire to be forgiven by God and by all of this congregation.

  Some in the parish might not forgive her. But God had done so. I have trusted in thy mercy.

  It is my sincere resolution, through divine grace, which I heartily implore, that I will never again sin in so grievous a manner.

  Never again. ’Twas harder to write than she’d expected. Harder still to mean those words, and yet she must. Never again.

  I am willing that this, my humble confession, be recorded in the session book and be counted against me as an aggravation of my crime if ever I shall yield to temptation again.

  She would not yield. Nor would Jamie. Not if they were parted.

  Leana leaned back and invited Reverend Gordon to read her words, lest they fall short of his expectations. She had never before written a band and prayed she would not be required to do so in the future. Never again.

  “Aye,” he grunted. “ ’Tis the very thing that’s called for. Subscribe your name, lass, and ’tis done.”

  She hesitated a moment before writing her last name. McBride instead of McKie. A cherished habit not easily forsaken. The session clerk read her band, then added his signature as a witness.

  Before she lost her nerve, Leana turned to the minister. “There is one request I would ask of you: a testimonial letter.”

  His thick brows rose in surprise. “Do you plan to leave the parish, Leana?”

  “Aye.” She prayed he would not ask her for details, for she had very few to offer.

  “And you’ve somewhere to go? Somewhere they will not turn you out?”

  “No one would dare turn me out with a letter in hand from you, Reverend. If you are willing … if ’Tis not asking too much …” It was asking a great deal, so close on the heels of her compearance on the stool. He could easily refuse her, even punish her for asking. “Please, Reverend Gordon. I must leave Auchengray, for the sake of my sister and her new husband and their wee son. Life will be much easier for them if I am no longer under their roof.”

  The older man regarded her, his expression softening. “God forgive me for saying so, but Jamie McKie was a fool to have chosen your sister first.” He stood, patting his waistcoat pockets as though searching for something. “Aye, I’ll be pleased to provide a testimonial. We can’t risk some pensie minister shutting the kirk door in your face, can we? I’ve paper in my study. A moment, if you please.” He paused at the door and waved at the clerk. “Mr. Millar, make a note in the records that such a testimonial has been provided Miss McBride.”

  The clerk’s pen scratched across the page as she stared at the bed where she’d welcomed Ian into the world. Could it have been only six months past? The most joyful day of her life spent in this room. And now this one. The most painful.

  Reverend Gordon returned with paper in hand and borrowed Mr. Millar’s pen and ink to draft a brief letter. Sanded and sealed, it was presented to her with a flourish. “This will do, I think.” He peered at her for a moment, as if considering something. “Shall I omit mentioning this when the others arrive?”

  “Aye.” Only then did she realize how long she’d been holding her breath. “ ’twould be most appreciated. They will know soon enough, but I cannot ruin my sister’s wedding a second time.”

  “ ’Tis that very sensitivity I find most commendable. Suppose I have Mistress Gordon serve as the second witness and spare you that humiliation as well?” Her mouth fell open, overcome at his generous offer. “Aye, I can see that suits you. Come, might we take a short walk to the kirkyard? ’Tis a fine day, and the others from Auchengray won’t be along for another half-hour. You’ll have plenty of time to take the forest path home.”

  Leana followed the minister out of doors into the early afternoon sunshine. By a decision of the heart and of the will, and by the mercy of God and of man, she would leave her past behind and seek a new life. A life without Jamie. A life without Ian. A life without Rose. Not a true life then. A shadow of one. But their three lives would be better for it. That was all that mattered.

  Looking up from her reverie, she realized he was leading her toward a familiar headstone. Made of red sandstone and carved with a wreath of roses, the marker stood two ells above the ground. The beloved inscription was still easily read: Agness Halliday McBride.

  The two stood at the foot of her mother’s grave in silence. When Reverend Gordon spoke, his voice was rough with emotion. “Your mother had the most unselfish heart of any person I’d ever known. I have come to believe that you, Leana, are her equal. May God grant you the strength to see your way through.”

  Sixty

  Thou art mine,

  thou hast given thy word.

  EDMUND C. STEDMAN

  Rose?” Neda’s voice at her bedroom door. “The chaise is ready, and sae’s yer faither.”

  Rose spun round, making very sure the room was perfect. Candles, linens, rose petals, nightgown. Aye, perfect. Deep inside her body, her sister’s tincture of valerian was hard at work. Thank you, Leana. Pressing her hand against her belly, Rose whispered, “God Almighty bless thee and make thee fruitful.”

  There. She had done all she could; the rest was up to Jamie.

  “Rose?” Neda again at the door. “Dinna keep yer faither waitin’.”

  “Coming!” Rose touched her hair, styled on top of her head in a thick, fragrant mass, with ribbons trailing down
her back. She hoped Jamie would approve. He’d not seen her yet this day, lost to his ewes and lambs since before breakfast.

  “Rose!” Neda’s voice brooked no argument this time.

  “Coming, coming!” Rose flew out the door, almost tearing her dress on the latch in her haste. “Is Jamie waiting for me down the stair?”

  “Jamie has already left for the kirk. Astride Walloch.”

  “Och!” Rose stamped the heel of her new brocade shoes. “Jamie was to ride in the chaise with me.”

  “Sometimes plans change,” Neda said evenly. “Hurry, lass, or ye’ll find Reverend Gordon none too pleased whan ye arrive late.”

  Lachlan McBride was in a foul mood when she lifted her foot to the lowpin-on-stane to be handed into the chaise. “Rose,” her father grumbled, “you’ll be fortunate if anyone is still standing at the kirk door.”

  “Surely they won’t mind biding a wee while.” She dropped onto the seat with a blithe bounce. “What else is there to do on the last Saturday of March?”

  “Do?” He snapped a command at the mare, who jerked the chaise forward and headed down the lane at a steady clip. “Lass, there are any number of tasks to occupy a man, your husband in particular. ’Tis why he rode Walloch, so he might hasten home to care for his flocks. Are you aware that his ewes are dropping naught but twins all o’er Auchengray?”

  “Really?” she breathed, suddenly interested. “Is that Jamie’s doing? Or the tups?”

  Her father shrugged. “Jamie chose the tups and oversaw the breeding, so he certainly kens his husbandry duties. Duncan insists ’Tis a blissin from God.” Her father eased back in his seat, loosening his grip on the reins. A look of pride crossed his face, as if he were personally responsible. “I have my own notion of what brought such a blessing to my flocks.”

  “I pray the Almighty will … bless me as well,” Rose murmured. When her father looked at her askance, heat crawled up her neck. “I mean …”

  “I ken your meaning, Rose. ’Tis clear your sister can produce a son. We’ll learn soon enough if you’re her equal.”

  Her equal? Rose sagged beneath the comparison. Leana had a long list of virtues anyone in the parish could name. Rose knew her own list was short and her womb likely to be barren. She could only pray Jamie would love her for who she was and not spend the whole of their marriage measuring her against her sister.

  Angling her shoulders away from her father, Rose pressed her knees together, folded her hands in her lap, and tried to look like a gentlewoman, even as she bounced along on worn-out springs. The dry road and light breeze made their journey tolerable, though no shorter. By the time they rode into Newabbey, a dozen or more villagers were loitering round the kirk door.

  Rose stared at them, wide eyed. “Whatever are they doing here?”

  “Seems your banns have drawn a crowd,” her father observed, directing Bess onto the grassy glebe.

  In the midst stood Jamie, Reverend and Mistress Gordon, and Walter Millar. None of them looked very happy, and Leana was nowhere to be seen.

  “Forgive us for being delayed,” Rose called out. “I wanted to look my bonniest for my husband.” She held out her hand for help in stepping out of the chaise. Three young lads from the village fell over one another to assist her, though her father brushed them aside and lowered her to the ground himself.

  “Thank you, Father.” She swept past the curious onlookers and hastened to Jamie’s side, sliding her hand into his. How grand he looked in the new shirt she’d sewn for him! He’d also chosen his best embroidered waistcoat, new doeskin breeches with a rich, leathery scent, and her favorite blue coat. “At last.” She squeezed gently. “You were kind to wait.”

  He did not look at her when he spoke. “What choice did we have, Rose?”

  “None, I suppose.” She wet her lips and glanced down, hoping one of the men might notice her pretty gown or the silk ribbons in her hair. “Where is Leana?”

  Reverend Gordon cleared his throat. “After your sister subscribed her band, I suggested Mistress Gordon serve as your witness.”

  “Oh.” Rose tried not to look disappointed, but she was. Had the meeting with Reverend Gordon been more draining than Leana had expected? When she’d spoken with her sister earlier, Leana had looked as if she’d not slept all night.

  “Let us begin,” Reverend Gordon said, his voice solemn, as though he were in the pulpit rather than standing on a slab of granite outside the kirk door. “With the understanding that this is an informal exchange of vows for the bride’s sake and not an official wedding ceremony, I will begin with the usual question: Is there any impediment to this marriage? Any reason the two of you should not be joined together as husband and wife?”

  Rose spoke first, wearing her brightest smile. “Nae. We are already husband and wife and wait only to be … joined together.”

  A snicker in the crowd sent her spinning round to locate the rude fellow until Jamie tugged her back in place. “Continue, Reverend.”

  “Since there is no impediment, will you place the wedding ring on your wife’s hand?”

  Rose slipped off the ring and tucked it into Jamie’s palm in time for him to lift her left hand and slide it back on, though only to her knuckle. He held it there with a steady grip. Her own hand trembled at his touch and at the gravity of the vows they were about to speak. Please mean what you say, Jamie. Please try.

  Reverend Gordon began without preamble. “Do you, James Lachlan McKie, take this woman, Rose McBride, to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

  She held her breath and looked into Jamie’s handsome face as he made his pledge.

  “Even so, I take her before God and these witnesses.”

  She closed her eyes, shutting out the sorrow in his expression. Do take me, Jamie. Please claim me as your own.

  Her eyes flew open when the minister spoke again. “And do you, Rose McBride, take this man, James Lachlan McKie, to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

  Rose said as bravely as she could, “Even so, I take him before God and these witnesses.” She held out her hand and pressed the ring home, though her fingers were so cold the silver band spun about.

  “For this cause shall a man leave father and mother, and shall cleave to his wife: and they twain shall be one flesh.”

  One flesh. The words made her lightheaded. And more than a little nervous.

  Reverend Gordon said with particular emphasis, “What therefore God hath joined together, let not man put asunder.”

  The small crowd mumbled at that. Whether for or against their joining, Rose could not say.

  Finally the minister held his right hand over them to offer a benediction: “The Lord sanctify and bless you; the Lord pour the riches of his grace upon you, that ye may please him and live together in holy love to your lives’ end. So be it.”

  “So be it,” she said, then realized no one else had repeated it. Ninny!

  Ignoring her blunder, the minister inquired of the others, “Shall we sing the wedding psalm? ‘thy wife shall be a fruitful vine—’ ”

  “Nae.” Jamie said firmly, stepping back. “The vows have been spoken twice, witnessed twice, and recorded twice. I am more than married, sir.”

  “So you are.” Reverend Gordon stepped forward to plant a dry kiss on Rose’s lips, as custom dictated, then nodded at Jamie. “Her next kiss must be yours, James. See to it, lad.”

  Sixty-One

  What else remains for me?

  Youth, hope and love;

  To build a new life on a ruined life.

  HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW

  Rose turned toward her bridegroom, flushed with expectation. But Jamie did not kiss her.

  Lachlan McBride pressed a silver coin in the hand of the minister, who strode off to the manse, his duties done. Mistress Gordon signed a fresh page in the kirk session records, and so did Lachlan, as witnesses to the vows, after which the clerk closed the book and disappeared into the kirk.


  And still Jamie had not kissed her.

  Whatever was the matter? He’d kissed her many times before. Chaste and proper kisses, to be sure, yet he’d seemed to enjoy them well enough. She touched his arm. “Jamie?”

  “Forgive me, Rose.” Without another word, he walked across the glebe and mounted Walloch with a single sweep of his long legs, then rode off, leaving her standing there, unclaimed and unkissed.

  “Never mind, dearie.” Mistress Gordon circled her arm about Rose’s shoulders, turning her away from the villagers with their ill-mannered smirks and stares. “Give the man time. Mr. McKie will come round. His mind is elsewhere today, out in the fields with the ewes.”

  Rose knew better. He was not thinking of the ewes. He was thinking of Leana.

  She rode home in the chaise with her father, her spirits sinking lower with each jolt of the wheels. Her bridegroom was nowhere to be seen when they clattered up the drive to the mains. The minute the carriage drew to a stop Rose leaped to the ground and made for the house, poking her head in each room, hoping Jamie might be found withindoors awaiting her arrival. Perhaps a kiss in so public a place did not suit him. Let him kiss her here at Auchengray then.

  But when she reached the kitchen, her last hope, she learned the truth. “Jamie’s busy with the lambing,” Neda answered without being asked.

  Rose breathed in the aroma of hare soup, which had been simmering on the hearth all afternoon. “I trust Jamie will join us for supper. ’Tis … ’Tis important that he … that we both enjoy your soup, Neda.” Lillias Brown was a horrible wutch, but that did not mean the auld ways had no value. If the gustie dish, flavored with sweet herbs, peppercorns, and port, might help her conceive, Rose would happily consume the entire kettle.

  “The man seldom misses a meal. I’ll be sure tae ring the bell and call him hame whan the time comes.”

  “And what of my sister?”

  “Not hame at present,” Neda said, too busy chopping carrots to look up. “Ian is doon for a nap.”

  “Jenny Cullen, the maid from Glensone, will be here at eight o’ the clock,” Rose reminded her. “Leana will have Ian ready for her, aye?”