Where The Heart Is (Choices of the Heart, book 1) (18 page)

His letters were friendly but no more than that. Of course, Kendra’s had been the same. The money Davy sent was keeping the wolf from the door, and she owed him for that. After all, he didn’t owe her anything, not when she’d refused to be his wife.

The peace in the house felt wonderful. Kendra had stoked the small stove with coal before putting the baby to bed, and now it threw a comforting heat into the room. A good night to be counting her blessings.

Little Davy would be weaned soon, giving Kendra more freedom. She’d be able to take in more work, and there were a few families in Mallonby and Carston who didn’t care if the woman who did their laundry or sewing had a baby out of wedlock. Then, a few years down the road, when her son was in school, things would be easier. She’d do whatever it took to give him a chance at a good life.

The stove’s heat made Kendra drowsy. She felt her eyelids droop, blinked and shook her head. She’d better get supper started if she was going to have it ready by the time her mother got home.

She was slicing bread when someone knocked on the door. Chelle, perhaps? Kendra hadn’t seen her for a week. A chat before supper would help rub the dullness from a tired day.

She opened the door and stepped back in shock. “Davy! I wasn’t expecting you yet.”

“Uncle decided he needed me back right after Christmas, so he let me leave a bit early.” Davy shifted his feet awkwardly and looked past Kendra into the warm room. “May I come in?”

He looked older, and oh, he hadn’t lost his appeal. Hard work had filled out his chest and arms, and he had more color now than when he’d been at the mill. He’d let his sandy hair grow a bit longer, and it suited him. The hazel eyes he’d passed on to his son held an uncertain light that threatened to melt Kendra’s heart again.

She stiffened her spine. She wouldn’t turn to mush in front of him. “Aye, come in out of the cold.” Oh, why couldn’t he have given her some notice? This wasn’t fair. Davy took a seat in the armchair, and Kendra returned to the rocker. The silence stretched between them like a taut rope.

“I suppose the little one’s asleep.”

“Aye. I just put him down. He’s teething now and getting him to sleep isn’t easy.”

“What’s he like?”

“He’s a good baby, for the most part. He’s quick to laugh, and doesn’t get out of temper easily.” Kendra looked down at her hands. “Davy, thank you for the money you’ve been sending. I know you aren’t earning a lot, and—”

“Kendra, you don’t have to thank me. He’s my son.”

“Aye. I suppose you’d like to see him.”

“Can I? Now?”

“Yes, if you’re quiet and don’t wake him. Come with me.”

They walked into Kendra’s bedroom. She turned up the lamp a little, then joined Davy by the crib. Looking down at the baby, he let out a deep breath.

“He’s real now. That Sunday afternoon up on the hill, we made
him.
” Davy reached into the crib, then pulled his hand back and turned to face her. “It was a warm afternoon for autumn, wasn’t it? Do you remember, Kendra?”

“Aye, I remember. You can touch him if you want to, Davy. He won’t wake. His tooth came through this morning, and he’s tired.”

He reached into the crib and ran a finger over one of his son’s tiny hands. “Kendra, I let my parents send me away and left you here to bear my child alone.”

“You offered to marry me, remember?”

“I said the words, yes, but I hadn’t a clue what they really meant, and you knew it. I think I have a better idea now.” He turned back to Kendra with his lips in a determined line. “I had a long talk with my uncle yesterday before I left. There’s a future for me in his business if I work hard. I’ll be able to give our son a better life than he’d have growing up here, fatherless. Maybe I still don’t know much about being a husband, and I know less about being a father, but I’ll give it my best. Will you give me a chance?”

A knot formed in Kendra’s chest. He hadn’t mentioned any feelings for her, but for the baby’s sake, what could she say but yes? “Aye.”

Davy studied her for a moment, then brushed his fingers over her cheek. “You don’t look very pleased about it.” When she didn’t answer, his hand dropped to her shoulder. He pulled her closer, bent his head and brushed his lips over hers. “Are you only agreeing for the baby’s sake, Kendra?”

He held her gaze. At her silence, Davy smiled and kissed the corner of her mouth. “We can be good parents, lass. And we can be good together. I’ve missed you.”

He ran his tongue along the seam of her lips while his fingers played in the loose curls at the nape of her neck. Kendra couldn’t fight off the hope that surged through her, any more than she could deny the pleasure of Davy’s touch. She opened to him, hesitantly at first, then eagerly, hurt and fear melting away. He hadn’t told her in words that he cared, but he was showing her now.

Still, she needed to hear the words. Kendra pulled back and smiled at him, a smile that she felt deep inside. “Are
you
only doing this for the baby?”

Davy shook his head and laughed. “I do have a lot to learn, don’t I? I’m sorry. Kendra, I love you. It took me a while to realize it, but I do.”

There was no fear in his eyes now. Blinking back tears, Kendra grinned and walked into his arms. “Don’t let me go again, Davy. I don’t think I could stand it.”

Another slow, teasing kiss. “I won’t. Now let’s go wait for your mother. We want to be looking respectable when she gets home.”

* * *

“Chelle, we’re going to be out of onions after I make the stuffing tomorrow. Would you mind running to the store? And pick up a newspaper for your uncle while you’re there.”

“Of course I don’t mind. I may as well go now. I’m not doing much.” Chelle dressed for her walk, took some change from Aunt Caroline’s jar of butter money and started off, glad to get out of the house. Ever since Kendra had come to see her, brimming with the news that she and Davy were going to be married quietly on Boxing Day and return to York together, Chelle had felt restless and trapped.

She told herself it was just the prospect of losing her friend, but she knew better. Sadness seemed to have seeped into her bones and taken root there. Missing Martin and Leah hadn’t gotten any easier with time, and the long, dark winter nights didn’t help.

“There you are, and oh, there’s mail, too. A letter from your brother, I think.” Mrs. Bingham reached under the counter and laid an envelope on top of Uncle Jack’s newspaper. “Happy Christmas, Rochelle.”

Her mood forgotten, Chelle stuffed the newspaper in her bag with the onions and snatched up the letter. Trey had addressed it to her, so she tore it open and read it as she walked home.

October 20, 1861

Camp Marcy

Dear Chelle,

By the time you get this, it will be winter. Things are more or less the same here. We haven’t been told much, but the word is that we will be given our orders when the spring campaign begins.

In a way, I’ll be glad. Anticipation is worse than reality, and everyone here is growing restless with drill, routine, and cramped quarters. We got piecemeal information on the battles that were fought over the summer, but no one knows what to believe. I don’t doubt you’re better informed than we common soldiers.

There was an outbreak of measles in camp this month, and we lost a few recruits. I never thought I’d be grateful that we had measles when we were eight. I’ve been well, though if boredom were fatal, I’d be dead by this time.

Now for the difficult part of this letter, Chelle. I can’t put it off any longer. There is no easy way to say what I have to say, so I’ll do it as briefly as possible.

A few days after our birthday in September, a party of high-ranking officers visited Camp Marcy. One of them had a young lieutenant on his staff. I’d been put in charge of looking after the party’s horses, and when Lieutenant Carter returned for his, I noticed the knife at his belt. It looked familiar. When I asked him about it, he told me he’d taken it from the body of a dead Confederate cavalryman at Bull Run back in July.

I asked him to show it to me. Chelle, it was Rory’s knife, the one with his initials engraved on the hilt. I know you’ve seen it. I’d recognize it anywhere. When I asked Lieutenant Carter to describe the man he’d taken it from, the description fit. According to him, it looked as if Rory had been killed instantly.

Chelle, I don’t know what to say…

Chelle stopped in the middle of the street, blinded by tears. A buggy rattled by, so close it brushed her shoulder, but she didn’t move. Her heart threatened to burst through her chest, and she couldn’t breathe. Then, suddenly, she couldn’t stand still. She dashed her arm across her eyes to clear them and started running, out of the village, past the forge and out onto the dales. She came to the sheltered hollow where she and Kendra often stopped on their walks, sank to the ground and fought to catch her breath.

It isn’t true. Trey must be mistaken. It can’t be true.

She saw Rory as she’d seen him in her dream, staring sightlessly at the sky. For nearly a year, Chelle had loved him as much as she was capable of loving anyone, but she’d let him go in anger. Had he forgiven her? She’d never know.

She couldn’t cry. To cry would make it real. If she started, she was afraid she’d never be able to stop.

Somehow, the ache of regret for Rory blended with her deeper, stronger ache for Martin and Leah, until she could hardly breathe for pain. Paralyzed, Chelle sat there while the cloud-veiled sun sank below the horizon. When the first fine sifting of snow began to fall, it didn’t register. It began to settle thickly on her cloak, unheeded as she repeated the same three words over and over through chattering teeth.

“It isn’t true.”

* * *

“Get up, Tessa. There’s a bait of corn waiting for you, out of this wind. Jump in, Gyp, there’s a lad.” Martin waited until Gyp was safely settled in the back of the cart, then urged Tessa into a trot. He’d just delivered a load of hay to the sheep. He’d never take his freedom for granted again, whatever the weather, but the cold wind had crept through to his bones, and now it was starting to snow in earnest. Time for a warm fire and a bowl of Jessie’s hot mutton stew.

He shrugged deeper into his coat and thought of Leah to warm away the ache in his chest. This time of day was the worst, just as it had been in the months after Eleanor died. It would take time to root Chelle out of his mind and heart. He hadn’t realized just how much she meant to him until he’d lost her. The pain never really left him; the best he could do was to forget it now and then when he was with his daughter.

As the cart started down the slope to the river, Gyp stood and let out a sharp bark. Martin reined the mare to a stop and looked around him. He saw nothing but empty moorland until his eyes settled on an odd-colored shape in a hollow off to his left. Then the shape moved. He jumped from the cart and walked toward it, Gyp at his heels.

“By all that’s holy. Chelle!” He covered the last few yards at a run and knelt beside her. “What’s the matter? Has someone hurt you, lass?”

She didn’t answer. Martin unbuttoned his coat, pulled Chelle onto his lap and folded the sheepskin around her, holding her against his chest. Shivering, she laid her head against his shoulder.

He saw no blood, no bruises. She didn’t seem to be hurt, but she was half frozen. He held her tighter and pressed his lips to her hair, part of him reveling in her sweetness even through his worry. “Tell me what’s happened, love.”

Silence. Questions would have to wait. Martin gathered Chelle in his arms and ran with her to the cart, bundled her onto the seat and climbed up. He took her on his lap again and sent Tessa along the dark track as fast as he dared.

Colin dashed out of the house as the cart rattled into the forge yard. “Martin, what’s happened to her? She should have been home over an hour ago. We thought she’d likely called on the Fultons.”

“I don’t know what happened. She doesn’t seem to be hurt, but she’s chilled to the bone. I found her halfway out to my pasture.”

The letter fell from the folds of Chelle’s skirt as Martin transferred her to Colin’s arms. The color drained from his face as the paper fluttered to the ground. “What is it, lass? Is it your brother?”

Chelle looked up. The anguish in her blue eyes stabbed at Martin’s heart. God, how long would it be before he stopped aching for her?

“No, not Trey. Rory.”

Colin held her closer. “I’m sorry, love.” His eyes met Martin’s over Chelle’s head. “Thank you from the bottom of my heart, Martin. I’d best get her inside.”

Martin followed Colin into the house. Caroline’s hand flew to her mouth, and then she hurried after Colin as he carried Chelle upstairs. Martin sat on the kitchen sofa and watched, helpless, while Jean scurried around, heating water and blankets.

After what felt like an age, Colin came down, looking older than his years. “She’ll be all right. She’s asleep. Will you stay for a drink?”

“Nay, Jessie will be waitin’ supper for me. I’d best be off home.” To stay here and not be able to be with Chelle, watching over her, would be pointless torture. Her family would look after her.

“All right, then. She won’t be ready to talk to anyone before morning, anyway. Thank God you found her when you did.”