It Happened in the Highlands(31)

Where would she be today without him?

"Kealy is certain we'll find no record of Charles Barton in the books.  From the information we were given when he arrived at the Abbey, I know  he was born at Tilmory Castle," he told her. "The curate claims they  have their own parish and church. Still, I asked him if we could take a  look in whatever he has of the older ledgers."

"The coincidence is jarring," she said. "The date."

Wynne nodded. "He's agreed to let us search through the records of  births and baptisms and marriages." He offered her his arm as they  walked. "If she came from here, how many people do you think we'll find  with the name Josephine?"

"But we don't know if she was born in Garloch." She took a deep breath, trying to remain calm.

"We're here. We should pursue every possibility."

He was right. Jo was letting her nerves get the better of her. This church. This might have been her mother's church.

"You said Lady Millicent always spoke of her as being quite young," he  went on. "I gave the curate a range of about six years or so that we'd  like to look at."

She looked up, feeling admiration for him and gratitude that he was here. "When can we search the records?"                       
       
           



       

"Mr. Kealy has promised by the time we walk to the inn and have  something to eat, he'll have concluded his business and be ready for us  to proceed."

"Are the records here in the church?" she asked.

"No, he told me since the flood, the books have been kept in the rectory, up the hill, away from the river."

She followed his gaze to a small stone cottage. The place looked tidy  but unoccupied, and she remembered that the curate only came here twice a  month. The church itself looked better kept.

After Sir John Melfort purchased Highfield Hall, Jo had often wondered  if she would run into Wynne at the church in Melrose Village. She never  went without thinking about it. The same fear haunted her at social  gatherings at their neighbors. In her imagination he was happily married  and would be aghast at seeing her. The incident would be terribly  painful and tear at her heart all over again.

How wrong she was.

"I can't tell you how thankful I am for you," she said without a tinge  of embarrassment. "You're thoughtful, considerate, dependable, and wise.  In short, you're indispensable, Captain Melfort."

He smiled, running a thumb caressingly over her hand before bringing the  palm to his lips. "I like the last one the best. It gives me great  pleasure to think you find me necessary in your life."

But he was so much more.

"What are you saying?" she dared herself to ask.

"I'm asking if-once we have returned to the Abbey-I may have the honor of calling on you and making my intentions known."

She studied the smile creasing his handsome face. "Let me see. We have  conversed privately many times, have been alone in a room, traveled  unchaperoned in a carriage, called one another by our given names,  corresponded with one another and exchanged gifts, danced more than two  sets on any evening-"

"And touched intimately, if I may be so bold as to recollect." He  lowered his head and brushed his lips against hers, making Jo's breath  hitch, before straightening again.

"You are indeed bold, Captain."

He bent his head. "I bow to your reprimand, m'lady."

"And I recollect that we have exchanged a great many smiles and sighs."

"And becoming blushes," he said, caressing her cheek. "Pray tell me, though, that you are inclined to accept my proposal."

Jo felt as if she'd stepped into a dream. Wynne wanted her.

Sixteen years ago, her happiness with him had been destroyed because of  her unknown origins. Today, here in Garloch, where she might find the  truth of her mother, she was also being given a second chance at  happiness.

"I am so inclined, Captain," she said, slipping her arms around him.  "But pray don't write for my parents' permission to visit and pay your  respects. I have a great deal of explaining that I need to do first."





Chapter 16


Jo and Wynne returned from the coaching inn to find the door of the  rectory open and Mr. Kealy starting a small fire, despite the warm  weather. Neither did much to diminish the damp and stuffy smell of the  little cottage, but the curate's efforts on their behalf were greatly  appreciated.

After seating them at a table by a sunny window, he disappeared into  another room and then returned shortly, carrying a large wooden box. Jo  watched his every step, studied the curate's pale hands as he started to  pull out the old parish record books. Her heart climbed into her  throat.

"The most recent registers are far better organized," he told them. "We now use a superior system with ruled pages."

"Are the years we discussed here, Mr. Kealy?" Wynne asked.

"Of course, Captain," the young man replied, taking out the books  containing prior years and checking the entry dates until he found the  two relevant volumes. "Here we are."

He opened one and laid it on the table, giving the other to Wynne.

"No last name. Only Josephine, you say?"

The difficulty of the search became immediately clear. The volumes  containing the years surrounding her mother's birth had been soaked  during the flood, and it didn't appear that anyone had opened them for  decades. The smell of mold rose from the stiff pages, many of which were  stuck together. In spite of the curate's extreme care, edges of the  paper cracked and crumbled as he handled them. The water damage had  caused the ink on the pages to blur and run. Whole pages were illegible.  The register Wynne was looking through was in no better condition.                       
       
           



       

Jo began to feel queasy as she tried to read the entries along with  them. She'd been given the task of writing down any relevant  information, but nothing had as yet turned up.

"Are there any copies of these?" Wynne asked.

"Very likely not," Kealy told them. "Though I believe this far back, the  procedure was to have each year's records copied out and sent to  offices of the bishop in Aberdeen. Yes, I'm certain of it."

"And whose job was that?" Jo asked hopefully.

"The parish clerk, I should think. But looking at the condition of these  registers and the untidy handwriting, I have to think they were as  short on qualified help as we are now." He shook his head. "I would not  be surprised if very few of the records from this time were copied out  and sent along to the bishop."

Several times, they were interrupted by parishioners coming to the door  with problems requiring the curate's attention. Three separate times, he  left them alone to continue reading the entries. Jo imagined Mr. Kealy  was required to perform all the duties of the rector, and for a meager  salary. She'd already noticed that he could not afford a maid.

As the afternoon began to wear on, Jo took strength in Wynne's presence  and his attentiveness to her. Their earlier conversation, his offer of  marriage, and their time together at the inn had provided new life and  new hope for her.

As they'd walked through the village before going to the rectory, he  told her about Cuffe's words of encouragement about winning her over.  She, in turn, suggested perhaps the three of them could return to the  Borders. While she spoke with her family, Wynne could be introducing  Cuffe to his brother and wife and children. She hoped they could  sufficiently mend the rift between the Melforts and the Penningtons.  Though she didn't mention it, the prospect of Hugh and Wynne coming  face-to-face did give her heart palpitations.

Before sitting down to search the registers, Jo hadn't imagined that so  many children would have been born and baptized during the six-year span  of their search. When she posed the question, Mr. Kealy explained that  since the village was on the coach road, many families continued to  straggle through Garloch because of the ongoing tragedy of the  clearances occurring farther to the north, in particular. For this  reason the number of names in the books was far greater than one would  expect.

Another problem that slowed down the search was that occasionally two or  more children were baptized together, and their details were entered at  the same time. Wynne shared an entry where a family's older sons and  daughters were mentioned alongside their youngest.

It was some time before the curate stopped, his finger pointing to a page.

"Finally!" he exclaimed. "Josephine. Do you see? This entry is difficult  to read because the ink is blurred and faded, but I'm certain of it.  Josephine Young."