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Janice smiled. “There is something new to do every day,” she told him. “You can never become bored. The part I like best is dealing with the tenants. I am not saying they are angels, because there are bad apples in every barrel, but for the most part, they are good, wholesome people, hardworking, and kind. We are lucky to have all this”—she waved her arms around to indicate their surroundings—“but even more, I think we are lucky in our tenants. They are the salt of the earth.”
“I have begun to realize that,” Alasdair agreed. “And I never knew how much I cared about our father until he was gone, Janice. I never thought I would miss him so much.”
“It does not surprise me, Alasdair.” She smiled sadly. “He was the best father I could have asked for, and I am proud to call myself his daughter.”
She watched her brother’s face and saw a tear running down his cheek. She was unexpectedly touched, for she had never seen Alasdair weep before.
He dashed the offending teardrop away, then sat up and pasted a smile on his face. “We will be welcoming the mourners soon,” he observed. “Is Andrew coming?”
“Yes,” Janice replied, sighing. “I have missed him, surprisingly. I never thought I would.”
Alasdair smiled broadly. “Good. I miss him too.”
“You shared a womb,” Janice observed. “Of course you miss him. You have known each other since before you were born. I always envied you for that.”
Alasdair laughed. “It is wonderful, especially for playing practical jokes. And we always knew what the other was thinking, which was very handy sometimes.” Then his face became sober again. “Is it time to go and wait for the guests now? I must admit I am dreading their arrival.”
“As am I,” Janice admitted as she hugged her brother.
They went into the great hall, where their father’s body was lying in his coffin, and stood, one on each side, looking in at his still body.
Janice had often thought that it was a cliché when people said that dead people looked as though they were asleep, but now that she was looking down at her father’s face, she could see that it was true. It would be an exaggeration to say that every wrinkle had disappeared, but the expression of anxiety and pain had gone, and his face, although grey with the pallor of death, was relaxed and peaceful. Janice even thought she could see a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth. She cupped his face in her hands and kissed his cold forehead, smiling at him.
“Goodbye, Da,” she whispered. “Leave this place and go to be with Mammy. I can see you now, a young, whole man again, spritely and healthy, with the love of your life by your side. Be happy.”
Alasdair kissed his father’s cheek and smiled at him. “I am sorry I was not a good enough son, Da,” he said. “I promise to be better from now on.”
They walked out to wait by the main entrance until the first carriages came in. Alasdair took one of Janice’s hands and squeezed it.
“Ready?” he asked softly.
She smiled. “Yes, M’Laird,” she replied.
Then she took a deep breath as the first of the mourners came in. It was going to be a long night.
19
The funeral was mercifully over, the mourners departed, and Janice and Alasdair buckled down and began to work together, soon forming a bond that was almost as tight and efficient as the one Janice had shared with her father. She missed the laird sorely every day but was glad of her brother’s solid presence.
They could share memories together, both happy and sad, and if one of them burst into tears there was no embarrassment since they hid nothing from each other. It was strange, Janice thought, that it had taken the death of her father to give birth to this new relationship with Alasdair.
Eager to learn everything, he had thrown himself heart, soul, and body into the workings of the estate. Soon the villagers began to notice the difference in him, and newfound respect grew between them. He and Janice often went to the White Bull together, and before long he was a regular.
“Yer brother has changed a bit since the laird passed away, Janice,” Queenie observed as she watched Alasdair’s tall figure walk out of the tavern one day.
“He has indeed, Queenie,” she agreed. “And no one is more proud than I am.”
* * *
The maidservant who came to find Janice almost burst into fits of laughter at the sight of her mud-smeared appearance.
“Mistress, there is a man here tae see ye,” she announced, trying not to giggle. “I told him ye were nae ready. He is waiting in the wee parlor.”
Janice was puzzled. “I am not expecting anyone,” she mused. “Did he tell you his name?”
The young woman shook her head. “I know his name, mistress. He is Bernard Taggart. He came for the contest, remember?”
Janice’s heart skipped a beat and the usual surge of rage that she felt whenever she heard Bernard’s name boiled up within her. She stood up and brushed the dirt from her dress with her equally dirty hands, then marched out of the kitchen garden, heedless of the fact that she was tramping great clods of earth into the kitchen.
