A PLAID CHRISTMAS IN SCOTLAND
Where Christmas was outlawed for four hundred years.
By Celia Jolley
"Have you entered the storehouses of the snow?"
(Job 38:22)
"What? I thought you were coming. I refuse to leave you like this, Father. You are so much worse, I dare not leave your side. I thought the air in the country, out of this filthy city, would help you..." but he held the door firmly shut when she attempted to disembark.
After several attempts, the words came out in short gasps from his tight chest. "You must...The doctor will see to me here. I will join you when I'm better, I promise. Your letter is in your reticule."
She nodded but could not say more because of crying, afraid of breaking down completely. The young thing beside her looked white as a sheet with sheer terror.
He suddenly seemed to have gotten his lungs full and spoke more easily. "I'm sorry, Elspeth, to be sending you alone such a long journey with only your little maid as a chaperone, but it can't be helped."
The coachman's bawling call had her father squeezing her gloved hand farewell through the window. He seemed to be holding back his breath, but as she looked back he was bent over staggering with the worse coughing fit yet. Finally when he was out of sight, she sat back in her seat and let the tears roll not caring if she looked a sight to the other passengers. She was going to the unknown alone.
A long time later as the tears dried salty on her cheeks, she got out the letter her father had sent. Regardless of propriety, she broke open the seal and unfolded the parchment to read...
"Dear Sir Anton,
I had planned to accompany my daughter to finally make good on your invitation to visit you in your Scottish holdings for my health. However, I fear I may not be long for this world..." Her sobs were barely muffled by her handkerchief crammed against her mouth. Finally, she could feel her maid patting her arm. She gulped huge breaths choking back sorrow.
Elsepeth continued reading after wiping her eyes and flattening out the letter which she had crumpled in her grief. The ink was smudged now, but she read on...
"My physician gives me no hope. Sadly, my affairs are in a worse state than my health and am leaving my precious girl penniless with no protection and no dowry. At our last meeting, I had asked you to be her guardian, if it might be deemed necessary. I find that now is such a time. Her betrothed is in the King's service and promised to come to claim her if he survives the war.
Since, as I remember, you have sworn off romance, and the thought of remarriage makes you growl, having my daughter on your arm at your limited social engagements such as you can't manage to excuse yourself from might help you ward off the unwanted attentions from the fairer sex that you so loathe. Her stay could be mutually satisfying in that respect. Elspeth is quiet as a mouse otherwise, content to read or sketch, walk about or occasionally play the piano forte if you have one there. You have my undying gratitude, or rather my dying gratitude. Sorry to be morose, ol'pal, but such is life, or rather death. She is dearest to my heart. I know you will not turn her out if for nothing else than our friendship."
Elspeth wadded the missive and crammed it back in her pocket. She shuddered a sigh. Her father had not told her any of this. She muttered under her breath, "How could I have been so blind?" She wondered how she could not have realized he was not coming, that he was too sick?"
"Hmm?" Betsy the maid looked up.
"Nothing. I fear I will never see my father again," she whispered. "But I will need to write Robert as soon as I have ink and paper. Perhaps he can be released early to come for me. Oh, this horrid war. Men! Why must they die of consumption or battle and leave us women alone?"
Her little maid squeezed her hand looking at her wide-eyed. "At least I have you, dear Betsy. I'm sure you are as petrified of leaving home and country as I am. I never dreamed we'd be leaving England for Scotland by ourselves."
"Yes, miss," she squeaked and hung her head to hide her own tears.
The long days and weary hours in the coach provided plenty of time for grief and anger to dance an intricate step together until her head pounded, and her heart grew numb, as numb as her fingers and toes in the freezing coach. The brittle cold meant the curtains had to remain drawn, so there was no beauty in the scenery to distract. The other passengers looked down their noses at her for traveling so far unchaperoned. The only thing that kept her from coarse treatment was the mention that she was going to Sir Anton's, a well respected man in the region.
The last day on the road, her money had run out, and the two were hungry indeed not even having a cup of tea to warm them in the dreary wintery climate. Elspeth's stomach growled in protest though she had no appetite. However, she felt keenly sorry for her little maid who was too slight to begin with and never stopped shivering.
Finally, the driver stopped at a huge iron gate and threw her trunks down in the snow. "Sorry, miss, I can't be bothered to drive every Tom, Dick, and Harry up to their door. I'm sure someone from the house can come back for your things." With a tip of his hat, he left the two young women standing in the slush of the road.
"Well, I can't see the house from here, but there's nothing to do but go down the lane, knock on the door and hope someone's home." She tried to sound more chipper than she could possibly muster, for Betsy sake.
Her calf-skin slippers were soon soaked. She owned no boots as she had outgrown last year's, and there had been no money for new ones. It seemed that it had been years since she had been warm and trembled as much from the cold as from the fear of what was before them. Elspeth wondered what she would do if Betsy gave out on her before they got there. She could hear the child's teeth chattering over her own. As the road curved, the place came into view through another set of gates. It was not a house, but a stately manor, ancient at that.
"Oh, dear." She stood up to her ankles in snow to stare at the formidable fortress.
"I see a light burning in a window, miss. I do hope it means someone is home to let us in."
It was still quite a ways off, but they quickened their pace, half running in a most unlady-like manner. It was that or give in to their quaking and fall in a snowdrift never to rise again.
Elspeth lifted the frozen door knocker with stiff fingers. She could no longer feel her hands or feet and was amazed they had made it. She hugged poor frozen Betsy to her who was threatening to fall weak-kneed to the icy flagstones. Just as she was about to lift the door knocker again, the huge door creaked open and a flood of light poured out.
"Mercy, upon us all! What waifs have we here frozen upon the stoop now? Come in, come in."
They had to be half carried in where they were wrapped in plaids in front of a blazing hearth nearly the width of the room. "Not too close now. You need be thawed out slowly or you'll burn your fingers and toes off." Soon maids were bringing pans of cold water in and stacks of towels. Their hands and feet were placed indelicately in and then rubbed repeatedly, rubbed with snow even. It was so painful that it had both girls in tears.
"Are you sure you are not sticking me with pins?"
"I'm sorry dearie, but it is quite necessary, ye understand. It is thankful I am that ye can feel even if it hurts. That's a good sign."
It took over an hour with this treatment and drinking hot broth before Elspeth could unwind her fingers and dig out the wadded letter from her father. She smoothed it out and gave it to the housekeeper who handed it over to the butler.
"This is for Sir Anton. It explains everything," Elspeth stammered.
He bowed and was waved away by the housekeeper. "We let the master know ye was here, but told him ye were in no condition to speak to him as yet. He is curious to know what brought ye lassies to his door."
Just as her head was feeling too drowsy to hold itself up, heavy boots were heard on the stone steps and stopped at the threshold. Elspeth kept her head down and eyes closed, not daring to look.
"Jones, show them to their rooms. I will speak with our guest tomorrow."
She could not decide if his voice sounded angry or just perturbed, greatly perturbed or greatly angered. His footsteps were soon gone leaving as suddenly as they came.
Then she remembered. "I'm sorry, but my trunks are by the gate where the stage dropped us off."
"He made ye walk the mile in the snow? Oh, wait till the master hears of this." She made crooning sounds, "Ye poor wee things. No wonder it is that ye came to us more than half frozen. I feared for frostbite, but you pinked up nicely after a dousing and a rub." Do you think ye are able to walk up to your rooms or will need to be carried?"
"Oh, no, I can walk." Then looking over at her pitiful maid she added, "But I believe she might need to be carried. She doesn't weigh more than a pigeon, and I don't think she has any strength left."
A manservant came behind with limp Betsy in his arms as Elspeth followed the housekeeper up the stairs. Even now she fought back the tears from the feeling of needles in her feet. There was a fire already warming the room and a firepan under the covers to keep her feet warm. Betsy was carried through to a closet room away from the hearth, a maid's quarter. The upstairs maid then helped Elspeth into someone's nightgown, so big it swallowed her, before turning down the covers. After thanking her, the maid left.
As soon as the door closed, Elspeth went over and shook Betsy awake, "Come climb in by me. We'll stay warmer that way." They had to share a bed the whole trip as there were not enough funds to pay for two beds at the inns. As weary as she was, Elspeth blew out the candle without even looking at her room, just glad to sink into the bed linens and be swaddled like a babe.
"Oh miss, it is so grand, and everyone is so kind, even to me. Here's your wash water and then I'll help you change into a clean gown. Your trunks were waiting outside the door until you were awake. I've hung your green dress up to freshen for you. When you break your fast, a manservant will bring them into the room while you eat, and I can begin unpacking."
"Wait. Don't unpack until we are certain of our welcome."
"I'm told by the maid downstairs that we are not to worry. He is a kind master and will in no wise turn us out."
"Still, I would not want to be presumptuous until he has offered his invitation."
"Yes, miss. Whatever you say."
"And Betsy, thank you."
Her maid had the sweetest dimple that Elspeth loved to see when she smiled.
There was a knock at the door as Betsy was almost done brushing her hair.
"Here, let me put it up myself quickly while you answer the door."
"Good morning," the housekeeper swept into the room without waiting for Betsy to open the door. "Breakfast has been kept warm for you. When ye are finished, we'll go into the study to meet Master Anton." She then looked Elspeth up and down and smiled, "Quite nice. Ye'll do. If ye are ready, I'll show you down now. Later after ye have spoken with Sir Anton, I will give a tour so that ye can find your o'n way about."
"Thank you. I'm ready." She would never be ready for what the morning would bring fighting back new tears missing her father terribly just now.
The dining room was facing east to catch the rays even in winter with plenty of glass to reflect the sparkle from the snow scape which stretched from an icy loch to highland crags that disappeared into the clouds. It was breathtaking. "It is so beautiful."
"Yes, it's lovely. It's why the master prefers to stay here away from society rather than his house in the city." She bustled about uncovering eggs and toast with jam, bacon, and porridge. "We don't eat too fancy here, but it is plenty and tasty. Would ye care for a cup of tea or coffee?"
"Coffee, please with cream." It was her guilty pleasure that she had acquired a taste for. When her father entertained his friends, he always made sure she served it along with tea allowing her a cup as well. Just the smell of the dark brew brought back memories of her father that nearly choked her.
"Is something wrong, miss? Is the coffee alright?"
"No, it is perfect. It just brought back memories. My father loved his coffee though he tried not to let on to his English tea drinking friends."
Having not eaten the day before except for the broth last night, Elspeth could not seem to get full.
Jones, the housekeeper, arched her eyebrows in surprise at her healthy appetite.
"I don't normally eat like this, it's just that I was so cold last night..."
"Understandably so, my dear. Shall we go or would you like another cup first. Or I could serve ye in the study."
"In the study would be nice. Thank you." Elspeth would like to have something warm in her hands when meeting Sir Anton not sure of his welcome.
She followed the housekeeper's quick clip down the stone floors until the woman knocked at a heavy door at the end of the hallway.
"Come in." It was the same deep voice that she heard last night, not quite so agitated, but still very business like. She wished now she had asked her father more about their host.
With a deep breath, she stepped into the room. Her eyes went up the walls to the tall ceilings where stags were mounted and other antlers as well as an imposing family portrait of a white haired man in a kilt. Finally, her eyes glanced to meet the man whose manor she had burst in upon unannounced last night. She ducked her head in a curtsey, "Sir Anton, please accept my apologies for our sudden and unfortunate intrusion last night." Now she must meet his steady gaze.
"Drat, I had not expected one so young," she heard him mutter under his breath. He inspected her person from where he stood in a kilt in front of his fireplace.
She gasped and covered her mouth. She never had seen a man in a kilt, one with so much leg showing even with stockings on. It was quite shocking.
Suddenly, he laughed a deep throaty rumble up from his chest. "Well, Miss Crumbie, so we meet. Your father has spoken of you often, but I can see you are not used to an authentic Scotsman. You'll get use to our wilds. You'll be wed soon enough to your soldier sweetheart, I'm told. Then perhaps you won't blush so."
"You are very bold, sir."
Again he laughed. "You are a young thing, Miss Crumbie. I had expected an older, more seasoned lady of an age to be betrothed. You hardly seem old enough to be out of the nursery."
"Sir, I am astonished!"
The housekeeper had returned with a tray and two coffee cups. Now she was clearing her throat.
"Thank you Jones, I forget myself. Rather, I should be expressing my sympathy at your father's ill health, quite at death's door, I understand. Indeed, he has been a good friend over the years and I was saddened by his letter. Of course, as his daughter, you are more than welcome to stay here until your intended comes and posts the banns whenever that may be. War is a bit unpredictable that way. Jones will make sure you have everything you need. Don't be afraid to ask. I hope you don't expect much society. It is rather isolated here."
Elspeth took the cup offered her. "Oh, it is beyond lovely. But thank you for your kind words of my father..." she blinked back tears swearing the man would never see her cry. "Thank you for your generous offer of refuge to me and my maid. I've not been much in society and had no expectations of doing so here."
"Your maid? I thought she was some spectral waif floating about. She should take a care outside lest she get blown clear across the loch."
"I will be sure to tell her you said so, sir." The beginnings of a smile quirked the corners of her mouth, but she bit her lip instead. "If you would be so kind, I would like to write a letter to my fiancé to let him know where he can find me. And back home for any news of my father, whether he still...of his health."
"Naturally, though I have already dispatched an inquiry after your father. Jones will see to your request. Anything else that I can do for you?"
"No," she hesitated, "But thank you again for not sending us packing. We had no where else to go."
"I hope your father never gave you a reason to mistrust your welcome here."
"No, not at all. It is just that I did not know he would not be joining us on our journey until he shut the coach door and would not let me out to stay with him..." She stared out the window fighting back a shudder of grief.
Before she could think, he was beside her lifting her chin making her stare up into his dark eyes of compassion. "You are too young to lose both mother and father. I won't begrudge you your keening."
Just as suddenly, Sir Anton was out the door, his brogans making their distinct sound against the stones.
"Don't worry, dear. He is a good man, warm hearted though sometimes too honest making him seem to be lacking in social graces. He's always been loved here at home. There's nothing to be afeared of. I'll bring the pen, paper, and inkwell up to your room. But first, if ye don't mind, I'll give a wee tour."
"This is grander than any building I've ever been in."
"Ye didna go into the grand cathedrals in the city?"
"No, we went to Wesley's chapel."
"We don't keep every wing of the manor open. It would take a whole forest to heat it. I won't show ye the old cold parts; wouldn't want to get ye chilled again. Ye've already seen the dining room, and the great hall where we warmed ye by the fire last night. Then ye've seen the master's study, so I'll show ye to the library, and the small chapel. This hallway is the main gallery of his ancestors."
Elspeth was speechless at the grandeur. Yet, each room held a warmth from more than a fireplace.
There was a sense of comfort. These rooms each had been lived in for a century or two and were filled with personality as if there was an aura of welcome.
"The master said ye may help yourself to any books to your liking, except what's in the locked case. Those are so old that they may fall apart. Some of them are the only ones of their kind, ye know. His great grandfather rescued them from a burning abbey when Protestants came into power settting a torch to the histories kept by monks."
"I think I will spend a lot of time in here,' yet she stood in front of the window as she spoke looking out at the winter spread of white."
"I do have a question."
"Yes, miss?"
"Does the master expect formal attire at dinner. I don't have much in the way of fancy gowns."
"No, he doesn't put much stock in high society and is much more plain in dress than when he is in the city."
"Does he always wear the...um...kilt?"
"More often than not. This tis Scotland, and he's proud of it. I might ask him if ye can be borrowing some of his mother's or his lady's-God rest their souls- plaids to keep warm. It doesn't look like ye are prepared for the winter cold and need more wool to wrap up in."
"No, I'm not. You are quite right."
"I will rummage around for a pair of boots as well. Otherwise ye won't be able to step outside for months without freezing yer toes off."
"Thank you kindly, Miss Jones."
"And here's the kitchen with the pantry just through there. Cook, this is our guest, Miss Crumbie."
The ruddy cheeks flushed even a deeper shade evidently not used to greeting the company. "Tis a pleasure to meet you, miss."
"You as well. I'm sure Miss Jones could tell you how much I enjoyed the delicious breakfast this morning."
The housekeeper could not stifle a chuckle. "She did indeed."
Elspeth turned to leave knowing the shy cook was painfully suffering through the introductions.
"Well, if ye don't have any other questions, see if ye can find the way back to yer room by yer lonesome. I'll leave ye now and find what ye need for writing that letter to yer sweetheart. I'll have it brought up to the room shortly."
"Yes. Thank you very much."
She found that just going up the stairs made her tired and on the verge of a splitting headache.. Perhaps, the last few days had been harder on her than she had thought. A nap sounded good after dinner. She finally was alone in her room. Not even Betsy was there to interrupt her musings. Elspeth cast her eyes around finding beauty and comfort in the simple furnishings in her room from eras gone by. There was a lady's portrait over the mantle but not overly fussy dressing in the curtains or bedding. There was a chair by the fire and a small lady's desk near the window. The view was over the gardens so blanketed by snow they were made into a lumpy bed.
Elspeth hoped there would be a Bible available. She did not have her father's with her. It appeared that the few belongings left behind would be lost to her upon her father's death. She knew it was only a matter of time before they received word. Surely his many friends at Wesley's Chapel would see to a fitting burial.
Betsy burst in with a cheerful vigor that warmed her heart. Elspeth greeted her saying, "Glad I am to see that you've recovered from our frosty trial of a journey."
"This is a good place to be, miss. We are both well looked after so there's much to be thankful for. The good Lord had a place prepared for us. As grand as this is, it is what I imagined heaven would be like. How could I not be happy with His favor to me His humble child."
She hugged the little thing to her heart. "Oh, Betsy, you are a blessing to me and a comfort."
"Here's the writing things for your letter. When you are done, I will take it down to the tray in the hall. She says it may not go our for many days, especially with this weather. Even though it's still snowing hard, the master has left to make sure his crofters are provided for and well.
Indeed, it had started snowing again and the vista had been swallowed up in a white curtain. "I will try to get it done before dinner. Help me not be late in case I lose track of time."
The letters she sent Robert had been few, but not less than the ones she received which were the two packed away in her things. Elspeth was never sure that any of hers were ever delivered except perhaps one he mentioned. Nevertheless, as a dutiful effort of one betrothed, Elspeth tried to write without blotting the precious paper. It did make her wonder if her grief would be a sentiment he could appreciate being in the midst of war which might mean he would be surrounded by the dying.
It gave her pause. Did she really know this man who had briefly courted her, gained her father's approval before slipping away in uniform. Robert was a good second son and did what he had to do since not fitted for the cloth. The thought of his return for her did not bring the security she hoped, nor the heart yearnings she had dreamed of. At this distance, he seemed a perfect stranger. It must be enough that her father thought him worthy. Now in retrospect, Elspeth wondered if her father rushed the engagement due to his failing health. It had not been anything she had expected. She was committed to a promise now, however. That was all. So, she wrote.
Betsy came back in as she was blowing on the ink to dry it. She had written just one page with no flowery embellishments. Elspeth shuddered to think what would have happened to her if she had stayed and was left there alone when her father died. Surely, someone from Wesley's Chapel would have helped her, though she knew her father's situation was dire without funds. She was an orphan staying here on the good graces of one of his friends. She was waiting on another man to come and rescue her by marriage. It was a sinking feeling to be so helpless as a woman.
She was alone at the table. Sir Anton was away. Elspeth had always dined with her father unless he was detained by business. In that case, she urged Betsy to sit down and eat with her. This was another bruise on her forlorn state. She was floating above the servants, but not attached to anyone within reach. Finally, the taste of the well cooked meal brought her back and helped in the fight against despair. Bless the cook.
Without proper footwear, Elspeth was confined to the house. She walked about going from window to window in every room she had been shown to in order to take in the snowy view. The crags' head had been hidden all day. Finally in late afternoon the clouds parted once and the snowfall thinned until she caught sight of its shining grandeur above the gleaming white land below.
She was there in his study looking out when Sir Anton returned. She saw him outside dismounting where feet and hooves had trampled through the snow. Finally, she heard his boots and turned around. The wind had done wild things to his hair and beard making his eyes seem to penetrate into her very soul as they stood there looking at one another. He was a creature of Scotland, as if one of the fighting breed, a kin to Robert the Bruce. There was something untamable about the man. He smelled of wool, pine, and frost. She was tempted to cower, but stood straight and returned his stare.
"Ha, you found the best view in the whole place here out my window."
"I hope you had a good day in spite of being out there in such weather. It is beautiful to look at, but must be freezing to be out and about in. Please excuse me. I was just leaving."
"I do what must be done for my people. You can't live in Scotland if you don't love the weather. I will see you at supper then, Miss Crumbie?"
"Yes, thank you." She just slipped past him where he stood like some wooly giant in the doorway. Should she be afraid? Somehow she was not. He was her protector, and she was grateful.
At supper, it was just the two of them, a quite affair as he seemed to relish the food even more than she did. Nevertheless, they attempted to converse.
"I shot this pheasant on my way home. The cook has made quick work of it, indeed."
"Yes, quite so. There wasn't such bounty for hunting in the city. This is a treat."
"Were you able to write to your intended?"
"Yes, I left the letter in the hall, but was told it might take a few days before it would be sent. I also sent a letter to my father with the hope he would...receive it."
"Even in good weather, correspondence is not a hurried affair taking its time to travel from the highlands. The coach only comes through once a week. We count ourselves blessed. Some of the Islands off Scotland must tuck their letters in sheeps' bladders and shove them off hoping they drift clear to the mainland when the boats can't come through. So, is your sweetheart in France then?"
"I believe so, either that or on a ship still. His name is Robert Southworth. His father is Richard Southworth."
"I've heard that name. So your Robert is a second son, I take it."
"Yes. I only met him a short time before his commission was purchased."
"Oh, so it was perhaps more of a convenience on your parts rather than an affair of the heart? I believe your father spoke of wanting to have you arranged or rather spoken for as soon as possible. That attests for your young age."
"I am seventeen, nearly eighteen and will be nineteen before I am wed. That is quite the common age for young ladies in England, I believe. It is a shamefully thin line in being judged to be too young and put on the shelf for being too old."
"So you are not in love?" He stared at her with that penetrating gaze.
"No." She dropped her eyes.
"I pray that your father saw to your benefit a good match. The other kind is intolerable."
"Have you been married, Sir Anton? Do you speak from experience?" Elspeth wondered if she was the one in the portrait in my room.
"Yes, but the portrait is of my mother. Lovely, isn't it?...just like she was." It was as though he read her mind. He quietly drug the three tines of his fork around his empty plate making a chilling scrape. "Yes, there was a Lady Anton at one time, but she never adjusted to our solitude and was a very unhappy person. Our parents had arranged it before we were out of the nursery. I would like to think it was her condition, the one that eventually took her that made her so bitter, and not just her hatred of me."
"Oh, I am so sorry. Father never said anything of a personal nature to me about your situation here.
How long ago was that?"
"She died about five years ago. We weren't married long, thank goodness. Your father was a big encouragement to me, writing to help me keep my sanity and to do the right thing. He helped to keep me accountable before God. I kept a promise to her to let her die at her family's home. That is where she is buried."
Just then the dessert was served, a plum pudding. Their conversation had died as well. This man was so disconcerting with his directness, something she had never experienced before. Yet, truth unvarnished, unpolished was more satisfying than sharing pretty nothings in forced social niceties. She had revealed before the main course things that she had barely allowed herself to confess. She was not in love. How did he know to put things so clearly?
Yet again, he was just as blunt with his own heart. How could someone hate him? The woman must have wielded a big sword to have wounded him so. It is not always true about having loved and lost: it is not always better than never to have loved at all. His heartache was as thick as the wool he wrapped himself in. Her future was as yet uncloaked.
So deep in thought, she had not realized he had spoken to her until he called her name again, "Miss Crumbie?"
"I'm sorry. You have given me much to think about."
"I hope I have not offended you by speaking of such a personal nature. I felt compelled to do so as if it were your father and not you, his daughter, at my table. I do apologize."
"There's nothing to apologize for. I feel honored that you felt free to express yourself to me."
"Would you prefer coffee or hot chocolate, miss?" The dessert dishes were being taken away.
"Chocolate, thank you."
"Has your staff been with you long? They seem quite content here."
"For the most part, some even having been here longer than I've been alive, such as Jones."
"That explains her attachment to you then."
"She is quite loyal. I don't know what I would have done without her. She was a wonder when my wife was declining, always serving, never complaining regardless of ill treatment."
"I could imagine her doing that. She is quite kind."
"Tomorrow is the Sabbath. Would you like me to take a sleigh to the kirk?"
"Is that what you usually do?"
"I do go occasionally as an example to my people, but I much prefer the sacred times in our own chapel here with my staff, reading the Scriptures to them and saying prayers for them. I believe the proper thing to do would be to take you out in public to answer curious and questioning minds. News has traveled fast that I have a beautiful young woman here in my home. I found it was already known as I went about among my crofters."
"Oh, my. I do suppose your people would be interested in the comings and goings of your manor. I just had not thought how it would concern me."
"Tomorrow then. We will take an early breakfast to allow time to go on our snowy journey. I do hope you have warmer things to wear than those you arrived in."
"I believe Jones was going to speak to you about that, sir. I am sadly lacking."
"Yes, I'll have her see how we may make do. I do have a sister who once lived here before her marriage many, many years ago. Perhaps Jones knows where to find her things left behind."
"Thank you. And may I ask if her marriage was arranged, and is she happy?"
"Yes, it was arranged. Yet, her children make her very happy. Her husband seems to be a harmless sort, a kind of a good fellow. I don't seen them often. Would you care to retire to the library? I believe there is a fire there. Jones can bring our drinks in there."
"Yes, that would be nice. You can point out perhaps what books you would recommend."
"I have theology, Wesley even. There's poetry and my wife's novels. Those I could not tell you if they are trash or worthwhile. Feel free to throw any out if they are not to the edification of the soul."
"Oh, my!" She gasped at the thought of throwing away a book.
"It is better to pluck out an eye..." sort of thing, don't you think? Trash is trash even if it is in printed form."
"Yes, I suppose you are right. I will glean through them for you and let you know. However, I will leave you to burn the worthless ones. I don't think I could do it myself."
He smiled wickedly through his dark whiskers. "Or, maybe you could feel the thrill of feeding the fire by ridding my home of filth. I don't take you as someone to flinch at any task set before you."
He was not going to let her off so easily. "Oh, all right as you long as you are there forcing my hand."
He threw back his head and laughed. "Oh, the fearless defender of the library you are."
"Don't you think you should read them first yourself rather than take my word at them?"
"If you come upon anything that would sully your soul, shut it up and throw it across the room. I dare you!"
"Is that what you do with a book that teaches false doctrine?"
"I have."
"I imagine you have. But did you burn it?"
"Only once. Usually there is still some good to cut off the bone even if I must chew on its fat at times."
"But a work of fiction does not have the same grace?"
"No. It either edifies or it doesn't. Do you believe the romantic, fanciful swooning of women in a novel is a worthy use of one's time? I believe any man would fall short of the kind of depiction that the hero of the story conjures up. I know my wife thought I fell very short in deed."
"Since I hardly know romance myself, I cannot say, and have only heard these kind of books spoken of in ladies parlor circles by women whose opinions I could not trust. I have not read any novels unless approved by my father."
"No romance? Ha! What would your betrothed have to say about that? Perhaps I will take back my offer to let you read them. I would not want to taint your pure mind by worldly-wise nonsense. It is Wesley's writings for you then."
"Surely you jest. If you are so worried, try reading one for yourself before I touch it, otherwise, burn the whole lot yourself. Who else would read them?"
"I know more than a few women who would love to feed on these husks. I just don't count you among them. I would rather burn them than have them injure you in any way."
"Sir, you are too kind," she said sarcastically. Instead, Elspeth walked over and pulled out one of the works of Wesley whose binding she was familiar with as an old friend. "I'm surprised that a good member of the flock of Presbyterians would have this in their library."
"Who's to say that I am a good member of the Presbyterians? I am a good sheep of the Shepherd though. I follow Him. Wesley does astound me, challenging me to look at the Scriptures more deeply. After all, that is what a good book should do. I have not heard Wesley, but I did hear Fletcher preach in an outdoor meeting. It was an astounding sermon, and the presence of God fell mightily upon all. Nothing quite like that I assure you."
"My father was able to hear both preach. But he said it was no place for a lady with the rowdy crowds that came not just to listen, but to disrupt.
"Your father was a wise man." He picked up a novel with two fingers as if it were filthy. "I will try to read this to ascertain its value. If I don't like it, I may burn the whole lot of them."
"Wait, let me see if there are any authors I am familiar with." She ran her fingers over the bindings but found nothing she knew. "I wait your good opinion then, sir."
Elspeth sat near the fire where the light was better and began reading. Her head jerked up when he banged his book on the table spilling his coffee. "Stuff and nonsense."
"Just because it is frivolous to you may not mean it is not entertaining to another."
"Here, you read it then. I will trust your judgement. Just promise me to put it down if it offends your sense and sensibilities."
"Oh, you have read Jane Austen then."
"Yes. She's a capital writer and able to capture the quirks of those in her stories quite well with honesty and tongue in cheek that is clever and to be admired. I never said that I have not read fiction or that there is no good fiction. Of course there is. I just don't have much in my own library. I merely do not trust my wife's selection of so-called literature."
"Good then. We agree that well written fiction can be uplifting."
They both tucked secret smiles behind tight lips and fell into companionable quiet reading before the hearth.
The next morning, the shimmering light reflecting off the snow threatened to blind her. She had to shield her eyes to look where they were going. "How can you see to the road in this bright light?" she questioned out of the wool muffler wrapped tightly up to her eyes. Just taking a deep breath seared her lungs with the cold.
"The horses know the way. I look to the shadows for pitfall."
Finally, they arrived at the ancient stone church. It had no heating except the light that shone through the stained glass window giving the appearance, but not the substance of warmth. People's breaths came in little clouds like the pillar of cloud broken up into individual manna. The folk hushed as he guided her up to his pew. She was glad for his warmth permeating his wool coat through to hers. Elspeth almost wished he could rub her hands to get feeling back into them, and was aghast as he did just that right there in their pew. She was glad for the high box walls that kept them from prying eyes. He had gently pulled her fingers out of the thin leather gloves then encased her hands in his warm ones once his mittens were laid aside. "You can't help hold onto the Good Book with such cold hands as yers." His breath was warm on her ear as he spoke so as only she could hear.
The music was nothing like Charles Wesley's hymns, precious words put to popular pub tunes. Rather someone sang out, line by line, to be followed. Then the minister came out in all his robes. He seemed so plump that she was sure he put extra layers on underneath his robes. She would have liked to have argued certain points in his sermon, but she didn't know if she just felt argumentative or just not used to Scripture being taken out of context. Suddenly, she missed her father as they would have had a lively discussion over dinner if only he were still here.
"That bad, was it? Enough to make you cry?"
"I miss my father," she said quietly. "He would have rightly divided that truth."
Earlier in the week Sir Anton had received a response to his inquiry after her father. It was as they thought: he died a few days after sending her on the journey north. By now, Elspeth took the news stoically.
"I know you're hurting, lassie, but for these crofters, put on a smiling face, and I'll introduce you as my little happily engaged guest to stop some of the gossiping biddies."
"Of course." She felt as if she were an insect on a pin before being safely tucked back in the sleigh.
"I'm glad that's over."
"Me too. There are some good people here, and others I don't usually care to rub shoulders with who would just as soon carve you up for Sunday dinner stuffed with all kinds of falsehoods."
The next Sunday was much better worshipping in the beautiful small chapel. There was one stained glass window up high and other artifacts going back centuries. Yet, the sharing in song, even though some of the staff were off key, was harmonious regardless of tune. Sir Anton's soft Scottish brogue rolled off his tongue in the reading of the Scripture with an accent so strong, she could only pick out some of the Scriptures. Elspeth was sure he lapsed at times into his Celtic dialogue. Then He kindly led in prayer. She was sorry when the candles were blown out and the door to the chapel was closed. She had felt God there in a nearer way than in the Kirk. To be in the chapel was a comfort.
She soon found out what the Master would do on Sundays. This Sunday was the same as the last: the staff all were led in behind one who played the pipes and were invited to sit down together in the large dining room with a simpler meal of simmering soup, cold meat and day old bread offered. He did most of the serving. It was much more comfortable to have a full table. It was like old times sitting next to her Betsy. Elspeth squeezed her hand under the table. She found herself laughing as tales were told of when the master was a mischievous boy. He laughed longer and louder than anyone. It was hard to imagine that he was ever small.
One Sunday, the comradeship was cut short by a knock on the door. The butler McDorne threw his napkin down and hurried out to answer. The rest of the help quickly picked up the dishes and whisked them away to the kitchen. Elspeth brushed crumbs off her skirt absently.
"Miss Crumbie, I would like to introduce Lady Maxwell and her daughter Miss Maxwell. Elspeth remembered their cold stares at church, but it would not do to insult Sir Anton's guests.
"It is a pleasure to meet you," She had risen and was now giving a slight curtsey to the older woman who sneered at her.
"So I heard about you..." and proceeded to tell all that she had heard since Elspeth had arrived."
Elspeth was shocked and said, "I had no idea idle gossip traveled so far so quickly." Upon seeing the tight lipped grimace in her guest's face, she quickly added, "Oh, please excuse me m'lady. I just feel too insignificant to be talked about so much."
"Is it true that you have a betrothed and that he is at war for the king?" The daughter looked eagerly without guile at Elspeth. Yet Elspeth caught a few longing looks the young woman sent over at Sir Anton. She wondered if he noticed.
"Yes. His name is Robert Southworth. We will be married upon his return, I'm sure. Until then, I am under Sir Anton's patronage."
"I can't say as if it is proper for a single young woman to be staying under the same roof with such a bachelor..."
"Indeed, Lady Maxwell. Would you I had left her in the snow when it was her father's dying wish that I become her guardian until her soldier comes home?"
"No, of course not. You misunderstand my meaning. It was meant well as a warning of some tongues which are already starting to wag, not mine, of course, but others. We came to invite you and Miss Crumbie to a country dance on the 24th."
"Oh, so you are celebrating Christmas?" He arched his brows in feigned horror.
"Dear me, no! We are members in good standing in the Church of Scotland. We would not think of such a heathen practice."
"Well, I fear I must decline your invitation as Miss Crumbie is still in mourning for her father, and it would be unseemly to go to frivolous festivities." His eyes were twinkling with humor, while his mouth held firm.
"Of course, just what I was telling my daughter on the way here. Yet, there is no need of you staying home. You must come, Sir Anton."
"Again, I would not think of leaving my guest alone while I went off to kick up my heels, on Christmas Eve, no less. Such goings on, I can not even seriously consider."
Well, since it is snowing, we must go on," she said in a huff. "My sleigh is still waiting in the front."
"It was so good to have you call, m'lady," Elspeth said.
As Sir Anton led the daughter out the front, Lady Maxwell came back and her fingers closed tightly on Elspeth arm, "As for you young lady, if you interfere with Sir Anton's courting my daughter, I will make sure that gossip, true or not, will paint your reputation with a black brush."
She left before Elspeth could catch her breath. "Oh, how very wicked she is." Elspeth rubbed her arm where the biddy's fingers would surely leave bruises. She was not aware that she had said it aloud until Sir Anton walked in and said, "What did the old crow say to you that has upset you?"
"Nothing."
"We need truth telling here, Miss Crumbie."
Elspeth's cheeks flamed , but she looked him straight in the eye. "She said I was not to interfere with you courting her daughter."
"Or what?"
"She has a tongue to avoid at all costs, I perceive."
"Oh, she threatened to taint you with her gossip, I take it. Well, she might try, but it has been done so often that not many will pay attention to her. I do feel sorry for daughter though."
"Are you courting her?"
"Regardless of what the mother gossips about, no. I am not. I am not interested in marrying again. I've made myself clear on that I believe."
One Sunday hence, Betsy came to the table very excitable. "They're going to hang the greens today, and I get to help!"
"What! I did not think it was allowed in Scotland. It is barely tolerated in England."
"No one is brave enough to come to this grand house, certainly not the minister at the kirk. I hear that man doesn't even allow a special service on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day, they are that afraid of being pope-ish, they are."
"It is a shame to ignore celebrating the Lord's birth because of worrying if someone will ask, 'Do you celebrate Yule as do the Papists?' The Church of Scotland has certainly gone overboard since Oliver Cromwell stopped the festivities. To think of all that time since the fifteen hundreds to not be allowed to celebrate Christmas. No wonder the Scottish celebrate Hogmanay."
"What is Hogmanay?"
Sir Anton overheard their conversation. "Ne'erday is New Years or Hogmanay. Some say it comes from the French, 'Homme es ne,' or 'man is born,' the Christ. After all, French was the official language for three hundred years after William the Conqueror came. But the Scots have used the holiday to get around not being allowed to celebrate Christmas. There is a Redding Day to clean from top to bottom to welcome the new year; a First Foot to welcome a stranger in, and the Oidche Choinnle or Night of Candles as if it were to welcome the Holy Family offering a 'Fire to warm you by and a light to guide you.' There is even a Handsel Day with small gifts for children. Christmas is still for the weans. We have always celebrated it here in our home regardless of the kirk's disapproval. I automatically pay a fine to the kirk each year. It is no secret what we do here."
"In England they say that soldiers were picked with long noses so they could sniff out the banned baking of Christmas breads," Elspeth added, "The bakers were bribed if found guilty to snitch on their customers who had bought their banned breads."
"If anyone dared to enter Cook's domain, she would take a heavy skillet after them or hot poker from the fire, a regular William Wallace of the kitchen!" Laughter went round as cook turned a deep rose flushing on her cheeks.
"Mind that I don't take after ye for sech talk. But it is true that I'm guan ta bakes what I like fer our Christmas feast," she said. "I'll get up afore the screich o day to bake the Yule Cakes, the Bannocks, the Clootie Dumplings, the Cranachan, Peeps and Tatties and the Cock-a-Leekie Soup."
"Don't forget the manger bread for MacNicholas' feast," someone shouted.
"I won't forget ane. I ken I'll have to get up richt early for all this."
"What should we have for our Christmas feast? Goose, Wild Boar, Angus Beef, Salmon, Venison, or Turkey, or all of it for our good wee bonnie lass this year?" Sir Anton asked.
Suddenly the table erupted in each calling out their favorites.
"No, I won't worry Cook having her making it all. How about we see what Gillie and I bring home from our hunt for our dinner that which the good Lord provides," he laughed.
"Is the birch Yule Log nice and dry for us, Garrith?"
"Yes sir. It's been drying since summer, as you well know."
"The Yule Log symbolizes the burning heart of the season of warm emotions and bright thoughts," he explained.
Why did he have to look at her like that as he said such a thing, and why, oh why was she blushing?
Have you the rowan branches to burn, Andrew?"
"What's that?" asked Betsy.
"It's to clear away jealous, mistrust between family and friends before the new year begins. We donna do it superstitiously, just ceremonially as a symbol of cleaning out the intentions of our hearts."
After dinner, all the women pitched in to clear and clean the dishes while the men took sleds and hatchets to bring back the greenery, holly, and mistletoe.
"Is blianach Nollaid gun sneachd" was heard called back and forth. Jones interpreted, "They're saying Christmas without snow is poor fare."
Elspeth worked alongside Betsy and the other women to place the greenery over the mantles and the staircase. She practiced saying, "Nollaig Chridheil."
It was such a wonderful day full of good cheer and good smells. Cook brought everyone hot chocolate and shortbread stamped like a sunrise. Suddenly everyone was quiet and looked up at Elspeth and Sir Anton standing in the doorway of the dining room. Her eyes were drawn up and saw why turning a beet red, a shade not even Cook had flushed before. The Master winked at his staff and bent over and kissed her cheek. So why was she upset? Surely he played the gentleman and took no advantage of her.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot with all the excitement, I have a letter for you. I guess it came on the last mail coach. It is from home, but not from your father."
Her fingers were shaking. "No, it's from the King's service enclosed in a letter from the Southwells."
Sir Anton put a hand on the small of her back while she read the short notice: "We are sorry to inform you that Robert Southworth died in the war for His Majesty." She handed it over to him feeling numb.
Once he read it he looked up to see everyone had stopped and were staring. "Here, let's go to my study. I don't want to be disturbed, Jones."
Betsy grabbed her hand and squeezed it. It was the only thing she felt as she allowed herself to blindly be led away.
He shut the door and sat her down on a bench and sat next to her wrapping his arms around her shoulder. He smelled as usual of pine and wool and frost. She laid her head against his chest, no actually nuzzling into his warmth. She felt him tuck her head under his bearded chin. "I'm so sorry lassie. You must be keening fierce inside. You lost him before you could have your wedding day."
"No, I'm not. I'm sorry for him, for his family, but he was practically a stranger, a nice man, but I never really knew him. I was not in love with him as you yourself guessed."
"Still, it is a shock," he crooned slightly rocking her, "and so soon after your father."
She sat up straight and looked as if she had seen a ghost. "Let me see the letter."
He handed it over and watched as she studied the way it was addressed. "Look," she demanded.
He took it and did not notice at first what she saw. Then his eyes opened wide as he stared back at her.
"This was sent to my father's a month before I came here. He knew. He just sent me on to you anyway. I think he mailed this here just after I left." She sat there staring at him in shock, then whispered, "I'm wicked, so wicked."
He clasped her tightly against him, "Your speaking nonsense, Elspeth." It was the first time he had
said her name.
"I'm wicked because I don't feel grief for Robert like I should. I only feel sorry for myself. I'm an orphan with no where to go, no home and no fiancé. Suddenly she buried her face back in his chest grabbing the wool of his tartan on his shoulder in her fist, "Marry me," she whispered.
"What! How can you say such a thing?"
She pulled away and turned her back to him hiding her face in her hands, so embarrassed, so lost.
"Hey, hey, that's the nicest thing any gerl has ever said to me, and none sweeter."
"It could stay how it is now, only give me your name so that I won't have to leave."
"I couldna do that."
"So you are sending me away?" She turned around, tears pooled in her eyes and looked up into his dear face in desperation.
He held her by her shoulders looking back into her gaze, "No, no Elspeth. What I meant is that I wouldna want it to continue as it is. If I marry, I want a real marriage in every way. I already had another one of convenience that was a mockery of the holy covenant."
"You have no room in your heart for me here? I could do anything, be a maid, even work with cook helping in the kitchen. The Bible says that even the dogs get the crumbs under the table. Let me stay and labor for you."
"No room? You, dear Elspeth have filled my heart completely. But I would be a foolish man to think you could return those affections. Donna worry. I will take care of you, but not here. I have another house in Edinburgh. I have means to provide for you until you are married. I can even give you a dowry..."
"But don't you see, I don't want to marry anyone but you. I did not want to marry Robert, and especially not after I met you. My father knew. Somehow he knew you, and he knew me, and he hoped for this."
Once again she pulled against the tartan, but this time, she kissed him with a maiden's first kiss. He responded by pulling her close and deepened the kiss before breaking away, "Are ye sure lass? Ye know that a Scottish man can hardly resist a red haired bonnie one offering her heart."
She looked up earnestly into his face. "For the first thing, you are a God-fearing man. Secondly, you are a good man, and kind too. Thirdly, you were my own father's friend. And lastly, you are a man who would make any lass swoon."
He threw back his head and laughed. "And you are the one I thought God would never allow me, a young woman romancing my stony heart."
"Can we marry in the chapel on Nollaig Chridheil? I won't have to wait for an official mourning period, will I?"
"I will post the bans Sunday." Then he kissed his betrothed until he had no doubt of her desires.
On Christmas morning, the Yule cakes were handed out and it was Elspeth who found the prize hidden inside, a beautiful ruby ring surrounded by tiny pearls set in gold. The Master winked at Cook with whom it had been slyly arranged to present her wedding ring in such a way, tucked in instead of a trinket in a bun already baked. After all joined in the carol, "Leanabh an Aigh," Sir Anton lit the Yule Log saying, "Joy, Joy, May God shower joy upon us. Christmas brings us all good things. God give us grace to see the New Year; and if we not increase in numbers, but may we at all event, not decrease."
Elspeth leaned against him and whispered in his ear, "Perhaps this time next year we will have an increase of our own."
He threw back his head and laughed, "Amen!"
The knock was heard, and the minister was admitted. He scowled as if it was a sin to enter a house of joy.
"Are you ready to join our hands together in marriage, sir?" Jones, the woman who loved him the longest, came over and bound their hands together as was the country custom handfaestung or handfasting.
The minister of the Kirk looked like he wanted to pinch his nostrils shut to all the smell of pine and sweets and turkey roasting, aromas coming from the kitchen. "I am having a hard time condoning this marriage after what Lady Maxwell has said about Miss Crumbie and the goings on here."
"Yes, she threatened to smear Miss Crumbie's reputation if I did not marry her daughter instead. I'm surprised that a man of the cloth would listen to such idle gossip."
The reverend stiffened. "Well, let's get this over with then."
"It's not a funeral, sir. I hope you like how we decorated for the wedding and will stay for MacNicholas' feast, or rather, our wedding feast." Sir Anton smiled while the minister only huffed.
The staff who was lined up to go into the chapel fought back against their master's humor, until Betsy began giggling then all burst out into merry laughter with cries of "Nollaig Chridheil."
