The Betrayal of Maggie Blair - By Elizabeth Laird Page 0,83
plaids down on the wet grass before they sat and turned their faces up eagerly to listen.
Uncle Blair and Mr. Renwick stood with their backs to the waterfall cascading down behind them.
"Dear friends, dear neighbors," began Uncle Blair. "You have come—we are here—the honor of welcoming you to Ladymuir—the danger we face today..."
He was unable to go on. For a moment I thought he was tongue-tied by nervousness at addressing such a large crowd, but when he turned to Mr. Renwick and signaled to him to carry on, I saw that he was moved beyond bearing with emotion, and my own eyes pricked with tears in response.
Mr. Renwick stood silent for a long moment, his head bowed in prayer, then he raised it and swept the expectant crowd with a long, penetrating look, as if assuring himself that all eyes were upon him. Only then did he begin to speak, and his voice, thrilling and deep, penetrated to the edge of the crowd, even through the sound of the water, and made the goose pimples rise on my arms.
"Those that choose Christ make the right choice, yes, and a noble choice, for if Christ is theirs, all is theirs. His glory is theirs, and he will be a hiding place to them in the days of trouble."
He took a small Bible from the pocket of his coat, opened it, and read, "'For thou hast been a strength to the poor, a strength to the needy in his distress, a refuge from the storm, a shadow from the heat, when the blast of the terrible ones is a storm against the wall.'"
"Amen!" several voices called back in response.
"A strength to the needy in his distress," I thought. "A shadow from the heat."
Was that true for me? Was it Christ who had rescued me from the gallows and the fire? Or just Tam?
It was Tam, I thought. It must have been.
I knew that I wasn't pure enough—I had never been good or faithful enough—to deserve that Christ himself would make such an effort to rescue me. I could believe much more easily in Tam's love and his delight in making mischief.
While my mind had wandered, Mr. Renwick had been turning the pages of his Bible, and now he was tapping it with his forefinger.
"Oh, brothers and sisters!" he cried. "Listen to the love thoughts, bound here in this book in a bundle of precious promises! Every one of them drops like honey from the honeycomb! See how Christ shows his love to us." And he read out, "'He brought me to the banqueting house, and his banner over me was love, and he fed me with apples, and comforted me with wine.'"
My chest tightened with longing as he spoke.
Nobody ever loved me like that. But does Jesus? Is it really tr ue?
"And what does he want from you in return?" I could hardly bear to look at Mr. Renwick now. I felt as if his words were burning me, singeing my soul. "Jesus wants to have your heart and all that you have and are. If he calls for your eyes, give them to him! If he calls for your ears, give them to him! If he calls for your heart—oh, brothers and sisters, give! Give!"
"I do! I give everything!" I whispered, and my heart seemed to bound in my chest. "I give..."
"Maggie!" said my aunt, pulling on my sleeve. "Where's Martha?"
I looked around. I could see Nanny with a knot of other little girls. They had crept away to the side of the congregation and were playing quietly with sticks of wood wrapped in little cloths, cradling them like babies. But Martha wasn't there.
"I don't know, Aunt. I thought she was with you."
Annie, sitting right behind us, leaned forward and whispered, "I'll go and look for her, Mistress Blair."
I turned back to Mr. Renwick, ready to sink back under the spell of his sermon, but as Annie stepped over my outstretched legs, I looked up and saw a glint of fierce purpose in her eyes. She was suppressing a smile of triumph, as if she'd been waiting for something and it had happened as she'd hoped.
A jag of fear shot through me.
"Stay here, Annie. I'll go," I said, catching hold of her skirt.
She shook me off without looking at me or answering and was already slipping away to the edge of the crowd where the path led out of