Mine Is the Night_ A Novel - Liz Curtis Higgs [66]
With her back toward the reverend, Marjory closed her eyes and silently prayed where she stood. Peace be within thy walls, and prosperity within thy palaces. If peace reigned in Halliwell’s Close this evening and prosperity poured forth from Bell Hill, the Kerr women might yet have hope and a future.
Comforted by the thought, Marjory finished slicing the butter cake, poured their tea, and served Reverend Brown at table, where he sat, looking rather ill at ease. He ate the rich cake in a few hurried bites, then gulped down his steaming cupful as if eager to return home.
“Reverend Brown, it is clear you have something to say.” Marjory put down her fork, having no appetite at all. “How might I make this easier for you?”
“You already have,” he said gruffly, “and I thank you for it.” He cleared his throat, then met her gaze. “I’ve come to speak about Neil Gibson.”
“Oh?” Marjory’s skin cooled, her imagination running up and down Kirk Wynd. What is it, Gibson? What has happened?
The reverend leaned across the table, lowering his voice. “I am certain you are not aware of this, Mrs. Kerr, but Gibson speaks of you in rather too familiar a manner.”
“Too … familiar?” She frowned, at a loss even to imagine such a thing. “What, may I ask, has Gibson said about me?”
The reverend sat back, studying his hands, perhaps trying to think of an example. Finally he confessed, “He has never spoken of you in my presence. But this morn I overheard him tell the milkmaid that you were a fine lady and a good friend.” The reverend spread out his hands, beseeching her. “You must understand my concern.”
“Oh, I do,” Marjory said to appease him. A fine lady. A good friend. She could not remember the last time she’d been so complimented. “Though I would be more troubled if Gibson spoke poorly of me. I was, after all, his employer for thirty years.”
“Precisely,” the reverend said, banging his fist on the table for emphasis. “The man has forgotten his place. Despite your present circumstances, Mrs. Kerr, you are a lady and must not be spoken of so freely, nor in such glowing terms, by a mere manservant. One might think Neil Gibson had designs on you.”
“One might,” she agreed, then quickly hid behind her teacup. Tread with care, dear Gibson. I’ll not have you dismissed because of me. “What would you suggest, Reverend Brown? Gibson is, after all, a friend of our family. I cannot think of making him unwelcome here. ’Twould not be the Christian thing to do.”
Reverend Brown nodded, his frown more pronounced. “It is indeed a puzzle, madam. One that requires further consideration. In the meantime, if you will be cautious in your dealings with Gibson and not …, well, encourage such., eh, flattery.”
“I would never do so,” Marjory said smoothly. She did not need to. Neil Gibson was ever generous with his praise. “He served the Kerrs through many seasons, Reverend. I pray he will do the same for you.”
“Aye, aye.” He stood, looking relieved at having discharged his solemn duty. “I do hope my written character was of use to your daughter-in-law this day.”
Marjory glanced at the door, her fears rushing up the steps to greet her anew. “I thank you again for your willingness to help us,” she said, then after a few formalities, bade the minister farewell.
Keeping an eye on the darkening sky, she set the table for three and willed her loved ones home. Though Anne was too old to be her natural daughter, Marjory could not help feeling a certain motherly affection toward her. And Elisabeth was her daughter now. Had the lass not said so herself? Hurry home, dear girls. Whatever their ages, they would always be young to her.
A half hour crawled by while Marjory walked about the room, picking things up and putting them down with no purpose other than occupying her hands and corralling her anxious thoughts. When at last she heard voices at the foot of the stair, she flung open the upper door. “Annie? Bess?”
“Aye,” they called in unison, starting up the stair.
Marjory stood back, fighting the urge to