Justine’s fingers tightened on the envelope when she saw the postmark and she tore it open without another thought. She dropped onto the stool beside the phone in her sunny white kitchen and read hungrily.
May 23, 1999
Dear Mrs. Macdonald,
Thank you so very much for your lovely letter. The Captain and I were delighted to hear that you are expecting a child. Know that all of our warmest congratulations are with you.
Per your request, I did trot over to Frances Fergusson’s and have a look for the record of your forebears. You will be pleased no doubt that Frances does have a thorough record in her files and you may wish to see it yourself whenever you are back this way.
It seems your ancestor Alasdair MacAulay did indeed marry twice, as you had suspected. His first wife was a Fenella Macdonald who gave to him a son, name of Angus. By the dates, Frances guesses Fenella died either in childbirth or shortly thereafter.
How blessed we are that such matters are less risky in our times! I trust that all will go well on your day and that you will be feeling quite yourself again shortly thereafter.
But to return to the tale, this Alasdair did wed again and remarkably, Frances knows quite a bit of his second wife. Her name was Morgaine, though there is no clan listed for her so we cannot tell from whence she came. Named for the great sorceress herself, if you can imagine the cheek of that! But all the same, she seems to have been uncommon lucky—the pair of them had four bairns, two boys and two girls, not two years between any of them. The man must have been smitten with her charms indeed!
Then it is that Alasdair had five children: first Angus in 1307 by that first wife, then a boy Caillen in 1316, then you’ll no doubt be surprised to learn that the first girl has your own name, though it was uncommon enough in those times. Justine was born in 1318, followed by what appear to be twins, Niall and Isobel in 1320. All the children lived to a doughty age, as did their parents, living as they did until…”
Justine firmly put her thumb over the dates. She didn’t want to think about Morgan being dead for several hundred years. She pulled out a calendar and tried to figure out the dates of the babies’ births instead.
Well, Morgan had been pregnant when they last talked and that baby had presumably been Caillen born in 1316. So, for Morgan, right now, it was sometime in 1316.
Justine patted her ripe belly and smiled. Morgan was probably just as pregnant as she was right now. Justine could just imagine how Alasdair would fuss around her.
He’d probably be even worse than Blake had been.
She bit her lip, told herself not to cry, then read on.
“But what is truly remarkable is that there are several letters preserved at the monastery between Morgaine and the abbot there. It seems that she had a gift for painting miniatures. The abbot’s letter makes it clear that although this is most unusual, a lack of talent within the monastery had him hiring Morgaine’s abilities to illuminate the Bibles and gospels that they copied there. Several sentences lead Frances to believe that Morgaine was not allowed within the perimeter of the monastery because of her gender, but that she had a rare and mutually profitable relationship with the monks of the abbey.
Isn’t that remarkable? I must confess that curiosity sent me myself down to the town library where the last of the monk’s illuminated books are preserved and the librarian let me have a wee look. Mrs. Macdonald, if ever you can come back this way, I would strongly suggest you treat yourself to a look at these marvelous books. She may only have been named for a great enchantress, but it is more than clear that your forebear could put magic on the page. Not surprisingly, her spouse Alasdair had somewhat of a reputation as a man of letters—some of those between himself and the abbot are also preserved.
As for your question about the briar and the rose behind the hotel, well, frankly I cannot imagine why you need to hear that tale again. Goodness, Mrs. Macdonald, how often did I tell it to you?! But here it is again, as you requested.
There was once a man living in this very valley who loved his wife with all his heart and soul. One day, she bore him a son and it seemed to him that nothing could be more right in his world. To commemorate his lady’s struggle to bring the babe to light—for in those days, it was no easy task—he planted a rose and a briar behind their home. The plants twined together and grew ever stronger and taller, just as the man proclaimed did his love for his lady fair.
They lived long and well together, happy all their days, and when they passed, that very son tended the briar and the rose, so that the legacy of his parents’ love might continue on in the garden as it did within his own heart. And so, through the years, each master of this house has tended the plants, ensuring that always there is a briar and a blood red rose growing together on the selfsame spot that the man chose to salute his beloved wife.
I hope this has answered your questions. Again, all the best from the Captain and me. We look forward to seeing you again whenever you are back this way.
Sincerely,
Adaira Macleod
Justine read the letter again and folded it carefully. Adaira was right—Morgan did have a rare gift and the body of her strongest work was bound and waiting in a cheerful yellow nursery upstairs. One day, Justine’s child would learn to read magical tales of Scotland, tales illustrated with the fairies that had tumbled out of Morgan’s pen.
A key turned in the lock and Justine started at the sound. “Anybody home?” Blake called from the foyer.
Justine glanced to the clock in surprise. “It’s only four! What are you doing here?”
Blake grinned and dropped his briefcase in the hall. He scooped up Justine and gave her a thorough kiss. “Had to come home and see the most beautiful woman in the world,” he declared.
Justine poked a finger in his chest, trying to hide how pleased she was by both his appearance and his compliment. One week past her due date had left her feeling as attractive as a hippo in a tutu. “What about work?”
“Screw work,” Blake said with a cavalier wink. “I’ve got a family that needs my time.”
A year ago, Justine would have been scandalized by this attitude, but pregnancy had changed the rhythm of the Macdonald home. It was amazing how much time Blake now took to just be with her. Justine once had been convinced he would burn water while trying to boil it, but Blake learned a few tricks while she had had that morning sickness and couldn’t even look at food.
Justine got no further in her thinking than that before the first contraction took her to her knees. Her water broke, the sight of it spreading across her sparkling floor nearly giving her a heart attack.
But it was Blake who remembered everything from pre-natal class. “Okay,” he said with easy assurance. He gripped her chin and winked at her again, his manner easing Justine’s panic. “Don’t freak out on me. Remember, this is what we’ve got to do next.”
And Justine was very, very glad she had married a practical man.
Too many hours later, Justine lay in the maternity ward of the hospital cuddling her very red, very new son. She still couldn’t get over how absolutely perfect he was, the tininess of his fingers and toes, eyelashes and fingernails.
“Hi. Ready for company?”
Justine smiled to find Blake loitering in the doorway. He’d been great, right beside her the whole way through. “You don’t fool me,” she teased. “You came to see your son.”
“Well…”
The baby squirmed and cried, and they exchanged a glance.
“He knows you’re here,” Justine accused.
Blake grinned unrepentantly. “It’s a guy thing.”
He came closer and eyed the baby, Justine’s wonder echoed in his expression. “It’s really amazing, isn’t it?” he whispered with awe as the baby settled against Justine again.
“Yeah, it is.” Their gazes met and held over the child’s bald little head and Justine felt her tears well.
They had a child, and it was because Morgan had made it possible. Morgan had given them an important lesson on making time for each other, a lesson that Justine was never going to forget.
She wished they had learned to appreciate the magic of what was between them a little sooner. Silently, she thanked her sister for giving them this gift before it was too late.
Blake’s next words made it clear that his thoughts must have turned in a similar direction. “Hey, I had this idea.” Something in his tone warned Justine that this was important.
“About what?”
“Naming the baby.” Blake’s gaze locked with Justine’s. He shoved his hands in his trouser pockets and his expression was somber. “Let’s call him Morgan.”
Justine’s tears rose unexpectedly, she was so surprised by the suggestion. Yet, at the same time, it was so apt that she couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of it before.
“Oh, Blake, that’s a great idea!” Justine reached up and gave Blake a sound kiss. “You’re a wonderful man, you know that?”
“So I’ve heard,” he said and tweaked her nose. “And that’s a good thing, too, or I’d never be able to hold onto a wonderful woman like you.”
They smiled into each other’s eyes for a long warm moment, then Morgan let out another cry of protest.
Blake winked. “See? Competition at every turn. I’m not the only one who wants you.”
Justine rocked the baby and cooed to him, feeling like she was less than instinctive mother material. Blake, though, seemed impressed. Morgan’s eyes opened blearily and they already seemed to be a little less blue than they had been just a few hours ago.
His eyes would be green, Justine knew with sudden certainty.
Morgan.
“Hello, Morgan,” she murmured and tickled his chin. He gurgled and nuzzled against her breast, his mouth working hungrily. “One day, I’m going to tell you all about the auntie you’ve been named for,” she whispered.
And in that moment, Justine suddenly remembered her last promise to Morgan. She bent and gently kissed her son’s temple, wondering if Morgan was simultaneously pressing a similar kiss to Caillen’s brow, somewhere across the eons.
That was how she would think of it, she decided. She and Morgan were living their lives in parallel, day for day. Justine would mark Morgan’s babies’ birth years on the calendar—she could figure it out—and celebrate each one’s arrival as though it had just occurred.
And when her Morgan passed each threshold in his life—lost a tooth, took his first step, smiled his first smile—Justine would know that Morgan and Alasdair were watching Caillen do exactly the same.
Justine smiled and cuddled her baby close under Blake’s indulgent eye, knowing she had more than one precious treasure to hold within her heart.
And so, she knew, did Morgan.
Auntie Gillian would be proud.