parent and then the other. She would be permitted to travel so great a distance?
“An island!” Ian said with no trace of envy in his voice. “Won’t that be grand?”
“I see the idea intrigues you, Davina,” her father teased her. “There’s more.
“Escort her to Lamlash Bay at your earliest convenience. Perhaps the first of June would be to your liking. Be advised, Catherine and Abigail will not let her return to the mainland until Lammas. Even now they are formulating plans of how to entertain their cousin, and the list is quite long.”
Her mind spun like a child’s top on a polished floor. Now she remembered the Stewarts, if only from old letters. Catherine and Abigail were not much younger than she and lived in a manse overlooking a bay.
“Glentrool will be a desolate place without you,” Ian confessed. “Still, you must go, my sister.”
She blinked, as if it all might disappear: the letter, the invitation, the blessing of a lifetime. Nae, still there, along with her father, who was blithely describing an idyllic summer on Arran.
My wife has inquired if Davina might inform us of certain foods she likes and dislikes and any other information of a similar nature. We have a mild climate here and few diseases. Have no concern for her health.
Davina clapped her hands at that. As if she cared one whit about climates or diseases! And she would happily consume every morsel on her plate. Not stewed eels, but all else.
“I believe we have our answer, Mrs. McKie.” Her father smiled, and her mother tried to do so in return. “Ian, you will manage the estate for a few days while I see Davina safely to Kilbride parish.”
“A privilege, sir.”
Before Jamie could outline Ian’s duties, Leana touched his arm. “Is there more to the letter?” she asked softly. “Does Reverend Stewart mention her … impediment?”
Davina looked away. Impediment . The word her mother used in polite company.
Until now, the thought had not occurred to her: She would not only be a stranger among them, but strange. Tongue-tackit . The mute lass from Galloway.
“He does make mention of it,” her father admitted, “but only in the kindest of terms. I thought to spare you this, Davina, but perhaps ’tis best you hear it.
“We are not frightened by your daughter’s muteness. Did not Gabriel take away the voice of Zacharias? Did he notsay, ‘Behold, thou shalt be dumb, and not able to speak’? God has not lifted his hand from Davina’s life. She will be well cared for on Arran.”
Whether unintentionally or by design, her father had read the balance of the letter using his shepherd’s voice. Warm. Gentle. Soothing. In Aprils past, Davina had walked the hills with him as he examined the newborn lambs and crooned to them in just such a way. He’d often prayed for her in the same kind voice. And whenever he disciplined her, however severe the chastisement, the words did not hurt because of the manner in which they were spoken.
Dear Father . He had arranged this visit to Arran; she was sure of it.
Her mother placed her sketchbook in her hands, blue gray eyes shimmering like wet glass. “Have you decided to go, then? ’Tis a wonderful opportunity.”
It was wonderful. Was there any reason not to go?
Davina turned the pages, considering her answer, when her gaze landed on a message she’d written earlier. For her mother. I look forward to our summer together. Your loving daughter, Davina .
Fifteen
Ah! there are no longer any children!
M OLIÈRE
L eana sat in the empty dining room with only the ticking mantel clock for company. A single candle flickered on the table. The light was not sufficient to dispel the shadows in the far corners but more than enough to illuminate the old Buik that lay open before her.
My children are gone forth of me, and they are not .
She had awakened with tears in her eyes, remembering the verse.
Up the stair Jamie still lay sleeping, for the hour was very late—or very early—not
“An island!” Ian said with no trace of envy in his voice. “Won’t that be grand?”
“I see the idea intrigues you, Davina,” her father teased her. “There’s more.
“Escort her to Lamlash Bay at your earliest convenience. Perhaps the first of June would be to your liking. Be advised, Catherine and Abigail will not let her return to the mainland until Lammas. Even now they are formulating plans of how to entertain their cousin, and the list is quite long.”
Her mind spun like a child’s top on a polished floor. Now she remembered the Stewarts, if only from old letters. Catherine and Abigail were not much younger than she and lived in a manse overlooking a bay.
“Glentrool will be a desolate place without you,” Ian confessed. “Still, you must go, my sister.”
She blinked, as if it all might disappear: the letter, the invitation, the blessing of a lifetime. Nae, still there, along with her father, who was blithely describing an idyllic summer on Arran.
My wife has inquired if Davina might inform us of certain foods she likes and dislikes and any other information of a similar nature. We have a mild climate here and few diseases. Have no concern for her health.
Davina clapped her hands at that. As if she cared one whit about climates or diseases! And she would happily consume every morsel on her plate. Not stewed eels, but all else.
“I believe we have our answer, Mrs. McKie.” Her father smiled, and her mother tried to do so in return. “Ian, you will manage the estate for a few days while I see Davina safely to Kilbride parish.”
“A privilege, sir.”
Before Jamie could outline Ian’s duties, Leana touched his arm. “Is there more to the letter?” she asked softly. “Does Reverend Stewart mention her … impediment?”
Davina looked away. Impediment . The word her mother used in polite company.
Until now, the thought had not occurred to her: She would not only be a stranger among them, but strange. Tongue-tackit . The mute lass from Galloway.
“He does make mention of it,” her father admitted, “but only in the kindest of terms. I thought to spare you this, Davina, but perhaps ’tis best you hear it.
“We are not frightened by your daughter’s muteness. Did not Gabriel take away the voice of Zacharias? Did he notsay, ‘Behold, thou shalt be dumb, and not able to speak’? God has not lifted his hand from Davina’s life. She will be well cared for on Arran.”
Whether unintentionally or by design, her father had read the balance of the letter using his shepherd’s voice. Warm. Gentle. Soothing. In Aprils past, Davina had walked the hills with him as he examined the newborn lambs and crooned to them in just such a way. He’d often prayed for her in the same kind voice. And whenever he disciplined her, however severe the chastisement, the words did not hurt because of the manner in which they were spoken.
Dear Father . He had arranged this visit to Arran; she was sure of it.
Her mother placed her sketchbook in her hands, blue gray eyes shimmering like wet glass. “Have you decided to go, then? ’Tis a wonderful opportunity.”
It was wonderful. Was there any reason not to go?
Davina turned the pages, considering her answer, when her gaze landed on a message she’d written earlier. For her mother. I look forward to our summer together. Your loving daughter, Davina .
Fifteen
Ah! there are no longer any children!
M OLIÈRE
L eana sat in the empty dining room with only the ticking mantel clock for company. A single candle flickered on the table. The light was not sufficient to dispel the shadows in the far corners but more than enough to illuminate the old Buik that lay open before her.
My children are gone forth of me, and they are not .
She had awakened with tears in her eyes, remembering the verse.
Up the stair Jamie still lay sleeping, for the hour was very late—or very early—not
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