Where The Heart Is (Choices of the Heart, book 1) (10 page)

A brisk wind had driven yesterday’s rain clouds away. About a quarter of a mile from the Rainnie lane, the track branched, one fork leading on to the hill and the other winding down around its base to the village of Carston. When she reached the branch, Chelle met the Paxtons’ buggy coming from Carston toward Mallonby. Mr. Paxton pulled the horse to a stop. “Mornin’, Miss McShannon.”

“Good morning.” Chelle’s stomach clenched. Mr. Paxton’s voice was laced with disapproval.

“Now that Martin has Leah at home, I want to thank you and your family for your care of her.”

His tone conveyed a lot of things, but gratitude wasn’t one of them. Chelle ventured a quiet, “You’re welcome.”

Mrs. Paxton chimed in. “We were planning on stopping at the forge before going home. We know you stayed at the farm for a few days when Martin took Leah home, and to be honest, we were surprised. We spoke with him after that, and he agreed it would be best for Leah if your visits stopped. It will only confuse the child to have you coming and going. He would have told you himself, but now he won’t have to.”

Chelle’s face flushed with temper. Who did these people think they were? “He certainly will have to tell me himself if he wants me to stop visiting Leah. He’s had plenty of chances to say so if he wants me to stay away. Why don’t you tell me honestly why you don’t want me visiting your granddaughter?”

The woman looked down at her with gray eyes that resembled Leah’s except for their coldness. “That should be obvious enough. It’s not right, a young girl like you calling on an unmarried man like Martin. But then, judging by the company you keep, you aren’t too concerned about what’s proper. Martin doesn’t want to get mixed up with the likes of you.”

Chelle infused her voice with ice. “Martin is a grown man, Mrs. Paxton. He’s quite capable of making his own decisions, but if it will ease your mind, he’s never in the house when I visit Leah.” Chelle felt a surge of satisfaction at the surprised looks on their faces. She was damning herself further in their eyes by speaking out like this, but she was too furious to care. “I’m not going to stand here explaining myself to you. I’ve an errand to run.”

She started to walk on, but Mr. Paxton’s words stopped her. “Keep this in mind, Miss. We’ll go to court to get custody of Leah if Martin proves himself unfit to raise her. I’d advise you to think about that before you go there again.”

Shock hit her like icy water, but Chelle refused to show it. She turned and looked Leah’s grandfather in the eye. “That would be a good way to alienate Martin and Leah for life. I doubt if you’d accomplish anything else if all you can complain of is my visits. I’ll stay away when Martin asks me to, and not before.”

She turned and walked on without looking back. Of course, the Paxtons must have guessed she was on her way to the farm when they saw the package of butter. Surely Leah’s grandparents would have no chance of taking her from Martin, but they could certainly make things unpleasant for him.

When Chelle walked into the farmyard, Martin came out of the byre. This was the first time she’d seen him since she’d stayed at the farm. He’d changed. She felt it as much as saw it. He carried himself differently. His shoulders were less tight, his movements more relaxed. Having Leah home was good for him.

What was it that drew her to him? The same things that would draw many women, Chelle supposed. His solid strength, though men with his build had never appealed to her before. The intensity of his blue-green eyes. His voice. But more than that, the side of him that came out in his music and the depth of feeling that showed when he was with his daughter. No, she wouldn’t forget him.

“Mornin’, lass. Jessie and Leah are inside. Go on in.” He turned to go back into the byre, but Chelle called to him.

“Martin, I need to talk to you. It’s about Leah’s grandparents.”

He stopped, displeasure on his face. “Oh? Go in and I’ll be there in a minute.”

She found Jessie washing the breakfast dishes while Leah played nearby. Chelle scooped the little girl up, held her close and ran a hand through her hair. She didn’t want to think about losing contact with Leah. “You’re bigger every time I see you. Good morning, Jessie. Here’s your butter.”

Jessie looked over her shoulder, smiling. “Just put it on the table, lass. Aye, she’s growing like a weed, and she’s tryin’ to say a few words now, too. Sometimes we can even understand them.”

Martin came in, hung up his jacket and washed his hands. “So you’ve seen the Paxtons, then. Did they come to the forge?”

“No. I met them on the road on my way here.” Chelle sat at the table with Leah on her lap. “They told me you’d decided it would be too confusing for Leah if I kept visiting her, and that I wasn’t a fit person to be around their granddaughter.”

Martin’s thick brows lowered and his fists clenched on the table. “I said no such thing! They paid me a call not long after you stayed here. They’re worried that I’m goin’ to start looking for a second wife soon, and that Leah will take second place to my new family, or so they say. They’ve never shown much concern for her before now. I don’t know what’s driving them, unless they just don’t like the idea of anyone taking Eleanor’s place.”

Chelle glanced down at her hands. She hated to think that she was even partly responsible for this. “They mentioned me too, didn’t they?”

Martin avoided her gaze. “Aye, they did. They’d heard that you’d stayed here.”

“And they’ve heard about my friendship with Kendra. I know that from what they said today.”

“Aye. Gossip travels between Mallonby and Carston as fast as the swallow flies.”

Chelle felt a blush rising. “I don’t care what they think of me, but they also threatened to try to take Leah from you. Do you think they’d actually try it?”

Martin’s eyes turned stormy. “They made threats? They’ve got nerve. I’m sorry, lass, but don’t let it bother you. The next time I see them, I’ll tell them that if they make any more trouble, they won’t see Leah again until her wedding day. I won’t have them interfering in my life like this.”

Since she’d first met them, Chelle had wondered how the Paxtons could have raised a daughter like the young woman Kendra had described. Now it seemed even more improbable. “Were they very close to your wife?”

“Not especially. As far as I could tell, her father thought her too fond of music and dancing, and not fond enough of his brand of religion.” A hint of a grin showed through Martin’s anger. “Eleanor had a mind of her own, something like you.”

Chelle smiled. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Naturally. Eleanor’s parents were willing enough for us to marry, but I never thought they cared overmuch for me. I was the respectable husband they wanted her to have, that was all. After the wedding, we rarely saw them, and I think Eleanor liked it that way. She never talked of them much, before or after we were married.”

Still busy with the dishes, Jessie spoke up. “They took me by surprise when they showed up here the other night, that’s for sure and certain. Just jealousy, plain and simple, if you ask me.”

Leah started to squirm on Chelle’s lap. Chelle put the little girl down and rested her elbows on the table. “Martin, if it would be easier, Jessie could bring Leah to the village when she comes in, leave her at the forge to visit and pick her up on the way back.”

“Nay, lass. I won’t let the Paxtons bully me like that. We’ll carry on as we have been.”

Chelle read Martin’s tone to mean that he wanted her to keep coming to the farm for his sake as well as for Leah’s. Why? Just to spite the Paxtons? Perhaps, but Chelle couldn’t help believing there was a bit more to it than that.

Chapter Ten

Chelle put the last of the breakfast dishes away in the pantry and glanced out the kitchen window. Her father was coming up the walk. There wasn’t a lot of work waiting this morning, so he’d gone to the store for a newspaper and a chat with Mr. Bingham.

He shrugged out of his wool jacket as he came in. There had been frost overnight, and the air was still crisp with it, but the house was warm with the smell of Jean’s apple tart baking in the oven.

“What did you hear at the store, Dad?”

He pecked Chelle on the cheek and handed her a small bag of Mrs. Bingham’s toffee. “I brought you a treat, lass.”

Chelle rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help grinning. He’d always brought her candy when he went to the store at home. “You must be plotting with Aunt Caroline to fatten me up. You know I can’t resist toffee.”

“You never could.” Her father’s smile faded. “As for news, there was an accident at the mill yesterday. One of the workers got her arm badly mangled in one of the spinning mules.”

Chelle’s heart plummeted with sudden fear. “It wasn’t Kendra’s mother, was it?”

“Nay, it was a lass about your age, maybe a bit younger. Maggie Tate is her name. I went to school with her father.”

“What’s being done for her?”

Her father stepped past her and stood by the stove to get warm. “The doctor’s done what he can and told her family to pay him when they have the money. There’s nothing more to be done at the moment.”

“What about the mill? What do they do to help injured employees?” From what she’d learned about how the mill treated its employees, Chelle didn’t imagine much would be done for this girl.

Sympathy showed in her father’s eyes. Though he always did his best to hide it, Chelle knew it hurt him to see any living thing suffer, animal or human. “They’ll give her a settlement of some kind. They usually do. Don’t jump to conclusions, Chelle.”

“Aye, they’ll give her something,” Kendra affirmed when she arrived with little Davy for a walk later that afternoon. “Two or three weeks’ wages, likely. Maggie’s the same age as me. Mam says she might lose her arm.”

Chelle shivered, picturing the mill’s spinning mules with their long, heavy rollers. “I saw those machines the day Davy was born. I can’t imagine getting caught in one. A few weeks’ wages? That’s an insult.”

Kendra gave a bitter little shrug. “Perhaps, but they don’t have to give her anything.”

Chelle shut the forge gate behind them. “Do you know how it happened?”

“Aye. The threads on the spinners have a habit of breaking, and when they do, you’ve got to retie them. I was a spinner, and it’s easy enough to get caught in the works of the machine if you aren’t careful. That’s what happened to Maggie. We used to be good friends, before...”

Kendra’s voice trailed off. Chelle put a hand on her friend’s shoulder. Kendra might not care what most of Mallonby thought of her, but it must hurt her deeply to be shunned by her former friends.

“Let’s hope she’ll be all right.”

Over the next few days, reports on Maggie’s condition circulated around the village. The news wasn’t good. A week after the accident, the doctor amputated Maggie’s arm in an attempt to halt the infection she’d developed. Two days later she died, killed by the poisons in her blood.

Chelle stood beside Kendra and her mother under a leaden autumn sky while Reverend Nelson laid the seventeen-year-old girl to rest. Maria Westlake, the mill owner’s daughter, was there, standing a little apart from the other mourners. Chelle had seen Miss Westlake in passing at church, but even if she hadn’t, Maria’s stylish black suit, expensively gloved hands, and flawlessly upswept dark hair would have made her easy to recognize. No one else except the two or three titled families in the district could afford to dress like that, and they’d hardly attend the funeral of a mill hand.

Miss Westlake looked pale and troubled. Chelle knew nothing about the girl. Mallonby gossip seemed to have nothing to say about her. She looked to be about Chelle’s age, perhaps a year or two older. When Chelle tried to meet her gaze, she averted her eyes. Maggie’s death obviously bothered her.

Drew Markham was there as well. Chelle hadn’t seen him since their encounter by the river.

He stood on the other side of the grave, beside two thickset men, obviously farmers in their best suits. Resemblance marked the two as Drew’s father and brother, though their faces were dour and hard where Drew’s was careless and arrogant. Chelle didn’t find it difficult to believe that, as Jean had told her, there’d been no love lost between Drew and his family. The rift must have been deep to drive him off a comfortable farm to the mill, even if he was the younger son.

After the funeral, Chelle walked home with the Fultons, Kendra carrying little Davy in her arms. When they reached the cottage, Mrs. Fulton went on to visit a friend. Kendra added coal to the stove, then sat in the rocker and cuddled her son. Chelle pulled up a chair beside her and shared her friend’s silence, knowing Maggie’s death had hit Kendra all the harder because of their fractured friendship.

After a few minutes had passed, Chelle reached out and took one of Davy’s small hands in hers. “Kendra, I’m sorry.”

“I know.” Kendra shifted the baby and lifted his other hand to her lips. “He looks more like his father every day.” Color crept into her cheeks. “I’ve had a letter from Davy.”

She still cares for him.
With an effort, Chelle held her tongue and waited for Kendra to go on. “He sent me some money. He said he wants to help us. I wrote to him when the baby was born, but I didn’t expect to hear from him in return. I have no claim on him, after all.”

Chelle couldn’t hide her frustration. “Of course you have a claim on him. You’re the mother of his son. He cares for you, just like Mr. Rainnie cared for Leah all along, though he wouldn’t acknowledge it.”

Chelle stopped, inwardly cursing her temper, but Kendra looked thoughtful instead of angry. “You and Mr. Rainnie have become friends, haven’t you?”

“I’d hardly go that far. He never stays around when I visit Leah. We just see each other in passing, but yes, I like him. And you’re changing the subject.”

Kendra gave her a long look that raised a blush then turned her attention back to her son. “Davy asked me to marry him, you know. He looked like he was about to be hanged, but he asked. I said no. We’d nothing to raise a child on, and I didn’t want to be married out of duty.”

“I wouldn’t want that, either for me or any child of mine. But are you sure that’s all it was?”

Kendra held her baby closer and avoided the question. “He said in his letter that he wants to visit when he comes home at Christmas. I can hardly say no, but I don’t like it.”

Chelle answered on another rush of frustration. Martin certainly didn’t have a corner on obstinacy in Mallonby. It looked more and more as if Kendra still cared for her son’s father.

“Why not?”

Kendra’s chin lifted. “He’s moved on. He doesn’t live in Mallonby anymore. There are plenty of girls in York to catch his eye. I appreciate his help, but if I wanted him in my life, I would have married him when he asked me. Now let’s talk about something else.”

Knowing she wasn’t going to change Kendra’s mind, Chelle gave in. “All right. I’d like to know more about your friend Maggie. What did she look like?”

Kendra’s eyes clouded with grief. “She was a bit taller than me, but not as tall as you. Her hair was black, and she had blue eyes. Her mother’s people were Highland Scots, and she took after them. At the mill, Maggie and I used to sit together on breaks and at lunch, until I started keeping company with Davy. Things got cool between Maggie and me then. I thought she was jealous, but now I think she was just a little bit hurt because I hadn’t told her about him. And then, after I found out I was expecting… I never saw any of the girls from work after that. They didn’t want to be tarred with the same brush. I can’t blame them.”

In fairness, Chelle couldn’t blame them either. Not with their livelihoods at stake. “What was she like as a person? Was she shy? Outgoing?”

Kendra’s mouth curved in a sad smile. “Maggie didn’t have a shy bone in her body. She loved to laugh and tease. The boys noticed her, but she was a canny one around them. No one pulled the wool over her eyes. A few thought her proud for a mill hand, but they were the sour sort that disliked most of us younger girls.” Kendra glanced at Chelle over the baby’s head. “It’s a world of its own, the mill, with its own set of rules. You keep to your station and don’t speak to those above you, and you mind your tongue with the rest. The jobs are handed down through families, as often as not. Mam is a spinner, and so was I.”

Chelle thought of the one person she knew who’d stepped into that world of his own accord, and found a way to bend the rules. “How did Drew Markham manage to get into the office, I wonder?”

Kendra shrugged. “Oh, a man can get promoted off the floor if he’s sharp and he’s had some schooling, but there’s not much chance for a woman. Most of us on the floor hadn’t more than three or four years of schooling before we started, though some kept reading and learning. Maggie did. Otherwise, you become as much of a machine as the spinners and looms.”

* * *

That evening at twilight Chelle sat at her window, looking out through a driving rain at the cheerless, sodden gray landscape. Restlessness goaded her. She heard the homelike clatter of dinner preparations downstairs, but something in her rebelled at the thought of joining the family in the warm kitchen.

Unbidden, the image of Martin’s big, open main room popped into her mind. Was he sitting by the fire tonight, playing his fiddle while Jessie got supper and the wind hurled rain against the old stone house? Some yearning, akin to homesickness, came over her at the thought.

Chelle, this won’t do.
She gave herself a stern mental shake and turned her thoughts back to Maggie Tate.

A machine. As far as Phillip Westlake was concerned, Maggie had apparently been nothing more. Not a person, not the daughter of people who had worked for him for years, not the lively young girl Kendra remembered. Mr. Westlake hadn’t even respected Maggie enough to come to her funeral.

But his daughter had. Why? Because her father sent her to represent the family, or because she cared? Chelle recalled the troubled look she’d seen on the girl’s face. Perhaps she cared.

Tomorrow was Sunday. Miss Westlake would likely be at the morning church service. If Chelle could manage a moment alone with her, perhaps she could convince her to do something for Maggie’s family. Determined to try, Chelle hurried down to set the table for Aunt Caroline.

* * *

In the morning, Maria Westlake appeared at church alone. Chelle watched her out of the corner of her eye and soon made up her mind she’d been right about Miss Westlake being upset by Maggie Tate’s death. She looked decidedly uneasy, sitting alone in her pew with mill families in the pews on either side of her. Surely there had been serious accidents at the mill before this. Had they bothered her as well?

I wouldn’t trade places with you, Miss Westlake, any more than I would with a mill hand.

When the service ended, Chelle told the family to go on without her and waited in the churchyard. Nearly everyone else had left by the time Miss Westlake came out of the church. She started for home at a quick pace. Chelle ran a few steps to catch up with her. “Miss Westlake, do you have a moment?”

She stopped. Close up, the strain on her face showed all the more plainly. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

In contrast to the broad Yorkshire that Chelle had grown used to hearing around Mallonby, Miss Westlake spoke like the product of a good finishing school. Chelle mustered an ingratiating smile. “No, we haven’t. I’m Rochelle McShannon.”

“The blacksmith’s niece? Of course. I should have known you by your accent. What is it, Miss McShannon?”

The blacksmith’s niece. Chelle had never been put in her place so neatly, but she was doing this for Maggie Tate, not herself. She took a deep breath and plunged in. “I wanted to speak to you about Maggie Tate.”

“Oh? What about her?”

Maria started along the road again, slowly this time. Chelle fell into step beside her. “A friend of mine knew her quite well. She told me Maggie was a hard worker and well-liked at the mill. She kept learning and trying to improve herself, and she stayed out of trouble. My father also told me she was an only child. He grew up with her parents.”

Maria threw her a glance from skeptical green eyes. “I’m sure you’re telling me all this for a reason.”

Chelle nodded. “Yes, I am. Miss Westlake, I’d like to try to raise some money for Maggie’s family, and I thought you might be willing to help me.”

“Father prefers that I don’t get involved with mill business.”

“But it isn’t mill business. If Maggie had been struck by a runaway cart or had some other kind of accident, your father wouldn’t object to you trying to help her family, would he?”

“That would be a completely different situation, Miss McShannon, as I’m sure you’re aware.” Maria squared her shoulders and met Chelle’s gaze. “But I do feel bad for this girl’s family. I can’t promise anything, but I’ll speak to my father about it.”

Chelle found herself warming to Maria, in spite of her condescension. Beneath the girl’s attitude, she sensed compassion. “Thank you, Miss Westlake. That’s all I can ask.”