Mine Is the Night_ A Novel - Liz Curtis Higgs [119]
The minister held up his hands in surrender. “As you wish, madam. Should you change your mind, I will gladly approach his lordship regarding this … obligation.”
Hearing the word, Marjory was certain of her decision. Friendship and obligation were not well met.
As she prepared to leave, Reverend Brown cleared his throat. “Madam, you and I discussed another matter of some urgency in late May. Perhaps you recall the subject.”
Gibson. “Indeed I do, sir.”
“May I be so bold as to inquire where things stand with you and my manservant?”
She moistened her parched lips. “Stand?”
“I believe I stated my objections quite clearly. And yet I hear your name pouring from Gibson’s lips, and see you sitting together at services, and find you peering through my window, hoping to catch a glimpse of a man who served you for thirty years. Where is this leading, Mrs. Kerr?”
With each phrase his voice had grown more strident. By the time he reached her name, Marjory was on her feet. Trembling, aye, but standing.
She kept her voice at an even pitch, though she longed to match his volume note for note. “May I remind you, sir, I am an independent woman. Of limited means, aye, but beholden to no man. You’ll not find the name Kerr on the parish’s poor roll nor a beggar’s badge pinned to my gown.”
“Now, now, Mrs. Kerr,” he said, shaking his gray head. “I am merely concerned lest you lose your place in society—”
“My place?” She threw up her hands in frustration. “Reverend Brown, I no longer have a place. What I have are dear friends, who take me as I am.” The truth of her words rang inside her like a bell, clear and strong. “You asked me where things stand with Neil Gibson. They stand very well, sir. I thank you for your interest.”
Marjory wanted to stride from the room, her skirts slapping about her ankles, but a show of pique would accomplish nothing. Furthermore, Reverend Brown was Gibson’s employer and their parish minister and so deserved her respect.
Help me, Lord. Help me do what I must.
Bowing her head, she eased into a curtsy, deeper than required, and did not rise until peace reigned once more in her heart.
When she lifted her head and their eyes met, she found the words she wanted to say. “Reverend Brown, you once promised to show me God’s mercy, and indeed you have. Now I ask only for a small measure of happiness, no greater than the widow’s farthing.”
The minister placed a withered hand on each shoulder. “Mrs. Kerr, I see that your mind is fixed on this course. How you and Mr. Gibson will navigate these waters, I cannot say. But whatever God joins, I’ll not put asunder. Go, now, for I’ve kept you long enough.”
“Bless you,” she whispered and turned for the door, thinking only of Gibson. Eager to find him. Eager to tell him. All is well. God is with us.
A moment later Marjory found herself in Kirk Wynd, still reeling from the minister’s unexpected benediction. He seemed willing to admit the Almighty might have brought them together. Can it be true, Lord? Is this your hand at work? Do you mean for this good man to be mine?
When she looked up and saw Neil Gibson walking toward her, all her questions were answered. Aye, aye, aye. Marjory reached out, beckoning him forward.
He offered a gentleman’s bow, then clasped her hands. “Have ye come leuking for me, Leddy Kerr?”
“I’ve much to tell you,” she began, “but we cannot meet at Anne’s house, with Peter due for his morning visit.”
“And we canna speak at the manse,” Gibson said. “Nor may we stand in the mercat place with the whole toun watching.”
“To kirk then.” Marjory was already starting uphill. “On a Friday ’tis sure to be empty.”
They slipped through the narrow pend and across the grassy kirkyard, then pulled open the door, cringing when the rust-covered hinges cried out in protest. Leaving behind the forenoon sun, they stepped inside the shadowy interior, cool and still.
“A bit gloomy,” Gibson murmured, “but at least we have it to ourselves.” He walked Marjory down the aisle, her hand tucked round his arm, then brushed clean the Kerr