Free Grace in Thine Eyes by Liz Curtis Higgs Page A

From the moment the first bud bloomed each year, Leana kept a freshly cut rose in a small vase by her bedside until the last one faded to a purplish red. Always remembered, dearie. Never forgotten . With both their parents gone as well, her loved ones at Glentrool were all the more precious.
    Leana tipped her head back, breathing in the rain-freshened air. “ ’Tis good to see the sky so blue again.” The afternoon sun warmed their shoulders, and a light breeze from the west stirred the air, fragrant with spring: a carpet of grass, newly scythed; fertile earth, turned with a garden fork; hawthorn, still in bloom. Though her daughter had pulled only a handful of weeds, her company was blessing enough.
    “We truly do not have Glentrool to ourselves,” Leana admitted, “since your brother Ian is here. Yet we’ve not seen much of him, have we?”
    Davina pantomimed opening a book.
    “You are quite right. Your brother is content to while away the hours reading.”
    Davina pointed east toward Glenhead, then touched her heart.
    “Aye, and the charming Miss McMillan garners much of his time too.” Leana relinquished her gardening for a moment, giving Davina her full attention, for her question was a vital one. “Will you mind very much when Ian marries? Nothing formal has been arranged, but a wedding seems inevitable, does it not?”
    Again Davina nodded, with a bit less enthusiasm.
    For a young woman unable to speak, her daughter said a great deal. Her facial expressions, her many gestures—all communicated her thoughts and feelings quite clearly. Even strangers soon grasped her unique language.
    Leana noticed the sketchbook in Davina’s apron pocket. “Why not try your hand at drawing one of my flowering herbs?” Her gaze roamed the physic garden, seeking a likely subject. “ ’Til it blooms, bistort is too plain. The dandelions are quite colorful, if rather common. What of shepherd’s-purse?”
    Davina made a face.
    “I agree, the flowers are too small to be of much artistic interest. And agrimony doesn’t bloom until June. This is the month to harvest it, however.” She snipped a few stems with her gardening scissors and tucked the herb in her roomy pocket. Scanning the rows of plants, some of them perennials she’d planted the autumn Davina was born, she found what she was looking for. “This one is not only bonny but alsoquite aromatic.” Leana pinched off a hairy, egg-shaped leaf and rubbed the toothed edges between her fingers before holding it out for Davina to sniff.
    Her deep blue eyes grew round.
    “Strong, isn’t it? One of the many speedwells.” Leana brushed the bits of leaf from her fingers. “You may recall tasting it, boiled into a syrup and sweetened with honey.” She plucked a flower to hold against Davina’s cheek. “Just as I suspected, the petals are the exact color of your eyes. A deeper blue than mine and rimmed in a darker shade.” She brushed her cheek with the soft petals. “No one else in the family has eyes like yours.”
    A tip of Davina’s head signaled a question. She scribbled in the margin of her sketchbook, then held it out for Leana to read. Aunt Rose?
    “Nae.” Her throat tightened. “My sister had brown eyes. Quite dark, like her hair.” Leana gently placed the flowers on Davina’s open book. “She was very beautiful, your aunt Rose.” And so young. So very young .
    Davina did not press her further but instead began to draw.
    Leana bowed her head as the sketch took shape. May you never know such sorrow. May you never know such loss . Wasn’t that every mother’s wish? To shelter her children from suffering and pain, to hold grief at bay for as long as possible? Yet here was Davina, separated from her twin brothers—both still alive but far from her side—with her older sibling destined to marry.
    “I wonder when you will leave Glentrool,” Leana murmured, “for the day will surely come. ’Twill not be your father who rides off with you but a