Grace in Thine Eyes

by Liz Curtis Higgs

  Jamie checked his pocket watch. “We’ve not much time. If you would, kindly take Leana’s bag and mine, along with the captain’s silver.” He hesitated yet knew he could not send the man off without an apology. “Alas, what began as a blithesome visit has ended on a distressing note.”

  “Regrettably, it has.” Benjamin’s sincerity could not be denied. “I apologize again for not caring for Davina properly. In a parish of this size …”

  “Say no more, for the fault is not yours; it is mine.” Jamie clasped his hand warmly. “Please convey my deepest thanks and sincerest regrets to Elspeth, Catherine, and Abigail, who made us most welcome.”

  Benjamin pressed his mouth into a firm line and shook his hand. “ ’Twas our privilege, Jamie.” A moment later the minister headed for the quay, two more bags in hand.

  Jamie was still watching from the door when Leana came up and slipped her hand round his elbow. With a furtive glance up the stair, she whispered in his ear, “Have you spoken to the twins yet this morning? They feel your judgment most harshly, Jamie. ’Tis why they’ve been avoiding you, hiding in their room.”

  His jaw hardened. Did they mean to turn his own wife against him? He followed her gaze to the second floor. “I will speak with them now. Have Davina and Ian bring their bags to the door. We must leave for the quay in mere minutes.”

  Jamie took the stairs two at a time, trying to release his anger. But when he arrived at the twins’ door, his ire had climbed with him. He marched into their room unannounced—was he not their father?—and found Will and Sandy neatly dressed, their closed portmanteau waiting on the bed.

  Sandy stepped forward. “Did Mother ask you to speak with us?”

  He could not have said anything worse.

  Jamie struck him with words of steel. “Do not demean your mother by asking her to serve in the role of messenger.” He slammed the door behind him, perfectly willing to feed Mrs. McAllister all the gossip she could swallow, now that they were leaving. “If you wish to speak to me, come to me directly. You will no longer write to your mother; you will write to me. If you need money, I am your only resource.”

  Will tried to intervene. “Father, we just wanted to say how grateful we are for what you did yestermorn.”

  “Do you mean when I spared your thick necks from the gallows?”

  Both their faces reddened.

  Jamie moved closer and lowered his voice but only because he was almost growling. “The people who live on this island consider our family rubbage. Because of you. They hold their noses and murmur ill-scrapit words. Because of you.”

  Sandy’s voice was thin. “But, Father, the verdict—”

  “Do not fool yourselves that Mr. Hunter’s decision changes the facts. You are brothers in cruelty, ruled by anger and driven by revenge.”

  Will rose to his challenge. “But, Father, Somerled treated our sister like a—”

  Jamie slapped him hard. “Your sister? Your sister has no hope for the future. Because of you.”

  Now they were silent. Almost sorry, by the look of them.

  Jamie outlined his sons’ future in no uncertain terms, grinding out each word. “We will go to the quay. We will sail to the mainland. You will proceed by coach to Edinburgh with due haste and resume your classes.”

  “But, Father—”

  “Do not come home at Lammas. Nor at Michaelmas. You will not find yourself welcome in our parish. Nor at Glentrool.”

  Sandy’s eyes were swimming. “May we never come home again?”

  Jamie did not have a ready answer and so gave them none. “We sail at once for Ayr.”

  Seventy-Two

  It is not in the storm nor in the strife

  We feel benumb’d, and wish to be no more,

  But in the after-silence on the shore,

  When all is lost, except a little life.

  GEORGE GORDON, LORD BYRON

  Leana nearly wept when her foot touched the stone quay at Ayr. Aboard the Isabella since noon, the McKies had been tossed round a choppy sea, rained on for endless hours, then stranded without wind in the packet boat’s sails for much of the evening.

  “ ’Tis midnight,” Captain Dunlop said gruffly, squinting up at the full moon high overhead. “Ye’ll find the King’s Arms on the High Street. I dinna ken if they’ll hae onie ludgin for ye.”

  Jamie threw the last of their traveling bags onto the quay, then disembarked, bidding the captain good night in a sea-roughened voice. He was exhausted; they all were.

  Leana longed to be rid of her shoes, to unlace her stays, to stretch out on a mattress and sleep until dawn. Her gown, still damp from the rain and crusty with salt, chafed her neck as they walked toward the town center. The younger men carried their belongings, and Davina clutched her fiddle, safe in its baize bag.

  With both hands free, Leana slipped one hand round her husband’s elbow and the other round Davina’s. “Let us pray the King’s Arms has enough beds to accommodate us. Though I believe a length of wool carpet would do our tired lads.”

  “Aye,” they groaned, trudging not far behind her.

  Will had hardly spoken during the long crossing, and Sandy even less. Their silence grieved Leana, for she knew its source: She’d heard Jamie’s tirade at the inn at Cladach. His words did not travel through the pine floor, but his wrath did, leaving her trembling for the twins’ sake. Lewis Hunter had pronounced the lads innocent. Could her husband not do the same? Before their sons headed northeast by coach in the morning, she would do what she could to appease them and pray Jamie’s parting words would be less strident.

  At that late hour the High Street was deserted. The breeze had died down, and few sounds were heard except the occasional cry of a gull sailing over the harbor. When the sun rose in a few hours, fishermen and tradesmen would be about their work, and Ayr would come to life. For now, sleep was all anyone had in mind.

  The proprietor of the King’s Arms greeted them with bleary eyes and dismal news. “I’ve no rooms to let. But there’s a parlor through that door with sofas and the like. None of the guests will be about just now. I can have a maid bring you some blankets—”

  “Fine.” Jamie yanked out his purse. “Two of my sons will be needing seats on the morning coach to Glasgow.”

  “Aye, sir. I’ll sort that out for you. Ten o’clock.”

  The McKies awakened long before ten. Sunlight crept round the shutters at four, and the clamor of vendors arranging their stalls for Saturday’s market soon followed. When guests wandered into the parlor, expecting to be served coffee, Leana roused her family and helped straighten their rumpled attire.

  “We’ve company,” she murmured. “ ’Tis a new day.”

  Breakfast was oatcakes, fresh strawberries, and tea. Davina sat quietly poking her berries with a spoon, while Jamie downed his tea in gulps and Ian glanced at a week-old copy of the Glasgow Journal, left on his chair by another lodger.

  Sandy was the first to finish his breakfast. “Once we arrive in Glasgow, there’ll be an eastbound coach to Edinburgh.” He stole a quick glance at his father. “That means we’ll be in attendance for Professor Gregory’s lecture on Monday, having missed but one week of our studies.”

  “Had you remained in Edinburgh,” Jamie said evenly, “you’d not have missed one day. And the MacDonalds would still be alive.”

  “Jamie!” Leana stared at him, aghast. Their daughter looked nigh to fainting.

  “He is right, Mother.” Will brushed the crumbs from his waistcoat. “Father thought it necessary for us to become better acquainted with the MacDonalds—”

  “Och!” Jamie cut him off. “Climbing with the Highlanders was your idea, not mine.”

  Leana sighed. Her prayers for reconciliation had hardly been answered.

  “Nothing can be gained by this discussion,” Ian said, the gentle voice of reason. “The duke’s steward made his ruling and blames no one for the accident. Davina’s grief should be our
foremost concern.”

  “Well said,” Leana agreed, “though I’ll not send my younger sons to far-off Edinburgh without the assurance of our concern for them as well.” She looked at Will and Sandy in turn, meaning to encourage them, and instead was troubled by what she found. Dark eyes clouded with distrust. Jaws hardened by conflict and scarred from brawling. Mouths turned down, their expressions sullen, resentful.

  A foolish son is the heaviness of his mother. How the weight of that truth grieved her.

  She had given birth to her twin sons but did not recognize them. She’d raised them, yet they’d not matured. Had her own father’s ill temper come back to haunt her? Had Evan McKie, Jamie’s birsie twin brother, somehow influenced them from afar? Or had she failed her sons as their mother?

  Leana clasped her hands in her lap and pressed her mouth closed, lest a cry escape her lips. Please, may it not be so, Lord! She had loved them, cared for them. And yet they were not loving, like Davina, nor caring, like Ian. Tempted though she might be, Leana would not blame Jamie, as the twins did, or she would sin as they sinned. Honour thy father. But when she had her husband to herself, she would ask him where things stood with their headstrong sons.

  Jamie rose, eying his watch. “Coaches do not wait for their passengers. ’Tis time, lads.”

  The twins strode toward the inn door as if glad to be on their way and eager to put their family behind them. Once they reached the crowded stables where the Glasgow-bound coach was loading its passengers, Sandy tossed their portmanteau up to the driver to be strapped in place for their journey. The lads began greeting the other passengers, barely acknowledging the family members who tarried behind them on the street.

  Davina looked stricken. Her face mirrored Leana’s own concerns. What is to become of them?

  When Will finally turned round and took his sister’s hands, he was dry eyed, but she was not. “We’ll not forget you, lass.”

  Though Davina’s mouth was trembling, Leana could read the words she formed. Come home.

  But Will shook his head. “Father has asked us to remain in Edinburgh.” His voice softened a little. “Do not fret, my bonny wee fairy. We shall see you again.”

  Davina wriggled free of Will’s grasp, then threw herself against her father’s chest, pressing on it with her small fists, as if to punish him.

  Remain in Edinburgh? Leana could not guess what that meant. For a month? For a year? For good? Oh, Jamie, I trust your judgment, but I pray for your wisdom.

  Holding their daughter, Jamie addressed the lads over her knot of red hair. “I believe you have what you need for the upcoming term.” When Will did not respond, his father continued, his emotions well in check. “A safe journey to you both.”

  Ian’s parting sentiments were brief. Though her sons did not embrace, their words to one another bore no ill will, and for that Leana was grateful.

  At last her turn came to bid the twins farewell. She had done so in May, certain of seeing them in a few months. Now she had no such hope.

  Though they stood in a crowded street, theirs were the only faces she saw. “My dear sons …” Her voice faltered as she cupped their rough chins, her hands shaking. “I will always love you.” For a moment their dark eyes cleared, and she caught a glimpse of the lads she’d cherished from their first breath. “Remember that your father’s discipline is meant for your good. ‘For what son is he whom the father chasteneth not?’ ”

  “Aye, Mother.” Will’s voice was low, rough. “We will remember.”

  “I shall … write to you.” Words came harder now. She felt her sons drawing away from her. “And I shall pray for you both. Always.”

  “Mem, they’ll be needin’ tae tak their seats,” the driver cautioned, reins in hand, his team of horses restless. “We’ve fine wather and a fu’ day aheid. Dinna keep us waitin’, lads.”

  Leana watched her sons climb on top of the coach, their eyes already scanning the road ahead. “Godspeed,” she called up to them, brushing away her tears so she might see their faces. “Mercy and truth be with thee …” The rest of her benediction caught in her throat.

  The horses took off with a noisy jolt before the twins had a chance to answer her. Gripping the iron rails beside them, Will and Sandy could only nod over their shoulders as she trailed after their departing coach, waving good-bye.

  Seventy-Three

  Trouble rides behind and gallops with him.

  NICHOLAS BOILEAU-DESPREAUX

  Jamie shifted in his saddle, the new leather uncomfortably stiff and his new mount even more so. Ayrshire folk usually purchased their steeds at Quarter Days fairs; convincing Watson’s livery stable to part with two horses had tried his purse and his patience mightily. In the end, Jamie had paid too much silver for too little horseflesh.

  “Father, suppose you take Magnus tomorrow.” Ian trotted up beside him on his favorite black gelding. “That mare may be docile, but she has an uneven gait.”

  Jamie grunted in agreement. “Better suited to a plow, I’d say.”

  The evening sky was the color of his daughter’s eyes washed with tears: dark, watery blue. She followed a few lengths behind them on a dappled gray of dubious conformation. Lithe as she was, Davina managed her unfamiliar mount with ease, yet her countenance was lined with sorrow. Had he ever seen her so despondent?

  Leana rode beside her on dun-colored Biddy, her wide-brimmed hat askew after a long day on horseback. She’d hardly spoken since bidding the twins farewell, though her troubled expression said enough. How much of their sons’ treachery could his wife bear to hear? More, perhaps, than he could bear to tell.

  “Where might we spend the night?” Ian wondered aloud. “We’ve yet to see many farmhouses tucked among these hills. The weather is mild enough, but a valise makes a poor pillow and the ground a hard bed.”

  Jamie scanned the countryside, marked by steep fells and moss-edged burns. They’d traveled but fourteen miles, and already the gloaming was upon them. Michael Kelly had not been at home when they’d knocked on his cottage door an hour earlier, leaving them no choice but to press on. “Ian, do you recall passing Drumyork on your journey north?” When his son nodded, Jamie continued, “ ’Tis a small steading, hard against Drumyork Hill. Pray they can accommodate us.”

  The southbound road dipped and curved half a dozen times before the signpost for Drumyork appeared at the end of a rutted track. Greeted by the lowing of cows in the byre, Jamie led his family toward the clay farmhouse and nodded to a laborer making the most of the Sabbath eve’s waning light.

  “Jamie?” Leana touched his arm before he dismounted, her voice thin with exhaustion. “Might Davina have a bed to herself? She did not sleep well yestreen.”

  “Nor did you,” he reminded her gently. “I’ll see what can be done.”

  His knock was soon answered by a man his own age, though taller and whip thin, as if he’d never sampled the rich cream his dairy cows produced. “Guid evenin’, sir.” The farmer dipped his chin in greeting. “Ebenezer Morton’s me name.”

  Jamie responded in kind, introducing himself. “Might my family and I find shelter here for the night?”

  “Och, o’ course.” The farmer opened the door wider still. “Oor parlor is yers, Mr. McKie. I’ll tell me guidwife ye’ll be needin’ supper.”

  “Much obliged.” Jamie motioned the others to join him, then followed the farmer inside. The floor was made of rough pine, the painted walls had no adornment, and meager rushlights served as candles. But as in most Scottish homes, every room had its bed, and this parlor had two, more than he’d expected. Mother and daughter would each sleep soundly, with father and son not far below them, stretched out on the thick plaids now stacked in the corner. “The Lord bless you for your hospitality, Mr. Morton.”

  “Aye, weel.” He shrugged his narrow shoulders. “Be not forgetful tae entertain strangers.”

  Davina sank onto the heather mattress so quickly that Jamie feared they migh
t not rouse her for a plate of broth. Indeed, by the time the farmer’s wife hastened from the kitchen to welcome her unexpected guests, Davina’s head lay on the pillow, and her eyes were drifting shut, though she still held her fiddle bag.

  “Yer puir dochter.” Mrs. Morton clucked her tongue. “I’ve niver seen sic a wabbit lass in a’ me days.”

  “We’re all weary,” Leana admitted, “and exceedingly grateful for a warm supper and dry beds.”

  The older woman bobbed her graying head. “Yer plates are waitin’ on the table, mem.”

  An hour later, their stomachs full of broth and the Scriptures duly read aloud, the McKies joined slumbering Davina in the parlor. Leana perched on the edge of her daughter’s borrowed bed and lightly stroked her cheek. “Sleep is more necessary than food,” she said softly. “The sun will rise before we will, and we’ve a full day of riding ahead.”

  “Twenty miles.” Jamie stood aside as their hostess gathered the woolen plaids and unrolled Ian’s makeshift bed close to the hearth, then discreetly placed Jamie’s blankets on the floor next to his wife’s low bed.

  “We’re up the stair if ye need oniething,” Mrs. Morton said before leaving them in peace.

  Rushlights were extinguished and good-nights spoken. Tired as he was, Jamie lay for some time holding his wife’s hand against his heart and praying for the courage to say what he must.

  “Leana,” he whispered when he was sure their offspring were both fast asleep.

  She slowly lifted her hand, beckoning him upward. “Come.”

  He climbed onto the narrow bed never meant to hold two. Side by side, fully clothed, the couple touched from head to toe. He kissed her and was gratified by her immediate response. Enfolding her in his arms, he held her close, lest she draw back in dismay when he told her the truth.

  “We must speak of Will and Sandy,” he began, his words more air than sound.