A/N: A few years back, while on a day date in Manhattan, I had the good fortune of going inside the church of St. Vincent Ferrer, and it impacted my soul just as it does Elizabeth's below: lifting it heavenward, orienting all in me towards all in God. From the moment I decided to write a church scene into this NYC story, I knew there was only one church it could be for me. The more famous St. Patrick's is truly incredible, but it was St. Vincent's that awakened the sense of medievally eternal marvel in my soul.
I can't take credit for the line "It makes me happy for God." That came from my father. ;) He was recently discussing the details of beauty in a certain church's architectural/decorative choices and used that line in reference to it. Also, if anyone's from the Northeast/Tri-State area, you probably already know alllllll about coal being used for traction during inclement winter weather!
Gentle reminder (:smile:)—as this is an alt!canon/alt!timeline story, many details have deliberately been changed to suit my vision and are therefore not going to be the same as on That Show.
Ian/"Mr. Mac" returns in this chapter. :D (As does Matchmaker Elizabeth. ;) Enjoy!
— Chapter 12 —
A Scots Encounter
Sunday, December 10, 1916
8 a.m.
"GOOD MORNING, BEAUTIFUL."
A male voice was whispering to her.
Elizabeth blinked awake without a start as Nathan reached out, drifting a hand up her arm in slow greeting. Propped against the headboard, he watched her wake with a tender look written on his features. With a drowsy smile and an even drowsier little yawn, Elizabeth stretched under the warm covers, limbs lethargic and content after their night of dancing under the moonlit snowfall.
Holly was laying on her back between them, swaddled in a chunky little blanket, her baby cheeks rosy from sleep as Nathan's hand returned to resting securely on her tummy.
"Morning," Elizabeth returned, voice thick with sleep, then grumbled, "How is it morning already?"
His eyes danced. "You just wish the night had more hours so we could have waltzed the longer."
Elizabeth, busy pressing kisses to Holly's dimpled cheeks and murmuring, "Morning, my baby" to her, looked up at that. "Why, former Mountie Grant," she whispered, "I plead guilty as charged. Last night was wonderful, like a magical dream!"
He said nothing, just stroked the back of a finger down the sleekness of her cheek, gentling under his affection. His eyes sweetly spoke a language known only to them.
Elizabeth had trouble bringing herself to look away, but finally forced her attention back to their daughter, who was blinking her blue eyes up at them in a sleepy daze. "Is she hungry?"
After three babies, Nathan would know.
"Well, I don't doubt she'll need to be fed soon, but for now, she seems to be content drifting in and out of her own little dreamland."
"Mmm." She rolled her head to glance over at the empty cradle, then curled an arm under her head and looked at him, warmly knowing. "Was she crying?"
"No."
Her smile deepened against the curve of her elbow. "You just can't resist her, can you?"
Teeth flashed in a swift grin. "My turn to plead guilty, Your Honor."
Holly flailed a drowsy hand that landed on Nathan, clenching a handful of his soft sleeping shirt, eyelids fluttering wispily as she fought the call of slumber. That was all it took. He gave up whatever token resistance was in him and just scooped his little girl into his arms, butterfly-soft with her sleep-squirmy body. "I don't even try to resist."
He was utterly impenitent, and she loved him for it.
"Nathan Grant, if she ends up spoiled, you're taking the blame."
"Fine by me." Cradling Holly to him with one hand, he used the other to tug Elizabeth over and kiss her, laughing. "Now, maybe you'd like to take advantage of her current quiet state and get dressed?"
She jerked away with a gasp and bolted upright, messy hair tumbling. "It's Sunday! We have to go to church!" She scrambled from the covers. "I can't believe I forgot what day it is."
"It happens when traveling." There was no hint of chastening in the eyes that followed her trail across the room. "You needed the sleep, and besides, Allie's church offers two options on Sunday mornings, including a later one at ten, which is the one we're attending."
"Oh, thank goodness," she breathed with a frazzled look at the small clock on Nathan's bedside table. A wedding gift from her father to Nathan—one of several—it had been imported from Germany, made by the finest craftsmen, and Nathan took it everywhere they went. No more than four inches tall, its polished teak wood shone like the glow of a candle in a mirror, and its faithful brass hands never lost time.
"Go, honey."
She paused only long enough to dart to his side of the bed, press a fervent kiss to his cheek, breathe "Thank you", before hurrying to locate her Sunday best, long nightgown a whisper of fabric on the air as it rippled about on waves of her energy.
·oOo·
Church of Saint Vincent Ferrer
Manhattan, New York City
THE CLOSING BLESSING rang out from the marble steps of the altar and Elizabeth leaned into Nathan a little, crossing themselves in unison with the congregation.
"Beautiful," she whispered, overcome and a hint teary-voiced at the intangible beauty they had just witnessed and the corporeal beauty all around them.
It was visible in the soaring glory of the vaulted ceiling, the painted Stations of the Cross that depicted the major scenes from Christ's Passion, the glorious hues of the stunning stained glass windows lining the church walls on either side of them—and even in the warm brown wood of the pews and the pewter solidity of the large grey stones whose strength formed the edifice around them, tethering the beauty with an anchor of earthy tones.
Jewel tones from the windows spilled across their laps in wondrous array—royal purple, sunlit gold, rich ruby, deep emerald green—and she turned her face into them, eyes closing as she soaked it in, soaked it all in.
It was a panorama in honor of God and something in her soul lifted heavenward in response. All was oriented towards the eternal, leading the soul upwards, and the grace it sparked in her heart was palpable.
When she finally exited the church, it was with reluctance, and even the bracing effect of winter air and the crisp crunch of the night's snowfall underfoot could do nothing to displace the burgeoning glow that had settled within her.
There was, however, one thing—or rather, person—she had noticed during their time inside that had managed to momentarily distracted her attention from her surroundings . . .
She coughed, delicately deliberate, and holding onto Nathan's arm, lightly addressed Allie with deceptive mildness. "I wasn't expecting to see Ian MacCord here."
A furrow immediately grooved its way across Allie's brow. "Remote and forbidding as his Scottish highlands," she muttered, near glowering, then shook it off with a tiny, frustrated exhale as if regretting she'd said that much.
Oh. My.
Quickly, Elizabeth schooled her features and voice against reflecting her rather loud thoughts.
"You never mentioned he attended to the same parish." She hadn't failed to notice the twitch that rippled through Allie when Ian's towering form had passed their pew on his way to the Communion rail. "He must have arrived after us and seated himself toward the back as I never saw him till he walked past us."
"He usually goes to the early Mass," Allie answered without inflection, as if discussing something of no more consequence to her than the spray of coal chips providing traction across the snowy road before the church, now lined with auto-cars and carriages waiting for their churchgoing owners.
"Does he indeed," Nathan's murmur was equally opaque, telling in and of itself, verified by the quick look of suspicion Allie shot him.
"You know, I'm not sure he even noticed us." Elizabeth pretended to pat Allie's gloved hand reassuringly, even as the wheels of her mind turned rapidly. Perhaps if she could stall here long enough for Ian to exit the church, he might see them and—
"Hello there, Grants." A deep voice hailed them, close at hand but low in volume—and Allie twitched again at the sound, with its subtle but distinct burr.
Ian MacCord's form materialized behind them, a strikingly manly figure clad in a dressy, steel-grey overcoat that echoed the shade of his singular eyes and set off the cut of his crisp hair. Removing the hat he wore on his well-groomed head, he nodded a quiet greeting; a nod which, Elizabeth observed, seemed to pull back as his eyes crossed Allie's frowning ones.
Ohh, she was itching to know how these two had gotten to this point, and why hadn't Allie said anything about it?!
"It was a pleasant surprise to see you all here," the newspaper man was continuing, unruffled. "I thought I recognized Miss Grant's hat, and when I saw a husband and wife with an infant beside her, I knew it must be your family."
Elizabeth's interest sharpened. Oh, he'd recognized Allie's hat, had he? From behind no less. Interesting.
By the consternated look on Allie's face, Elizabeth wasn't the only one who had picked up on the implication. If it weren't all so secretly, silently awkward, Elizabeth would have smirked happily.
"The later Mass worked out well for us as we were somewhat weary and the extra sleep was welcome," Nathan, bless him, said with skilled diplomacy.
"I can well imagine. Exploring a new city is fun, but it can be hard on one's feet and energy." Ian didn't pry, leaving it at that, but his eyes were sympathetic. He gestured towards the edifice rising behind them, sharply grey against the snow-laden white of the winter sky. "It worked out today for me as well. I usually attend the eight o'clock, but I needed to pick something up from Father Dupré today and since he was celebrating the ten o'clock . . . " His hands spread in silent explanation.
"Ah, so that's who gave that impressive sermon," Nathan said with a sharp uptick of interest, rocking Holly against his shoulder. "It was profound; he touched on aspects of Advent I'd never heard before."
The pastor, white wool hem of the habit of the Dominican order peeking out from under his liturgical vestments, had preached a convicting sermon on the goal and purpose of Advent, the sacred season before Christmas in which the world, even now, was in waiting, preparing for the coming of its Redeemer.
"That's the Dominicans for you." Allie pinched gloved fingers on either side of her hat brim, readjusting its tilt on her pinned back hair.
Elizabeth bit down hard on the inside of her cheek to keep a triumphant smile from popping out as Ian's gaze slipped—for a split second—to follow the graceful curve of Allie's hands on her hat before he retracted his gaze, nodded, and said seamlessly, "The Dominicans didn't get their reputation and name as the order of preachers for nothing."
With a flash of rare unguardedness, Allie looked up into his face then, a stamp of swift surprise on her features, as if finding them in agreement was an unusual happenstance. The two regarded each other for a bare hesitation of time before Holly's fussing broke the moment.
"You're alright, Holly," Nathan soothed, tucking the baby closer to his neck, patting her back as her snuffles began to quiet. Elizabeth released his arm, tiptoeing up to check on Holly, but re-covered her face when she saw that her daughter was fine and settling down.
Ian shifted, and his hat, propped against his hip with an arm, moved with him. A soft smile played about his eyes as he watched Holly, and right then and there, Elizabeth decided, quite unilaterally, that he'd make a wonderful husband and he should be the father of her grandchildren. With Allie.
Now to get Allie onboard with the idea.
Somehow.
"How did the church strike you, Mrs. Grant?" Ian had turned, addressing her, and she yanked herself out of her thoughts in a hurry. She paused, trying to find words of this earth to encapsulate the unearthly effect it had produced in her whole being.
"It's beyond beautiful; a worthy offering and tribute to His glory. Words fail attempting to give it voice, but it made my soul soar towards its Creator. I felt something alter within my being," she verbalized with the quiet sense of wonder still evident in her tone, then added in utter simplicity, eyes lifting to the house of God she referenced, "It makes me happy for God."
"He deserves no less." Ian nodded in quick comprehension and Elizabeth felt in that moment that he had truly understood all she struggled to impart in word. A great warmth of affinity welled up. Surroundings, architectural or otherwise, affected souls differently—We are not made from cookie-cutter molds, after all! she reminded herself—but finding someone whose soul was affected by the same beauty and ideals was rare, and lit a unifying warmth.
"Ah, there you are, Monsieur Ian!" A new voice interrupted their conversation and Elizabeth turned with no surprise to see the white clad figure of the pastor walking toward them with calm swiftness. "I thought I might find you here."
"Pardon me," Ian apologized. "I hadn't quite made it to the sacristy yet."
"No inconvenience at all. I was on my way catch the Monemartes—their daughter marries here after Christmas—but saw you first." The lean, ascetic face of the cleric creased in a quiet smile. "Here is the book you requested. I think you'll find it most edifying."
Ian accepted the thick, leather-bound book and Elizabeth's eyes followed it curiously, trying to read the title without staring. It was an volume burnished and worn with age; a quality that always caught her interest.
The darkly serious eyes of the cleric turned in their direction, lightening with a greeting warmth. "Forgive me, I did not mean to ignore you." He extended a hand in Nathan's direction, but his intelligent smile encompassed them all. "Good morning and welcome to our parish; it is good to have you here."
Ian spoke up with a mannerly finesse that impressed Elizabeth. "Father, allow me to introduce Nathan, Elizabeth, and little Holly Grant, visiting their oldest daughter and my colleague Miss Allie Grant, all the way from northwest Canada. Grants, this is Father Jérôme Dupré, whom we are fortunate enough to call pastor."
Seemingly without thought, Ian stepped in closer—and slightly behind—Allie as he spoke her name, as one would to showcase something they esteemed and wished to honor, and Elizabeth wondered if Ian even realized what he had done, how his subconscious had betrayed him by his actions.
By the insightful glimmer in Father Dupré's eyes as they met hers in a flash of shared understanding, he at least realized what was obvious to everyone but the couple in question, it seemed.
Greetings were exchanged and although Elizabeth was aware that the couple he had been trying to intercept was wrapping up their conversation in preparation to leave, Father Dupré's gracious, focused demeanor never gave any indication of distraction or haste.
"Ah, Canada," he said with an attentive nod. "I have relations in Montreal."
"Are you originally from France, Father?" Elizabeth was curious.
He smiled. "Belgium."
Ah. Why did she never think of Belgium?! The former schoolteacher in her berated herself.
Nathan's eyes twinkled. "Famous for their beer, chocolates, waffles, diamond industry, and variety of national languages."
That brought a laugh from Father Dupré. "That we are," he acknowledged. "But of those, I confess to a particular affinity with the chocolats and waffles."
"You could combine them and create a chocolate waffle, Father," Allie proposed with a winsome smile. "It could be an original Belgian-American creation, invented right here on this Manhattan sidewalk."
Father Dupré looked equal parts humored and considering. "I like the way your mind turns, Miss Grant."
By the look on his face, so did Ian.
Allie didn't notice. "Father, we won't keep you," she said with simple earnestness. "We know you had to catch the Monemartes before they left and I'm afraid if we delay you any longer, you will miss them altogether."
"You are most kind, and although I wish I could stay longer, I'm afraid you are correct and I must bid you adieu. But I'm most glad you all came this morning and know that you are always welcome with us here at Saint-Vincent. I wish you an early Joyeux Noël." There were handshakes and warm farewells and as he strode off, he called back, "God be with you!"
"I like him," Elizabeth decreed positively, backed up by a firm nod from Nathan. "It relieves me that you have such a worthy spiritual shepherd, Allie."
"Me, too," Allie expressed. "He's been a blessing since my first day here."
"Speaking of Noël," Nathan tilted an inquisitive head at her. "You need a Christmas tree, Allie. You can't not have a Christmas tree."
"He's right," Elizabeth chimed in. "Didn't we always teach you that if you but seek it in the right place, you will find the perfect tree?"
"But I'm coming back to spend Christmas with you."
"And?" Nathan shrugged determinedly. "That's no reason for you not to have one here too. With everything it represents of the meaning of the season, it should have a place in your apartment."
Ian settled his hat on his head. "If I may, I have a suggestion," he interjected mildly.
"What's that?"
"While I cannot claim to have a forest at my disposal for you to select a tree within, I do have a grove of evergreens in my back yard—"
"Your back yard?" Allie interrupted.
"Yes, my back yard," Ian continued, undeterred. "And if you would like, you may pick any tree you wish from it. There are so many, I'm certain even you, Miss Grant, will find one to your liking."
Allie's eyes snapped. "Why, Mr. MacCord, I—"
"We would be delighted to accept your offer," Nathan stepped in smoothly. "I'm certain that we'll find the perfect tree for Allie on your property."
Allie's eyes swung to him, widening.
"Excellent. Although I'm not home till late most evenings"—Ian was searching his overcoat pocket—"don't let that deter you. Here is the address." He pulled out a tiny notebook and scribbled quickly with a pencil that was worn to a nub. "Please stop by any time convenient and let yourselves into the back yard. You can find a saw, rope, anything you might need in the outdoor shed."
Elizabeth plucked the paper from his hand before Allie could grasp it. "We wouldn't dream of coming without you being there," she said firmly, sweetly. "Would we, dear?" Her eyes honed on Nathan. Pointedly.
He, with a perfectly bland face, assured Ian, "Indeed we would not."
Allie looked between them, and in the snow, the toe of her boot began chaff back and forth.
"That's settled then." The warmth infusing Elizabeth's smile was unfeigned. She was humming with pleasure inside. She'd been looking for just such an opening with Ian and this was blessedly fortuitous. "What evening this week might work best? We don't mind searching after dusk or even nightfall. That's why lanterns were invented."
Ian's eyes narrowed on her innocently expectant face, but he responded with unruffled equanimity. "Shall we say Tuesday? Four o'clock."
Elizabeth folded the paper decisively and slipped it into her purse. "Tuesday it is, Mr. MacCord." She beamed angelically at him and his wry eyes told her he knew she was up to something, but he merely straightened his shoulders under the fine cut of his overcoat and extended a hand to Nathan.
"I'd best be going."
"Oh, so soon?" Allie's voice was bland, but there was a soft acerbity that did not go undetected by her astute boss.
"Why, yes, Miss Grant." He was all suavity, but his eyes matched her spirit, fire for fire. "I must ready my mice and pumpkin for this evening. Without a fairy godmother, I'm afraid turning Mr. Cinders into Mr. Society is immensely time-consuming—and tiring. I shall need my beauty sleep before arriving."
Grudging warmth trudged through Allie's eyes, warming their pointed sarcasm of seconds before until they resembled pools of caramel, a transformation that Elizabeth noted with great interest.
"Touché," Allie acknowledged with grudging respect, her lower lip softening like it wanted to crack into a smile.
Ian touched his hat brim with gloved fingertips. "Till this evening, Miss Grant," he said softly.
Her name was a roll of Highland consonants on his lips and two spots of color flared high on Allie's slim cheekbones. She tipped her head stiffly. "Mr. MacCord."
Her voice sounded strangled and Elizabeth could hardly hold back a giddy smile. Allie was affected by Ian. So affected. Her instincts hadn't been wrong.
Her mind leaped ahead to the gala and to Tuesday, swarming with ideas involving Allie and her boss.
A hand squeezed hers. She started. Nathan was looking at her meaningfully. Had her face given her away?
Hastily, she smoothed it over and nodded to Ian as he touched a gentle finger to Holly's blanketed form, smiling a silent farewell at the baby. "Do let us know if there is any problem with your pumpkin and mice, Mr. MacCord. We wouldn't want Mr. Society to be late this evening."
A grin, fleeting and genuine, broke through. "Mr. Cinders and Mr. Society thank you, ma'am," he said solemnly. "Let us hope the magic holds and gets me there and back before the clock strikes midnight."
Laughter in their ears and on their lips, they started down the sidewalk with farewell waves, the plume on Allie's hat fluttering and bobbing in the breeze as if the winter wind turned flirtatious, and Elizabeth couldn't help but wonder if Ian MacCord's eyes had found their way to Allie's lovely hat . . . again.
·oOo·
A/N II: This chapter seemed to take an age to write; thanks for your patience. Next chapter is (finally!) the Christmas Gala, which I'm ridiculously excited for. :D Thank you all for your warm reviews! As always, they make my day.