Labor of Love

by Felicia Rogers

  “Oh,” she waited. Sending him an inquisitive look, Sorcha asked, “Why?”

  Samuel shrugged. “That should be obvious. I wanted to see ye.”

  “Oh,” said Sorcha, blushing furiously. He wanted to see her? That was more than she could have ever dreamed.

  His hands still rested upon her waist. He released her and stepped back. Using the extra space to arrange her skirts more comfortably, she looked up.

  “Why do ye stare at me?” Would he say she was beautiful again? Aye, it was shameless to try to instigate compliments, but she couldn’t help herself. They felt so good.

  Gazing at the ground, he kicked a piece of grass. “I missed ye.”

  “Ye did?”

  “Aye, I did, and I do,” Samuel said, looking at her.

  “I have missed ye as well.” Tears welled in her eyes. “Ye are the only one who speaks to me.”

  Samuel stepped forward, his arms held out as if to wrap around her. Arching a brow, he frowned and stepped back. Lifting one hand, he smoothed her hair, offering comfort like you would give to a child. “Ah, Sorcha ye know yer mother would speak to ye if ye would but speak to her.”

  Sorcha pulled back, staring at him. “I canna speak with her.”

  “Why not? It is clear she loves ye.”

  “Aye, I know, and I love her. That is why I canna speak to her.”

  “Sorcha forgive me, but ye are makin’ no sense.”

  “Samuel, if I speak to her I am afraid I will beg her to leave Lorcan.”

  “Oh.”

  “He is plotting against me. He knows what Festus did, but he does nothing. Even my ma, in her heart, knows what happened. When she looks at me I feel her guilt. If I speak, I will only add to her feelings.”

  “Ye mean ye are remaining silent for her?”

  “Aye.”

  Samuel grabbed her hand and drew her to the ground. Lying on the grass, he folded his hands under his head and stared at the clouds above. “Look at that, it looks like a pig.”

  Sorcha frowned and followed suit. Beside him in the flat area, she mimicked his pose. She pointed to a cloud. “Ye think that looks like a pig?”

  “Aye. What do ye think it looks like?”

  “Hmm, a puffy white spot.”

  Laughing, he said, “Come on Sorcha use yer imagination. Look at that one. It looks like a small girl frolicking through a field.”

  “It does?”

  He turned on his side to face her. “It does.” A smile twitched upon his lips as he poked a finger in her rib cage.

  “What are ye doing?” she asked, shifting around and struggling to stay still.

  “Ye are goin’ to agree with me that it looks like a frolicking girl.”

  “Or what?” she asked, egging him on.

  “Or this!” he poked her in the ribs, causing her to go into a hysterical fit of giggles.

  When she could stand it no more, she yelled breathlessly, “Mercy, mercy. I beg for mercy.”

  “Then ye agree the cloud looks like a girl?”

  “Well, I don’t know but −” He didn’t give her time to finish before he commenced the torture once again.

  Sorcha, not one to shy away from a challenge, took her own finger and buried it in his ribcage. It turned out he was much more ticklish than her. He laughed so hard he couldn’t even beg for mercy. Taking pity on him, she stopped.

  She rolled onto her back to catch her breath. “Now that looks like a girl frolicking in the flowers.”

  He burst out with mirth, and she laughed in return. When they calmed down, an air of seriousness returned. A heaviness descended over her as feelings for Samuel overwhelmed her.

  Sitting up, she twisted her gown. Samuel didn’t seem concerned by their situation, but she was. There was no way this was going to work out the way they hoped.

  “Ye are fidgetin’.”

  “How can ye tell? Yer eyes are closed.”

  “Don’t act aghast, dear. I can hear ye worryin’.”

  “I’m not worryin’.”

  “Aye, ye are. Now what are ye worryin’ about?”

  Should she tell him? Could she make him understand without sending him running away in fear? “Do ye want the truth?”

  “Aye, I believe that might work better than a falsehood. If ye lie then I have to decipher the lie into the truth, and sometimes I don’t do that to well.”

  He was probably right. Taking a deep breath, she said, “Samuel, this canna end well.”

  Turning his face toward her, he opened his eyes. “Who said it was goin’ to end?”

  With a jerk she faced him, her lips parted to argue. “Samuel…”

  “Sorcha, why must we place obstacles in our way that do not yet exist?”

  “I’m not worried about the ones that don’t exist, but rather the one that does.”

  “Sorcha, ye must trust in the Lord. Ye must realize nothing happens apart from Him. If we are meant to be as one flesh, then nothing, and no one, will stand in our way.”

  Sorcha knew he was right. God was in control.

  They spent the rest of the afternoon lying on the grass, talking. When the sun began its descent, they stood up, linked arms, and headed toward the village.

  “We should split up again,” Sorcha said.

  “Aye, we should.”

  “Are ye goin’ be valiant and chivalrous and head to the creek?”

  “Nay, I don’t think so. It will be way to cold. Why don’t ye go there this time?” He said jokingly.

  She slapped him on the arm. Her lips parted to make another comment when Samuel went rigid with tension.

  “It’s too late lass.”

  At first she didn’t understand. Then she spotted him across the road hiding in the trees. His black eyes glittered, and his gaped toothed smile was all that could be seen. Sorcha jumped out of Samuel’s arms and started to cry. She ran all the way home, never looking back.

  Festus had discovered her secret.

  Chapter Four

  At first, Samuel wasn’t concerned about the incident with Festus. His reputation over the past five months should stand for something. Of course, the people would remember when Sorcha accused Festus that he had yet to arrive. But he soon realized — people have very short memories. The attendance at the Protestant meetings that had been growing by leaps and bounds quite suddenly reduced by half.

  No longer did families invite him over for dinner. Rather when he was seen in public, those same families would turn aside, shunning him. The same people who worked at his side to plant the garden, now refused to even speak to him.

  At his desk one afternoon, he picked up the quill. He needed help. He had prayed for divine revelation and as the quill touched the parchment he wrote:

  Grant, I wish I had time for pleasantries and all the normal platitudes that I share with ye, but I am afraid this time that I write for another reason. I believe I am in grave danger. I have included a map and directions of my location. Come quickly, I need ye.

  Ye brother, Samuel

  Samuel frowned. Did he honestly believe he was in “grave” danger? What could Grant do to help him, anyway? He would be better off asking another Protestant minister for advice, instead of his brother. Grant Cameron was a devout nothing. He was, of course, a good man, a loyal man, but he believed religion was a hindrance. He thought weak men used it as an excuse to keep from doing certain things. On numerous occasions, he’d attempted to discourage Samuel in his walk of faith.

  The parchment was picked up and ready to be crumpled and thrown aside, but something stayed him. He had asked for guidance, and this was where the Lord had led him. Who was he to question the ways of the Lord? Rolling up the parchment, he placed his wax seal on it, and left his sanctuary to have the missive delivered.

  ****

  Sunlight filtered through the leaves as Grant’s horse galloped toward the Scottish shore. Inquiries sent out a few days before revealed the quickest route to reach Samuel. Doubts and fears nagged at the back of
his mind. What ailed his brother? Could he handle the situation alone? Maybe he should have brought Duncan and some of the other Sinclairs along? Nay, they would have only slowed him down.

  The sound of horse hooves reached his ears. Not turning to look behind him, he stopped his horse and jumped to the ground. In one swift motion he placed himself alongside the road. As the person rode by he grabbed them and flung them to the ground.

  Chest heaving with fear, a moan escaped his prisoner’s lips. Grant’s eyes widened.

  “Dorcas? What are ye doing here?”

  Dorcas struggled underneath him. He smiled and rolled to the side. Offering a hand, he assisted her to a standing position. Not looking him in the eye, she dusted off her skirt. When she looked up, she said, “Grant, why did ye do that? Ye could have broken my neck!”

  Grant headed back to his horse and grabbed the reins walking it to a small stream that ran nearby. As the horse drank Grant squatted and looked out over the glassy surface of the water.

  “I thought ye was a threat.”

  “A threat? Didn’t ye see my hair blowing in the wind? Didn’t ye smell my feminine scent? Didn’t ye notice my gown? Didn’t ye know it was me?”

  “I was distracted,” said Grant.

  “Yer brother?” she asked, coming to stand behind him and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

  Grant allowed the comforting touch. “Aye.”

  “Why didn’t ye ask me to go with ye? I can take care of yer cooking and cleaning. I can talk to ye when ye get lonely. I can listen when ye need an ear. I can help ye.”

  Grant stood. He paced the small clearing. He’d hoped to leave Sinclair lands and his old life behind. What lay before him was uncertain. One day he would find a wife, but not now. Now he needed to help his brother. Then he would go home and help his father with the clan. Once settled, he would search for a wife.

  Dorcas looked at him expectantly. She was a beautiful lass. Soft skin, supple lips, she could be a very worthwhile companion on his journey. But no, it wasn’t right. It would never work.

  “Dorcas, ye need to go back to the keep.”

  “Nay, I want to go with ye.”

  “Does Duncan know where ye are?”

  “Nay,” she said, looking at the ground.

  “Did ye tell yer family ye was coming out to meet me?”

  Dorcas hesitated.

  “Do ye realize what ye have done? Now I will lose a whole day just to take ye back to the keep.”

  Her head rose at his anger. A fire lit behind her eyes. “I don’t need yer help. I can make it back to the keep by myself.”

  She stalked away. Reaching the side of the horse, she attempted to climb astride, but the animal sidestepped. Cursing under her breath, she tried again. This time when the animal moved Dorcas lost her balance and fell to the ground. She slapped the dry dirt and wailed.

  “Why can’t I ever find a man to marry me? If I have to live another minute with my brother I’m going to pull out my hair.”

  Dorcas stood her face red with anger or embarrassment. She paced the ground; her hands flew around her face as her lips moved rapidly. “Do ye really believe I want to go with ye to Ireland?”

  Grant arched his brow.

  “Well I don’t! I have no desire to leave the keep, but my family is driving me mad. Pa wants me to get married and have babes, Ma wants me to stay at home and take care of everything, and my brother wants me to move in with him and take care of his wife! She is the laziest person I’ve ever met. Did ye know if my brother didn’t come home and eat the food I cooked, then he wouldn’t eat at all? She doesn’t cook! Imagine it.” Dorcas shook her head in disbelief.

  “I think I’ve heard it said that those who don’t work shouldn’t eat,” said Grant, trying to keep the smile from his voice.

  “I agree with that. I just can’t believe the idleness of some people. Why just the other day, I went over to check on my brother, and his wife was laid out wailing about hurting her back…”

  Dorcas continued. Grant sighed and traced his finger upon the ground. In the dirt he drew a picture of his route. He tried to count the days it would take him to reach the shore, but his mind wasn’t working. At this rate he would never make it.

  “Grant, are ye listenin’ to me? Here I am pouring out my soul to ye, and ye are drawin’ in the dirt.”

  “Dorcas, not to−“

  “Here it comes, the big ‘I want to listen to ye but I have to rescue my brother’ speech. I guess I should understand, seeing as I’m in a similar situation.”

  Grant waited, unsure what to do. He stared at the road.

  “I’ll just go home. Ye can go on.”

  Dorcas drew close to her horse to climb astride. Instead of watching her fail again, Grant climbed astride his own mount, reached down, grabbed Dorcas around the waist, and lifted her. Settling her in front of him, he grabbed the reins of her horse securing the two animals together.

  She snuggled against his chest. “Thank ye.”

  Grant nodded. All he could hope was that in taking her back to the keep to help her brother, he wasn’t too late to help his own.

  Chapter Five

  Sorcha hadn’t seen Samuel other than church service since their outing. She was dying inside, longing to know how he fared. Her life was much the same. No one spoke to her unless they had to, and she spoke to no one, except the horses. She preferred their answers to that of humans anyway.

  The front room was warm. Logs crackled in the fire pit. Smoke filtered out into the afternoon sky. The needlepoint hung limply in Sorcha’s fingers.

  Timid footsteps garnered her attention. Looking up she saw her mother. She motioned for her to follow.

  Louisa led her to the relative privacy of the kitchen before speaking. “Are the rumors true?”

  “Rumors?”

  “The rumors about Samuel being the father of yer child.”

  Sorcha had never been more hurt in her life. Her voice trembled, raising an octave. “Ma, ye know who the father of this child is! I told ye six months ago when it happened that Festus took liberties with me, and here is the evidence of it.” She paused and gestured to her mid — section. Taking a deep breath she continued, “The minister is my only friend and because we broke bread together the whole village has labeled him with another’s sins!”

  “But Lorcan said—“

  Sorcha interrupted before her mother could finish. “Now ye believe Lorcan and Festus over yer own daughter! I don’t wish to hurt yer feelings Ma, but if ye look real close, ye will realize the only reason ye believe his lies is because ye are afraid of being alone.”

  Her mother wept.

  Sorcha held back. Her mother’s tears pulled at her heart, but she refused to offer comfort. Just because she shed a few tears didn’t make everything better. Her mother deserved to feel guilty.

  Louisa reached out to grab her hands, but Sorcha moved, and her back hit the wall. Her mother straightened her shoulders and swiped at her tears. Instead of trying to grab Sorcha’s hands again, she held her own out in front of her.

  Sorcha looked at the offering. Words Samuel had spoken during a sermon came to her. Peter asked the Lord how many times he should forgive his friend. The Lord replied to forgive not seven times but seventy times seven times. Sorcha knew in her heart this meant there should be no limit to the times you are willing to forgive an offense.

  Looking at her mother’s hands, she took a deep breath and grabbed them.

  Louisa smiled. Taking Sorcha’s hand she placed it to her cheek. After a few minutes of silent crying, she said, “Sorcha, ye are right, and I am sorry. What happened to all those morals I taught ye? Ye are living them, and I do not believe ye. Here I am willing to shun my only child for fear of a man, well no more.”

  Sorcha’s mouth gaped. She moved back, helped her mother to a standing position, and pulled her into a loving embrace.

  Once the initial moment was over they spent the rest of the afternoon talking. Everything Sor
cha had kept bottled inside for months came forth. As the evening began to wane worries beset Sorcha.

  “Ma, what are we going to do?”

  “I’m going to tell Lorcan I don’t believe him.”

  Sorcha grabbed her mother by the shoulders, fear lacing her voice. “Ma, ye can’t.”

  “Oh, child he won’t hurt me.”

  “He might not hurt ye physically, but he can still hurt ye.”

  “The only one that has been hurt is ye.” Bowing her head, her mother peered from under veiled eyes and said, “I want to ask yer forgiveness.”

  Sorcha shook her head, shying away. “Oh, Ma, ye don’t have to ask, I will always forgive ye.”

  “Thank ye,” Louisa said. Both of them quieted. Then Louisa stood. “Go upstairs and pack yer things.”

  “But, ma−”

  “Don’t argue with me child. Get upstairs and pack, I have a plan.”

  Sorcha hurried to do her mother’s bidding. When she came back downstairs her mother stood at the door waiting. Tears formed in her mother’s eyes.

  Sorcha looked at the one pitiful sack of belongings that hung in front of her. They’d never had much in the way of physical belongings. Her worn clothing and her one extra dress she carried with her showed how destitute they really were.

  Louisa beckoned Sorcha to come closer. As she neared the door and her mother’s outstretched arm, it burst open and Lorcan’s startled face appeared.

  He looked around the room. He stared at Sorcha and Louisa focusing on the sack in their hands. “Louisa, where are ye going?”

  Louisa pulled her shoulders back. “Lorcan, I’m taking Sorcha to a place where she can have peace.”

  Lorcan moved away from the door and crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t see any reason why you should do that. She has more than enough peace right here.”

  “I disagree. As long as Sorcha must live near Festus, she will never feel safe.”

  Lorcan lifted one brow, his fist shaking in front of him. “I don’t think I appreciate what ye are sayin’.”

  “Be that as it may, it is time to take care of my daughter.”