Fair Is the Rose (41 page)

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!

P
ERCY
B
YSSHE
S
HELLEY

L
eana 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.

When Jamie spoke at last, he stepped back only enough to see her face. “We will follow not far behind you. Duncan and Neda and me.”

“And Rose?”

His jaw tightened. “I care not how or when she arrives at the kirk.”

Rose
. Her sister had barely spoken to her all week, yet she’d studied
Ian with eager curiosity. ’Twas unthinkable, Rose caring for her son, though Leana knew her sister loved him. Leana told herself it was Jamie who would raise him, Jamie who would see to his son’s welfare. Beginning this morning. Beginning now.

Leana looked down at their son. “You will … care for Ian?”

“You ken that I will, lass.”

She eased the slumbering child into Jamie’s arms, kissing his downy head as she did, then stepped back and smoothed the wrinkles from her sackcloth gown. Her hands were shaking again. “Jamie, I must leave at once, or I fear I’ll not have the strength to leave at all.”

He did not speak, only planted a fervent kiss on her forehead, then drew Ian tighter against his chest so Leana could slip past them. She could not tarry. She could not look back. Easing down the stair with careful steps, she prayed no one would see her slipping out the door at that early hour. She would face them all soon enough. Though she heard voices in the kitchen, not a soul was in the hall when she opened the heavy door and walked out into the Sabbath morning.

A thick mist enveloped her, curling her hair in wisps about her face. How strange it felt to wear no bonnet and stranger still, no shoes. The ground was cold beneath her feet and the grass wet. By the time she passed the orchard, the hem of her harn goun was drenched. Yet when she took to the gravel path, its sharp stones pierced her skin and slowed her steps. No matter the pain, she must arrive by the first bell.
Must, must
.

When she reached the road that led to Newabbey, Leana looked neither left nor right but fixed her gaze on the hard-packed dirt and started toward the village, avoiding the rocks strewn across her path. Even the rounded ones, polished by water and wear, bruised the tender soles of her feet. Unlike shepherds and farm laborers, who went barefoot year round, Leana seldom ventured out of doors without shoes or boots. Cringing with each step, she forced one foot in front of the other, pleading for the strength to go on.
I am thine. Save me
.

The rolling landscape remained shrouded in fog, rendering boulders and trees into gray, shapeless mounds. Gone were familiar landmarks to guide her steps or mark her progress. Criffell? The snuff mill? Nowhere in sight. Marriage? Motherhood? Nae longer in view. Naught stretched
before her but a bleak and colorless future. Three Sabbaths on the repentance stool, then nothing.

Nae, Leana
. ’Twas not true. On the very Sabbath that Ian was born, she’d discovered a truth, oft neglected in the happy days that followed: God’s love was enough. His faithfulness was sufficient.
I will never leave you
. Aye, the Almighty had said that to Jamie in a dream. And she sensed him repeating it now, a silent whisper in the recesses of her heart.
I will never leave you
.

“Please don’t,” she said softly.

Leana had just crossed the village bridge when a voice called out from the mist.

“If it isna Miss McBride, come tae warm the cutty stool.”

The miller
. She spun toward the sound, wincing as a stone gouged her foot. “Sir?”

Brodie Selkirk swaggered toward her, his arms folded across his chest. “I niver thocht tae see the day! Lachlan’s guid dochter brought doon tae shame.” His narrow eyes were filled with reproach. “Make haste, for the kirk bell’s about tae clang, and the line o’ folk gatherin’ tae
walcome
ye grows lang.”