Mine Is the Night A Novel - By Liz Curtis Higgs Page 0,29
hand, his glass in the other, marveling at the tiny petals and leaves. Her husband had loved their country property and all the treasures it contained. Alas, she’d insisted Lord John move their family to fashionable Edinburgh, turning her back on everyone and everything they knew.
Some regrets even time could not erase.
Anne patently admired the magnifying glass, then reached for a sample of her lace. “Look, Cousin.” She held her work beneath the round lens. “Now you can see it properly. I confess the stitches are so tiny my head begins to ache after a few hours.”
Marjory studied Anne’s delicate needlepoint lace with its thousands of buttonhole stitches and knew at once what must be done. “Would my husband’s magnifying glass be of some use to you?”
With a slight gasp Anne lifted it from her hands. “You cannot imagine how much.”
“Then it is yours,” Marjory said without hesitation. “To keep.”
“But …” Anne’s face was scarlet. “I meant only to borrow it.”
Marjory leaned forward and cupped Anne’s cheeks, feeling their warmth against her cool palms. “Lord John would want you to have it. And I want you to have it.” Marjory looked deep into her cousin’s eyes. “One magnifying glass could never repay your kindness to us. Or begin to make amends for the years I neglected you. Please, dear Annie, … may I give you this?”
Anne’s mouth began to tremble. “Oh, Cousin.” She lowered her gaze. “I fear I misjudged you terribly.”
“Nae, you did not. You thought me haughty and prideful and selfish.” Marjory wished it were not so, but it was. “I have been all those things and more, especially toward you.”
“Years ago, perhaps. Not now.” Anne clutched the glass in her hand. “You are a changed woman, Marjory.”
She eased back. “With more changes needed, I’m afraid.”
“True for us all.” Anne traced the carved handle with her fingertip. “Thank you, Marjory.” She sighed, then lifted her head. “I shall be at my lace work until the gloaming. Miss Boyd and Miss Caldwell shan’t be coming since ’tis May Day.”
Elisabeth was already gathering her sewing items. “Perhaps I might complete two shirts with the house quiet.”
Marjory had other plans. Buoyed by the sounds from the marketplace below, she announced, “After I call upon Reverend Brown, I am determined to walk the length of Water Row, greeting everyone who meets my gaze and does not turn away.”
Elisabeth and Anne both turned to her, clearly taken by surprise.
“Marjory, are you certain?” Elisabeth glanced at her pile of unfinished shirts, then looked up, her expression resolute. “I could join you—”
“Nae, Bess,” Marjory said gently. “If I’m to find my place in Selkirk, I must first know who is willing to befriend me.” She did not tarry, lest she lose her nerve. What can man do unto me? Aye, she would cling to those words and keep walking.
Just as she’d imagined, Halliwell’s Close was crowded with folk bringing in the May. Freshly cut hawthorn branches, fragrant with tiny white flowers, were fastened to every doorpost, and the air was filled with merriment. In the marketplace shepherds from the hills mingled with the lasses of the town, circling the mercat cross in an ancient dance while a fiddler spun a lively reel. At least she’d chosen a day when her neighbors might be more charitable.
First, she would learn what she could of Gibson. Anne’s words from days past haunted her. You must prepare yourself for the worst. But Marjory was not prepared. Nae, she would not even consider it.
She crossed Kirk Wynd and headed for the manse, praying in earnest. May there be some report of him, Lord, and may it be favorable. When Reverend Brown yanked open the door before she knocked, her hopes rose. “You’ve news for me?” Marjory asked, thinking he’d watched her approach from the window.
“As it happens, I am bound for the school to meet with the dominie, Daniel Cumming.”
“I see.” Marjory knew the schoolmaster only by name. “My daughter-in-law sews his shirts,” she said without thinking.
The minister’s countenance darkened. “I beg your pardon?”
“That is, she is … helping Mr. Dalgliesh, the tailor …” Marjory stopped before she made a greater fool of herself or, worse, injured Elisabeth’s reputation.
To her surprise the minister’s expression lightened considerably. “As it happens, the Widow Kerr will also be sewing my shirts. And very skillfully, I’m told. But you’ve not come to speak of clothing.” He crossed the threshold and joined her in the street. “I met with Joseph Haldane this morn.”