Mine Is the Night_ A Novel - Liz Curtis Higgs [11]
“Good night,” Elisabeth said softly, hoping the others might respond and so end the evening on a sweeter note. But Anne closed her bed curtains without a word, and Marjory exhaled in obvious frustration.
With the Sabbath almost upon them, Elisabeth refused to be discouraged. The light of day and the warmth of society would surely improve things. She quietly arranged her plaid by the faint glow of the coal fire, then closed her eyes and called upon the Almighty.
I remember thee upon my bed, and meditate on thee in the night watches. Since winter she’d consumed the psalms until the words had become her daily bread, feeding her soul, nourishing her mind. When the family Bible was out of reach, or the hour late, or the firelight dim, she could draw upon his holy truth buried inside her.
The words came swiftly, silently, yet surely.
My soul followeth hard after thee. Her heart stirred at the thought. The Lord had led her to Selkirk, of that she was certain. Now came the harder task: resting in the knowledge that he’d brought her here for some good purpose.
Thy right hand upholdeth me. If the Almighty supported her, might she not support others? Elisabeth lifted her head, buoyed by the realization. Rather than be a burden to Anne, she could provide for their cousin’s upkeep by plying her needle. Had she not once earned her living in a tailor’s shop? And stitched her own gowns for the sheer pleasure of working with her hands?
She would sew, then, and pray Anne’s heart might soften toward them. Sinking deeper into her chair, Elisabeth embraced the gift of sleep and let the Almighty shape her dreams.
Six
There is in every true woman’s heart
a spark of heavenly fire …
which kindles up, and beams and blazes
in the dark hour of adversity.
WASHINGTON IRVING
arjory stared into her cup of tea, bleary eyed from a poor night’s sleep. Her daughter-in-law had meant well, but the hurlie bed was no prize. The mattress was lumpy, and the wooden frame groaned whenever she tossed and turned.
Even so, you had a bed to yourself, Marjory. And supper before it.
She chafed at the reminder, wishing her conscience were still slumbering. But it was the Sabbath. All of Selkirk would be awake, dressed, and prepared to leave for the parish kirk at the first clang of the bell.
Marjory considered the last bite of her oatcake, then pushed it aside. Her appetite had vanished at the thought of seeing her old neighbors, who would mark her diminished circumstances and quickly learn of her losses. And what would she say to Reverend Brown?
“Come, Marjory.” Elisabeth beckoned her toward the window, hairbrush in hand. “Since every eye will be on you this morn, I would have you look your best.”
Marjory submitted to her daughter-in-law’s ministrations, surprised when her thinning auburn hair turned into a sleek braid, pinned atop her head. Holding up Anne’s small looking glass, Marjory pretended not to see the wrinkles outlining her features and admired Elisabeth’s handiwork instead.
“Another talent put to good use,” Marjory commended her. “Though my gown is frayed, at least my hair is presentable.”
“Someday I shall stitch you a new dress,” Elisabeth promised, still smoothing a few loose strands of hair in place when the kirk bell began to toll.
Marjory’s stomach clenched. Not yet, not yet.
“We must away,” Anne cautioned, pulling her cape round her shoulders. “The reverend has little patience with stragglers.”
Marjory hastily brushed the lint from her skirts, then followed the others down the stair and into the marketplace much too quickly for her comfort. Help me not be afraid, Lord. Help me not be ashamed.
The sky was pale blue, and a faint mist hung in the air. Marjory paused at the mouth of the close, taking it all in. Folk streamed past them on foot and on horseback. Dogs and chickens wandered about as they pleased. Pigs rooted through rubbish piled by the sides of houses, and the cobbled streets had no proper drains. Structures that were