Thorn in My Heart by Liz Curtis Higgs

Author:Liz Curtis Higgs [Higgs, Liz Curtis]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Christian, Brothers, Historical Fiction, Scotland, Scotland - History - 18th Century, General, Romance, Triangles (Interpersonal Relations), Historical, Inheritance and Succession, Sisters, Fiction, Religious, Love Stories
ISBN: 9781578565122
Publisher: WaterBrook Press
Published: 2003-03-18T06:00:00+00:00

Thirty-Seven

But I love you, sir;

And when a woman says she loves a man,

The man must hear her, though he love her not.

ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING

Leana lifted three slender brown bottles of syrup from her wooden medicine box in search of something that might bring her relief. Rose hips. Aye, that could ease the congestion in her chest. Elderflower. Her sore throat might be grateful for its soothing touch. Heartsease. Rest would come more easily if her cough abated. She held the bottles closer to the flickering taper on her bedside table, musing over her choices, until she finally uncorked each one in turn and measured out generous teaspoons of the honey-drenched syrups, swallowing all three with a prayer.

She hadn't been truly sick for several seasons, and it frightened her. Common colds had an unpleasant habit of developing into pneumonia, which had claimed her childhood friend, Janet Crosbie, last November. Leana had tended to Janet, as had old Mistress Bell and the parish minister, desperately turning the pages of Pnmitive Physic, or an Easy and Natural Method of Cunng Most Diseases, all for naught. Janets body was carried to the kirkyard soon after Martinmas. It made Newabbey folks nervous to watch a healthy lass of eighteen succumb so quickly. The neighborhood had kept a constant vigil for pneumonias deadly symptoms ever since.

As a precaution Neda had spent the day filling Leana with hot tea, all the while giving orders to Annabel, who'd stayed behind to help with the Martinmas feast. Leana had remained abed with the family Bible by her side to comfort her all through the long and lonely day. Now that the gloaming had nearly faded to black, the household would soon return from Dumfries, and Jamie with them.

Dear Jamie.

Leana pressed the cork stoppers back in place, then returned the three bottles to her medicine box, wishing another syrup among them might relieve the pain that ailed her most. “No herb will cure love,” she reminded herself with a weary sigh that set her to coughing once more. The deep, painful coughs bent her in two. It was several minutes before her chest setded and her breathing became more even. Still holding the box in her lap, she dropped back onto her pillows, exhausted. No autumn in memory had ever worn her down like this one.

The parish gossips, scattering lies like falling leaves, had busied themselves spreading the news of Fergus McDougal's refusal to marry her. Remnants of their stories were whispered in her ear each Sabbath by well-meaning friends. None of the far-fetched tales resembled the truth. Some said she'd slipped a sprig of blackthorn in Mr. McDougal's pocket, hoping he'd prick his finger on its wicked spines. Another insisted Leana had refused to bear him children, since he already had an unruly brood of his own. The most common fabrication was that something untoward had happened in the orchard with her cousin and she was no longer worthy of the bonnet laird or anyone who called himself a gendeman.

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