A PLAID CHRISTMAS IN SCOTLAND

Where Christmas was outlawed four hundred years

A Just for Fun Short Story by Celia Jolley

"My dearest, I am so sorry I am not able to go with you north to Scotland for the Christmas season as I had hoped, for now at least..."  Her father's words were washed away, drowned by the breaking of wave after crashing wave of coughing as he bent over gripping the handle of the stage.  Finally, he stood back mostly upright with his lids closed, the sweat beaded on his brow as he caught short, shallow breaths.  His pallor was frightening like death warmed over.  The rattle sounded worse than ever.

"What?"  I thought you were coming.  I refuse to leave you like this, Father.  You are so much worse, I dare not leave your side.  I thought the air in the country, out of this filthy city, would help you..."  she cried and tried to get out, but he held the door firmly shut when she attempted to disembark.

"You must."  The words came out in short gasps from his tight chest.  "The doctor will see to me here.  I will join you there when I am better, I promise.  Your letter is in your reticule?"

She nodded but could not say more because of the threat of crying, afraid of breaking down completely.  The young thing beside her looked white as a sheet with sheer terror.

He suddenly seemed to have gotten his lungs full and spoke more easily.  "I'm sorry Elspeth, to be sending you alone on such a long journey with only your little maid as a chaperone, but it can't be helped."

The coachman's bawling call had her father squeezing her gloved hand farewell through the window.  He seemed to be holding back his breath, but as they rolled away she looked back to see him bent over staggering with the worse coughing fit yet.  Finally when he was out of sight, she sat back in her seat and let the tears roll not caring if she looked a sight to the other passengers.  She was going to the unknown alone.

A long time later as the tears dried salty on her cheeks, she got out the letter her father had sent.  Regardless of propriety, she broke open the seal and unfolded the parchment to read...

"Dear Sir Anton,

I had planned to accompany my daughter to finally make good on your invitation to visit you in your Scottish holdings for my health.  Health.  However, I fear I may not be long for this world..."  

Her sobs were barely muffled by her muff crammed against her mouth.  Finally, she could feel her maid patting her arm.  She gulped huge breaths choking back her sorrow.

Elspeth continued reading after wiping her eyes with the handkerchief tucked into her muff and flattening out the letter which she had crumple in her grief.  The ink was smudged now, but she read on...

"My  physician gives me no hope.  Sadly, my affairs are in a worse state than my health and am leaving my precious girl penniless with no protection and no dowry.  At our last meeting, I had asked you to be her guardian, if it might be deemed necessary.  I find that now is such a time.  Her betrothed is in the King's service and promised to come to claim her if he survives the war.

Since, as I remember, you have sworn off romance, and the thought of remarriage makes you growl, having my daughter on your arm at your limited social engagements such as when you can't manage to excuse yourself from, might help you ward off the unwanted attentions from the fairer sex that you so loathe.  Her stay could be mutually satisfying in that respect.  Elspeth is quiet as a mouse otherwise, content to read or sketch, or play the piano forte, if you have one there.  You have my undying gratitude, or rather, my dying gratitude.  Sorry to be morose, but such is life, or rather, death.  She is dearest to my heart.  I know you will not turn her out if for nothing else than our friendship."

Elspeth wadded the missive and crammed it back in her pocket.  She shuddered a sigh.  Her father had not told her any of this.  She muttered under her breath, "How could I have been so blind?"  She wondered how she could not have realized he was not coming, that he was too sick?

"Hmm?"  Betsy the maid looked up.

"Nothing.  I fear I will never see my father again," she whispered.  "But I will need to write Robert as soon as I have ink and paper.  Perhaps he can be released early to come for me.  Oh, this is horrid war.  Men!  Why must they die of consumption or battle and leave us women alone?

Her little maid squeezed her hand looking at her wide-eyed.  "At least I have you, dear Betsy.  I'm sure you are as petrified of leaving home and country as I am.  I never dreamed we'd be leaving England for Scotland by ourselves."

Her little maid squeezed her hand though still had a frozen wide-eyed look of fright.  "Yes, miss," she squeaked and hung her head to hide her own tears.

"I know you understand, Betsy, having lost all your family as well."

The long days and weary hours in the coach provided plenty of time for grief and anger to dance an intricate step together until her head pounded, and her heart grew numb, as numb as her fingers and toes in the freezing coach.  The brittle cold meant the leather curtains had to remain drawn, so there was no beauty in the scenery to distract.  The other passengers looked down their noses at her for traveling so far unchaperoned with no male protection, just a useless maid.  The only thing that kept her from coarse treatment, was the mention that she was going to Sir Anton's, a well-respected man in the region.

The last day on the road, her money had run out, and the two were hungry indeed, not even having enough to purchase a cup of tea to warm them in the dreary wintery climate.  Elspeth's stomach growled in protest, though she had no appetite.  However, she felt keenly sorry for her little maid who was too slight to begin with and never stopped shivering.

Finally, the driver stopped at a huge iron gate and threw her trunks down in the snow.  "Sorry, miss, I can't be bothered to drive every Tom, Dick, and Harry up to their doo.  I'm sure someone from the house can come back for your things."  With a tip of his hat, he left the two young women standing in the slush of the road.

"Well, I can't see the house from here, but there's nothing to do but go down the lane, knock on the door and hope someone's home."  She tried to sound more chipper than she could possibly muster for Betsy's sake.

Her calf-skin slippers were soon soaked.  She owned no boots as she had outgrown in the years past, and there had been no money for new ones.  It seemed that it had been years since she had been warm and trembled as much from the cold as from the fear of what was before them.   Elspeth wondered what she would do if Betsy gave out on her before they got there.  She could  hear the child's teeth chattering over her own.  As the road curved, the grand place came into view through another set of gates.  It was not a mere house, but a stately manor, ancient as that.

"Oh dear!" She exclaimed as she stood up to her ankles in snow to stare at the formidable fortress.

"I see a light burning in a window, miss.  I do hope it means someone is home to let us in.  Look, there's smoke.  I do hope that means that their chimneys must be keeping them warm."

It was still quite a ways off, but they quickened their pace, half running in a most unlady-like manner.  It was that or give in to their quaking and fall in a snowdrift never to rise again.

Elspeth lifted the frozen door knocker with stiff fingers.  She could no longer fee her hands or feet and was amazed they had made it.  She hugged poor frozen Betsy to her who seemed ready to fall weak-kneed to the icy flagstones.  Just as she was about to lift the door knocker again, the huge door creaked open, and a flood of light and warmth poored out.

"Mercy upon us all!  What waifs have we here frozen upon the stoop now?  Come in, dears!  Come in," a uniformed maid cried.

They had t be half carried in where they were wrapped in wool plaids in front of a blazing fire .  The hearth was nearly the width of the room.  "Not too close now.  You need to be thawed out slowly or you'll burn your fingers and toes off."  Soon maids were bringing pans of cold water in and stack of towels.  Their hands and feet were placed indelicately in large copper pans and then rubbed repeatedly, rubbed with snow even.  If was so painful that it had both girls in tears.

"Are you sure you are not sticking me with pins?"  Elspeth cried.

"I'm sorry, dearie, but it is quite necessary, ye understand.  It is thankful I am that ye can feel, even if it hurts.  That's a good sign."

It took over an hour with this treatment and drinking hot broth before Elspeth could unwind her fingers and dig out the wadded letter from her father.  She smoothed it out and gave it to the housekeeper who handed it over to the butler.

"This is for Sir Anton.  It explains everything," Elspeth stammered.

He bowed and was waved away by the housekeeper.  "We let the master know ye was here, but told him ye were I no condition to speak to him as yet.  He is curious to know what has brought ye lassies to his door."

Just as her head was feeling too heavy to hold up, heavy boots were heard on the stone steps and stopped at the threshold.  Elspeth kept her head down and eyes closed, not daring to look for a moment.

"Jones, show them to their rooms.  I will speak to our guest tomorrow."

She could not decide if his voice sounded angry or just perturbed, greatly perturbed or greatly angered.  His footsteps were soon gone leaving as suddenly as they came.

Then she remembered, "I'm sorry, but my trunks are by the gate where the stage dropped us off there at the road.

"He made ye walk the mile in the snow?  Oh, wait till the master hears of this!"  s=She made crooning sounds, "Ye poor wee things.  No wonder it is that ye came to us more than half frozen.  I feared for frostbite, but you pinked up nicely after a dousing and a rub.  Do you think ye are able to walk up to your rooms or will need to be carried?"

"Oh, no, I can walk."  Then looking over at her pitiful maid, she added, "But I believe she might need to be carried.  She doesn't weigh more than a pigeon, and I don't think she has any strength left."

A manservant came behind with limp Betsy in his arms as Elspeth followed the housekeeper up the stairs.  Even now she fought back the tears from the feeling of needles still in her feet  There was a fire already warming the room and a firepan under the covers to keep her feet warm.  Betsy was carried through to a closet room away from the hearth, a maid's quarter.  The upstairs maid then helped Elspeth into someone's nightgown, so big it swallowed her, before turning down the covers.  After thanking her, the maid left.

As soon as the door closed, Elspeth went over and shook Betsy awake, "Come climb in by me.  We'll stay warmer that way."  They had to share a bed the whole trip as there were not enough funds to pay for two beds at the inns.  As weary as she was, Elspeth blew out the candle without even looking at her room, merely glad to sink into the bed linens and be swaddled like a babe.

The next morning the blaze was still going so that rising out of bed was not to be dreaded as had been in the unheated rooms of the inns.  It was heaven to be warm again.  Little Betsy was not there but soon came in like a beam of sunshine.

"Oh, miss, it is so grand, and everyone is so kind, even to me!  Here's your warm wash water.  Then I'll help you change into a clean gown.  Your trunks are waiting just outside the door until you were awake and presentable.  I've hung your green dress up to freshen for you.  When you break your fast, a manservant will bring them into the room while you eat, and I can begin unpacking."

"Wait.  Don't unpack until we are certain of our welcome."

"I'm told by the maid downstairs that we are not to worry.  He is a kind master and will not wise turn us out."

"Still, I would not want to be presumptuous until he has offered his invitation."

"Yes, miss, whatever you say."

"Thank you, Betsy."

Her maid had the sweetest dimple that Elspeth loved to see when she smiled.

There was a knock at the door as Betsy was almost done brushing her hair.  "Here, let me put it up myself quickly while you answer the door."

"Good morning, dearie," the housekeeper swept into the room without waiting for Betsy to open the door.  "Breakfast has been kept warm for you.  When ye are finished, we'll go into the study to meet Master Anton."  She looked Elspeth up and down and smiled, "Quite nice.  Ye'll do.  If ye are ready, I'll show you down now.  Later after ye have spoken with Sir Anton, I will give a tour so that ye can find your o'n way about."

"Thank you.  I'm ready."  She would never be ready, however, for what the morning would bring.  It found her once again fighting back new tears missing her father terribly just now."  

The dining room was facing east to catch the rays even in winter with plenty of glass to reflect the sparkle from the snow scape which stretched from an icy lock to highland crags that disappeared into the clouds.  It was breathtaking.  "It is so beautiful!"

"Yes, it is lovely.  It's why the master prefers to stay here away from society rather than his house in Edinburgh."  She bustled about uncovering eggs and toast with jam, bacon, and porridge.  "We don't eat too fancy here, but it is plenty and tasty.  Would ye care for a cup of tea or coffee?"

"Coffee, please, with cream."  It was her guilty pleasure that she had acquired a taste for it.  When her father entertained his friends, he always made sure she served it along with tea, allowing her a cup as well.  Just the smell of the dark brew brought memories of her father that choked her up.

"Is something wrong, miss?  Is the coffee alright?"

"No, it is perfect.  It just brought back memories.  My father loved his coffee though he tried not to let on to his English tea drinking friends."

Having not eaten the day before except for the broth last night, Elspeth could not seem to get full.  Jones the housekeeper arched her eyebrows in surprise at her healthy appetite.

"I don't normally eat like this.  It's just that I was so cold last night..."

"Understandably so, my dear.  Shall we go or would you like another cup first.  Or I could serve ye in the study along with the master."

"In the study would be nice.  Thank you."  Elspeth would like to have something warm in her hands when meeting Sir Anton, not sure of his welcome."

She followed the housekeeper's quick clip down the stone floors until the woman knocked at a heavy door at the end of the hallway.

"Come in."  

It was the same deep voice that she heard last night, not quite so agitated, but still very business like.  She wished now she had asked her father more about their hose.  With a deep breath, she stepped into the room.  Her eyes went up the walls to the tall ceilings where stags were mounted and other antlers as well as an imposing family portrait of a white haired man in a kilt.  Finally, her eyes glanced to meet the man in whose manor she had burst in upon unannounced last night.  She ducked her head as she bent her knees in a low curtsey.

"Sir Anton, please accept my apologies for our sudden and unfortunate intrusion last night."  Now she must meet his gaze.

"Drat, I had not expected one so young," she heard him mutter under his breath.  He inspected her person from where he stood in a kilt in front of his fireplace.

She gasped and covered her mouth.  She had never seen a man in a kilt, one with so much leg showing.  Even with stockings on, it was shocking.

Suddenly, he laughed a deep throaty rumble up from his chest.  "Well, Miss Crumbie, so we meet.  Your father has spoken often of you, but I can see you are not used to an authentic Scotsman.  "You'll get use to our wilds.  You'll be wed soon enough to your soldier sweetheart, I'm told.  Then perhaps you won't blush so."

"You are very bold, sir."

Again he laughed.  "You are a young thing, Miss Crumbie.  I had expected an older, more seasoned lady of an age to be betrothed.  You hardly seem old enough to be out of the nursery."

"Sir, I am astonished!"

The housekeeper had returned with a tray and two coffee cups.  Now Jones was clearing her throat, perhaps as a mild reproach to her master.

He motioned for Elspeth to sit.  "Thank you, Jones, I forget myself.  Rather, I should be expressing my sympathy at your father's ill health.  It sounds as if he is quite at death's door, I understand.  Indeed, he has been a good friend over the years, and I was saddened by his letter.  Of course as his daughter, you are welcome to stay here until your intended comes and posts the banns whenever that may be.  War is a bit unpredictable that way.  Jones will make sure you have everything you need.  Don't be afraid to ask.  I hope you don't expect much society.  It is rather isolated here, just as I like it."

Elspeth took the cup offered her.  "Oh, it is beyond lovely.  But thank you for your kind words of my father..." she blinked back tears swearing to herself the man would never see her cry.  "Thank you for your generous offer of refuge for myself and my maid.  I've not been much in society and had no expectations of doing so here."

"Your maid?  I thought she was some spectral waif floating about.  She should take care outside lest she get blown clear across the loch."

"I will be sure to tell her you said so, sir."  The beginnings of a smile quirked at the corners of her mouth, but she bit her lip instead.  "If you would be so kind, I would like to write a letter to my fiancé to let him know where he can find me as well as back home for any news of father, whether he still...of his health."

"Naturally, though I have already dispatched an inquiry after your father.  Jones will see to your request.  Anything else I can do for you?"

"No," she hesitated, "But thank you again for not sending us packing.  We had no where else to go."

"I hope your father never gave you a reason to mistrust your welcome here."

"No, not at all.  It is just that I did not know he would not be joining us on our journey until he shut the coach door and would not let me out to stay and care for him."  She stared out the window fighting back a shudder of grief.

Before she could think, he was beside her lifting her chin to make her stare up into his dark eyes full of compassion.  "You are too young to lose both mother and father, I won't begrudge you your keening."

Just as suddenly, Sir Anton was out the door, his boots making their distinct sound against the stones."

Jones suddenly appeared.  "Don't worry, dear.  He is a good man, warm-hearted though sometimes too honest making him seem to be lacking in social graces.  He's always been loved 'ere at home.  There's nothing to be afeared of.  I'll bring the pen, paper and inkwell up to your room.  But first, if ye don't mind, I'll give a wee tour."

"This is grander than any building I've ever been in."

"Ye didna go into the grand cathedrals in the city?"

"No, we went to Wesley's chapel."

"We donna keep every wing of the manor open.  It would take a whole forest to heat it.  I willna show ye the old cold parts; wouldna want to get ye chilled again.  Ye've already seen the dining room, and the great hall where we armed ye by the fire last night.  Then ye've seen the master's study, so I'll show ye to the library, and the small chapel.  This hallway is the main gallery of his ancestors."

Elspeth was speechless at the grandeur.  Yet, each room held a warmth from more than a fireplace.  There was a sense of comfort.  These rooms each had been lived in for a century or two or three and were filled with personality as if there was an aura of welcome.

"The master said ye may help yourself to any books to your liking, except what's in the locked case.  Those are so old that they may fall apart.  Some of them are the only ones their kind, ye know.  His great grandfather rescued them from a burning abbey when Protestants came into power setting a torch to the histories kept by monks."

"I think I will spend a lot of time in here," yet she stood in front of the window as she spoke looking out at the winter spread of white.  "I do have a question."

"Yes, miss?"

"Does the master expect formal attire at dinner.  I don't have much in the way of fancy gowns."

"No, he doesn't put much stock in high society and is much more plain in dress than when he is in the city, Edinburgh or London."

"Does he always wear the, um, kilt?"

"More often than not.  This tis Scotland, and he is proud, he is.  I might ask him if ye can be borrowing some of his mother's or his lady's-God rest their souls-plaids to keep ye warm.  It doesn't look like ye are prepared for the winter cold and might need more wool to wrap up in."

"No, I'm not.  You are quite right.  My wardrobe is very limited under the circumstances we lived in."

"I will rummage about for a pair of boots as well.  Otherwise ye won't be able to step outside for months without freezing yer toes off."

"Thank you kindly, Miss Jones."

"And 'ere's the kitchen with the pantry jet through there.  Cook, this is our guest, Miss Crumbie."

The woman's ruddy cheeks flushed even a deeper shade, evidently not used to greeting the company.  "Tis a pleasure it is to meet you, miss."

"You as well.  I'm sure Miss Jones could tell you how much I enjoyed the delicious breakfast this morning."

The housekeeper could not stifle a chuckle.  "She did indeed."

Elspeth turned to leave knowing the shy cook was painfully suffering through the introductions.

"Well, if ye don'na have any other questions, see if ye can find the way back to yer room by yer lonesome.  I'll leave ye now and find what ye need for writing that letter to yer sweetheart.  I'll have it brought up to the room shortly."

"Yes.  Thank you very much."

She found that just going up the stairs made her tired and on the verge of a splitting headache.  Perhaps, the last few days had been harder on her than she had though.  A nap sounded good after dinner.  She finally was alone in her room.  Not even Betsy was there to interrupt her musings.  Elspeth cast her eyes around finding beauty and comfort in the simple furnishings in her room from eras gone by.  There was a lady's portrait over the mantle but not overly fussy dressing in the curtains or bedding.  There was a chair by the fire and a small lady's desk near the window.  The view was over the gardens so blanketed by snow that they were made into lumpy bed.

Elspeth hoped there would be a Bible available.  She did not have her father's with her.  It appeared that the few belongings left behind would be lost to her upon her father's death.  She knew it was only a matter of time before they received word.  Surely his many friends at Wesley's Chapel would see to a fitting burial.

Betsy burst in with a cheerful vigor that warmed her heart.  Elspeth greeted her saying, "Glad I am to see that you've recovered from our frosty trial of a journey."

"This be a good place, miss.  We are both well looked after, so there's much to be thankful for.  The good Lord had a place prepared for us.  As grand as this is, it is what I imagined heaven would be like.  How could I not be happy with His favor to me, His humble child."

She hugged the little thing to her heart.  "Oh, Betsy, you are a blessing to me and a comfort."

"Here's the things for your letter writing.  When you are done, I will take it down to the tray in the entry hall.  Jones says it may not go out for many days, especially with this weather.  Yet, even though it's still snowing hard, the master has left to make sure his crofters are provided for and are well."

Indeed, it had started snowing again, and the vista had been swallowed up in a white curtain.  "I will try to get it done before dinner.  Help me not be late in case I lose track of time."

The letters she sent Robert had been few, but not less than the ones she received which were packed away in her things.  Elspeth was never sure that any of hers were delivered, except perhaps one he mentioned.  Nevertheless, as a duly duty of one betrothed, Elspeth tried to write without blotting the precious paper.  It did make her wonder if her grief would be a sentiment he could appreciate  being in the midst of war which might mean he would be surrounded by the dying.

It gave her pause.  Did she really know this man who had briefly courted her, gained her father's approval before slipping away in uniform.  Robert was a good second son and did what he had to do since not fitted for the cloth.  The thought of his return for her did not bring the security she hoped, nor the heart yearnings she had dreamed of.  At this distance, he seemed a perfect stranger.  It must be enough that her father thought him worthy.  Now in retrospect, Elspeth wondered if her father rushed the engagement due to his failing health.  It had not been anything she had expected.  She was committed to a promise now, however.  That was all.  So, she wrote.

Betsy came back in as she was blowing on the ink to dry it.  She had written just one page with no flowery embellishments.  Elspeth shuddered to think what would have happened to her if she had stayed and was left alone when her father died.  Surely, someone from Wesley's Chapel would have helped her, though she knew her father's situation was dire without funds.  She was, or would soon be, an orphan staying here on the good graces of one of his friends.  She was waiting on another man to come and rescue her by way of marriage.  It was a sinking feeling to be so helpless as a woman.

She was alone at the table.  Sir Anton was away.  Elspeth always dined with he father, unless he was detained by business.  In that case, she urged Betsy to sit down and eat with her.  This was another bruise on her forlorn stat.  She was floating above the servants, but was not attached to anyone within reach.  Finally, the taste of the well cooked cabbage soup brought her back and helped in the fight against despair.  Bless the cook.

Without proper footwear, Elspeth was confined in the house.  She walked about going from window to window in every room she had been shown in order to take in the snowy view.  The crag's head had been hidden all day by the curtain of snow, until she caught sight of its shining grandeur above the gleaming white land below.

She was there in his study looking out when Sir Anton returned.  She saw him outside dismounting where feet and hooves had trampled the snow.  Finally, she heard his boots and turned around.  The wind had done wild things to his hair and bard making his eyes seem to penetrate into her very soul as they stood there looking at each other.  He was a creature of Scotland, as if one of the fighting breed, a kin to Robert the Bruce.  There was something untamable about the man.  He smelled of wool, pine and frost.  She was tempted to cower, but stood straight and returned his stare.

"I see you found the best view in the whole place here out my window."

"I hope you had a good day, in spite of being out there in such weather.  It is beautiful to look at, but must be freezing to be out and about in.  Please excuse me.  I'll leave you to your business."

"I do what must be done for my people.  You can't live in Scotland if you don't love the eather.  I will see you at supper then, Miss Crumbie."

She responded, "Yes, thank you."  She curtsied and slipped past him where he stood in the doorway like some giant warrior smelling of wet wool.  Should she be afraid?  Somehow she was not.  He was her protector, and she was grateful.

"At supper, it was just the two of them, a quiet affair as he seemed to relish the food even more than she had done earlier.  Nevertheless, they attempted polite conversation.

"I shot this pheasant on my way home.  The cook has made quick work of it, indeed."

"Yes, quite so.  There wasn't such bounty for hunting in the city.  This is a treat."

"Were you able to write to your intended?"

"Yes.  I left the letter in the hall, but was told it might take a few days before it would be sent.  I also sent a letter to my father with the hope he would receive it."

"Even in good weather, correspondence is not a hurried affair, taking its time to travel from the highlands.  The coach only comes through once a week.  We count ourselves blessed.  Some of the islands off Scotland must tuck their letters in a sheep's bladder and shove it off hoping it would drift clear to the mainland when the boats can't come through."

"Surely not," she gasped.

He nodded.  "So, is your sweetheart in France then?"

"I believe so, either that or on a ship still.  His name is Robert Southworth.  His father is Lord Richard Southworth."

"I've hard that name.  So your Robert is a second son, I take it."

"Yes, I only met him a short tile before his commission was purchased."

"Oh, so it was perhaps more of a convenience on your parts rather than an affair of the heart?
It seems to me that your father spoke of wanted to have you arranged, or rather spoken for, as soon as possible.  That attests for your young age."

"I am seventeen, nearly eighteen and will be nineteen probably before I am wed.  That is quite the common age for young ladies in England to wed, I believe.  So, it is a shamefully thin line being judged to be too young or put on the shelf being thought too old."

"So you are not in love?"  He stared at her with that disconcerting penetrating gaze.

"No." She dropped her eyes.

"I pray then that your father saw to your benefit a good match.  Any other is intolerable."

"Have you been married, Sir Anton?  Do you speak from experience?"  She bit her tongue at her audacity to speak in such a way to her generous.  However, she was curious if the portrait in her room was that of such a woman.

"Yes, but the portrait you perhaps are referring to is of my mother.  Lovely, isn't it?  Just like she was."  It was as if he read her mind.  He quietly drug the three tines of his fork around his empty plate making a chilling scrape.  "Yes, there was a Lady Anton at one time, but she never adjusted to our solitude and was a very unhappy person.  Our parents had arranged it before we were out of the nursery.  I would like to think it was her condition, the one that eventually took her that made her so bitter, and not just her hatred of me."

Elspeth was momentarily speechless.  "Oh, I am so sorry.  Father never said much of anything about you of a personal nature, sir.  But may I ask how long ago it was that you lost her?"

"She died about five years ago.  We weren't married long, thank goodness.  Your father was a big encouragement to me, writing to help me keep my sanity and to the right thing.  He helped to keep me accountable before God.  I kept a promise to her to let her die at her family home.  That is where she is buried.  Thus, I hope yours will be a happier union than my experience."

Just then the dessert was served, a plum pudding.  Their conversation had died.  The man was so disconcerting with his directness, something she had never experienced before.  Yet, truth unvarnished, unpolished was more satisfying than sharing pretty nothings in forced social niceties.  She had revealed before the main course things she had barely allowed to confess to herself.  She was not in love.  How did he know to put things so clearly when she felt all muddled?