Elaine Coffman - [MacKinnon 04] (31 page)

That night, before she put Ainsley to bed, Maggie sat beside
the window in Ainsley’s bedroom, rocking her to sleep. Clutching her rag doll
in one hand, Ainsley brought her thumb to her mouth.

“Ease your mind, my wee little one,” Maggie said, kissing
the delicate curls of red and gold. “Hush ye, hush ye, my troubled little mind.
The Black Douglas shall not get ye.”

When Ainsley’s thumb slid from her mouth, Maggie knew she
was asleep.

Maggie wiped a ribbon of drool from Ainsley’s mouth,
glancing up to see Maude slip into the room. Maggie put Ainsley in her bed.
Tiptoeing from the room, she closed the door as Maude said, “Take courage,
ma’am, and dinna forget what Adam Lindsay Gordon said about life being most
froth and bubble.”

Maggie regarded her with a puzzled expression for a moment,
then with a deep breath, said, “Aye, I hadna thought of that for a long while.”

Life is mostly froth and bubble;

Two things stand like stone:

Kindness in another’s trouble,

Courage in your own.

Courage.

It did take courage to watch her child dwelling in a world
of silence, seeing her brightness wasted. Because of Ainsley’s affliction,
Maggie was more devoted to her than ever, rocking her, reading to her, singing
her songs. Sometimes Ainsley would clap her hands in delight, or collapse in a
fit of giggles when Maggie said something funny, or tickled her out of her
mischief. She was quick and clever, and Maggie noticed this more than she had
before, when Ainsley could speak. Sometimes Ainsley would become serious and
quiet; other times she was quite the prankster, and Maggie learned to recognize
the spark of mischief gleaming in her blue eyes.

Ainsley seemed not bothered in the least by her own silence,
but more often than not, Maggie went to bed with a pale, haggard face.

“You are trying too hard,” Molly would often say. “She will
speak when all things are right, and you will either accept that or kill
yourself fighting it.”

Maggie agreed, but as the days passed and Ainsley did not
speak, Maggie grew more and more concerned.

“‘Earth hath no sorrow that Heaven cannot heal’,” Maude told
her one night, but Maggie soon began to doubt even that, for added to her
anguish over Ainsley was her distress over the way things lay between herself
and Adrian, and the uncertainty of the future for herself and her children.

When night finally came, Maggie sighed wearily and climbed
into her lonely bed. It took some time to rid her mind of its daily clutter,
and when her mind finally did clear, it left her senses numbed. Everything
around her, the chaos, the confusion, the disappointments, seemed strangely
remote, as if her mind had a sanctuary of its own. She closed her eyes, seeking
the blessed release of sleep.

When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions.

For days after Ainsley’s recovery, Adrian did his best to
stay out of Maggie’s way, knowing she needed to spend time with her children.
He felt so awkward around Maggie and the children. He didn’t know how to act,
or what to say to them. It amazed him how three little people could manage to
be everywhere. He soon learned that children, natural eavesdroppers, had the
uncanny ability to remember the most minute details when it suited them, and
erratic memories when it didn’t.

He once came upon Barrie and Fletcher in a heated argument
over which one of them Israel liked best. Israel, ever the diplomat, remained
perfectly neutral, sitting on the sidelines, his great yellow head tilted to
one side as the argument grew more heated. At last, unable to win the argument,
Fletcher called Israel to follow, and the two of them ran. Unable to keep up,
Barrie returned to the house in tears.

Adrian learned that day that when a female cried, it
bothered him, regardless of her age.

His hands thrust deeply in his pockets, Adrian had simply
stared at Barrie’s windblown red hair, listening to her sob, unable to believe
he did not know how to talk to a child. At last, fearing Barrie would collapse
from exhaustion, he suggested that she try to beat Fletcher at his own game.

“I dinna k-ken—h-how,” she sobbed. “He’s faster than me, and
s-s-so is Israel.”

“Carry a biscuit in your pocket,” he said. “And the next
time he calls Israel, take the biscuit out. Israel won’t turn down a biscuit
for any reason. Now, dry your eyes, and stop crying.” He handed her his
handkerchief. “The first time you win Israel over with the biscuit, you’ll
forgive your brother and forget all about it.”

“I canna,” she said, wiping her eyes, which he noticed were
intensely blue. “I canna ever forgive him.”

“Yes you can. It’s not that hard. All you have to do is say
it. Come on. Say you’ll forgive and forget.”

Barrie looked at him, stubbornly thrusting out her chin.

“Come on,” he cajoled.

“I’ll forgive and I’ll forget,” she whispered at last. As
Adrian turned away, she said more loudly, “But I’ll also remember.”

“I feel sorry for Barrie,” Adrian told Molly one afternoon,
immediately irritated with himself for saying it.

Molly had been washing down the cabinets in the kitchen with
vinegar, and when Adrian spoke, she tossed the rag back into the bucket with a
plop
.
“You feel sorry for Barrie?”

Adrian shrugged in dismissal. “Forget it,” he said.

“Why do you feel sorry for her and not the others?”

“Because she’s the one in the middle.”

“If it’s any comfort to you, I felt the same way at first,
but after I mentioned it to Maude, she set me straight. She said I shouldn’t
feel sorry for her. She said she pitied anyone who tangled with Barrie, because
they would come out of it minced finer than a clove of garlic.”

After that day, Adrian began to observe Barrie a bit closer.
Before long, he had a feeling Maude had been right.

Take, for instance, the afternoon he came upon Barrie and
Fletcher in the stables. Upon entering, Adrian heard pint-sized voices coming
from one of the empty stalls. Peeking over the boards into the stall, he saw
Fletcher braiding a piece of rawhide while Barrie sat quietly petting the barn
cat, her eyes fastened on Fletcher. Adrian watched Fletcher for a minute,
noticing after the first three or four plaits, Fletcher had gotten off. The
braid would not come out right. He wondered what the boy would say when he
noticed it.

“Hellfire!” Fletcher said.

Barrie put the cat down and stood up. “Fletcher Ramsay, what
would Jesus say?” She left Fletcher wide-mouthed and staring after her.

Unaccustomed to children, Adrian was perplexed by their
multitude of questions, their relentless probing. Their favorite words seemed
to be: Why? How? When? What? Only the youngest child, Ainsley, was quiet, for
she rarely talked—come to think of it, Adrian could never remember hearing her
speak at all. He pondered that for a minute, then dismissed it. More than
likely, she was shy.

Children were such noisy creatures, clomping up and down the
stairs, screaming as they slid down the banisters, running into the kitchen and
slamming the back door, and it did little good to scold them. Even Israel had
changed around them, for never could Adrian remember him running and barking in
the house, and never, ever had he yanked the tasseled pillows from the sofa, to
shake them until their stuffings fell out.

Whenever he scolded, Barrie would look at him with enormous
blue eyes and would become contritely silent. Fletcher would simply give him an
odd look and then walk away. Five minutes later, they would be at it again.

In all fairness, Adrian would have to admit there were times
that he found the presence of children, if not uplifting, at least
enlightening.

A discussion between Barrie and Fletcher was going on in the
library, where Maude had sent them to locate Egypt on the globe. Adrian, who
was on his way there, stopped just outside the door when he heard Barrie’s
voice.

“What is education?”

“It’s what you find in books,” Fletcher said.

“If it’s already in books, then why do we have to learn it?”

“Because Mama and Maude say we have to.”

“Why?”

“Because you’ll be ignorant if you don’t.”

“What is ignorant?”

“It’s when you don’t know any of the things in books.”

There was a momentary pause, then Barrie said, “I ken I like
being ignorant better. It’s more fun.”

Another silence.

“Do you think Mr. Mackinnon has read all these books?”

“No.”

“Then why does he have them?”

“Because he wants people to think he has read them. That
makes him look smart.”

“But he is smart.”

“No, he isna. He just talks a lot, so you think he is.”

* * * * *

Later that afternoon Adrian walked into the kitchen to find
Maude standing over the bathtub with a towel in her hand, her gaze resting on a
bright red topknot poking out of the bubbles. A moment later a face dotted with
freckles appeared beneath the topknot.

“All right, enough o’ that or you’ll drown yourself, and you
willna go to fairyland. Now, out wi’ you,” she said.

“Canna I stay in until my fingers pucker?”

Maude cleared her throat. “The only thing what’ll be puckered
is my temper if you dinna get out,
now
.”

Wrapped in a towel and marching with indignation toward the
door, Barrie mumbled, “I canna have any fun. Fletcher gets to stay in the bath
until his lips turn blue.”

“Changeling,” said Maude, giving Barrie a swat as the two of
them disappeared through the doorway.

If it was difficult being around the children, it was more
so being around them when they were with Maggie. Adrian had never seen so much
hugging and touching in his life, nor had he seen Maggie as he was seeing her
now—teasing, impish, and full of laughter and mischief. There was an element of
loving and laughing together, a way they had of living that was warm and
heartfelt, something that made him feel so many things—emptiness, anger,
jealousy, and even envy. And the worst part of it was, whenever they reached
out to him, whenever they tried to pull him into that tightly bound circle they
called love, he felt threatened.

Bent over his ledgers in his study, Adrian calculated a row
of figures and was about to put down the sum when he felt as if someone was
watching him. Looking up, he saw Barrie standing in the doorway, in her
nightgown, holding her rag doll by one leg.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“I’m going to say my prayers now, and I wanted to know…”

Adrian waited, then grew impatient. “Well? Out with it. You
wanted to know what?”

“I wanted to know if you wanted anything.”

“I can do my own praying,” Adrian snapped.

“
You
say prayers?”

“I’m not a heathen. Of course I say prayers.”

“And you go to kirk?”

“We don’t have a kir…a church here, but that doesn’t mean I
don’t know the Bible. Now, go to bed.” Adrian began tallying the figures again.

“Do you ken the name of Jesus’ mother?”

The pencil snapped. “Of course I know! What is this, the
Inquisition? Will you go to bed, or do I have to send for Maude?”

“She’s taking a bath.”

“Why don’t you go find your mother?”

“She’s in Fletcher’s room. They’re waiting to say our
prayers. Do you want to come?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Why? Because you dinna ken the name of Jesus’ mother?”

Adrian placed both hands on the desk and stood up, leaning
forward. “I
know
the name of Jesus’ mother.” He was almost shouting.

The redheaded imp standing in the doorway looked at him as
if she knew something he didn’t, but she didn’t say anything. On the verge of a
fit, Adrian took one look at that outthrust chin and knew it was what they
called in Texas a Mexican standoff. If he had learned anything about these
little people, it was that they were persistent. You rarely outwitted them, and
never could you outwait them. Ready to have this over, he sighed and
surrendered.

“All right. If I tell you the name of Jesus’ mother, will
you get out of here?”

Barrie nodded. “Aye.”

“Mary!” he snapped. “Her name was Mary. Now, get out of
here!” He sat down and picked up another pencil.

“That wasna her first name.”

“She didn’t have a first name!” he shouted, feeling
something was close to rupturing.

Barrie stood there, the picture of patience, just like her
mother. She was seven! Seven years old, for Christ’s sake. What in the name of
God would she be like in a few years? Adrian shuddered at the thought. He ran
his fingers through his hair and tossed the pencil on the desk. It was no use.
He came to his feet, crossing his arms in front of him.

“All right,” he said at last, drumming his fingers against
his arm. “
You
tell me. What was
the first
name of Jesus’ mother?”

“Virgin.”

“Out!” he shouted, coming around the desk. “Out! Out! Out!”

Barrie shot from the room.

“And stay out.”

A moment later, Molly poked her head in to see what all the
ruckus was about. When Adrian finished telling her, all she said was, “Brute!”
and left the room.

The next morning, Adrian came down to breakfast. He found a
note beside his plate. “Women bend and men break” was all it said.

Adrian wadded it in his fist and threw it in the corner.

“What was that?” asked Maggie, looking up from the tea she
was pouring.

“More torture,” Adrian snapped.

His home had been turned into a lunatic asylum, and Adrian
wondered if he was the biggest lunatic of all for putting up with it.

The concept of marriage and family was a blueprint for
self-destruction, a process so deeply ingrained into the minds of women and
children that a man was helpless. Isolation and distrust had become his symbols,
and as this increased, as he warred for power and control, his frustration and
bewilderment increased. There were so many things he wanted to say to Maggie,
but he didn’t know where to start. He couldn’t seem to express himself around
them, yet there were things that needed settling. Did Maggie still plan on
leaving? Did she believe he still wanted her to?

He was suffocating, and this made him afraid. He had to
protect himself. He had to detach himself from this consuming family coliseum,
where he was constantly thrown to the lions. He had to think. He had to find
himself. He had to get away. He didn’t tell her he was leaving until the night
before.

Looking at Barrie, who was hiding her beets beneath her
mashed potatoes, Maggie said, “Eat your beets so your cheeks will be pink.”

“And your eyes, too,” Fletcher said.

“They willna,” Barrie said. “Will they, Mama?”

“No, they willna. Fletcher is teasing you.” A quick look at
Fletcher, and Maggie said, “Stop teaching Ainsley to put beans up her nose.”

Ainsley sat silently at her place at the table, her eyes—too
large and expressive for a child her age—resting upon Adrian. This child,
Adrian feared most of all. There was something about her, something he could
not put his finger on. He pulled his mind away. He did not want to think about
children, or wives, or anything connected with family. A man needed room to
breathe. “I’m leaving in the morning,” he said.

Maggie’s eyes flew to his, but she didn’t say anything.

“Where are you going?” asked Fletcher.

“North, to our other mill.”

To the children, Maggie said, “If you are finished, you may
go.”

After the three of them were gone, Maggie looked back at
Adrian. “How long will you be away?”

“Just a few days,” he said, looking off when Maggie gazed at
him.

After saying good night, Adrian went to his room and spent a
long, sleepless night, listening to the rain blowing against the window and
wondering what he should do.
If you don’t want her to go, you’d better tell
her.

I will.

When?

Soon. I just need a little time to adjust to all of this.

He was gone the next morning, before anyone in the house was
up. But Adrian soon found removing Maggie from his sight didn’t necessarily
mean she was out of his thoughts. His purpose defeated, he returned home much
sooner than he planned.

Winter had settled in with its full blustery force, and
Maggie brought the children into the library with her before she sent them to
bed. Fletcher sat on the hearthstones with Israel’s yellow head in his lap.
Ainsley was in the rocking chair, rocking her doll to sleep, while Maggie
knitted, her yarn looped around Barrie’s outstretched hands.

“Were you ever bad when you were a little girl?” Fletcher
asked.

Maggie smiled in reflection. “Aye, bad enough, I ken, for a
girl.”

“Did you ever get a thrashing?” Barrie asked.

“Aye, I’ve plenty of encounters with the strap,” Maggie
said, laying down her knitting and opening her arms when Ainsley left the
rocking chair and crossed the room to climb into her lap.

“Why did Grandpa whip you? What did you do?” asked Fletcher.
His voice was louder now, and Israel raised his head and sniffed the air, then
dropped it back into Fletcher’s lap as he asked, “What was the worst thrashing
you ever got?”

“For something I didna do,” she said, her voice dropping as
she saw Adrian walk into the room. Fletcher and Barrie turned to stare at him;
Maggie, too. Ainsley merely popped her thumb out of her mouth, looked at him,
and as if she saw nothing threatening, put it back in her mouth and closed her
eyes.

Maggie stared at Adrian. Impervious blue eyes stared back at
her. It seemed more than just a few days to Maggie, but to the children, it was
apparent time had no meaning. As if they had seen him only this morning, Barrie
looked from Adrian to Maggie, asking, “How did you get thrashed for something
you didna do?”

Maggie’s eyes fastened upon Adrian. He lifted his glass in a
toast. “Please continue with your inspiring revelations. Don’t let me disturb
you.”

Maggie nodded. “I willna,” she said, and began stroking
Ainsley’s head. “My cousin, Jane, and myself were playing in my mother’s room,
dressing in her long gowns, poking ostrich feathers from her old hats in our
hair. Jane wanted to wear my mother’s jewelry and asked me where she kept her
jewel chest. I ken we weren’t allowed to play in her jewelry, but I didna want
Jane to be angry with me, so I told Jane where it was. She put my mother’s
pearls around her waist and tied them too tight. They broke and the pearls
rolled all over the floor. We gathered them up and thought we had found them
all, but my mother came home and found one of the pearls was missing. We never
did find it, you ken, not to this verra day.”

“And your father spanked you for that?” Barrie asked.

“Aye.”

“Why? You didna break the pearls,” Fletcher said.

“No, I didna, but my father said I was getting three
stripes, one for telling Jane where the pearls were, one for the pearl that was
lost, and one for folding a bit of cloth and putting it in Jane’s drawers, so
it wouldna hurt when her father thrashed her.”

Fletcher laughed, and Israel opened one eye, then promptly
closed it.

“But that wasna fair,” Barrie said.

Her words were for Fletcher, but her eyes never left
Adrian’s face. “Sometimes we’re punished for things we canna help,” she said,
her eyes moving to Fletcher now, “things we have no control over.”

When she looked back, Adrian was gone.

Half an hour later, Maude came for the children. Maggie put
away her knitting, but she didn’t go upstairs right away. She poured herself a
glass of brandy and moved closer to the fire. She sat there, rubbing Israel’s
back with her foot, making a face when she swallowed the brandy, not realizing
how badly it burned until it was too late.
Why would anyone find solace in
torturing themselves like this?

Soon the fire died down to gray ashes, and Israel left the
room. Maggie knew it was time for her to go to bed, but she felt she could not
sleep. She was apprehensive and wondering. Adrian was back. But for how long?

She had thought she would be able to win his heart and his
love, but Adrian was more formidable than she had supposed. She could not go on
indefinitely, no matter how badly she wanted this marriage to work. She would
have to leave soon, as soon as Ainsley was stronger, and she wondered where she
would go. Scotland was too dangerous for Fletcher as long as Adair Ramsay
lived, and its close proximity to Scotland ruled out England as well.

Why not stay in America? she decided at last. There would be
no long sea voyages for her or the children, no expensive ship fares to pay.
Yes, she would stay in America. She lifted her glass. “To America,” she said,
and finished the last of the brandy, ending with a coughing fit.

Funny thing, brandy. It burned like hellfire, but once it
was down, Maggie could see the reason for the torture. Feeling warm and
infinitely better, she doused the lamps, save the one she took with her.

She wasn’t sure what drew her to that room again, but
tonight Maggie felt its inexplicable pull. Perhaps it was the sadness connected
with it, the sadness of a love that did not work out, something she understood
so well. She went down the dark hallway, following the long, stretching fingers
of light that fanned out before her, as if pointing the way.

When she reached the salon, she walked to the fireplace and
placed the lamp on an oval mahogany table, her eyes, as they always were
whenever she entered this room, upon the ageless portrait of Katherine
Mackinnon.

She found it odd that she still felt no jealousy toward this
woman. Perhaps that would have been different if she had known Katherine, or at
least met her, or perhaps she would have felt resentful and bitter if things
had been different and Katherine had loved Adrian. But somehow, knowing
Adrian’s love for Katherine was all there was to it, that Katherine never loved
anyone save the man she married, made it easier to swallow.

Like Adrian, Maggie had loved before. Loved, and loved
deeply. The difference was that she was able to leave her love and memories of
Bruce where they belonged.

In the past.

Maggie studied Katherine’s face. This woman had known Adrian
for most of his life. If she felt any jealousy at all toward Katherine, it was
for that reason.
If I knew him better, I could help him.

“Help me to know him. Help me to understand,” Maggie
whispered to the woman in the portrait, the woman who towered over her, bigger
than life.

Yet, as she spoke those words, she knew it would do no good.
The man Katherine had known no longer existed. It had been ten years since
Katherine and Alex left for Texas, leaving Adrian behind. A man can change a
lot in ten years. He can grow lonely.

And bitter.

Ten years of living with a memory can do strange things to a
man, to his ability to live in the present, just as the ashes from a past fire
can snuff out a new one.

She glanced at the portrait once more. Ten years was a long
time to love a memory. How she wished he could forget that face, that hair,
that smile. Forget, rather than remember and be sad.

She asked herself how she felt about this portrait, this
link to Adrian’s past that was like a wall between his past and present. Most
women would have thrown a fit and demanded the portrait’s immediate removal.
Most women would have refused to spend another night in this house, as long as
that portrait hung there.

And most women would be out of his life by now.

Maggie thought about that. Yes, most women would.

She took one last look at Katherine’s portrait, knowing, as
she had always known, that Adrian was using Katherine, using this portrait as a
weapon, using it to drive her away.

That ploy would work only if she allowed it to. But there
were times when it was hard; times when she wanted nothing more in her life
than to rip this shrine from its throne and beat it into oblivion with a poker.

In his study, Adrian had finished three drinks when he heard
Maude come down the stairs and take Barrie and Fletcher up to bed. A little
while later, Israel stopped in the doorway and looked at him for a moment
before padding away.

Adrian had two more drinks after that, then left. Passing
the salon, he saw the pale glow of lamplight reflecting long shadows down the
hall, and he paused in the doorway and saw her.

Maggie.

He had thought her upstairs sleeping. He looked at
Katherine’s portrait, and then at Maggie standing beneath it, still as a
statue, and he felt his heart contract.

Tell her,
a voice said.

I will. Give me time.

Maggie was staring up at Katherine, looking as luscious as
she had earlier in the library. She was wearing a gown of deepest gold, low-cut
and edged with cream lace, her shoulders gleaming pale and lovely in the
candle’s saffron light.

“You dinna have to stand there all night watching me,”
Maggie said without turning around. “I willna destroy her portrait. I dinna ken
lashing out at objects is a way to deal with a problem.”

“And is it a problem?”

Maggie knew what he was hoping. That she would say yes, so
he could tell her the portrait stayed, and if she didn’t like it, she could go.
Lord, give me strength. I canna do this alone.

“No,” she said softly, then turning to look at him, “it
isna. Should it be?”

He ignored her question. “I suppose you want me to take it
down,” he said, readying his breath to tell her it was a waste of time.

“No, I willna ask you to do that,” she said.

For a long time neither of them said anything, as if they
were both using this silent stretch of time to regroup their thoughts. Maggie
smiled wistfully, knowing the kinds of things that must be going through
Adrian’s mind.
He’s fighting me
, she thought.
He’s puzzled and
surprised and just a little angry that this isn’t going the way he planned. God
grant me patience…

And a gilded tongue.

“You like the portrait where it is?” he said at last.

She almost smiled. “I wasna the seventh child of a seventh
child and born no canny, so I canna go so far as to say I like it here,” she
said frankly, “but I willna ask you to take it down.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “You will take it down when you are ready,
when you no longer see the present as a threat against what you cherish from
the past.”

“I find that a little odd,” he said.

She looked at him steadily. “Do you?” she asked. “I wonder
why.”

She saw the furrow of bewilderment between his brows,
seeing, too, even from this distance, the way the lamplight brought out the
vivid blueness of his eyes. His mouth was sensual and full in its relaxed
state.
That
was the mouth she wanted to kiss her.

She remembered the way they had made love the last time. She
had been satisfied as a woman, but she hadn’t felt
beloved
. She realized
then that that was what she wanted. She wanted him to love her freely, without
holding anything back. Even as she thought it, she knew that kind of love would
only come with trust.
And I havena given him much reason to trust me.