Fair Is the Rose (27 page)

Leana smoothed a hand across her bedcovers. “It seems your last two days at home may be spent in this room, Rose.”

“Aye,” she said, falling back against her pillows. “It does.”

Twenty-Nine

The weary rain falls ceaseless, while the day Is wrapped in damp.

D
AVID
G
RAY

O
ch!” Neda flapped her dishtowel in the direction of the kitchen window. “Have ye ever seen sae weatherful a Sabbath?”

Leana nodded absently, preparing a tray of tea and porridge to take up to Rose’s room. The servants were busy assembling in the hall for her father’s stamp of approval before leaving for the kirk. Rain, snow, or sun, Lachlan McBride made certain every member of his household was dressed and shod for services. They might go barefoot any other day of the week, but not Sunday.

“Rose didn’t sleep well last night,” Leana said, covering the steaming teacup with a saucer. “With the rain falling so hard, she ought to stay home from services. I’ll care for her, of course.”

Neda arched a sparse eyebrow. “D’ye think ye should? Yer hands are fu’ enough nursin’ Ian.”

“I expect my sister to sleep most of the day, as I’ve a tincture of chamomile to give her. We’ll manage.” She gingerly picked up the tray and headed for the stair, climbing one stone step at a time. However did Eliza fly up and down the stair without spilling a drop? When she glanced up, Jamie stood at the threshold, watching her with obvious amusement.

“You’ll not think me so
knackie
if I drop this on your foot, James McKie.”

He chuckled, stepping back to let her pass. “Your sister is fortunate to have so talented a nurse.”

Leana paused at Rose’s door. “My skills are limited to what I plucked from my garden last season. Still, I’ll do what I can to make her comfortable.” She stared at the wood panels of the door. “Pray for the lass, for I fear she had a restless night.”

“As did you,” he said, compassion in his eyes. “I felt you climb out of our bed several times.”

“Forgive me for waking you, Jamie.” She dipped her chin, careful not to spill her tray. “I am, after all, a mother. ’Tis my task in life to worry.” Offering him a trace of a smile, she leaned on the door, easing it open. “Do you want to see Rose?”

“I’ve seen
you
, Leana.” He planted a kiss on her forehead. “That’s all that matters.”

She watched him slip down the stair to join the others, enjoying the bounce to his step and the broad line of his shoulders. She had never imagined such a day, but it was here: She not only loved Jamie with her whole heart; she trusted him. Even with Rose.

Reminded of her duties, Leana pushed the door open further and entered the darkened bedroom. Her sister was blessedly asleep, though Rose’s breathing sounded congested, and her bedcovers were in a heap. Leana put the tray aside and parted the curtains so she might see to work. Rain fell in sheets against the windowpanes. A good day for sleeping, but the cold and damp did not bode well for healing. Leana folded Rose’s blankets down to the end of the bed, then tucked the pillows in place and brushed the back of her hand against her sister’s forehead. Fever was the greatest concern. Earlier that morning Annabel had carried up a pitcher of fresh, tepid water, ready for Leana to wipe across Rose’s brow if required. One touch to her hot skin, and it was clear the water would be put to use.

“I’m sorry to wake you, Rose.” When she lay the damp cloth across the girl’s brow, her patient didn’t stir. Alarmed, Leana pressed her fingers against her sister’s neck, seeking a heartbeat.
There now
. She heaved a sigh of relief and turned the cloth over, pressing it against Rose’s forehead, then her cheeks, then her cracked, dry lips. Gingerly pulling open the neckline of her sister’s nightgown, Leana was surprised to find a long, blue ribbon hanging about her neck. Tugging on the ribbon brought forth a stone, as plain and ugly as some discarded rock one might find along the road. The smooth hole through the center was its one distinction. Heated by Rose’s skin, it lay in Leana’s palm like a living thing. Anxious to be rid of it, Leana lifted Rose’s head with one hand
and eased the necklace over it with the other, taking care not to tangle the ribbon in her loose, fever-dampened hair.

The moment Rose’s head touched the pillows again the girl opened her eyes. “Leana, please.” Her voice was hoarse, strained. “Don’t.”

Leana’s first instinct was to hide the beribboned stone beneath her apron, until she heard Neda’s voice whispering in her head, “Whaur there are suspicions there is nae love.” So she confessed the truth to Rose, holding up the necklace. “I did not like the look of this, dearie. And I feared I might ruin the ribbon with my damp cloth.” She placed the stone inside the table drawer, longing to ask what it signified, where it came from. Not from any jeweler in Dumfries, of that she was certain. Perhaps her new acquaintance at school had presented Rose with the stone as a token of their friendship. “Is the necklace from Jane?”

“Jane!” Rose’s eyes widened. “Is she here? Is she well?”

Here?
Leana freshened the cloth across her sister’s brow.
Poor girl!
Perhaps the fever was worse than she’d realized. “I’m afraid I don’t ken what you mean, Rose.” She kept her voice calm, her touch soothing. “Are you talking about your friend from school?”

“Sick,” she murmured, her gaze blank. “Fever.”

“I ken you’re sick.” Leana patted her hand. “And you do have a fever.” She rolled up the sleeves of Rose’s nightgown and inched the hem up to her knees. “You might shiver a bittie, but I’m going to keep your heavy blankets off and let your body cool on its own.” No apothecary had taught her this; she had learned it quite by accident three Novembers past while caring for Janet Crosbie, a childhood friend suffering from pneumonia. Janet, too, had kicked off her many covers, and as a result her temperature had started to drop. Until an irate Mistress Bell, the wife of a local bonnet laird who fancied herself an expert on such matters, had insisted the girl be covered chin to toe in one thick plaid after another. Janet Crosbie was dead by morning.

Leana would not make the same mistake. Nor would she allow a surgeon to come knocking on Auchengray’s door with his spring lancets and his bleeding bowls. She would see to Rose’s recovery using prayer, common sense, and God’s provision from her garden. “I’ve something to help you sleep, dearie.” She handed Rose a small glass of water mixed
with a dollop of rum and a tincture of chamomile harvested last summer when she could still manage in the garden. “ ’Tis the very thing for your raw throat and that unco cough of yours.”

Rose drank it down without complaint, then sank onto the pillows. Her eyes drifted shut. “Fever … few,” she said faintly, her voice cracking.

Leana put aside the drained cup. “Aye, you have a fever, too. Bear with me, Rose. You’ll feel better soon.” Dipping one cloth after another into the lukewarm water, then squeezing out the excess, Leana draped the wet fabric on her sister’s arms and neck, on her calves and feet, and all round her face, whispering an entreaty as she put each cloth in place.
Lord, have mercy. Christ, have mercy
. As she finished covering her sister with prayers and compresses, there was a knock at the door, and Neda quietly entered the room.

“We’re awa tae kirk now …” The older woman’s words drifted off as she looked at the patient, then at Leana, eyes widening with concern. “Ye’re sure ye ken what ye’re aboot?”

Leana froze, dismayed by the question. What if she did
not
know and her remedies made Rose worse rather than better? Suppose her sister’s illness wasn’t a common cold but pneumonia? Or influenza? “Oh, Neda.” Leana’s voice caught. “Please God, I’m doing everything I can.”

Neda drew her into a mother’s embrace, pressing her head against her shoulder. “Now, lass. Nae one could do better, for nae one loves yer sister mair than ye.”

Leana sniffed, dabbing at her nose with a spare cloth as she gazed at her sister. “I pray that’s true. I do love my sweet Rose.”

“Aye, ye do.” Neda rested her hand on Rose’s brow, turning the cloth once more. “Read the Buik tae her, Leana. I’ll have Duncan bring it up tae the room afore he leaves.” She touched a hand to Leana’s cheek in parting. “Ye ken the truth and the One wha penned it. Let yer sister hear it from yer lips today, for she needs it sairlie.”

Neda slipped out the door, opening it enough for Leana to overhear Ian in the next room fussing a bit, wanting his breakfast. “Sleep well, Rose. I won’t be lang.” Leaving the door slightly ajar in case Rose should wake and call out for her, Leana hastened to the nursery, where Eliza had Ian cradled in her lap.

The sandy-haired maid glanced up. “Is that yer mither, wee boy?”

Ian’s arms flapped like a barnacle goose taking flight. Leana, laughing at his antics, scooped him up and bussed his sticky cheeks with kisses. “Aye, ’tis your mother. As glad to see you as you are to see her.”

Eliza stood, for there was one chair in the small room. “I’ll awa tae kirk, then, if it pleases ye.”

Leana released the quiet girl with her blessing, then put Ian to her breast without delay, grateful for a peaceful moment in the midst of a troubling morning. She stroked his head, delighting in the warmth of his skin, the silkiness of his hair, humming in tune with the sweet little noises he made. A languid half-hour passed without a sound in the house, save Duncan’s delivery of the family Bible to Rose’s bedroom. Leana rested her head on the high-backed chair and let her imagination carry her to Loch Trool, for her feet would travel there soon enough. Jamie called it the loveliest spot in all of Galloway with its steep green braes and a sparkling loch nestled between them. Not far from the water’s edge rose the stony walls of Glentrool, a massive house meant to last for generations. “ ’twill be your home, Ian,” she told her son, bringing his tiny fingers to her lips and brushing them with a kiss. “And mine.”

True to his pattern, Ian sank back into sleep. Though it wouldn’t be a long nap, it would give her time to care for Rose and tidy his room a bit. Not a true cleaning, for it was the Sabbath, but enough to put her mother’s mind at ease. She made quick work of it, stacking Duncan’s latest present, a set of carved blocks, and Neda’s colorful rattles, wiping the surfaces of his crib, sweeping his soiled linens into a basket. “Sleep, my little prince,” she said, leaving the door ajar and moving to Rose’s room next door.

Her sister was still asleep, as expected. “Not to worry if you don’t awaken while I read to you, dearie.” Leana settled into the bedside chair. “I’ll benefit from hearing it as well.” Thoughtful Duncan had placed the thick Bible on the table beside the bed and moved the chair closer, for the book was too heavy to hold in her lap for very long. Fishing out her spectacles, Leana lit a second candle, still squinting at the text as she began to read. She spoke slowly and clearly, on the chance Rose might merely have her eyes closed and be listening after all.

“By faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ.” Leana paused, letting the words penetrate the soil of her heart.
Faith
, aye. She understood that. But
peace?
How could a mother ever know peace once a bairn left her breast, once he toddled from her arms into a dangerous world? Like Rose, toddling off to Dumfries and coming home ill?

The answers were there, woven through the words: The peace was from God, and with God, and through God. Leana pressed her damp hand to the page, praying as she did.
May God grant you that peace, dear Rose
.

Thirty

A malady
Preys on my heart that medicine cannot reach.

C
HARLES
R
OBERT
M
ATURIN

G
od, help me
. Rose could not even whisper the words, so swollen was her aching throat. She could pray the words, however, and so she did.
Please help me
. ’Twas a fool’s request, considering she’d turned her back on the Almighty and crossed the threshold of Lillias Brown’s cottage.
Please forgive me
.

She forced her eyes open. Mere slits squinting at the meager light. Leana had come and gone all morning—or was it many mornings? After yanking back the bedcovers, her sister had draped damp cloths across Rose’s bare skin, leaving her trembling, feverish, and alone in the murky room. Why had Jamie not come to see her? Or her father? Or Neda? Maybe they had come. Maybe they’d given her up for dead. She clawed at her bedcovers like one climbing out of a drugged sleep. A tincture Leana had given her perhaps. Was her sister a wutch like Lillias? Her words had been soft and her touch gentle. But perhaps her intent was less benign.

Feverfew
. Aye, she’d told Leana. Hadn’t her sister listened? Hadn’t she understood?

Forgotten words returned in fragments, bobbing through her mind like boats without moorings.
The wutch’s herbs and spells are for you alone
. Jane’s voice. Laughing as she said it.
Choose another, Rose, for I am blithely wed
. Only Jamie could be so heartless.
My little daughter lieth at the point of death
. Her father. Or was it Reverend Gordon, reading from the Buik? Nae, ’twas Leana who’d read to her.

“Leana.” It came out on a croak. When no one appeared at the door, Rose tried another name. “Jane,” she struggled to say. But Jane lived in
faraway Dunscore. And wasn’t Jane sick too? “Susanne.” Nae, she would never come.
Jamie
. She could not even bring herself to speak his name aloud, for then she might weep, which would make her throat hurt even more.

A tap at the door, faint as it was, startled her.

“Rose, it’s me.” Leana came in bearing a tray. “The others will be home from services soon,” she reminded her. “I thought it best to feed you before your bedroom is filled with anxious faces.” She put down the tray, then tucked a napkin beneath Rose’s chin. “Will you try some applesauce? ’Tis the same as I fed Ian a bit ago.”