Several days later Jamie found an opportunity to renew her acquaintance with George Ellice when the factor had returned from Aberdeen and was again at the house.
“I thought I saw something in your eyes I knew!” he said upon discovering that the new nurse was none other than Finlay MacLeod’s own granddaughter. “But I swear, I never would have known you!”
The change was indeed an astounding one, for all George Ellice could recall from his past visits up the mountain was a smudge-faced little girl who had often served him tea in the old stone cottage. And now here stood facing him, if not a full-grown woman, certainly very nearly one. Why, she even speaks with a degree of refinement! he said to himself.
Most anxious to learn what had become of her in the time since her departure from the region, he asked if she could come for a visit. “And I, or rather my wife, will serve you tea this time.”
“I will look forward to that,” replied Jamie.
It came, therefore, as no surprise when she received an invitation three days later. She bundled up little Andrew, sought out Sid, who was harnessing the horses to the wagon for a ride into the village, asked if she might have a ride to the factor’s cottage with him. Soon she was seated beside the tight-lipped groom bouncing down the road away from the mansion.
The ride from the house to the factor’s cottage was lovely, especially in the afternoon summer sun. The road that wound toward the village was lined with tall birch trees, whose leaves were just beginning to show signs of approaching autumn. The drive through the immediate grounds of the estate was about three-quarters of a mile long. At that distance stood a massive iron gate and a small gate house. Beyond the gate ran the chief road connecting Aboyne and Rhynie. MacKay would take this road to the right to reach the village. But before he did, some 200 yards before reaching the gate house, he led his team off the tree-lined estate drive to the right where, a short distance away, was located the factor’s home. Stretching out on either side of them Jamie could see gentle green hillsides, and beyond them vast acres of wheat and barley and oats.
In less than ten minutes they were pulling up before the Ellice cottage, a gray stone affair with a slate roof and a neatly clipped, fenced yard. George was just coming from the small equipment shed to the side of the house as they approached, and walked forward to greet Jamie.
“Welcome to you, lass!” he called.
Returning the greeting, Jamie stepped down from the wagon and let Sid hand Andrew down to her. Thanking him, he turned his team around and then urged them on down the road.
“Come in, come in!” said Ellice as Jamie stepped onto the porch. He seemed very enthusiastic about their visitor. “Mrs. Ellice,” he called inside, “our guest is here!”
His words were hardly necessary, for she was already less than a pace from the door herself.
“Glad to have you, Jamie,” she replied. “It is all right with you if I call you Jamie, isn’t it? We’re rather informal in our home.”
“Oh, yes, of course,” Jamie replied. “I am so glad to meet you at last, Mrs. Ellice.”
The factor’s wife was short like her husband, but a good deal rounder. Her gray hair was braided and wrapped around her head, framing a round, deeply creased face.
“And you brought the bairn, too!” exclaimed Mrs. Ellice, whom Jamie soon found to be delightfully animated and expressive. “I must hold him! Oh! but there’s the kettle. Let me get tea ready first!” She bustled to the stove but continued to chatter away.
At length the three were sitting around the table partaking of tea and oatcakes, and a special shortbread Mrs. Ellice had prepared for the occasion. Andrew tried to grab at everything in sight and quickly lost interest in his oatcake for the greater fascination of flatware and china. Finally Mrs. Ellice took him in her eager arms.
With his wife’s attention thus diverted, the quieter George seemed to decide he could join the conversation.
“You caused a bit of a stir up here last winter, you know,” he said. “I had given you up for dead.”
“I didn’t know anyone paid much attention to us up on the mountain.”
“Well, that may have been true to a degree. Still, when everyone was missing there was considerable speculation about what had happened. We all just assumed you’d somehow been lost in the storm.”
“I nearly was,” said Jamie.
“When your grandfather didn’t come down at his usual time for supplies, and after the weather had cleared a bit, I sent two of the younger fellows up and they found not a soul. We thought the worst, of course, but could do nothing till the snow melted. When spring came we found not a trace, except what we thought might have been a grave. What actually happened?”
Jamie proceeded to tell them of her grandfather’s death, of her decision to leave Donachie, and her eventual rescue by Robbie Taggart.
“I was on my way here, to your house,” Jamie explained. “I had planned to come and tell you everything. But I wasn’t quite sure of my way, and then the blizzard came up all of a sudden and I lost my bearings, and by the time Robbie found me, he said I was clear over on the wrong side of the mountain. I don’t even know where I was. I’m sorry for the trouble I caused.”
“Considering how severe the storm was,” said Ellice, “I’m only glad you are safe. Miraculously, we only lost a few sheep. Your cow was fine. And it was probably well you left when you did, for we truly might have lost you if you had stayed, especially alone. The blizzard got worse and worse for several days after that. It was one of the worst storms in several years.”
“Things seem to have turned out all right for you,” said his wife.
“I should say!” said George, still astonished at the change that had come over her. “I tell you, Jamie MacLeod, I would not have recognized you had I seen you walking down the lane out in front of the house here. I did not know you when you came into the library the other day, though there was something curious about you I couldn’t put my finger on. Even when I heard the name it didn’t register! You’ve really changed, grown.”
Jamie laughed. “Well, thank you. That’s very kind of you!”
“It’s more than the speech, though that’s part of it. Someone must have taken great pains to help you.”
“Yes. Mrs. Gilchrist in Aberdeen took me under her wing, you might say.”
“Well, she did her job well. There’s a certain refinement, a—”
“Now, George,” interrupted Mrs. Ellice, “that’s enough. You’ll embarrass the poor girl!”
Jamie laughed again. “Let’s just say the Lord has been with me all the way, even when I didn’t know it, leading me in the ways He wanted me to go.”
“Well, I’m glad He sent you back here,” said Mrs. Ellice. “It is fitting that one of Aviemere’s own should be caring for the boy. Does the laird know of your previous connection with the estate?”
“I don’t know. I suppose not, if you didn’t even know.”
“It’s a shame he doesn’t take more interest in the lad,” said the factor’s wife, “although I’m sure he has his reasons.”
“Does he blame the child for the mother’s death?” asked Jamie. “She did die in childbirth, isn’t that what Miss Campbell told me?”
“Aye. And that’s what we’re thinking,” replied Ellice. “But who can say for sure about such things? He’s very close-mouthed about himself, the laird is. Speaks of nothing but business, even to me, and there’s not many closer to him than I am. Shed not a tear (at least that anyone saw) when his wife died. He was always a private person, even before her death. But afterward, he turned into himself and shut out the whole world. Been that way now for almost two years. You can just see the stiffness and the turmoil about him just to look at the man.”
“The man’s in pain, no doubt about that,” added Mrs. Ellice. “But ’tis more than that.”
“Why do you say that?” asked Jamie, her curiosity about the laird rising steadily.
“Can’t put my finger on it exactly,” she replied. “But I’ve been around stoic men before. Most men are stoic in one way or another—why, heaven knows, I’m even married to one!”
She laughed and patted her husband’s shoulder affectionately.
Jamie smiled. The camaraderie between the pair was apparent, and reminded her vaguely of the loving relationships in the Gilchrist home.
“Even the most stoic of men,” she went on, “manage to let it out one way or another. But not the laird—except when his wife was alive. But even then . . . well, I can’t explain it. I don’t even know myself. There’s just more there than meets the eye, as they say. I’m sure of it.”
“Let’s not spread any doubts about the laird,” chided her husband gently.
“I wouldn’t dream of doing that!” Mrs. Ellice returned quickly. “But don’t you think Jamie ought to know these things, caring for the lad and all? He’s the one who suffers the most—poor thing! Why, Jamie, maybe you’re the one to break through to the man.”
“Oh, I doubt that!” said Jamie, shuddering as she recalled the intractable stare of the laird.
Two hours later, as Jamie walked back to the mansion with little Andrew, her mind was filled with the many thoughts and emotions the visit had evoked. As she considered the laird, she hardly knew whether to feel pity or anger. Then the words of the factor’s wife came back to her, and she found herself wondering whether anyone would ever be able to break through the man’s intimidating presence. A meek girl like me . . . why, I’d be the last person to do that, she mused with a smile.
But she did know who could break through! Yet since first meeting him she had not once remembered to take the laird to the One who could help him. So as she walked along, with the laird’s son toddling ahead of her, she silently lifted up a prayer to the God whom she knew would somehow reach the master of Aviemere.
Her thoughts then turned to her grandfather. Speaking about him with George Ellice had not been easy. Several times her voice caught on rising tears. It had been just less than a year since her grandfather’s death, but it seemed much longer. So much had happened. She had grown by years, not months. She had been but a child; now she was nearly a woman, with a child in her care—the child of the laird upon whose land she and her grandfather had toiled for so many years on Donachie! But the year had passed quickly, and she realized now that much of the old aching was still there. She had only glossed over it by not thinking of it. How she missed him!
And she missed Robbie Taggart!
If she had thought of him more frequently than her grandfather, perhaps it was because there was still a hope she might see him again. She had learned a little about love since seeing him last, especially from talks with Emily. And whether he could ever love her or not, she found herself longing for the sight of his face. But Emily had cautioned her that gratitude and friendship could occasionally get confused with love between a man and a woman.
Oh, there was so much she still had to learn! Life could be so confusing! How was one to know what true love really was? Had she loved Robbie? Could she love him again? The memory of his laughing eyes and warm voice still gave her a thrill. But he had been around the world, and she had never even set eyes on a city the size of Aberdeen! What must he have thought of her?
Yes, I have changed since then, Jamie mused. But will that be enough? And what will it matter if we never meet again?
So deep were her thoughts that she took no note of the woman approaching from among the trees on the side of the road.
“Jamie . . . Jamie MacLeod?” the woman called, approaching with a nervous gait, as if she did not want to be seen.
Jamie stopped and turned, puzzled. She did not recognize the woman, and her appearance told her she could have nothing to do with the estate. The woman came closer, glancing about nervously. An odd glint in her eyes put Jamie immediately on her guard, and she quickly caught Andrew up in her arms.
“Jamie MacLeod?” the woman repeated, coming now quite near. From her clothing Jamie could see she must be a poor tenant or worker in the village.
“Aye,” Jamie replied hesitantly.
“Gilbert MacLeod’s daughter?”
“Aye,” repeated Jamie, trying to keep her voice level, though by now her heart was pounding in the presence of the mysterious woman.
“I thocht so, frae my sister’s description o’ ye, but I wadna o’ kenned ye frae what I knew o’ ye afore.”
“Before?” said Jamie, curious but still hesitant.
“’Tis ten years an’ more syne I last seen ye—ye dinna remember, do ye?” She continued on without waiting for a response. “’Course ye dinna! Ye couldna. What were ye, six or seven then?”
“You mentioned my father?”
“Aye, I did, lass! We was frien’s, yer father an’ me an’ my husband.”
“You knew him . . . well?” asked Jamie, taking a step closer and beginning to forget her previous caution of this rather frightful looking woman. She was eager to hear anything about her father.
“We did. An’ ye yersel’ supped at my ain table mony a time, though I can see ye dinna remember. The name’s Iona Lundie.”
She held out her hand and smiled, but it was evident that her lips were unaccustomed to the exercise.
Jamie took the hand. It was cool and limp. Jamie seized that brief moment of contact to quickly scan the face of this stranger who claimed to be an old friend. It was the face of a woman past middle age, lean and drawn—almost haggard—in appearance. The years had plainly taken their toll. Her eyes were pale gray, like the slate of George Ellice’s roof, with a cavernous look encircled by dark flesh. She looked worn. But there was another something in her eyes, the same something that had caused Jamie to hold back at first. Jamie could only describe them as eyes that, if they had once known, seemed now to have forgotten the meaning of love or happiness.
“Can I walk wi’ ye part way up t’ the hoose?” asked Iona Lundie, “’cept I mustn’t gae so far as t’ be seen.”
“Yes, of course,” answered Jamie, “but why can’t you be seen?”
“I came here t’ catch sicht o’ yersel’, t’ see if it was true. But the rest o’ the eyes here be none too frien’ly toward Iona Lundie!”
Jamie did not reply, and they resumed their walk toward the house, but at a slower pace. Jamie continued to hold Andrew, who no longer seemed to want to get down.
“So ye’re workin’ fer the laird, noo, are ye?”
Jamie nodded.
“Weel, I guess we all maun do what we can t’ eat.” There was definite derision in her tone, but Jamie couldn’t tell whether it was aimed at her or the laird.
“I—I had so few other opportunities that I—” said Jamie, not quite knowing how to reply to the gruff woman, but she was cut off.
“An’ ye think ye’ll be happy here?” she said.
“I . . . I don’t know. It is rather lonely, I suppose, but I only just arrived.”
“Happiness!” said Mrs. Lundie, almost to herself. “It’s been sae lang syne I e’en heard the word, I dinna e’en ken the meanin’ o’ it!”
“You’re not happy here?” queried Jamie tentatively.
“Ha, ha!” barked out Lundie’s widow with a laugh completely devoid of any merriment. Then her eyes narrowed, stopping Jamie in her tracks. The woman put a hand on Jamie’s arm and spoke in a low tone with the same intensity in her gaze. “After what they did? I’ll ne’er be happy until I see every mother’s son o’ them cold in their graves!” Her eyes dropped to the child in Jamie’s arms and she pierced Andrew with such an awful stare that Jamie clutched him almost painfully to her as if to keep away a silent incantation being leveled by her evil eyes against the heir of Graystone.
“I’m—I’m sorry,” faltered Jamie. “Your life must have—I’m sorry it’s been so painful. But how can you speak so—”
“Do ye ken onythin’ aboot the Graystones?” she asked piercingly.
“Very little, I suppose.”
“Yer father told ye nothin’?”
“About the Graystones? No—I—I don’t understand. What would my father have had to do with them?”
“They was yer father’s neighbors! Ain’t that eneuch!”
“Neighbors!” But even as she spoke the word, a dozen images flooded Jamie’s mind. Bits and pieces from an early childhood that had no more coherence in her blurred memory than a shadowy dream—the hazy face of her father filled with frustration and disappointment, an impressive stone house, the swinging sign of a rearing stallion, terrible rain pelting a little girl, and over it all the spectre of a man in a black cloak whose face was obscured from her vision.
They had been landowners then! It had always been her daddy’s dream! Why was there such a look of sorrow on his face—sorrow mingled with anger? But neighbors to Aviemere? It wasn’t possible. Hadn’t they lived on the other side of the village? But now it was all growing so confused!
“We—we did have land then . . .” was all Jamie could get past her suddenly very dry throat.
“On the veery borders o’ Aviemere,” said Iona. “Land which them cursed Graystones staelt frae yer father, mark my words! They forced an’ feared him intil bankrupcie, an’ then teuk his land whan it were dirt chepe! Staelt it frae him, they did! Yer father wudna lift sae much as a finger t’ fecht ’em. But nae my Freddie! He was a bonnie fechter, he was, an’ was aboot t’ gie ’em what they deser’ed! But they got til him first. Killed him! Do ye unnerstan’—they killed my Freddie! Then yer ain father went recht after him. They ne’er got what they deser’ed—nae yet!”
They had drawn within sight of the house. As much as she wanted to know about her father, all Jamie could think of was getting away from this woman. She did not want to hear any more from such a chilling voice! And the woman’s eyes looked at Andrew as if—
She just wanted to get away! What were those horrible things she had said? How could it—but it was all so blurry and confusing!
“I’ve got to go now,” she said, keeping on toward the house. “It’s—it’s time for—”
As she spoke she turned, then said nothing more.
Iona Lundie was already yards away, disappearing through the trees that bordered the drive. She had no intention of going any nearer to the home of the lairds of Aviemere.