“I didn’t need telling,” she said, “but I thank thee for thy consideration. While as a Friend, I must naturally deplore violence, I understand that thy circumstances were such as to cause thee to believe that thee did no more than thy duty.”
Bobby looked down briefly, but his eyes came back to hers.
“That’s true,” he said quietly, and leaning forward he reached out to cup his hand lightly around Chastity’s soft cheek. “I reckon you were doing yours.”
Her mouth opened, but no words came out, and I saw that her eyes were bright with unshed tears. She managed a jerky little nod, and Patience and Prudence emitted little hums of approval, though they sat bolt upright, hands neatly folded in their laps.
“I’m a soldier no more,” Bobby said. “I’ll willingly swear—if swearing doesn’t displease you, I mean—not to take up arms again, save to hunt for food. And I, um, reckon you don’t mean to … er … return to your former circumstances?”
Silvia glanced at Jamie, her long upper lip drawn down over the lower one.
“No, she doesn’t,” Jamie said firmly. “Never.”
Bobby nodded.
“So,” Bobby said, sitting back and looking at her very straight. “Will thee marry me, Friend?”
She swallowed, eyes very bright, and leaned forward, but Aidan forestalled her reply.
“Please do marry him, Mrs. Hardman,” he said urgently. “He can’t cook anything but porridge and beans with burnt bacon.”
“And thee thinks I can?” she said, the corner of her mouth twitching.
“She’s not a good cook, either,” said Prudence, as one required to be truthful. “But she can bake bread.”
“And we know how to make stew out of turnips and potatoes and beans and onions and a pork bone,” Patience put in. “We wouldn’t let thee starve.”
Silvia, quite pink in the face by this time, cleared her throat in a monitory sort of way.
“If thee can shoot an animal for the pot, Friend Higgins, I believe I can butcher and roast it,” she said. “You can always cut off the burnt bits.”
“Grand!” said Aidan, delighted. “So it’s a bargain, is it?”
“Well, it might be, if you’ll stop talking,” Bobby said, giving Aidan a look of mild exasperation.
“Daddy?” said Chastity brightly, holding out her arms to Bobby. Silvia went bright red, and everyone laughed. She put a hand over Chastity’s mouth.
“I will,” she said.
155
Quaker Wedding, Redux
JAMIE REMEMBERED THE FIRST Quaker wedding he’d attended, vividly. It had been in Philadelphia, in a Methodist church, and the congregation had consisted largely of Friends—the sort who were for liberty—plus a couple of English soldiers in full-dress uniform, though Lord John and the Duke of Pardloe had tactfully left their swords at home. The service had been unique, and he thought the same was likely to be the case today.
The most striking thing about this one was the number of children present. There were two benches at the head of the Meeting House, with the entire Higgins family seated on one, and all of the Hardmans on the other. Bree and Roger sat down front, Brianna with wee Davy in her arms. Fanny, Jem, Amanda, Tòtis, Germain, Joanie, and Félicité (so aptly called Fizzy) were squirming on the bench in front of Claire and himself, presumably on the theory that a soft but menacing clearing of the throat on his part would ensure restraint on theirs. He hummed a bit, low in his chest, to make sure his voice was in good order, and saw Jem and Germain stiffen slightly. Good.
His breastbone still hurt when he took a deep breath, but he could take a deep breath, and he thanked God for that.
He’d walked all the way to church. Slowly, and his left knee hurt like the devil, but his heart was light. He was alive, he could walk, Claire was beside him, and death was once more a matter that he needn’t fash himself about.
Bobby Higgins abruptly stood up, and the congregation hushed instantly.
“I thank you all for comin’ here today,” he said, but it came out squeaky and he cleared his throat audibly and repeated it, nodding to the congregation. His face was flushed—he was very shy, and no orator—but he stood steady and held out his hand to Silvia, who was pale but poised. She stood, took his hand, and turned to the congregation herself.
“As Robert says, we thank thee for coming,” she said simply.
“I’ve not done this before,” Bobby said to her. “You’ll maybe need to guide me.”
“It’s not difficult,” Patience Hardman said, encouragingly.
“No,” Prudence agreed. “All thee has to say is that thee marries her.”
“Well, but he has to say he’ll feed her—well, us—doesn’t he?” Prudence put in. “And protect us?”
“He might say that,” Patience agreed dubiously. “But he doesn’t have to. ‘I marry thee’ is enough. Isn’t it, Mummy?”
Silvia had her eyes squinched shut and was rapidly turning as red as her husband-to-be.
“Girls,” she murmured. “Please.”
The ripple of amusement among the congregation died away. Bobby and Silvia looked at each other, away, faces flaming, then back. Aidan McCallum stood up from the bench and walked up beside his stepfather. Aidan was thirteen and nearly as tall as Bobby.
“It’s all right, Da,” he said, and turning round he beckoned to his younger brothers, who scrambled up beside him. He beckoned to the Hardman girls, who looked at one another in question, then came to a silent agreement and stood up, too.
“We’re going to marry you,” Aidan said firmly to the girls. “All of us are marrying all of you. Will you— Oh, sorry, will thee all marry us all?”
“We will!” Patience and Prudence said together, beaming. Patience bent down and murmured to Chastity, who turned her cherubic, beaming face on Rob, said loudly, “I mawwy thee!” and, toddling over, clutched him round the middle. “Kith me!” she added, and standing on tiptoe, planted a loud “Mwah!” on his cheek.
It was some time before order was restored.
Jamie’s half-healed sternum hurt amazingly, and he was not the only member of the congregation who had laughed themselves to tears. He found that he couldn’t stop, though. Claire handed him a clean handkerchief and he buried his face in it, remembered grief and present joy and fear and peace all spilling out like cold, pure water.
EVERYONE CAME DOWN the hill to the New House, where we’d unpacked the baskets the women had brought and laid out the rudiments of the wedding feast before leaving for the Meeting House. Now the kitchen was organized—mostly—chaos, as we rushed to slice fruit and meat and pie and bread, to shake the butter from its molds and ladle bowls of jelly and ketchups and sauces and drizzle honey over the roasted yams and chestnuts.
Jamie, Roger, and Young Ian had brought down three barrels of the two-year-old whisky, and Lizzie and Rachel had made enough beer to drown an army of thirsty moose; I hoped it would be enough.
I caught a glimpse of Mandy by the window, her curls tied up with a blue silk bow, earnestly poking bits of food into Chastity’s mouth like a mother robin feeding her brood, though Chastity was quite old enough to eat with a spoon by herself. I smiled and looked round for the other girls, only to find them under my nose, earnestly shoveling succotash into several large wooden bowls, chattering like magpies.