“Dearest, what is it?”
Davina was already on her feet and running toward the hills, the ribbons of her gown waving an unspoken good-bye.
Leana hastened after her, calling her name. “Davina, please! Davina!” Not until she ran out of breath did she realize someone was shouting her name as well.
She spun about at the sound of her husband’s voice. Too winded to answer, Leana waved her handkerchief so he would realize she’d heard him, then started in his direction, unhappy with herself for agitating their daughter.
Jamie was running by the time he reached her. “Are you hurt, Leana? Whatever has happened?”
She sank into his arms, feeling a little faint. “Davina … ran off, and …”
“Shall I find her, then?”
“Nae, she’s not gone far.” Leana straightened, finally able to take a full breath. “I’m afraid I upset her.” She turned to gaze across the hills and spotted her daughter amid the heather. “I pray she’ll not be long.”
“Having one of her moody spells, I’ll wager. She’ll come back when she’s ready.” Jamie tugged on Leana’s sleeve, recapturing her attention and drawing her into his embrace. “As for me, Mrs. McKie, I am quite ready to be home.”
Though his face was lined with dust from his travels, his smile was as potent as ever. When he kissed her, she blushed like a maid. “Jamie! ’Tis midday, and there are servants round the garden.”
“Our servants,” he reminded her. “In our garden. And you are my wife.”
“I am and gladly so.” Leana slipped her hand through the crook of his arm, grateful for his support. And for the Lord’s provision. He giveth power to the faint. Leana drank in the remembered verse like cool water from the loch. To them that have no might he increaseth strength.
They continued toward the house, then stopped to greet Robert, hard at work among the coleworts.
“Walcome hame, sir.” The lanky gardener straightened, then doffed his cap. “We’ve had rain ilka day syne ye left. Did ye have a plumpshower in Embrough as weel?”
“Several heavy rains, aye.” Jamie nodded toward the tidy rows of plants. “I see your lettuces drank every drop.”
“A gairden needs water,” Robert agreed, wiping the sweat from his brow with his shirt sleeve. “What it doesna need are mowdieworts, which I’m plannin’ tae catch come the morn’s morn.”
Leana’s gaze was drawn to a patch of bindweed that needed pulling, but Jamie tugged her away.
“I see that look in your eye,” Jamie chided her. “No more gardening. We have important matters to discuss regarding our daughter.”
“You’re not worried because she’s taken off for the hills? I feel certain she’ll return—”
“Oh, within the hour,” he quickly agreed, opening the door for her. “ ’Tis not Davina’s present circumstances I wish to consider but her future.”
Eleven
Imagination frames events unknown.
HANNAH MORE
Her future? Leana felt a strange fluttering inside her, like a small heath butterfly on the wing. Surely Jamie did not have plans for their daughter. Or was this why Davina blushed so, why she ran off, because something was afoot?
“As you wish,” was all she said as she followed her husband inside, praying with each step.
He arranged two hard-backed chairs by the library’s front windows, lit by the forenoon sun, then tugged on a slender rope that moments later brought a maidservant to their side. “Tea, Jenny. And have Charles meet me up the stair in an hour.”
“Walcome hame, Mr. McKie.” The maid dipped her curly head before hurrying to her duties.
Jamie rinsed his hands in the china washbowl next to the half-tester bed, then sat down by the window and crossed his booted legs, frowning at his dusty breeches. “Though I prefer that we speak before Davina returns, I beg your pardon for not seeing to my grooming first.”
“We are both in need of soap and comb.” Leana slipped off her apron, taking care not to crush the herbs in her pockets. She washed her hands, then took her place next to her husband. The tea could not arrive quickly enough, so parched was her tongue. “Please tell me, Jamie. Have you good news regarding Davina, or must I prepare myself for ill tidings?”
His mouth dropped open in astonishment. “Why, ’tis most welcome news!” He inched his chair closer and clasped both her hands in his. “Rather than have our daughter at loose ends all summer, missing her brothers’ company, I thought of a place we might send her.”
“Send her?” All thoughts of tea vanished. “Whatever are you suggesting?”
“The Isle of Arran.” He punctuated the announcement by squeezing her hands, though she barely felt his touch. “I have a cousin there, you’ll remember. On my mother’s side, many times removed, but family nonetheless. Reverend Benjamin Stewart.”
“Aye,” she said faintly, “we’ve exchanged correspondence over the years.”
“Exactly so.” Jamie was warming up to his subject. “In those letters Benjamin and his wife, Elspeth, have repeatedly extended an invitation for Davina to come and meet their daughters, Catherine and Abigail. Would she not enjoy such an opportunity, this summer in particular?”
“She very well might.” Leana sank back in her chair, overwhelmed. How could she lose her daughter for the summer, having just lost her sons to Edinburgh? Yet it was selfish to think of her own comfort when Davina might leap at the chance.
“What say you?” Jamie prompted her. “Though the road to Ayr is not coachworthy, Davina rides as well as her brothers. She is more than capable of a two-day journey on horseback.”
Despite Jamie’s assurances, an unnamed fear assailed Leana’s heart, chilling her hands and tightening her throat. She jumped when a knock at the door announced tea, so distracted were her thoughts. Jenny carefully positioned the heavy tray, laden with Jamie’s favorites: gingersnaps and buttermilk bread, caraway seedcake and currant loaf. As the maid filled their teacups, Leana bowed her head, ashamed of her lack of faith. Her daughter would not travel to Arran alone. Could her trust in God’s provision not stretch beyond the boundaries of Glentrool?
Jenny politely curtsied and quit the room, leaving the McKies to their tea.
After lifting his cup, Jamie paused, waiting for his drink to cool. Or for his wife to respond. “You’ve not said aye or nae, Leana.”
How could she explain what she herself did not understand? The queasiness in her stomach, the sense of foreboding. Nothing more than a mother’s natural worrying, he would say, and rightly so. “That decision is yours, Jamie. And Davina’s.”
His teacup did not mask his frown. “You would permit your daughter to choose and yet have no choice of your own?”
Jamie, Jamie. Why did he make things so difficult? She looked down at her tightly clasped hands. “You know my heart. If ’twere possible, I would keep all my children beneath my roof ’til I breathed my last.”
“But that is not possible, nor is it prudent. Bairns grow up and must make their own way in the world.” He put down his cup, then laid his warm hands over hers. “I feel certain this is the right choice for our daughter. But I would never deliver her to Arran’s shores without your approval.”
She tried to smile, despite the dryness of her lips. “Very well, then. Allow me a few days to consider the idea before we mention it to Davina. Assuming she is amenable, I’ll write to Elspeth Stewart and see what can be arranged.”
The hands on hers stilled, then withdrew. “The letter has already been written, Leana. And posted.”
Stunned, she could only manage one word. “When?”
His words poured out like tea from a full pot. “The notion struck me while I was still in Edinburgh. Will expressed concern about Davina having a lonely summer, and then I chanced upon a new volume on Arran at a bookseller’s on the High Street.” His hand went to his coat pocket as if he’d remembered something, though his words did not stop. “I naturally thou
ght of the Stewarts at the manse on Arran and then of Davina visiting them. And since the post office was a short distance from the stables …”
He finally ran out of steam, exhaling the last of it. “In truth, it never occurred to me that you would be anything but overjoyed at the prospect.”
Leana stared at him in disbelief. Overjoyed at sending her only daughter off to a distant isle? Surely Jamie knew her better than that. Yet there he sat, a look of repentance on his handsome face, waiting for her blessing on his plans.
Because she loved him, Leana longed to put him out of his misery. Yet she could not deny her disappointment, nor could she ignore the burden pressing on her heart. “Are you certain Davina will be safe?”
Repentance gave way to irritation, hardening his features. “Our daughter will be with me, Leana. And then with Reverend Stewart. Is that not assurance enough?” Jamie’s tone made it clear: By not trusting him, she’d wounded him.
“Of course she will be safe with you and with our cousins. I only wish …” She hesitated, not wanting to hurt him again.
“You wish I had not proceeded without consulting you?”
“Aye,” she admitted, embarrassed to hear it stated so bluntly. “We have usually discussed such things in the past.”
“I am laird of Glentrool,” he reminded her. “Whenever I can include you in decisions regarding our family, I certainly will. But time does not always permit me to seek your opinion.”
And what of the Lord’s opinion?
She dared not speak the words, though she feared what the answer might be. Since the hour of Davina’s accident, she had watched her husband’s dependence on God lessen in small yet measurable increments over the years. Such a shift did not diminish her love for Jamie; instead she cherished him more than ever, letting God’s love pour through her. Praying it might heal her husband’s grief, quench his anger. Aye, and assuage his guilt, for he blamed no one more than himself.
Leana pressed her back against the chair as if the wood itself might strengthen her resolve. “I trust you with our children’s future, Jamie. Even as I trust you with mine.”
She said the words and meant them. But there were other words that Jamie did not hear, whispered in her heart for another’s benefit. Cause me to know the way wherein I should walk; for I lift up my soul unto thee.
Twelve
All but God is changing day by day.
CHARLES KINGSLEY
Leana felt the tension inside her ease, like a clock spring unwinding. Whatever the summer ahead might hold, she would not weather it alone.
“We’ve yet to discuss the twins,” she said, keeping her voice even. “Are they well settled in Edinburgh?”
“They are, though I must confess, I do not covet their lodging.” Jamie sounded less defensive now and more like her beloved husband. Between bites of currant loaf he described Professor Russell’s residence in great detail. Then, using his hands, he mapped out Edinburgh for her. She remembered a few of the notable places—Saint Giles, the castle, Greyfriar’s, Holyrood Palace, the luckenbooths—but had not visited the capital in a dozen years.
“I do picture it,” she assured him when he stopped midsentence, his hands still busy lining out streets. “I only wish I might see Edinburgh in person again someday. But alas, I am too old to travel—”
“Too old?” Jamie thrust a teacup into her hands. “Drink this, madam, and let your strength be restored. No woman of forty years is too old to do anything.”
She smiled and raised her cup. “To James McKie, who insists the women of his household be fearless.”
“Indeed I do, and indeed they are.” He lifted his cup as well and returned her toast. “Strength and honour are her clothing.”
“And she shall rejoice in time to come.” May it be so, Lord.
Jamie dug in his pocket and produced a clothbound book—new, by the look of it, and no larger than his hand. “A present for you, recommended by the bookseller in Edinburgh. The Cottagers of Glenburnie. Shall I read aloud while you enjoy your tea?”
He ate a prodigious number of gingersnaps—necessary sustenance before reading, she decided—drank a last gulp of tea, then stretched out his long legs, propping one boot atop the other. “Chapter One. An Arrival.” Already he had shifted into his reading voice. Deeper, more formal sounding. The voice of a man who owned all that he surveyed and feared nothing. “In the fine summer of the year 1788—”
“Oh,” she sighed, “the year you came to Auchengray.” And stole my heart without knowing it.
“A very fortuitous year,” he agreed before continuing to read. “As Mr. Stewart and his two daughters were one morning sitting down to breakfast—”
Leana interrupted him again. “Mr. Stewart? And two daughters?” Quite like his cousins on Arran. “ ‘Art imitates nature’? Or did you choose this novel on purpose?”
“I assure you, I did not,” he said, feigning offense. “You well know that Stewart is a common name all over Scotland. And I believe you were one of two daughters, so ’tis not so unusual.”
She swallowed a bite of seedcake, hiding her smile. “Pray, go on reading.”
He held the book closer. “They were told by the servant that a gentlewoman was at the door who desired to speak with Mr. Stewart on business. ‘She comes in good time,’ said Mr. Stewart; ‘but do you not know who she is?’ ” Jamie’s voice trailed off, his face taking on a ruddy tint.
A family of Stewarts. Two daughters. A gentlewoman come to visit. The comparison was uncanny. Had it truly not been intentional?
Jamie read her mind. “Leana, my only goal was to entertain you, not to coerce you into sending Davina to visit the Stewarts.”
“I quite believe you.” She stood, hearing footsteps in the entrance hall. “Who is to say this book is not the Almighty’s providential hand at work? But let us not mention anything to Davina ’til we’ve heard from the reverend.”
“Agreed.” Jamie stood as well, smoothing his rumpled waistcoat. “I’ll not have our daughter anticipating a summer spent on Arran, only to be disappointed.”
Two soft knocks—Davina’s signature—sounded at the library door.
Leana found her daughter standing on the threshold, looking most contrite, her red hair tangled from running. “Bless you for coming home,” she murmured, lightly touching her cheek.
Davina blushed and held out her sketchbook, opened to a particular page.
Mother, I am sorry I ran off. The fault was entirely mine, not yours. Alas, there is no gentleman’s name among these pages. I look forward to our summer together.
Your loving daughter, Davina
“You are indeed loving.” Leana read the words again, storing them in her heart, then clasped Davina by the hand and drew her into the room. “Come see who has returned to us, safe and sound.”
Jamie held out his arms. “I believe we’ve both come home.”
She flew into his embrace, like Davina of old, pressing her cheek into his chest.
Leana met her husband’s warm gaze across a horizon of sunset-colored hair. Here was a man who adored his daughter, who wanted only what was advantageous for her, a man worthy of her trust. If the minister and his family made Davina welcome, Leana would put her groundless fears aside and rest in knowing her child’s future was unfolding according to God’s plan and not her own.
Davina stepped out of her father’s arms, looking up at him as her hand moved to her mouth. Speak to me.
“You’ll want to hear about Edinburgh, I suppose, and how your devilish brothers are faring. Might we save that long story for our supper table? I’ve an appointment just now with a basin of hot water and a sharp razor.”
Davina smiled and touched her forehead. I understand.
“I hoped you might.” He planted a light kiss on the same spot where her fingers had landed. “By suppertime—and by Charles—I’ll be much improved.”
No sooner had he taken his leave than Davina
pounced on the remaining slices of buttermilk bread, barely sitting down before she had a plate and fork in hand.
“Hungry, I see.” Leana smiled down at her. “The teapot has grown cold, and you’ll need a clean cup. Suppose I brew some black currant for you.” Davina’s mouth was too full to smile, but Leana saw her eyes light up. “I’ll not be long.”
Before she left the library, she collected her soiled apron with its useful contents, intending to see to its preparation later. The agrimony would be hung to dry, then crushed and stored—stems, leaves, and flowers. Cool and drying, it had an astringent taste, well suited for sore throats and hoarse voices. Though it would not heal Davina, it also would not hurt her. And who knew when God might be merciful?
Leana returned to the library with a fresh pot of her daughter’s favorite tea. “Enjoy your black currant while I tell you of a strange incident involving the herb we harvested today.” If Davina was meant to visit the faraway isle, Leana was determined she know some of its traditions. “A century ago on Arran, a Mr. Ferquhar Ferguson was charged with using agrimony to cure people who were elf-shot.”
Davina’s eyes widened above the rim of her teacup.
Leana smiled, then leaned closer. “I’ve never known anyone shot through by wee folk, have you?” Lowering her voice, she added, “They say far more fairies live on Arran than in Galloway.”
Davina hastily patted her mouth with a linen towel, then located her book, holding up her hand so Leana would know to wait. She turned away to write something, then whirled round and held out the page with its single, bold question: Have you ever seen a fairy?
Leana considered Davina’s diminutive height, her fair complexion and luxuriant red hair, her gift for music, her playful nature, and her penchant for green dresses. Aye, and her utter silence. Fairy motion was said to be soundless.
“Have I ever seen a fairy?” Leana traced her daughter’s freckled cheek with maternal affection. “Only when I look at you, lass.”
Thirteen
Here is a promise
Of summer to be.
WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY
’Tis a different sort of bow than you’re accustomed to using, Davina, but you can master it just the same.” A smile crept into Ian’s voice. “It has but one string and never needs tuning.”
Grace in Thine Eyes Page 7
