Davina glowered at him, proud of herself for not sticking out her tongue or making a wretched face. Instead she would behave like a lady and pretend to be fascinated with archery, if only for her brother’s sake.
Ian was determined to keep her occupied. Last week they had played hands of euchre and piquet while it rained incessantly. Then they made a tour of the local burns in spate—the Saugh, with its profusion of wildflowers, and the rock-strewn Gairland among them. Having read that gentlewomen in the English countryside were taking up archery, this morning Ian set about to teach Davina the sport, convinced she’d be the talk of the parish by Midsummer Eve.
“The ground is spongy,” Ian warned, “so you’ll want to place your feet just so.” He’d located one of the few level places in the mountainous glen—near the loch yet free of evergreens. The target was neatly drawn by Rab with the scarlet paint he used to mark the sheep. At least no stray objects were in danger of being hit, hares being the exception. If any fell victim to her arrow, Aubert made a fine hare soup.
“You look quite graceful,” Ian said. “Like Artemis, the huntress.”
Davina tried not to smile, for it ruined her concentration. She took her stance, then pointed her left foot toward the bull’s-eye.
“Hold the shaft in place with your forefinger,” he instructed. “Then nock the arrow. Aye, where I’ve marked the string. Now look directly over your left shoulder and pull back with your right arm, straight as you can.”
She remembered the rest: eye on the target; exhale before release; try to miss the loch. When the shaft flew from her hands, she missed the loch and the target. Och! Thrusting her bow into Ian’s waiting hands, Davina stamped off to retrieve her lost arrow, glad the noontide meal would soon put an end to things.
The temperature had been mild all morning and the sky changeable. More white than gray, the clouds stretched across a pale blue back-ground—the very color of her new gown. Not a fancy dress for Sabbath but a simple frock for days spent out of doors, like this one. “Because ’tis summer,” her mother had said with an enigmatic smile when she finished her stitching, “and because you may have need of it.”
Ian called out across the grassy meadow, “Might I be of assistance?”
Davina held up her hand without looking back. I am fine, dear brother. Truly.
How he hovered over her! She adored him for it but sometimes wished for a bit more freedom. Her parents seemed overly attentive too. Watching her, exchanging glances. Treating her like a young woman one minute, a naive child the next. There were times she felt weighed and measured like oats gone to market and other moments when she had no doubt of their affection for her.
Will and Sandy’s absence was the only logical explanation.
Davina found the shaft at last, its goose-wing feathers easily detected against the verdant grass. Waving at Ian, she made her way back, relieved to see him packing up their belongings. She’d chased enough arrows for one morning.
He waited for her, target slung across his back, quiver and bow in hand. “An ell to the left, Davina, and you would have hit the mark.”
Now she did make a face at him. Though her last shot was a vast improvement over her first one, which landed in the loch, she was still a far cry from Artemis.
As they started back, Davina was reminded again of how different Ian was from their younger brothers. Taller and leaner. Less muscular, more agile. Though his coloring was like the twins, his features were not.
Ian cast her a sideways glance. “You are thinking of Will and Sandy.”
She looked up at him in amazement.
“ ’Twas an easy guess.” He shrugged off his clever appraisal. “You had a pensive look and then began to frown. I’ve observed the same expressions on our parents’ faces, and invariably they had the twins in mind.”
She touched her forehead, then reached up to brush his cheek. I have you in mind too, Ian. Did her brother understand how much she appreciated him?
Ian seemed to, for he kissed her hand before she had a chance to lower it. “I am glad you think of me, Davina.”
Glentrool stood a quarter of an hour west. They walked on, keeping an eye on the heavens. More clouds had moved in, concealing the sun, hinting at rain. Davina hoped to spare her new gown a drenching.
Out of habit, the pair skirted the mausoleum, taking another route through the pinewoods. Ian held a low branch out of her way as he asked, “I wonder if you heard Mother speaking with Reverend Moodie in the kirkyard on the Sabbath last. She inquired if any letters addressed to the family had been delivered to the church.” The mail coach from Carlisle to Stranraer made a daily stop at a coaching inn not far from Monnigaff kirk. Unclaimed letters often found their way into the parish minister’s hands. “It weighs heavily on her, not hearing from our brothers.”
Davina bore the same burden. Did Will and Sandy not realize how eager she was to hear from them? Or had the twins and Father not parted well? Resentment and disappointment, walking in tandem for a decade, seemed to have worn a footpath in Jamie’s heart. Would he never forgive them?
A pair of curlews circled above, their cries echoing through the glen: coor-lee, the sound that gave them their name. Davina gathered her skirts in hand, if only to lengthen her stride. She missed the fuller gowns of her childhood. Modern dresses fell in straight lines, cinched high above the waist, with snug, narrow backs. Though fashionable, such gowns were not meant for walking. Or for breathing.
When Glentrool came into view, Ian turned toward the steading. “If you’ll pardon my leaving you, I must deposit these in the barn.” He hefted the archery target higher on his back, smiling at her as he did. “I enjoyed our morning together, Davina.”
She pressed her hands together like a woman in prayer—her usual expression of thanks—then sent Ian off to the barn, watching him disappear round the corner of the house. Not far ahead stood Eliza. The moment she saw Davina, the housekeeper’s features became even more animated than usual. Curious, Davina lifted her gown higher, propriety tossed to the winds as she hastened to Eliza’s side.
“Leuk what Robert jist delivered by way o’ the toun.” Eliza held up her prize. “Twa letters by mail coach, ane from Embrough!” She pressed the correspondence into Davina’s waiting hands. “Kindly gie these tae yer mither, for I ken she’ll want tae see ’em. Ye’ll find her in the drawin’ room wi’ her needle.”
Davina hurried withindoors, glancing at the postal covers en route. One letter was stamped “Edinburgh,” just as Eliza had said. Even without the postmark, Sandy’s bold hand was easily recognized. The other, written in an unfamiliar hand, was stamped both “Arran” and “Ayr.”
The moment Davina entered the room, Leana put down her sewing, the embroidered fabric in her lap forgotten. “What is it, dearie, that has you all aflocht?” When Davina presented the letters, her mother hesitated before she took them from her hands. “Ah, we’ve been waiting for these, haven’t we?” She moved forward in her seat. “Your father will want to hear the contents as well.”
“Indeed I will.” Jamie’s voice floated through the open doorway. “Eliza told me where I might find you both.” He crossed the room and joined them, resting his hand on the small of Davina’s back as he greeted her. “Your cheeks have a bit of color from the sun, I see. Very becoming.”
She felt them grow warmer—and no doubt pinker—beneath his approving smile.
Jamie studied the letters for a bit, running his thumb across the postmarks. Some unnamed emotion flickered in his eyes. Guilt? Relief? Davina could not guess. Why did he not simply open the one from the twins? She very much wanted to stamp her foot but curled her toes instead and tried to be patient.
Her father turned to her at last. “I suspect both letters will mention you by name, Davina.” He held out the two posts. “Which shall I read aloud first?”
Fourteen
Letters, from absent friends, extinguish fear,
Unite division, and
draw distance near.
AARON HILL
The choice of letters was a simple one. Merely seeing the lines of ink written in her brother’s familiar hand made Davina’s eyes water. She broke open the wax seal, her hands trembling with anticipation. Tempted as she was to scan the words, she relinquished the letter to her father.
He patted one of the straight-backed oak chairs, urging her to sit. “Let us see what the lads in Edinburgh have to tell us.” After smoothing out the heavy creases, he began.
To James McKie of Glentrool
Thursday, 19 May 1808
Father,
Pardon the delay in writing to you, but our studies occupy us from dawn to the drum. We are daily afflicted with long-winded lectures and oral examinations. Saturdays are given to debates, and Sundays to the kirk.
Davina was not fooled. Though the letter was written in Sandy’s hand, the bold words unquestionably belonged to Will. How natural they sounded in Jamie’s voice. Perhaps father and sons were not so different after all.
“Such complaining would not surprise their old tutor.” Jamie squinted at the letter. “Ah! ’Tis the word fortunate. Now then, to the rest.”
You were right, Father: We have yet to see the horses. The laundress has kept our shirts for a week, and we count ourselves fortunate to eat once a day. Please do not concern yourself, Mother. Our health remains strong, and our resolve, stronger.
He beamed at the letter, then at his wife. “There, you see? University has proved to be the right decision. And here is the mention of you, Davina.”
As for our sister, we miss you very much and trust all is well. Not a lass in Edinburgh is the equal of our bonny wee fairy. I know Father will honor his pledge to watch over you since we cannot. You are ever in our thoughts.
Davina kept a handkerchief tucked in her sleeve for just such occasions and made use of it now.
Ian entered the drawing room, his shoulders dotted with the first of the raindrops. “I hear there’s a letter from the twins.”
“Aye.” Father waved him toward a nearby chair. “ ’Tis good that you arrived when you did, for you are mentioned as well.”
Tell our brother that he has been spared the terrible ordeal of a university education, an injustice that will not soon be forgotten. You may have been born first, Ian, but remember, there are two of us. Above all, do not fail to keep our sister safe from harm, or we shall be forced to take immediate action.
Jamie looked up as if to gauge Ian’s reaction. The twins wrote in jest, of course; even on paper, their irony was apparent. But the words had an edge to them, and all in the room felt their sharpness.
Ian spoke first. “I trust I am fulfilling my duties as son and brother.”
“You are indeed.” Jamie folded the letter rather abruptly. “Let no one convince you otherwise.” He handed Leana the missive, which would be read many times before finding a home in her dressing table.
“Now to our second letter. Posted from Ayr. I wonder what news this might contain.” Her father’s eyes bore a noticeable spark. “ ’Tis from a cousin on my mother’s side: Reverend Benjamin Stewart.”
Davina had difficulty placing the name. Father had so many distant relatives. Who could sort them all out?
“From the Isle of Arran,” he added, as if to prompt her memory. “The Stewarts have two daughters, Catherine and Abigail. Not much younger than you, I’d say.”
Davina offered a polite smile, hoping to appease him. But she could not lie and touch her forehead. She could not say I know if she did not.
Her father read silently for a moment, then looked up, smiling broadly. “This post addresses you almost exclusively, Davina. And your summer. Would you care to hear it?”
’Tis about … me? She was so astounded that she forgot to nod.
To James McKie of Glentrool
Tuesday, 17 May 1808
Cousin James,
We are in receipt of your letter dated the ninth of May and are delighted that, after many years, our offer of hospitality has been accepted. Davina is welcome to spend the summer with us at the manse in Kilbride on Arran.
Spend the summer? Davina fell back in her chair, mouth agape, staring at one parent and then the other. She would be permitted to travel so great a distance?
“An island!” Ian said with no trace of envy in his voice. “Won’t that be grand?”
“I see the idea intrigues you, Davina,” her father teased her. “There’s more.
“Escort her to Lamlash Bay at your earliest convenience. Perhaps the first of June would be to your liking. Be advised, Catherine and Abigail will not let her return to the mainland until Lammas. Even now they are formulating plans of how to entertain their cousin, and the list is quite long.”
Her mind spun like a child’s top on a polished floor. Now she remembered the Stewarts, if only from old letters. Catherine and Abigail were not much younger than she and lived in a manse overlooking a bay.
“Glentrool will be a desolate place without you,” Ian confessed. “Still, you must go, my sister.”
She blinked, as if it all might disappear: the letter, the invitation, the blessing of a lifetime. Nae, still there, along with her father, who was blithely describing an idyllic summer on Arran.
My wife has inquired if Davina might inform us of certain foods she likes and dislikes and any other information of a similar nature. We have a mild climate here and few diseases. Have no concern for her health.
Davina clapped her hands at that. As if she cared one whit about climates or diseases! And she would happily consume every morsel on her plate. Not stewed eels, but all else.
“I believe we have our answer, Mrs. McKie.” Her father smiled, and her mother tried to do so in return. “Ian, you will manage the estate for a few days while I see Davina safely to Kilbride parish.”
“A privilege, sir.”
Before Jamie could outline Ian’s duties, Leana touched his arm. “Is there more to the letter?” she asked softly. “Does Reverend Stewart mention her … impediment?”
Davina looked away. Impediment. The word her mother used in polite company.
Until now, the thought had not occurred to her: She would not only be a stranger among them, but strange. Tongue-tackit. The mute lass from Galloway.
“He does make mention of it,” her father admitted, “but only in the kindest of terms. I thought to spare you this, Davina, but perhaps ’tis best you hear it.
“We are not frightened by your daughter’s muteness. Did not Gabriel take away the voice of Zacharias? Did he not say, ‘Behold, thou shalt be dumb, and not able to speak’? God has not lifted his hand from Davina’s life. She will be well cared for on Arran.”
Whether unintentionally or by design, her father had read the balance of the letter using his shepherd’s voice. Warm. Gentle. Soothing. In Aprils past, Davina had walked the hills with him as he examined the newborn lambs and crooned to them in just such a way. He’d often prayed for her in the same kind voice. And whenever he disciplined her, however severe the chastisement, the words did not hurt because of the manner in which they were spoken.
Dear Father. He had arranged this visit to Arran; she was sure of it.
Her mother placed her sketchbook in her hands, blue gray eyes shimmering like wet glass. “Have you decided to go, then? ’Tis a wonderful opportunity.”
It was wonderful. Was there any reason not to go?
Davina turned the pages, considering her answer, when her gaze landed on a message she’d written earlier. For her mother. I look forward to our summer together. Your loving daughter, Davina.
Fifteen
Ah! there are no longer any children!
MOLIÈRE
Leana sat in the empty dining room with only the ticking mantel clock for company. A single candle flickered on the table. The light was not sufficient to dispel the shadows in the far corners but more than enough to illuminate the old Buik that lay open before he
r.
My children are gone forth of me, and they are not.
She had awakened with tears in her eyes, remembering the verse.
Up the stair Jamie still lay sleeping, for the hour was very late—or very early—not long past three o’clock. Soon the dark blue eastern skies over Lamachan Hill would take on a pearly sheen. The thirtieth of May would officially dawn. And Davina, the sweetest of daughters, would depart from Glentrool.
Only for two months. Leana comforted herself with that thought. But it did not relieve the pain of letting go. Did she mean to keep Davina dependent upon her? May it not be so, Lord. Yet she could not deny the possibility, for she delighted in having a daughter beneath her roof. Loved caring for her, loved mothering her.
Head bowed, eyes closed, she spread her hands across the pages of the Buik. Strengthen thou me according unto thy word. Her own strength would not be sufficient; had never been so. Please, Lord. Give me the courage to say good-bye.
Many minutes later she lifted her head. Nothing had changed. Yet she had changed, and that was enough.
Candle in hand, Leana adjusted the light plaid she’d thrown over her shoulders for modesty’s sake and slipped up the broad stair to the second floor, where the twins’ empty bedroom had been pressed into service. Laid out across the curtained bed were Davina’s two traveling bags, carefully packed and waiting to be buckled shut.
Leana placed the candle where it would do the most good, then began running her hands over the folded contents of each valise to be sure nothing had been overlooked. She’d chosen Davina’s clothing with care; the horses could be burdened with only so much. Fortunately, whaleboned bodices and hooped petticoats were no longer in style. Her daughter’s slender summer dresses, stitched in lightweight fabrics, were easily packed. She tallied the remaining items: an extra pair of shoes, two cloth bonnets, a reticule, half a dozen gauzy muslin tuckers, and gloves in both cotton and lace.
“Here you are, my love.” Jamie stood in the doorway, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “When I found you missing from our bed, this seemed a likely place to look.”
Grace in Thine Eyes Page 8
