The Holly and the Ivy, page 14
It was a strange thing to find a person you practically grew up with so changed. She took a half step away from him, but he leaned forward in a way he never had before. Her half step away should have been a full one.
“I don’t like the idea of you and Granny making the trip alone.”
Having Angus accompany them on their annual trip to celebrate Christmas would be the worst possible situation, especially now that he was a kirk elder. When Granny had married into the Jamieson family, she had given up almost all her English ways. But Grandad wouldn’t let her give up Christmas. Instead, they made it a special occasion every year and kept it a secret from the Scottish side of Kirstine’s family. It was one of the things that had made her childhood magical. If Angus followed them to England, either they would have to ruin both Granny and Aunt Gill’s Christmas, or he would find out and feel pressure as kirk elder to report their yearly celebration.
It wasn’t as though Christmas was still banned—only frowned upon—but Kirstine would hate to put him in a position of having to choose between their friendship and giving an account of their celebrations to the church.
“We have gone alone every year since . . .” She paused, and the furrow between Angus’s eyes showed he understood exactly why. But she couldn’t make herself say the words Stephen died. Her brother’s death had completely changed her world in ways she still hadn’t recovered from. “For the past two years,” she finished lamely. “We won’t have any problems.”
“Still . . . now that I’m kirk elder, I feel a responsibility for you, a need to protect you.”
He was leaning closer again. Kirstine stepped back, and her skirt brushed against the thick, rough brick of the storefront behind her. “You have always protected Granny and me. When Mama had to sell Craig House and Granny didn’t want to leave Glenbeath, you found us our cottage. You should never feel any more responsibility than that.”
Angus’s thick, ruddy eyebrows furrowed for a moment. “I don’t mind feeling a bit of responsibility for you.”
Kirstine laughed and pushed herself sideways, away from the buildings and Angus. Of course he didn’t mind. He was family, and here in Scotland, family always looked after each other, which was exactly why she would never allow him to accompany them to England. This was her way of looking out for him.
She wrapped her arm around his but maintained a bit of distance as they walked down the main street of Glenbeath. She needed to get back to Granny before the carriage they had hired from Dumfries arrived. “Once we are in England, Aunt Gill will take good care of us, just as she always does, and the trip is only a few days. I’m certain your new duties will keep you busy while we are away.”
There was that straightening again. Angus was proud of his new position, as he should be. He had worked hard for it. The last thing he needed was a scandal about his second cousin celebrating Christmas.
At the end of the street, Kirstine bid him farewell. Angus crossed the street and greeted Mrs. Foundry, who clapped her hands and smacked his shoulder. Everyone in Glenbeath was so proud of Angus. To become a kirk elder at such a young age was quite an accomplishment.
She shook her head and turned toward home, her pace much faster than it had been while walking with Angus. It would take some getting used to, seeing Angus as one of the most powerful and respected men in the village.
The walk to the cottage was a familiar one. As always, she tried to ignore the house high up on the hill, but her eyes always managed to slide up toward it. The thick gray stone of Craig House never used to be dark and forbidding. Before Stephen had died, that house was home. But it was someone else’s home now, and not just anyone’s—an Englishman’s. Isaac Parker. Even though Mr. Parker had overpaid Mother for Craig House, Kirstine could never forgive the man who now owned everything that should have been her brother’s. Mr. Parker had fought in the same battles as Stephen and come home without a mark on him. Now he didn’t even bother living in the house he’d bought. He just owned it and let it rot.
She forced her eyes down to the trail ahead of her. How quickly life changed.
Kirstine stomped her feet and opened the door to the quaint cottage that Angus had helped Kirstine and Granny find and settle into when Mother and her sisters left. Once inside, her nose warned her something was wrong.
The smell of caraway and wheat dough permeated the room. Kirstine closed the door behind her. Granny sat at the table, her face smattered with flour, gray hair disheveled, and in front of her sat the unmistakable shape of a Yuletide loaf. Kirstine jumped into the room, dropping her parcel of hard cheese on the desk. “Granny, what have you done?”
Granny looked up, her eyes sparkling and soft with tears threatening to run onto her cheeks. “Isn’t it beautiful, Kirstine?” She hefted the loaf, round and just large enough to require two hands to hold it in the air. “Now we can start our Christmas celebrations.”
No. No. No. This couldn’t be happening.
“We celebrate Christmas in England, Granny. We bake the Yule bread in England with Aunt Gill.”
“Yes, well, I couldn’t wait.” Granny set the loaf back down on the table, clapped her hands together, and stood up. She walked up to Kirstine and placed both hands on Kirstine’s cheeks. “It is my favorite time of year.”
Kirstine closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She knew this about Granny. There would be no stopping her from celebrating. That was why almost every Christmastide, she and her family had made the trek to Granny’s hometown just in time to celebrate a few days of Yuletide cheer with Granny’s sister. When the holiday was safely over, they would return home.
“Donnan loved Yule bread.” Even though Grandad was Scottish, he had learned to love Christmas for his English wife’s sake.
“Yes, but he never ate it in Scotland.” Kirstine eyed the door. Any minute now, the carriage would arrive to take them to England. She always hired a private carriage. It was one of the expenses of having Granny so taken with Christmas. You never knew what other passengers might think.
Kirstine frantically searched the cottage for an answer to their problem. They could quickly burn the loaf—the oven was still hot. Or she could bury it. The ground was cold, but it could be done.
Granny absentmindedly hummed a Christmas hymn, her feet skipping around the kitchen to the music in her head. She had never fit in here in Scot-land. She probably hadn’t fit in in stuffy England either. Granny was made to stand out. Although her back was slightly hunched now, she was tall for a woman, willowy and graceful. Kirstine’s grandad had never stood a chance. He had fallen in love with Granny’s spirit and fearlessness. But that fearlessness could land them in a whole heap of trouble during Christmastide.
She couldn’t bury or burn that loaf. Not with Granny’s eyes shining like they were. “Let’s eat it.” Kirstine sighed.
“What, now? We always eat it with Sarah at Donnan’s grave.”
Granny’s sister would happily make another loaf with them. It’s what they had always done. “We are days away from Bripond. You want to bring that loaf with us? Through Scotland?”
“Well, I’m not eating it here, so far away from Donnan. I wish Bripond were closer. Donnan should have been buried here. Scotland was his home.”
“Grandad didn’t have much choice in the matter. He was buried so quickly. Of course he would rather be here in Scotland with us, but then we wouldn’t have the excuse to go see Aunt Gill every year and celebrate Christmas.”
Granny looked perplexed.
Kirstine reached for the loaf. “Let’s eat it now. We can bake another one in England.”
Granny waved Kirstine’s hand away. “No, I made this one for Donnan. I sang to him while I baked it. It won’t be a problem; it is just a few days away.”
Granny pulled out a dishcloth and started wrapping the loaf in it for travel.
“How will we even carry it? It won’t fit in our trunk; it is already packed.”
“I’ll just carry it like this.” She held the loaf up by the knot in the cloth. “I’ll keep it in my lap as we drive.”
Impossible. Kirstine massaged her forehead with her left hand. They were leaving so soon. How was she going to convince Granny that the loaf couldn’t come with them? It couldn’t be left here either—not for someone to find.
Horses’ hooves and the creak of wagon wheels sounded outside. Granny’s face lit up with excitement. She pulled the loaf close to her heart and jumped toward the door.
“Granny,” Kirstine hissed. “You cannot let those men see that loaf of bread. The whole house smells of caraway. They will know exactly what it is.”
Granny paused for a moment and looked down at her precious loaf. She pulled her lips to one side in thought. “Let’s hide it, then.”
It was too late for that. “The trunk is full.”
“I’m sure these men will understand. Are they English, perchance?”
“No. I haven’t met them yet, but they are from Dumfries. Angus found them.” Kirstine grabbed the loaf from Granny’s hands and ran to the back bedroom, out of the line of sight of the front door. Where to put the loaf? Most of Scotland would only give her and Granny a side eye for celebrating Christmas, but they had no idea if the men driving them would be so charitable. Christmas was seen as much too Catholic, and some felt stronger about it than others.
“We have to bring it.” Granny’s voice was shrill, with an edge to it that Kirstine rarely heard. But when she did hear it, the hairs on the back of her neck started to prick. If Granny became inconsolable now, just as they were about to leave, she could let something slip that would put their whole journey at risk. There was no telling what Granny might do or say when she was this upset.
“How are we supposed to bring it?”
“I don’t know.” Her voice was getting louder as a carriage creaked outside. The men must be climbing down. Granny needed to calm down. “But we have to bring it.”
“I’ll bring it,” Kirstine said. She could fix this. She could make this work. “Please answer the door and let the men inside. Don’t mention the Yule bread and I promise I will make certain it gets to England.”
Granny’s breathing slowed. She glanced once again at the Yule loaf in Kirstine’s hands and then nodded.
Kirstine ran to her bedroom and paused in the doorway. There had to be something in here she could use to hide the loaf. A large bag? Anything. She was still wearing her coat. If she could somehow hang the loaf near her hips or upper legs, the thickness of her coat and looseness of her skirt might conceal it. The men might search a bag, but they wouldn’t search her clothing. She searched her room frantically for something stronger than thread. Ribbons were too short, and there wasn’t time to tie them together.
The familiar creak of the front door opening made her pause in her frantic search. If Angus was with them, he would want to help, and she couldn’t let that happen. The last thing the new kirk elder needed was to be brought into a Christmas scandal. He knew Granny well enough not to report her to the minister or have her flogged. But Kirstine couldn’t put him in the position to make that decision.
She placed her ear to the door. She heard two voices, low and deep. Their deep, lilting voices told her they were Scottish for certain. At first she couldn’t make out words, but their voices grew louder until each word was easy to discern.
“It smells like Yule bread. Have ye been baking Yule bread?”
A chill swept through the room, and it had nothing to do with the cold air the men had let into the house with them. Granny was silent, thank the heavens. Granny was honest to a fault. With nowhere else to put the loaf, Kirstine unbuttoned one of the buttons on her coat and slipped it into the space directly above her abdomen. As she fastened her coat, it was just tight enough that she could still button it, but the loaf was held safely in place without the need for rope or ribbon.
If Angus was with them, her hiding spot would be obvious. One couldn’t develop such a large stomach in a quarter of an hour.
Kirstine threw her bedroom door open. “Granny, are we ready?”
Granny was wringing her hands. The wrinkles at her brow showed her confusion. Kirstine’s shoulders relaxed slightly as she took in the two large men she had never met, standing just inside her doorway. At least Angus wasn’t there.
“Thank you for coming to fetch us,” she said to the men, donning her largest smile.
The younger of the two men rubbed the back of his neck, looking slightly uncomfortable at the sight of her. Apparently he had no reservations about badgering her granny, but speaking like that to a young woman was harder for him. His companion, the larger and seemingly older of the two, didn’t seem to hold such qualms.
“We smell a Yule loaf,” he growled, drawing out each word slowly. “Have ye been baking Yule bread?” His eyes, already too small for his meaty head, narrowed even smaller.
“No,” Kirstine answered truthfully. “I haven’t baked anything today. We have been much too busy packing.”
“I can’t have a Yule bread in my carriage. Ye must understand that. It could ruin our reputation.”
Ruin their reputation? Would it really? If she and Granny didn’t want it known, and they didn’t want it known, who would tell anyone about it?
“Of course, I understand.”
“Then ye don’t mind if we have a look in your baggage?” the big one asked.
The smaller man shifted uncomfortably. “Come on, Farlan. We need this commission. Let’s just take the ladies on to England as agreed.” He smiled sheepishly at Kirstine. “Sorry, Missus. My brother takes pride in being a true Scot, ye know.”
She smiled back at him. He was their best chance at leaving here undetected. “We would like to be on our way.” She made her way to Granny and linked their arms, trying to ignore the lump at her waist. The loaf was still snugly tucked into place and luckily hadn’t dropped.
Granny leaned in while the big one, Farlan, bent over their trunk. He would find nothing there, but the last thing Kirstine wanted was for a stranger to rifle through her belongings. “I promise you, there is no Yule bread in our baggage.”
Farlan looked around once again. Kirstine’s fingers itched to touch the loaf, but she held them still to her sides. With a scar over one eye and a beard that hadn’t been trimmed in weeks, the large man in front of her looked like the type who would enjoy flogging someone. Perhaps even an elderly woman.
“Let’s go,” he finally said, motioning to his brother to start loading their trunk. The scrawnier brother grabbed the trunk with both hands and, with a decided effort, lifted it up. Kirstine ran to open the door for him, glaring at Farlan as she passed. He was obviously the stronger of the two, yet he didn’t bother to help his brother.
The crisp, cold air that rushed into the cottage was sharp on her heated cheeks, but at least it didn’t smell of Yule bread.
“Do ye have anything else to be loaded onto the carriage?” Farlan asked.
“No, your brother has everything. Feel free to help him.”
Farlan laughed. “He needs to build his strength. He has always been the scrawnier of the two of us.”
If only she could have started this whole trip over. She would rather not use these particular brothers to take her and Granny to England, and she would much rather not have a Yule bread pressed into her stomach for the whole of the trip. She swallowed her retort. The relationship between these two brothers was not one she would be able to fix over the course of a few days.
She turned to follow the younger brother out to the carriage, but a cry and a crash stopped her midstride.
Farlan muttered a curse and dashed out the door. Kirstine followed from behind. The younger brother lay on the ground, her trunk leaning atop his right shoulder. It must have fallen from some height, for the force of the fall had caused the lid to open, and the skirt of her warmest day dress fluttered in the wind.
Farlan righted the trunk and cursed at his brother once again.
The brother moaned, and the shape of his shoulder didn’t seem quite right. Kirstine rushed to them. “That arm doesn’t look good. He may need a doctor, but we haven’t got one in Glenbeath. The nearest doctor is in Dumfries.”
“He don’t need no sawbones,” Farlan said. “We’ve been in worse scrapes.”
The man groaned. “Something is wrong with my arm.”
“We can see that,” Farlan said, not with empathy but frustration. “Ye won’t be helping with the carriage in your position.”
In response, the man groaned again.
Farlan inspected his brother once again, then, with a few grunts, turned to Kirstine. “We will need another man. Would your husband be able to come?”
“My husband?” Kirstine sputtered.
“Yeah.” Farlan grunted. “Where is he?”
“I don’t have a hus—” Both the men’s eyes dropped to her waist, and for the first time, Kirstine realized that the bread hiding there didn’t make her look a few stone heavier; she looked very, very pregnant. How could she not have realized? “—band here right now.” She rubbed her hands together, trying to look calm. “He has already left for England. We are meeting him there.”
“I didn’t see any of his things in your home,” Farlan said, as if an afterthought.
What a strange thing to point out. But it was true; there was nothing in their home that indicated a man lived there. How closely had he been looking around?
“Of course you didn’t. This is my granny’s home. My husband and I don’t live here.”
“Well, where do ye live?” Even the brother on the ground stopped his moaning to listen.
Granny never lied, but Kirstine wasn’t above it if it meant they could find a way to get themselves and this blasted loaf to England. The first place that came to mind was Angus’s home, but a sudden wife for the kirk elder was the type of news that would surely spread. Her eyes traveled up the hill to Craig House. It wasn’t really a lie to say that was her home. In every part of her heart, she still felt that it was.
