Fair Is the Rose (48 page)

“I would ne’er take repentance lightly.”

“Nor should any of us.” He nodded his farewell, then departed for the pulpit and his first prayer of the Sabbath.

When the beadle escorted her withindoors moments later, she mounted the stool without mishap and settled onto the hard, narrow seat. The minister’s sermon covered the same passage from Isaiah as the previous week, a handful of verses ground down until only dry dust remained. Leana fixed her gaze on Jamie and Ian, drawing strength from them, preparing for her final humiliation.

When the sandglass was turned over, Reverend Gordon put aside his notes. “ ’Tis our last week to rebuke Miss McBride, who compears before us. Will any speak against her? Come forth, or
haud yer wheesht.
”

No one stood. Not a voice was raised. Every eye was trained on her, but none bore the glint of reproof.

“Verra well.” Reverend Gordon leaned on his forearms and peered over the pulpit. “Then hear my closing words for you, Miss McBride, taken from the Gospel accounts.” He did not consult either Buik or notes but proclaimed his chosen verses loudly through the sanctuary. “ ’they that are whole have no need of the physician, but they that are sick.’ Has the Great Physician come to your aid, Leana? Has he healed your soul?”

She looked him in the eye, unafraid of her confession. “He has, sir.”

Reverend Gordon’s voice remained stern, but his expression softened. “Our Lord came to this earth, not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance. Has he called you to repent of your sins?”

“Aye, he has called me, and I have repented.”
And he has forgiven me. Thanks be to God
.

“The people of Galilee sought out John in the wilderness, who baptized them for the remission of their sins.” Reverend Gordon covered his thumb with spittle and held it out, startling the congregation. A hush fell across the room. “As I baptized your son, newborn into the world, so do I baptize you with these words, Leana McBride: ‘Daughter, be of good comfort: thy faith hath made thee whole; go in peace.’ ”

My peace I give unto you
. She stood on shaking legs and climbed down from the high stool, then the lower one, her gaze fixed on the pulpit. Whatever had happened to Reverend Gordon, the man was not the same. Nor was his flock. Nor was she. By the time Leana reached the flagstone floor, the whispering in the sanctuary had swelled to an unsung chorus. A hymn without words. Nae, with one word:
Mercy
.

The beadle led her toward the door. Hands reached out to clasp hers as she passed. Some eyes were dry, and others were not, as a great sigh of relief swept through the room like the spring wind, carrying Leana in its wake. Their mercy made her long to be merciful. She inclined her head toward David McMiken and Mary McCheyne and Lydia Taggart, each one in turn.
As you have forgiven me, so I forgive you
.

Only one pair of eyes that met hers shone not with peace but with sorrow.

Rose
.

Fifty-Three

One common fate we both must prove;
You die with envy, I with love.

J
OHN
G
AY

F
ive days
. That was all that remained before Jamie and Ian were lost to her. The Almighty had comforted Leana each Sabbath on the cutty stool, and Reverend Gordon had blessed her with forgiveness. But nothing could stem the tide of time, nor undo what was done.

Monday brought clouds and a threat of rain as Leana worked in the garden, turning over the soil with her fork, keeping her hands busy until Ian woke from his nap. Her physic garden was the first to show signs of life. Wild arum, with its glossy, arrow-shaped leaves, unfurled above the soil. The downy stalk of cowslip promised a yellow head of flowers in another month. She worked a handful of sand into the soil round the neat spears of shepherd’s-purse, thinking of her beloved shepherd on the hills.

While she gardened this week, Jamie would spend every waking hour with the ewes, examining them, preparing them. As the lambs dropped lower in their wombs, the ewes grew swaybacked and restless, bleating for attention, their udders swollen with milk. Leana felt every bit as unsettled and ill at ease, desperate to hear Jamie’s calming voice, her breasts full as she tried to wean Ian.
Five days. And then no more
.

Tuesday afternoon she found the note Rose had hidden among the leaves of her French writing paper before she’d presented the gift to her on her birthday. One sentence, unsigned:
Leana, can you ever forgive me?

She held the note with both hands, staring at the familiar swirl of letters. If Rose was referring to her testimony before the kirk session, there was nothing to forgive. Her sister had merely told the elders the truth, though Jamie insisted otherwise. Leana gripped the note harder.
Perhaps there was one thing, one unforgivable thing.
Ian
. She crumpled the paper in her hands.
Four days left
.

On Wednesday Rose knocked on the nursery door while mother and child were stacking wooden blocks. Leana was not surprised; Rose had been shadowing her since Sunday, observing her with Ian, her eyes full of questions.
May we speak later?
Perhaps that hour had come. Leana looked up from the floor where she sat with Ian in her lap. “What is it, dearie?”

Rose took a tentative step inside the nursery. “I hoped you might teach me …” She looked about the room, avoiding her gaze. “That is, I need to learn how to care for Ian.”

“Aye, you do.” Leana rubbed her cheek on Ian’s downy head, willing her tears to stop before they began.
I must do this. I must
. “Sit you down, Rose. Here on the rug.”

Rose did as she was told, tucking her skirts round her, their knees almost touching. Ian sat between them, banging blocks together with glee. Rose could not take her eyes off the child, smiling at his antics. She adored Ian; Leana had known that from the first. But would she love him enough to tend to him when he was sick, to discipline him when he was naughty, to hold him when he cried for no reason?
Will she love him as I love him?

Leana took a steadying breath and circled her hands round Ian’s chest, holding him long enough to place him in her sister’s lap. Letting go of him, even for a moment, took all the strength she possessed. “I will teach you what I can, Rose. Many things Ian will show you himself, over time. Won’t you, lad?”

Now that he faced his mother, Ian became even more animated, tipping toward her, trying to reach her nose with his fingers when she bent down, squealing with delight when she pulled away just in time.

Rose looked at her in surprise. “Do you play with him like this often?”

“Every moment I can.” Leana pulled her apron up to hide her face, then peeped over the edge of it as his eyes widened, watching her, before his face bloomed into a smile. “Include him in your daily tasks, Rose. If you are carding wool, keep him away from the sharp teeth and let him
sit at your feet with a handful of wool. If you are helping in the kitchen, be certain he is safe from the fire while he bangs at a pan with a horn spoon.”

Rose laughed, leaning round to look at Ian. “You like to make noise, don’t you, young man?”

“Children
are
roarie,” Leana agreed. “When he starts to greet and carry on, think through a list of possibilities. Has he wet his linens? Is he hungry? Is he tired? Is something poking him? Does he need to be held?”

Her sister’s mouth fell open. “But which one should I do?”

“All of them, in the most sensible order, ’til the lad is content.” Leana leaned forward and kissed his button nose. “Make no mistake, ’Tis a great deal of work, mothering. Annabel will help you. And Neda.”

“And
you
will be here,” Rose was quick to add.

“Aye.” Leana ran her thumb across his bare toes, counting each one. “I will be here.”

The sisters took turns entertaining Ian until he began to fuss and swat at them, as if two mothers at once were too many to please. Leana stood and gathered the babe into her arms, then helped Rose to her feet as well. “Time for your first lesson, Rose. Do you remember our list?”

Rose’s hands shook as she unwrapped the child’s soiled linens. She made a face, then quickly recovered. Her movements as she changed him were clumsy, but her attention was fixed on the task. Even Leana could not deny that Rose was trying her best, much as it grieved her to admit it. What had she expected? That Rose, who loved children, would not love Ian? That she would fail miserably and refuse to care for him? That she would beg Leana to continue as Ian’s mother, dismiss the wet nurse, and all would be as it was before?

Nae, Leana
. Nothing would ever be as it was before.

Mother, stepmother, and child spent most of the rain-soaked day together. There were moments—few, but dear—when both sisters laughed at Ian and exchanged a warm glance or when their hands touched and neither of them pulled away. Leana kept one thought uppermost in her mind:
Ian’s happiness
. His welfare was all that mattered. If Rose was to nurture him, then Leana would see that she was well prepared.

When Ian settled down for his afternoon nap, the sisters tiptoed down the stair in search of a bracing cup of tea. Annabel served them in the front parlor with a wary gaze, treating them more like guests than family. “If ye need oniething else, ladies, ye ken whaur tae find me.” She curtsied and left them to their treacle scones as a steady rain pelted the window sill.

Without Ian to cushion the tension between them, Leana realized they were behaving like polite strangers, chatting about the weather, the lambing season, safe things. No mention was made of the wedding to come or the wet nurse. Or Jamie. Or Ian. When their conversation dwindled into an awkward silence, Rose stood long enough to add another brick of peat to the fire, for the room had grown cool. She reclaimed her chair, drawing it closer, then pinned Leana with a troubled gaze.

“Did you … find my note? In the writing paper?”

Finally it had come. The question she could not answer. “I read it yesterday.” Leana spread a thin coat of butter on the last bite of her scone, waiting.

“What say you then?” Her sister’s hand rested on hers, stilling her butter knife. “Can you ever forgive me?”

Leana searched her heart for an honest answer. “I love you, Rose—”

“Nae!” Rose fell back on her chair, her hands falling limp to her sides. “You always say that, but ’tis
not
what I asked you. I need to know if I’m forgiven. For Jamie. For Ian. For all of it.”

Leana pushed aside her plate, ashamed to find her hands shaking. “I cannot say that I love you and
not
forgive you. They are twinborn, Rose. Love and mercy.”

Rose turned away, pressing her cheek against the upholstery. “You say the words, Leana. I wonder if you mean them.”

Leana stared out the window as if the rain held some answer she could not find inside her. “I
want
to mean them, Rose,” she said at last. “How can I fault you for speaking the truth? Or for wanting a man who was meant to be yours?”

“But the truth that I spoke cost you everything.”

“Not quite,” Leana reminded her. “You are still my sister.”

“Och!” Rose’s voice tightened on the word. “Small comfort, that. A sister who is selfish and hatesome like Father. Aye, and spiteful and envious and willful. Everything you are not.”

“That’s not so, Rose. I have my own ledger of sins to account for.”

Her sister wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Name one.”

Did she dare speak the truth? “I will tell you the most shameful one, Rose: I will never stop loving Jamie.”

Her sister stared at her in disbelief. “But you cannot have him.”

“Nae.” Leana stood, brushing the crumbs from her skirt. “I cannot.”

Fifty-Four

Ah! what avails it me the flocks to keep,
Who lost my heart while I preserv’d my sheep.

A
LEXANDER
P
OPE

T
he first lambs arrived early Thursday, born to a mature ewe who wasted no time delivering her twins onto the dewy grass. She licked them clean while Jamie watched with a shepherd’s pride, having cut the cords with a dull knife to reduce the chance of bleeding. The twins were up on their tottery legs within the hour with the ewe nudging them toward her udder. Jamie eyed each lamb’s tiny tail; if it ticked back and forth like the pendulum of a clock, the lamb was getting milk. He watched their small bodies fill out and their stomachs grow tighter.

“She’s a good mother,” he commented, nodding at Duncan, who’d joined him. “ ’twill be a long day. I’ve heard ewes grunting hither and yonder.”

“Aye, there are shepherds stationed a’ o’er the braes. Yer lambs are the first of mony. And twins at that.” Duncan slapped Jamie on the back. “ ’Tis a good sign, lad. Usually wi’ blackface, half gies ye twins, and the
ither
half drops ane. We’ll see how yer luck holds.”

As he made his rounds across the hills and pastures, Jamie found a dozen or more ewes hard at labor, noses pointed up, straining to bring their lambs into the world. A second ewe of the morning bore twins, then a third. He’d chosen the tups with care, making sure all were twinborn as well, but the odds were against so many ewes birthing two lambs. Even so, as the day progressed, the lambs continued to come in pairs. One ewe laboring on Auchengray Hill tried to push both out at the same time. Without a shepherd’s guiding hand, the ewe would die and the lambs as well. Jamie reached inside her to tie a string betwixt the two front legs of one lamb, then positioned its head before pulling it out. The second lamb quickly followed.

He paused, thinking of the McKie brothers:
Evan. Then James
. Had he been born first instead of his brother, his past, present, and future might have looked verra different. No fleeing to Auchengray to escape his brother’s wrath. No Leana. No Ian.
And no Rose
. In two days he would claim her as his rightful wife.
God help me
. Until then he would deliver lambs and pray for his own deliverance from an impossible situation.