Temptation

By the morning of the wedding, Temperance was sick with . . . She didn’t know what it was that was making her sick, but something was. Part of her thought that she was in love with James McCairn and that she wanted to stay in McCairn forever. But another part of her wanted to return to New York and prove that she could do a better job than she’d done before. This time she’d do a more personal job. This time she’d get to know the women she helped.

“I started out right,” she told Grace as they carried flowers into the church. “I had all the right intentions. I wanted to do something for women who had no resources. But somewhere along the way I became—Oh, put it over there,” she said to one of the florist’s workmen. “But at some point I became a . . . a . . .”

“Holier-than-thou prig?”

“Well, yes, I think I did,” Temperance said, pausing with her hands on a stalk of lilies.

“I disagree,” Grace said. “Maybe you had some absurd ideas about men and women being able to control their baser urges, but I’ve never thought you were a prig.”

“Thank you,” Temperance said, then felt an impulse to continue talking. And talking and talking, until there were no more words to be said.

All her life she’d prided herself on knowing exactly what to do about every problem that faced her. Her mother had said that Temperance and her father had never had a moment of indecision in their lives. “It must be wonderful to know at all times exactly what to do about everything,” Melanie O’Neil had said many times. “But, dear, unlike you and your father, I’m mortal and I can’t even make up my mind about which dress to put on in the morning, much less about what I need to do with my life over the next ten years.”

But Temperance was like her father, and she’d always had one-year goals and five-year and ten-year goals. And, what’s more important, she’d stuck to them.

But now, in the short time she’d been in McCairn, it seemed that her very foundation had been shaken. For the first time in her life she didn’t know what to do about anything.

Part of her wanted James to act like a hero in a novel and sweep her off her feet. She wanted him to declare undying love for her and tell her that she had to remain in McCairn forever and be his wife. Temperance could see herself living in that big stone house and producing babies, all of whom grew up to wear kilts and play bagpipes.

The other part of her wanted to run away from this place and never see it again. She remembered how she had been in New York, always sure that what she was doing was right, always moving toward a goal, a big goal, something that she was sure was going to change the earth.

“Do other women have this dichotomy inside them?” Temperance had asked Grace last night.

“No,” Grace had said sleepily. “Most women know exactly what awaits them: a man and a lot of children. If they’re lucky, the man is good and he supports all of you and he lives a long time. If the woman is unlucky, he drinks or beats her. Or he dies,” she added softly.

“But that’s just it,” Temperance said with passion. “When I was in New York, I felt that I was giving women a choice.”

“No, you gave them a place to stay when the men ran out on them,” Grace said with a yawn. “You were a landlord.”

At that Temperance had sat back on her chair and stared in openmouthed astonishment at Grace, for Grace had just reduced years of Temperance’s do-gooder work to one word, “landlord.”

“Is that all I was?” Temperance had whispered.

Grace gave her a weak smile. “What do I know? I wasn’t there, so I can’t be a judge. I only know what you’ve told me. It just seems to me that here on McCairn you’ve done more. You’ve given women a way to help themselves. I can buy my own house someday even though there’s no man in my life, and Alys can go to school. Now, if you don’t mind, I must get some sleep. Tomorrow’s the big day.”

“Yes,” Temperance said softly, then got up and went to her own bedroom. Tomorrow was the big day, her last chance. Tomorrow she had to do something or she was going to lose . . .What? she asked herself. What was she going to lose? It wasn’t as though the McCairn was begging her to marry him. She’d hinted to him three days ago that if he did ask, maybe she would remain here in McCairn. But James hadn’t taken the hint. In fact, he’d told her that he was going to marry Kenna, so that was the end of it.

For the three days before the wedding, Temperance had lost herself in work. James’s relatives had started arriving, and it had been up to Temperance to welcome them. She’d started to apologize for the state of the rooms, but they had laughed at her. They well knew the state of the finances of the head of Clan McCairn.

Three times Temperance had tried to talk to Kenna about the coming nuptials, but she never had “time” to discuss anything. “Do what you want,” she’d said over her shoulder, then run off to some other part of the house.

“Ain’t found nothin’ yet,” Eppie would inform Temperance twice a day, meaning Kenna’s quest for the treasure.

“Why doesn’t she at least try to be discreet?” Temperance had asked in frustration after she’d had a fight with the butcher. Wasn’t it Kenna’s job to deal with her own wedding?

The kitchen had been full of people, but no one had answered her. Ramsey was, as always, holding a bottle for a lamb. He’d looked up at Temperance and said, “Maybe she hopes she’ll find the treasure before the wedding so she won’t have to marry my father.”

For a few moments Temperance stood there blinking at him. “Father? James McCairn is your father?”

“Aye,” he said. “No one told you?”

“No,” she said softly. “No one told me.”

Temperance found James at the top of the mountain. For once he wasn’t doing something to a sheep but was sitting with his back against the stone wall of the cottage where they had . . .

Anyway, he was smoking a pipe.

“I saw you,” he said. “Do you realize that when you first came here, you were out of breath at that climb, but now you can run all the way up?”

Putting her hands on her hips, she glared down at him. “Why didn’t you tell me that Ramsey was your son?”

For a moment James blinked at her. “It’s not a secret. Why didn’t you know?”

“That’s not an answer. Who is his mother?”

“A girl I met in London. Long time ago.” He took the pipe out of his mouth, looked at it, then put it back between his lips. “What’s that all over the front of you?”

Temperance didn’t bother to glance down. “Flour and blood. I’ve been in the kitchen. Are you going to tell me about this or not?”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Have you provided for the boy? Is he to inherit the title, the land? What have you done to see to him? Not much, if his living accommodations are any indication of what you’ve done for him. I thought he was a stableboy!”

“An honorable position, if you ask me.”

Temperance glared at him harder.

“All right,” James said with a sigh. “What do they teach you women in America that you’re always concerned with money? Did you know that the women in McCairn now earn more than the men? Last week Lilias told Hamish that he couldn’t have his nightly draft because she was now selling all the tonic that she made. And Blind Brenda—”

“You are not answering me.”

“I haven’t done anything about anything, if that’s what you want to know. The girl and I were together one night; I didn’t even know her. Two years later her mother came to me and told me the girl had died of consumption, then shoved a scrawny boy at me. I brought him back here to live with me. As for the rest of it, I guess my legitimate son will inherit, if I have any, that is.”

At that he looked at her waist.

“Tomorrow you’re marrying Kenna, remember?”

“Yes. So where’s she looking now? The attics?”

Temperance threw up her hands in disgust at him and his whole clan, then turned and walked down the mountain.

So today she was putting flowers in the church and trying not to think too hard about anything. This time tomorrow everything would be finished and she’d be free to return to New York and . . . and . . .

What? Fight Deborah Madison for the title of who would go into the history books? At the thought she gave a shudder.

“Are you all right?” Grace asked.

Temperance started to say that she was fine, but instead, she straightened. “No,” she said at last. “I’m not fine. I’m . . . Actually, I’m not sure what I am, but it’s not fine.”

At that she turned and left the church. If the flowers didn’t get put in the right place, what did it matter to her? If it didn’t matter to the bride or the groom, who was she to care?