Mine Is the Night A Novel - By Liz Curtis Higgs Page 0,43

made of blankets or a cot borrowed from a neighbor—Elisabeth had assured them she slept soundly.

She looked at her small circle of loved ones and confessed, “I’ll not be happy if you’ve spent any of your precious pennies on me.”

“Have no fear on that account.” Anne held out two ladylike fists. “Choose wisely, for only one holds a present.”

Elisabeth eyed one, then the other, looking for a clue. “What happens if I choose poorly?”

“Then I get to keep my gift,” Anne said, sounding as if she meant it.

“Your hospitality is gift enough,” Elisabeth protested, then was astounded when Anne opened her hand. “Cousin! You cannot give me such a treasure.”

“ ’Tis done.” Anne held out the silver comb, gleaming in the candlelight, then tucked it into Elisabeth’s crown of hair with a satisfied nod. “Just as I’d pictured it.”

Elisabeth touched the comb in awe. “Oh, Annie. To think you would part with such an heirloom.” When their gazes met, Elisabeth prayed her cousin might see what could not be said. Have no fear of me, dear Annie. You are the wife Michael wants and the mother Peter needs.

Then she noticed Gibson carrying something across the room, hidden beneath their cousin’s woolen shawl.

“This praisent is from me,” Gibson said proudly.

“Is it a table?” Elisabeth wondered aloud. He’d not concealed the wooden legs or the crosspiece between them, but she still wasn’t certain what it might be. When he lifted the shawl, she gasped with joy. “A tambour! Gibson, wherever did you find it?”

Enthralled, she ran her hands round the double hoop that held the fabric in place and admired the plain but serviceable legs that positioned the hoop at the perfect height. The tambour Donald had purchased for her soon after they married was fashioned of mahogany, richly polished, and ornately carved. This one was made of sturdy oak along simpler lines but a fine tambour nonetheless. She inched it closer, resting her feet on the crosspiece, already imagining what she might embroider first. “Did you find it at Friday’s market?”

Gibson confessed, “I made it myself, mem. With scraps from the carpenter.”

Trapped in her chair by the tambour frame, Elisabeth could not leap to her feet and embrace Gibson, but she could pull him down for a peck on the cheek. “Whatever did I do to merit such blessings?”

“Birthdays are like the good Lord’s mercy,” Marjory told her. “Undeserved yet always celebrated.” She reached for her apron, her gaze narrowing as she regarded their house, now in shambles. “We’ve work to do before supper and bed. And Gibson has brought news from the manse.”

He bowed. “The honor is yers, Leddy Kerr.”

Marjory struck an aristocratic pose. “Admiral Lord Jack Buchanan is already in Selkirk.”

“Ah!” Anne sat up straighter. “I knew it.”

“He arrived this morn,” Marjory told them, “and has taken up residence at Bell Hill with a handful of servants who traveled with him from London.”

“He’s at Bell Hill?” Elisabeth’s eyes widened. “Then … I saw him.”

Twenty-Two

If it were not for a goodly supply of rumors,

half true and half false, what would the gossips do?

THOMAS CHANDLER HALIBURTON

very eye in the sanctuary was trained on the open door, and every parishioner uttered yet another conjecture. Marjory tried not to turn round in the pew, tried not to listen to their whispering, but it was hard since the admiral had been in Selkirkshire for several days and had yet to make an appearance. Surely Lord Buchanan would ride down from Bell Hill and show himself on the Sabbath.

Katherine Shaw and her four pretty daughters were seated behind the Kerrs, spinning yarns as though they were seated at a treadle wheel. “He’s niver taken a wife,” Mrs. Shaw was telling her girls, all of a marriageable age.

“Nae wonder,” her oldest said softly. “He doesna set foot on land for years at a time. What sort o’ husband would a gentleman like that make?”

“A rich one!” the youngest squealed.

“I do hope he’ll tarry in Selkirk,” one of the middle daughters said with a sigh.

“He’s forty years auld,” Mrs. Shaw reminded them. “Nae man would buy so fine a hoose and not live there. Mark my wirds, he means to settle doon and start a family.” At which the young women all giggled, drawing stares from those round them.

Marjory held her tongue, but she could not still her thoughts. The admiral would hardly marry one of the Shaw girls, however charming their smiles or beguiling their figures. Not when he might choose a lady of high standing