Thorn in My Heart (62 page)

Leana was waiting for them at the door. If she noticed their hands quickly slipping apart, it did not show in her eyes. “You have minutes to spare,” she warned them, though there was no reproach in her voice. “Clean yourselves up and be seated by seven o'clock. I hardly need to tell you why”

As they hastened up the stair and did as they were told, Jamie realized that Leana would make a fine mother indeed, good at keeping her brood in order.
Brood?
Would there be more than one child? If she gave birth to a girl, there would have to be more. Several perhaps. The thought of so many lives depending on him made him stumble for a moment on his way down the stair.

He was not prepared to be a father. He had yet to learn to be a proper husband. When he reached the landing, he turned and saw her standing at the bottom of the stair.
Leana. My wife.
She smiled up at him, her body full of his child, her face full of love for him. The unspoken power of it struck him afresh, pressing him back against the stair wall.

It was a love he could not begin to comprehend. A love he could not return. And a love he could not live without.

In my end is my beginning.

M
ARY
Q
UEEN OF
S
COTS

T
he longer the Sabbath service lasted, the more uncomfortable Leana became.

She leaned against the hard wooden pew, her back aching, her legs numb from sitting in the same position through the singing of the psalms and the prayers of confession and the reading of Scripture. The babe had found a new hiding place, lower than before, pressing painfully against her when he turned. Leana realized too late that she should not have come to kirk, not that morning. But compelled by a longing to be in Gods house, she'd braved the three-mile ride in the chaise, wincing with every jarring bump.

“Not prudent,” her father had said at breakfast, eying her with a certain apprehension, when she'd told him her plan to join them that morning. Difficult as it was to admit, Lachlan McBride might have been right.

Cooler weather had coaxed her out of doors as well. The fourth of October had dawned with pale blue skies and a freshening breeze from the Solway, which meant she could worship without patting at her brow all morning. Jamie sat next to her in the pew, though not too close, giving her a bit of room to breathe. When he glanced down at her, his eyes were kinder than usual, and his concerned expression seemed genuine. “Are you feeling well?” he whispered so softly she almost didn't hear him.

Leana nodded, but something in her face must have told him otherwise. He found her hand, tucked beside her skirt, and drew it into his own. The simplest of gestures, yet it sent her heart soaring.
My dear husband.
Nothing had changed between them. Yet being filled with his
child also filled her with compassion. He was clearly a man tormented by something he'd done, or not done. If he might love their son, that would be enough, that would be a beginning.

He squeezed her hand in silent support, and she closed her eyes to savor his touch. So taken was she with Jamie's unexpected affection that she missed Reverend Gordon's introduction of his text for the day, opening her eyes and giving him her full attention when he began to read from the Buik.

“There was given to me a thorn in the flesh.

Aye.
She knew about thorns. Her roses had pricked her finger many times, each puncture bleeding more profusely than a small wound merited. Leana realized the thorn he spoke about was not from a rose. He meant some painful experience, some debilitating, unwelcome
thing
that would not go away, that hurt without ceasing.

Like loving a man who does not love you.

She held back a tiny gasp.

The minister neither saw nor knew how carefully Leana listened as he continued reading. “For this thing I besought the Lord thrice, that it might depart from me.”

Aye, she had. But not three times. Three hundred times.
Please, God, kt me love him no longer.
She blinked away a tear that appeared on her lashes unbidden. She had begged and pleaded for release, but God had not answered that prayer.
Jamie, I bveyou still.

Reverend Gordon's deep voice rang across the sanctuary. “And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee.

She touched a handkerchief to the corner of her eye as the truth settled inside her. His grace, his mercy, his love, his enduring presence, his faithfulness
were
sufficient.

Jamie had once told her that he could only give her what he had. “It will have to be enough,” he'd said. But it was not enough. It would never be enough. Even if Jamie loved her completely, his love would still not begin to fill all the empty places inside her. Places only Almighty God could fill, because he alone was
enough.

She gripped Jamie's hand without meaning to, so overwhelmed
was she by the ministers words. “For my strength is made perfect in weakness.”

Aye!
She was weakness itself, but in her weakness she'd found Gods strength. Jamie's arms were strong, but they could not hold her in the darkest of nights when everything hurt and all was broken. Only God could.
Only God.

Her tears would not stop now nor would the joy welling up inside her. It must have shown on her face, for Reverend Gordon was looking directly at her with a curious gaze as he read the last words.

“Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.”

Gladly glory.

Leana let the words sink in, tasting them, swallowing them with her tears. Could she manage such an impossible task? Could she gladly glory in loving Jamie, in bearing the pain of his rejection, if it meant that Christ's love would shine through her? Would his almighty power sustain her through a lifetime of loving yet being unloved?

Then the truth struck her, and her soul leapt with joy.

She was
not
unloved. She was loved completely. God had loved her through it all. Loved her now, loved her still, would love her always.

How had she neglected to see it for so long? Her love for Jamie, the thorn in her heart, the love that would not stop, was there for a reason. To remind her that it was no longer Leana loving Jamie; it was God himself. God would never stop loving Jamie, nor would she.

“Jamie!” She hadn't meant to say his name aloud in the midst of Reverend Gordon's sermon, in the kirk where every eye turned to see what the outburst was about.

Jamie gripped her hand, his eyes wide, his voice low but urgent. “What, Leana? Is something wrong?”

She turned to him, longing to stand, to shout with joy and abandon, “Nothing is wrong.” Her voice was the softest of whispers, yet it was strong, and the words were certain. “Jamie, I love you. I've always loved you.”

“Leana, I…”

The first contraction seized her, bending her in half, squeezing her in two. She could not breathe; she could not speak. She could only cling to Jamie's hand and God's invisible strength as she tried to stand.
Help me, Jamie!

My God, my Father, and my Friend,
Do not forsake me in the end.

W
ENTWORTH
D
ILLON

G
od, help me!” Jamie shouted, gathering Leana in his arms, his heart pounding.

It had begun.

Neda was the next one to clamber to her feet, quickly making her way to his side, assessing the situation with an experienced eye. “The lass will niver make it home.” Neda turned and raised her voice above the murmuring congregation. “Reverend Gordon?”

The minister stood transfixed in his lofty pulpit, his sermon notes forgotten, his jaw drooping. “Mistress Hastings?”

“We've need of the manse, sir, and yer guid wife as well.” Neda did not wait for an answer but instead guided Jamie and Leana out of the pew and into the aisle, calling a handful of women by name. “Come, ladies. Ye're needed at once.”

Jamie's only concern was Leana, who clung to his arms for support. “Carry me, Jamie,” she whispered hoarsely. Without hesitating, he slid one hand behind her back and the other behind her knees and lifted her off the floor, mother with child, as though she weighed nothing, as though the burden were borne by unseen arms. Leana wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her damp cheek against his chest as he strode toward the doors, held wide open for them.

Help me, God. Help us both.

He carried Leana the short distance to the manse next door, almost running by the time he arrived, a flock of women trailing behind him. Mistress Gordon was already at the front door, waving them in. “There's always water on the fire, and I've plenty of linens. Come, come.” Candles
were quickly lighted in the spence and fresh sheets thrown over the minister's bed while the women made room for Jamie and the limp woman in his arms.

He lowered Leana onto the mattress with exceeding care, not wanting to hurt her further, for she was clearly in agony.

“Jamie,” she sighed, cradling his cheek, “pray for me.”

“I will, I will.” He gripped her hand as she bent in two again, waiting while the wave of pain crashed over her, then receded, leaving her breathless. “Go, my husband,” she said, stifling a moan. “The women will attend to me.”

My husband.
He released her hand, reluctant to do so. “Are you certain, lass? I will wait outside the door. Praying, just as you asked.”

“Good.” She nodded, taking a deep breath. “I love you, Jamie.”

“Leana, I—”

“That's enough, lad.” Neda abrupdy yanked the sleeve of his coat. “Ye re more hindrance than help, if ye want to know the truth of it.”

Two women escorted him from the room before he could protest. The door closed in his face, gently but firmly, and he was left standing in the dim hall, blinking until his eyes adjusted enough for him to find a chair.

He sat close by the door where he could listen and be available if needed. Except no one in that room needed him, for any reason, not even Leana.

Leana.

His head sank into his hands.

Leana McKie—aye, his wife, though he'd never treated her as such—had carried his child for nine long months without complaining, without asking anything of him but the smallest favors. “Rub my back, Jamie?” And he would do as she asked but no more. “Might you bring some tea?” she would say, her voice hesitant, then thank him profusely for doing such an insignificant task. She suggested names for their son, good names—Robert, Simon, Lewis—but he pretended it didn't matter.

Leana told him she loved him daily.

Leana showed him she loved him by the hour.

And what did he do? He loved Rose. Told her so. Showed her with gifts and heated glances. He was not unfaithful to Leana in body but desperately false in every other way that mattered.

He had ruined Leana's life and broken her heart for naught.

And she had forgiven him, without his even asking for her forgiveness.

Oh, Leana!

From behind the spence door came a groan that sounded as though it were torn from Leana's body. Jamie groaned with her, his own pain only starting.

“Are ye prayin, lad, as ye should be?” Duncan came up behind him and pressed his rough hand around the back of Jamie's neck. “Are ye thinkin’ aboot what it means to be a faither?”

Jamie only nodded, not wanting Duncan to know what desperate thoughts were running through his mind.

But Duncan knew him too well. “And are ye thinkin what it might mean to the child's mither to know that she is loved by her husband?”

“But I don't—”

“Wheesht!” Duncan slapped him on the back, hard. “Enough o’ that foolishness, lad.” Duncan marched over to an empty chair and yanked it up to the door. “Ye'll listen to what I have to say and mind me as though I were yer ain faither come down from Glentrool.” He banged the chair into place across from him and sat down with a decisive thump. “Do I have yer attention, Jamie?”

Jamie was stunned. “Aye.” Duncan had never been so forceful.

“Here's the truth of it, lad. And ye ken that I care for ye, and so does me Neda, so don't be getting’ all in a huff when I say what I must.” The overseer leaned forward, his eyes kind but his jaw firm. “The fact is, ye've niver known what it means to love someone, lad. Instead ye've worshiped yer mither and hated yer brither and deceived yer faither— aye, I ken all aboot that. There's none at Auchengray who don't. And ye put Rose McBride on a pedestal she niver deserved. But that woman in that room, yer ain Leana—”

Duncan choked on her name, pointing at the door as she cried out
in pain. “Leana, yer only wife, who has loved yer miserable self for a lang and thankless year, is in that room layin down her life for yer son. And what does this guid woman get from her husband?”

Jamie could barely say the word. “Nothing.”

“Naught but cold hands and a colder heart and a wanderin’ eye. The dear lass has asked nothin of ye, not ane thing, except that ye let her love ye and that ye love her in return. YeVe only done half that, Jamie. Ye ve taken all the love she had to give ye, but ye ve given none back.” The man's eyes were bright with tears, his voice shaking. “D'ye hear me, lad? D'ye hear
her
, beggin for mercy from her travail, all to give ye yer firstborn?”

Jamie nodded, his head falling forward, his own tears dripping to the floor. Words would not come. Only pain came, in waves, like Leana's labor, wearing him down, grinding his pride into bits.
Forgive me. Forgive me.
It was all he could think.

His heart felt like a fist, tight in his chest, the pain unbearable.

Forgive me. Please, God. Forgive me.

His sins unrolled like a scroll before him, too many to count, too many to bear. The lies, the deceit, the greed, the selfishness. The shameful ways he'd treated his brother, his father, his wife.
God, forgive me.