“You’re so lucky,” Fanny was saying, envy in her voice. “Three brothers! I’ve never had so much as one!”
Prudence and Patience were quite beside themselves, pink with excitement under their new starched caps, and both laughed at this.
“We will share them with thee, Frances,” Patience assured her. “Especially Rob.”
“And we will be thy sisters,” Prudence added kindly. “Thee shall not lack for family.”
I saw Fanny’s face change and she looked down to hide it, realizing only then that she had accidentally dropped a spoonful of butter beans and corn onto the table, instead of into the bowl.
“God damn it!” she said. Prudence and Patience gasped, and I stepped forward, meaning to make intervention, but Patience blinked, suddenly catching sight of something, and I turned to see what she was looking at.
The Crombies had not come to the wedding, feeling that people marrying each other without benefit of clergy was, if not ungodly, at least slightly immoral. Roger had pointed out to them that a Quaker ceremony was essentially the same thing as handfasting, which as Highlanders they abided. To which Hiram had riposted that handfasting was necessary when there was no minister to be had, in order to prevent outright sin and illegitimate children, but as the Ridge had a minister at present, how was it that Mr. MacKenzie was not personally offended at this refusal of his services?
Rachel had sent Ian up to tell the Crombies that they were more than welcome to come to the wedding feast afterward, even if they didn’t feel they could sanction the meeting at which the marriage occurred, but I’d doubted that any of them would.
And most of them hadn’t. Cyrus, however, was now hovering in the kitchen door, his eyes fixed resolutely on Fanny, despite the rich blush on his cheeks. He was dressed in his best Sunday clothes, with what had to be Hiram’s ancient but well-tended dark-blue plaid over his shoulder, and his hair braided formally over each ear.
“Er …” I took the spoon from Fanny’s hand and nodded toward Cyrus, who had a small package wrapped in a linen napkin in one hand. “Why don’t you take Cyrus to give his congratulations to the happy couple?”
Fanny was as scarlet as Cyrus by this time, but she tidied her cap, brushed down the front of her good white dress with the blue and yellow embroidery, and went to meet him with every evidence of self-possession.
“Ooh,” said Patience, with respect. “Is he Fanny’s … suitor?”
“Does Friend Jamie approve of this?” Prudence asked, frowning at them. “Fanny’s too young for such things, is she not?”
“She’s got her courses,” Patience said, with a shrug. “She told me.”
“But he’s so tall. How could they—”
“It’s a little early to be calling Cyrus anything like that, I think,” I said firmly. “They’re friends, that’s all. Here, give me a hand with these trays of fried fish; they’re to go down to the big table under the spruce tree.”
I helped them out to the porch, then stood for a bit, looking over the festivities. Silvia and Bobby sat in chairs beside each other under the big white oak, and I saw Fanny leading Cyrus down through the multitudes to talk to them. It was too early for people to be drunk, but a number of them would be in another hour or two. People were eating at trestle tables and on the grass, on the porch and the steps, and the delectable smells of roast pork and cinnamon cake, laced with whisky fumes, perfumed the air.
My stomach rumbled suddenly, and Jamie, who had come out of the house behind me, laughed.
“Have ye no eaten anything at all yet, Sassenach?”
“Well … no. I was busy.”
“Well, now ye’re not,” he said firmly, and handed me the plate of buttered corn, fresh roast pork, and yams with chestnuts he was holding. “Sit down and eat, a nighean. Ye’re run off your feet.”
“Well, but there’s still—” I swallowed a mouthful of saliva. “Well, maybe—”
He took my elbow and led me to my rocking chair, this temporarily empty. I sat, suddenly grateful for the throb of relief that shot up from my ankles to the back of my neck. Jamie put the plate on my lap and thrust a fork into my hand.
“Ye’re no going anywhere, Sassenach, until ye’ve eaten that, so dinna be telling me otherwise. Jem! Bring your grannie some nut bread and some of the peach cobbler—wi’ a good bit o’ cream on it.”
“I—that’s—well … if you insist …” I smiled up at him, forked up a bite of honeyed yams, and closed my eyes, giving myself up to ecstasy.
I opened them, hearing a slight change in the rumble and chatter of the crowd.
Had the rest of the Crombies come after all? But no—it was a rider on a gray horse, a single tall man in a tricorne and a dark greatcoat that flapped like wings as he rode, coming up the wagon road and doing so at the gallop.
“If that’s effing Benjamin Cleveland …” I began, getting my feet under me. Jamie stopped me with a hand on my shoulder.
“No, it’s not.” Something in his voice brought me slowly to my feet. I set my plate down beneath the rocking chair and moved next to Jamie. He was steady enough, but his right hand was folded hard round the head of his stick, the knuckles white.
People were turning to look at the rider, distracted from their conversations. Jamie stood stock-still, his face unreadable.
Then the rider came right to the edge of the porch and reined up and my heart leapt as I saw who it was. William snatched off his hat and bowed from the saddle. He was breathing hard, his dark hair was pasted to his head with sweat, and there were hectic patches of red across his broad cheekbones. He gulped air, his eyes fixed on Jamie.
“Sir,” he said, and swallowed. “I need your help.”
Author’s Notes
Historical and Scottish Figures of Speech
a spider full of bacon—A “spider” is/was a large frying pan with a big handle and three long legs, so that it could stand in a bed of coals, thus performing the function of a griddle, for frying bacon or cooking pancakes or corn dodgers (aka “journeycake”). In addition, it was placed under a joint of roasting meat in order to catch the drippings, and also to sauté vegetables (in said drippings).
girdle and creamed crud—These are the Scots dialect versions of (respectively) “griddle” and “creamed curd.” You would have to ask someone Scottish why this is.
toe gunge (from Claire’s shopping list)—“Gunge” is American slang from the 1960s referring to any disagreeable but ill-defined substance; Claire would know it.
can of ale—Before there were aluminum beer cans, there were small cans (also called “cannikins”) made (usually) of tin. These were not disposable, however.
Words, Words, Words …
imminent versus immanent—Similar, but not the same:
“imminent” means—“about to happen.”
“immanent” means—“existing or operating within; inherent.”
metanoia—“A transformative change of heart,” particularly a spiritual shift or conversion.