by Adams, Alisa
"Naw, sir," she replied regretfully, "the road doesnae fork till a quarter o' a mile away, ane side goin' doon the coast tae Aberdeen an' Arbroath, the other goin' up the coast toward Peterhead. Then again they could be goin' inland."
Gordon began to see the hopelessness of the situation. He finished his whiskey and went to his room, which was not quite so small as Jean had indicated. She followed him, then came in to close the shutters and draw the curtains.
The fire had been laid and she lit it, then had a hot stone brought up to warm his bed. He was as cozy and as comfortable as he could be, and so bone-weary that he fell straight to sleep without eating or drinking anything. He had not even the energy to worry about Heather and her husband—whoever he was.
In the morning he ate a hearty breakfast and returned to Invergar. Damn the little besom! he thought viciously, she has made her bed, now she will have to lie in it - with her husband - whoever he is! With that, he pushed all thoughts of her out of his mind.
Heather and Bruce had begun to make a home. They were blissfully content most of the time, except when Heather had major spells of worry about her family, especially her mother. She had found employment as a governess to two slightly wayward young girls whose mother was at her wits' end. Having had a whole class of children to deal with in one place at one time, this posed little challenge to Heather, whose own rebellious nature understood the girls' minds. She worried about her own school constantly, however, and wondered if Jessica was coping, had hired an assistant, or had left.
Bruce had found employment in a ships' chandlers, where he not only made implements for the ships but served in the shop as well. Between them, they made a livable income since Heather was well able to live without being waited on hand and foot and no longer needed servants to indulge her every whim.
They neither had to spend Heather's savings nor sell her jewelry, both of which were sitting in a bank, the money gathering interest. Heather was glad of this, because Bruce's biggest fear, that of being a 'kept man' had not come to pass. But Jessica and her family weighed on her conscience still.
One night she was so distant that Bruce asked her what was wrong, although he already knew. Lying in bed in his arms, sated with lovemaking, she should have been as happy as it was possible for one woman to be, but it had been almost three months since she had seen her family, of whom she now counted Jessica as a member.
"I worry about my mother and father," she said anxiously, "and James and Jessica. I left them so suddenly with hardly a thought for their welfare—only my own happiness. What kind of woman does that make me, Bruce?"
Bruce heaved a sigh. "Baith o' us behaved badly," he replied, "an' we should make it right. But we canna go away back tae Invergar now we have employment an' a hame. An ye're my family, Heather. I cannae be withoot ye, no' even for a week." He kissed the top of her head and hugged her more tightly.
"Can we send them a message telling them where we live?" she suggested, "I can send it to Jessica. There is a new thing now called a postal service, and they deliver letters for a small fee."
"I heard somethin' aboot it," he replied, "well, we can try. But let us dae it tomorrow, for I am tired oot!"
"I am not surprised!" Heather laughed. "Maybe next time we make love we can be a trifle less enthusiastic?"
Bruce thought about that for a moment. "Maybe," he said at last, "but where's the fun in that?"
31
Letters
After they had eaten the next evening Heather sat down to pen two letters, one to Jessica and one to her mother, explaining the reasoning behind her elopement. Bruce watched her carefully and copied the words as she went along, for she was teaching him to read and write, and he was a very attentive and able pupil.
My dearest Jessica,
I hope this letter finds you well. I wanted to say how very sorry and ashamed I am for the manner of my leaving. My only excuse is that I could not bear to live without my love a moment longer. I would like to know if the school is still functioning and if you employed another teacher. If I do not receive an answer to this letter I will assume that you have not forgiven me, but I pray that you do,
Your friend always,
Heather
She paused for a moment, read it through, then sealed it. Bruce put his hand over hers and she looked into his clear, gray eyes. She could never have imagined loving anyone the way she loved Bruce. Physically, she could not get enough of him, but she loved him mostly because he loved her. He showed it in his kindness, his warmth, his humor, and his passion. How could she have even contemplated having a tolerable life with a man like Kenneth when she could have a supremely happy one with Bruce? It was a miracle.
She prepared to write the second one to her mother, which was going to be even more difficult, she suspected.
Dear Mother,
First of all, please let me begin this letter by telling you how much I love you and how ashamed I am that I did not let you know what was on my mind. I had to do what I did out of necessity and desperation because the man I love and have married is not the kind of man you would have chosen for me, or of whom you would approve. He is a decent, honest, hard-working man who loves me and cannot live without me as I cannot live without him, but he is poor. I am poor now too, at least according to your standards, but we are both working hard and live quite comfortably.
Oh, Mother, if only you knew how happy I am! The only thing that spoils my happiness is knowing that you are angry with me and are worried about my safety. Please rest assured that I am in no danger. I would love you to come and visit me, so I will write my address at the bottom of the letter.
Please come and see me, for I cannot get away from my charges—more about that later!
Whether you forgive me or not I will always be your most devoted and loving daughter,
Mrs. Bruce Ferguson.
She sealed the letter and breathed a sigh of relief. Bruce had made tea and put the pot and a plate of buttered scones in front of her. She took his hand and pressed it against her cheek.
"You are the kindest man I ever met," she murmured.
"Ye're very easy to be kind to, Mistress Ferguson," he answered tenderly.
Jessica was absolutely worn out after a few days, and it was clear that she could not manage on her own. No news had been forthcoming from Heather, so Sadie McFarlane offered to take over the teaching of the younger children. Jessica thought that this was an inspired idea, even if it was only temporary.
Sadie was a well-educated woman, the children knew her, and she was a strict disciplinarian, having five children and ten grandchildren of her own. She enjoyed her new career hugely and threw herself into it, heart and soul.
"I dinnae knaw why we didnae think o' this in the first place!" she observed as they were tidying up one afternoon.
Heather had been away for three months and Jessica was missing her sorely, there being no-one else in the village with whom she had anything in common. Sadie looked at her in consternation.
"Anything wrang, lass?" she asked, noticing Jessica's dejected demeanor.
Jessica smiled at her sadly. "I miss Heather," she replied, "we were so close, and I thought we always would be."
"Hmph!" Sadie made a sound of deep disgust. "That young madam wants a leatherin' if ye ask me."
Jessica laughed.
"Why don't ye come an' eat wi' us the night?" Sadie suggested. "My son Dougie's comin' ower an' I hae a nice big leg o' lamb!"
Jessica thought for a moment. "Thank you, Sadie," she replied, "I think I will. I must go and get changed though."
Sadie flapped her hand. "Pfft!" she said dismissively, "there's nae need tae dress up for us, lass! I will send wee Alec up tae tell them ye're here an' ye can sleep in yer auld room the night. Is that fine?"
"It is indeed, Sadie!" she said excitedly, "it will be a nice change. And I can't wait to meet your son."
Sadie gave her a shrewd sideways look and a wink. "He's no' merrit either," she informed Jessi
ca, "no' even walkin' oot wi' a lassie!"
"Thank you for telling me, Sadie," Jessica said grimly, "but if another person tries to line me up with another eligible young man I am going to scream!"
Sadie laughed. "C'mon, hen," she said comfortably, "let's go in the hoose. We can hae a blether while I cook."
Katrine slit open the letter from Heather with trembling fingers. She read it twice, then pressed it to her breast gratefully. Thank God, she whispered, thank God. She is safe. But who is Bruce Ferguson?
No matter how much she racked her brains she could not think of even a farmer with that name. Never in her wildest nightmare would she have thought of a blacksmith., but she hugged herself with joy anyway. Heather was safe and well, and hopefully in the arms of a good man. A mother could hope for no more. If he was poor it did not have to mean that he was a gold digger. If he and she were gainfully employed, had a roof over their heads and enough to eat she was happy and Heather still had her jewelry, although the thought of her selling that would break Katrine's heart. And the family's reputation? Well, that was the least of her worries at the moment.
James came in an hour later, wet, muddy and decidedly irritable.
"I've had a letter from Heather!" his mother cried, waving it in the air excitedly.
"Let me see," James took the letter from her and read it till the end. Then his eyes widened till they were nearly round. "Bruce Ferguson!” His voice was almost a scream.
"Do you know him?" Katrine asked anxiously.
"I should think so!" James said grimly, "he shoes my horse. He's the bloody blacksmith!"
Katrine did not register this for a moment. "James, I thought I heard you say the blacksmith," she managed faintly.
"I did, Mother."
He pulled her into his arms as she began to shake, then gently sat her down in a padded chair before pouring her a double measure of whiskey. She sipped it and coughed, her eyes blank with shock.
"When she said 'poor' I thought she meant an impoverished nobleman," she whispered, "but a blacksmith!" All of a sudden, her voice rose to a shout. She shook her auburn curls furiously then stood up. "I am going to take a sleeping draught and hope that when I wake up this will all have gone away."
Unfortunately, Mother, that will not happen, James thought as he read the letter again. She had written her address in Dundee, and he made up his mind to start the journey there next morning.
When Gordon saw the letter, he went pale.
"I can't believe she's done this to us," he said bitterly. He kept looking at the letter as if he could not tear his eyes away from it. "A woman like her with everything to give and she wastes it on a-a blacksmith!" He spat the word out as if he could not stand the taste of it.
James could find nothing to say. He put his hand on his father's shoulder. "Father, I have made up my mind to go to Dundee in the morning." He held up his hand as the Laird began to protest, and went on relentlessly. "They are married, and we cannot force them apart, but I would like to understand and I want to see if she is happy."
When Gordon spoke again his voice was calm but his words were deadly. "I do not care what you do, James." He looked up at his son, and his face was absolutely devoid of expression. "She is nothing to me now. I no longer have a daughter."
32
The Invitation
Jessica thoroughly enjoyed her evening at the McFarlanes. Their son, Dougie, was tall like his father, but unlike either of his parents, he had a head of auburn hair which was a shade darker than Heather's. He had a dark, wry sense of humor and a way of telling jokes that kept her in stitches for most of the evening. He asked her a lot of questions about herself and seemed genuinely impressed when she told him she was studying Latin.
"Why?" he asked curiously. He leaned his elbow on the table and faced her, the better to concentrate on everything she was saying.
"To improve my mind," she replied.
"Dae lassies' minds need improvin'?" he asked with a twinkle in his eye. "Because I think they are jist fine the way they are!"
"So, you don't like clever women?" she challenged him.
"I didnae say that." He laughed. "I hae never met a lass who wants tae improve her mind afore. I think it is a fine thing."
"Good!" she said happily.
Then she saw the huge mound of the clootie dumpling that Sadie was bringing out as pudding. It was just out of the big iron pot in which it had been boiled, and was still wrapped in its washcloth. Her mouth began to water as the delicious aroma of cinnamon, cloves and treacle assailed her nostrils. Sadie put what looked like a gallon of fresh cream on the table beside it and sliced a piece for each of them.
"I've telt ye afore, Jessica," Sadie warned, "dinnae get used tae this. That's how I lost my totie wee waist."
"I have heard that you are the clootie dumpling queen of this whole valley, Sadie." Jessica laughed. "I expect this to be heaven on a plate!"
Indeed, the dumpling was everything Jessica had expected. It was warm and spicy, with the burnt caramel taste of treacle and the sweet succulent fruitiness of raisins, all washed down with full, rich taste of the buttery cream. Jessica tucked in eagerly to the pudding, hardly saying a word till she was finished. When she put her spoon down she found that everyone's eyes were on her, and they were all grinning.
"A bit o' good hame cookin'," Sadie laughed, "ye dinnae get that at yon castle, I'll wager."
Jessica leaned back, afraid she would burst if she had any more to eat. "That was—I have no words of praise to express how good that was, Sadie!"
"Is she no' polite?" Sadie asked her menfolk as she cleared away the dishes.
"Aye," John McFarlane said, "and bonny too."
"Stop flirtin', husband!" came Sadie's voice from the kitchen. "Or I'll set aboot ye wi' the rollin' pin!"
"I'll flirt for ye, Faither," Dougie volunteered, "indeed, you are a fine specimen of womanhood, Jessica. May I escort you to the ceilidh at the estate of Laird Jamieson next week?"
"You get invitations from Lairds?" Jessica asked, astonished.
He laughed. "Naw," he answered, and Jessica suddenly noticed how lovely the amber color of his eyes was. "I work for him as ane o' his footmen, an' he is havin' a big ceilidh for a' his staff an' their families tae celebrate his marriage."
"Well, that was quick," Jessica observed almost indignantly, "he was broken-hearted a few months ago when Heather sent him packing."
"Sounds as though ye dinnae hae a high opinion o' him." Dougie laughed.
"I think he is very handsome," she admitted, "but he wanted Heather to be the kind of woman she was not, nor ever could be. Neither could I, come to that. He made such a fuss when she ended their relationship that I thought his heart was broken. It seems it was not, or has stuck itself back together very quickly!"
"Where is she these days?" Dougie asked curiously.
"In the Lowlands, on some errand of her own that she did not share with me," Jessica said dismissively, "now, about the ceilidh. I would love to join you, thank you."
Dougie smiled at her, delighted. He’d had a few relationships before that had not worked out, but this young woman was different. She was intelligent, well-spoken and pretty. She had a kindness about her that was particularly appealing to him, and the children loved her. And by the look of her, she liked him too.
All thoughts of any other man were driven from Jessica's mind when she first saw Dougie. Like a normal young woman, her eye had been caught very briefly by Bruce and then James, but neither fitted her needs nor her station in life. A Laird marrying a schoolteacher? She laughed inwardly as she thought of Heather and Bruce. Where were they now? She had often seen Dougie at church, but he had always looked away when he saw her. Now, she realized that he had merely been shy.
They finished their meal with a cup of tea, and Sadie brought out a plate of shortbread.
"Sadie," Jessica said sadly, "it looks as if you are the queen of shortbread too but I simply cannot eat anymore."
"Ye'll
hae some for breakfast, hen." She smiled. "Wi' yer black puddin' an' eggs."
Jessica hated black pudding, but she would never admit it to her hostess. She would force it down and smile. "That would be lovely," she said politely, "and thank you for the wonderful meal, Sadie. I haven't been so well-stuffed for ages."
When the cart came to pick Dougie up, he took Jessica aside. "I am no' much o' a dancer," he said sadly, and his voice was so serious that Jessica laughed. He joined in. "Whit's this, wee Jessie? Here I am barin' my soul tae you an' ye're laughin'! Shame on you!"
"I am a terrible dancer too," she confessed, "so we can stand on each other’s toes all evening!"
She was surprised when he gave her a kiss on the cheek, then left. She put her hand on the spot and smiled. Of all the young men who had given her the glad eye since she came to Invergar, Dougie was the best. Bruce was a fantasy, and James was too intense, but Dougie was just right. She couldn't wait for the ceilidh.
Inside, Sadie and John watched through a little gap in the curtains. They both gave a little gasp of pleased surprise when their son kissed Jessica's cheek and saw her touch it afterward.
"D'ye think they suspect?" Sadie asked.
"That we arranged it?" John shrugged. "Doesnae matter now. They seem tae be getting along fine."
Jessica came back in, yawning. She was still tired most of the time and Sadie advised her to go to bed.
"I've made the room nice for ye, lass," she told her, "so goodnight an' sleep well."
If Jessica wondered why the whole room had been so beautifully prepared for her with flowers and silver candlesticks she said nothing, but she did have an inkling that her meeting with Dougie had not been not entirely accidental.
Jessica had to endure a few not-so-subtle inquiries and comments from Sadie the next morning. 'Nice boy, my Dougie, eh?', 'the girls a' like him,' and 'twenty-five an' no' merrit yet—it's a shame!'
