Where The Heart Is (Choices of the Heart, book 1) (6 page)

Someone knocked at the door. Who the devil could that be at this hour on a Sunday? He toyed with the idea of simply shouting for whoever it was to bugger off, but that was bound to hurt his sore mouth. Less painful to tell them face to face.

The devil turned out to be Rochelle McShannon with another package of butter. Her eyes widened at the sight of his face. She raised a hand to her mouth, then dropped it and blushed. In her yellow print dress, with her face tanned by the summer sun, she lit up the whole yard.

Martin took the butter and opened his mouth, ready to tell her he was busy. “Come in, lass.”

He didn’t bother to ask himself why he’d changed his mind. Rochelle McShannon might be flighty and headstrong, but suddenly he just didn’t feel like drinking his coffee alone. He set the butter on the kitchen dresser and pulled two mugs from a cupboard. “I’d have expected you to be in church this morning. I was about to have coffee. Care for a cup?”

“We’re going to service tonight, and yes, I have time for a cup.”

He filled the mugs, brought them to the table and fetched cream from the icebox. Martin winced as the hot coffee hit the raw place on the inside of his cheek, where Drew’s fist had smashed it into his teeth.

Color rose in Rochelle’s face again as she took a sip. “Gossip travels even faster in Mallonby than it does at home. Brian heard in the village last night that you were in a fight at the pub.”

“Aye, I guess that’s obvious enough.”

“He also heard the fight happened because of me. I offered to bring the butter today because I wanted to see if you were all right, and to say I’m sorry.”

The half-grateful, half-ashamed look in her eyes left him feeling annoyed. Martin had started the fight because his anger goaded him into it, not out of any sense of heroics. If Drew’s remarks about Rochelle hadn’t given him an excuse, he’d have found another. “You’ve naught to be sorry for, lass. Drew has been asking for a beating for years now, and last night I happened to be there and in the mood to give it to him.”

Her mouth quirked in a small smile. “You don’t like being caught in a kindness, do you?” Her smile widened to a grin. “Brian heard that Drew looks worse than you do.”

Martin shook his head, wishing he hadn’t invited her in. Her humor touched places inside him that were still raw, places he forgot about when he was alone. “That’s a satisfaction.”

He watched Rochelle look around his home, a feminine assessment that took in all the details, from the books on the mantle over the hearth and the green muslin curtains that framed the windows, to the well-worn oak floors. The place looked much the same as it had when Martin was growing up, though Eleanor’s rag rugs had replaced the old ones and the sofa facing the hearth was relatively new. He wondered if Rochelle noticed that the kitchen dresser bore the scars of time, as did the heavy ash farm table that had always been too large. The Rainnies ran to small families.

“This house is so much older than the houses where I grew up. Has it been in your family a long time?”

“Aye, over two hundred years.”

“That’s hard for me to imagine. Dad built our house in America twenty years ago.” Then, as if it followed naturally she added, “I’m going to miss Leah when she leaves us. She’s starting to walk now and—” Her voice died away in embarrassment as she looked at him.

Martin’s anger welled up again. After her last visit here, she should know better. “Aye. I’m obliged to you all for takin’ such good care of her.”

He deliberately let his annoyance show, but it seemed that Miss McShannon had an axe to grind. She lifted her gaze to his. “The Paxtons have called to see her once or twice. Will she be going to them?”

The concern on her face roused Martin’s guilt. Would Leah be that much worse off with her grandparents than if he farmed her out elsewhere? He’d made some inquiries, and there weren’t many families willing to take on a child for what he could afford to pay. Leah couldn’t stay with the McShannons. If Brian and Jean were to have another child, they simply wouldn’t have room. “I haven’t decided yet.”

Elbows on the table, Rochelle leaned forward, her blue eyes dark and troubled. “Mr. Rainnie, how well do you know the Paxtons?”

The knife of guilt stabbed deeper. “I know them well enough. They made a decent job of raising Eleanor, and I’ve no reason to think they’ll do worse with Leah if I send her to them.”

The concern on Rochelle’s face deepened into something akin to anguish. “That was quite a few years ago. They’re not exactly young now, and…” With a visible effort, she stopped herself. “I’m meddling. I’m sorry. I should go. Goodbye, and take care of that eye.” She got to her feet and hurried out.

As he drank his lukewarm coffee, Martin felt the walls closing in on him again. Because the lass had left, or was it guilt over Leah’s future that bothered him? Finally he grabbed his cap, whistled for Gyp and strode down the lane, away from Rochelle McShannon and her accusations.

Hold on, lad. She made no accusations.

Perhaps not, but she might as well have. She’d implied that she cared for his daughter’s welfare more than he did.

Was she right? It didn’t matter, Martin told himself as he turned onto the track leading to his pasture. What mattered was Leah. He wanted her to be raised by people who would love her as she deserved, but where was he going to find them?

* * *

“Calm down, child. Your mam’s had three babies. She knows what she’s about. Chelle, are you ready?”

“Yes, I’m right behind you.” Chelle followed Caroline and the agitated seven-year-old messenger, Annie Wilson, out into the fine summer night. It only took fifteen minutes to reach the Wilsons’ home near the other end of the village. Annie’s mother, Phyllis, heavily pregnant, met them at the door.

“Now then, Caroline. I didn’t want to send for you so soon, but John insisted. I’ve barely started painin’. Annie, be a good lass and take your brother and sister down to your gran’s, now, will you?”

“But Mam—”

“Go on, Annie, and do as you’re told. I’ll be all right.” Phyllis looked at Chelle with obvious doubt, but it seemed the Wilsons knew Caroline well enough to weigh against any gossip they might have heard about her niece befriending Kendra Fulton or about the fight at the pub. “Come in, lass. I’ll do my best not to keep the two of you here all night.”

Mr. Wilson stood in the background, a tall, lean fellow who owned the coal store next to the Binghams’ mercantile. He was the nervous type. Once the children left the house, Caroline took him in hand. “John, why don’t you go down to the Crow for a pint? You’ll only be five minutes away, and I’ll send Chelle for you if you’re needed.”

“Aye, John, go,” his wife urged. “Caroline doesn’t need you underfoot.”

“All right then, run me out of my own home.” He took his cap and made for the door, but out of his wife’s sight he beckoned to Caroline. She followed him out to the step for a moment. In the kitchen, a few minutes later, under pretence of checking the water heating on the stove, she whispered to Chelle.

“John told me he thinks Phyllis’ heart has been acting strangely. She’s been putting her hand to her chest now and then, and her hands and feet have been swelling, though she denies anything’s wrong. Let’s hope it’s just him being jittery.”

The next few hours gave Mr. Wilson’s fears the lie. Phyllis’ labor progressed like clockwork. By midnight she was in the final stages, ready to push her child into the world.

And then the unthinkable happened.

In the middle of a strong contraction, Phyllis relaxed and stopped breathing. She just lay there, eyes staring up sightlessly. Caroline grabbed the woman’s wrist. Her face turned stark white. “I can’t find a pulse. Chelle, run for Doctor Halstead, then go and fetch Mr. Wilson.”

Chelle stood rooted in place. In her mind, Mrs. Wilson’s face became her mother’s, as it had looked on the bright March morning when Chelle walked into her room and found her—

“Hurry, lass! Go!”

Her aunt’s voice snapped Chelle out of her trance. She ran as fast as she could, though in her heart she knew it was already too late. Little Annie and her brother and sister would have to grow up without their mother.

Chelle found the doctor home. He left for the Wilsons’ before she’d even finished explaining. Then she had to face Mr. Wilson.

As soon as he saw her outside the pub window, he ran to the door. Seeing the fear on his face nearly strangled Chelle’s voice. “You’re needed at home. The doctor should be there by now. Hurry.”

Mr. Wilson disappeared down the street. Chelle stood there, gasping for breath, a hand pressed to the fierce stitch in her side. Scalding tears trickled down her cheeks.

Chelle, you promised Aunt Caroline you’d be ready for anything.

But how could anyone be ready for something like this? How could Aunt Caroline be ready? It was too cruel.

Moving as stiffly as an old woman, Chelle returned to the Wilsons’. Mr. Wilson sat on the front room sofa, his shocked face pale in the dim light of the lamp on the mantel. Chelle’s heart broke for him, but she walked through the room without speaking. What could she say that would matter?

She found Aunt Caroline sitting at the kitchen table with the doctor. She looked ten years older. “There you are, lass. The baby survived. A healthy little lad.”

Doctor Halstead laid a hand on Caroline’s shoulder. “Will you call for Mrs. Wilson’s mother on your way home? I’ll stay here until she arrives.”

“Aye.” She rose stiffly and picked up her bag. In the front room, Caroline stopped to speak to Mr. Wilson. “I’m so sorry, John. Try to remember that you have a healthy new son.”

He didn’t acknowledge that she’d spoken. Caroline and Chelle left him sitting there, staring stonily into space.

Out on the street, Chelle wiped the traces of tears from her cheeks. “Aunt Caroline, I’m ashamed of myself. I couldn’t even speak to Mr. Wilson. I know we’re strangers, but I could have at least said I was sorry.”

A weary smile tugged at Caroline’s lips. “Don’t worry yourself, lass. He knows.”

Perhaps, but Chelle still felt like a coward for skulking by the man twice without a word. She could only hope that in his shock, he hadn’t noticed her.

“What will he do now? He won’t be able to look after the children alone.”

“The baby will have to be put out to nurse, of course, and the other three will likely go to their grandmother until Annie is old enough to keep house for her father. Of course, John might marry again before then… though I doubt it, somehow. He’s the type that takes things hard, like Martin Rainnie.”

“I hope he won’t reject the baby the way Mr. Rainnie rejected Leah.”

“Don’t judge, Chelle. Eleanor was Martin’s whole world, and she hasn’t been gone a year yet. He’s doing the best he can.”

“Do you think sending Leah to the Paxtons is the best he can do?”

“It might be when it comes to that. There aren’t many families around Mallonby ready to take on a child. Most have more than enough of their own. The Paxtons can provide for Leah, and they’d never mistreat her, that’s for sure and certain.”

“Maybe not, but will they love her?”

“It’s Martin’s decision to make, Chelle. I’m sure he wants what’s best for Leah as much as we do.”

Caroline’s tone told Chelle the discussion was over. They walked the rest of the way home in silence. Chelle crept into the children’s room, lifted Leah from her crib and held the sleeping little girl close. “Your father will change his mind, Leah. He has to.”

Chapter Seven

Jean looked over her shoulder as she finished pinning Peter’s nappy. “What’s wrong with that one this morning?”

Chelle struggled to get Leah’s arms through the sleeves of her dress as the little girl kicked and whimpered. “I don’t know. She’s normally so happy in the morning.”

By the time she was dressed, Leah’s whimpers had turned to peevish sobs. She settled briefly after breakfast, but started fussing again soon afterwards and refused to eat at dinnertime. Jean and Caroline were puzzled. Weaning had gone well for both babies, with no upsets, and Leah had never been whiny.

“There’s something not right,” Caroline said. “She’s always eaten well.”

By late afternoon, Leah was running a low fever. Chelle put her to bed and managed to get her to sleep. When she checked on the baby half an hour later, she ran down to Caroline as fast as her legs would take her. “Aunt, Leah is burning up.”

Caroline followed her back to the children’s room. Leah’s face was flushed, her eyes glazed with fever. Caroline’s lips set in a worried line. “I’m at a loss. She and Peter have been eating the same things and he’s fine, but something’s certainly upset this one. Run and get some cold water, Chelle.”

Leah screamed when Caroline started bathing her with icy well water. Chelle’s heart started to race. She’d never seen a child this ill. “Aunt, do you think someone should go for her father?”

Caroline laid the baby in her crib, naked except for her nappy, still shrieking. She hesitated for a moment. “I don’t like to alarm him, but aye, lass, perhaps so. I don’t like the look of this. Go get one of the men to saddle Lady, and tell Jean to make some agrimony tea. And send someone for the doctor.”

Brian, who’d been in the kitchen when Chelle first came downstairs for his mother, had the mare saddled by the time Chelle got out to the yard. When he made to mount, she stopped him. “Let me go. Lady can carry me faster, and you can go for the doctor.”

“All right, go on, then.” Brian stepped back and gave her a leg up. “And try not to frighten Martin too much. These things happen with young ones.”

* * *

After an afternoon spent digging potatoes, Martin came home for an early supper, intending to go out to the sheep afterward. Only he’d had a poor night’s sleep, and after eating he dozed off on the sofa. He woke with a start at the sound of frantic knocking at the door.

He sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He’d half a mind not to answer it, to let them think he was still out in the fields, but then the caller shouted.

“Mr. Rainnie? Mr. Rainnie, are you there?”

Rochelle McShannon. There was only one reason why she’d pound on his door like that.

Leah
.

Chelle knocked again. Wide awake now, stomach knotted with dread, Martin ran to the door. He almost lost his supper at the sight of her white, frightened face.

“Mr. Rainnie, Leah’s ill. She’s running a dangerous fever. Aunt thinks you should come in.”

This must be a nightmare
. Martin stood there gaping at the girl like a half-wit until her voice jerked him back to the moment.

“Mr. Rainnie, please…”

Instinct took over. He pushed past Chelle, ran to the byre, bridled his black cob and swung up bareback. The girl mounted her horse and followed him down the lane at a gallop. The horses’ hooves pounded out a beat that became words in Martin’s mind, a frantic, repeated prayer.

Please, God. Not her too. Please.

Was
this punishment? The price for turning away from all that was left of Eleanor? From a part of himself? He knew nothing of his daughter, had cared nothing for her except to keep her housed, fed and out of his sight. He’d given her nothing of himself, and now he could lose her.

Brian came out of the house to take the horses as they clattered into the forge yard. Martin slid to the ground, his legs threatening to buckle as he followed Chelle inside.

Caroline hurried down the stairs toward him. “You’re here then. She’s about the same.”

Her tone, her worried expression, took Martin back to the night Leah was born. He’d refused to hold her that night, refused to have anything to do with her. Now, this might be his last chance. “I want to see her.”

“Aye, come with me.”

He followed Caroline and Chelle up to the children’s room. Leah lay in her crib, crying fitfully, her fine red curls plastered to her head with sweat. When Martin reached out to touch her hand, she opened her gray eyes wide and screamed.

Eleanor’s eyes, looking at him in terror. Martin thought his heart would tear loose in chest. Why wouldn’t he frighten his daughter, showing up like this when she was ill? He was a complete stranger to her.

Chelle picked the baby up, wet a cloth in the basin on the nightstand and laid it on the back of Leah’s neck. In familiar arms, Leah stopped screaming. Martin laid his hand on the baby’s back and felt the scorching heat radiating from her. His palm covered Leah from shoulder to shoulder. She looked to be a sturdy little thing, but she was too young and small to fight for long against a fever like this. “Haven’t you sent for the doctor, Caroline?”

“Aye, of course we have, but he’s out on a call. His wife said she’d give him the message as soon as he got in.”

Martin wanted a target for his fear and anger, but he knew the McShannons had cared for Leah as if she were their own. He was the one who’d neglected her. He tried to speak around the lump in his throat and couldn’t.

Caroline took him firmly by the arm. “Come downstairs and wait for Doctor Halstead, Martin.”

With a last look at Chelle cradling his daughter, he let Caroline lead him from the room.

Colin and Jack arrived home from a job on one of the farms, laughing and bantering. Their laughter died when they saw Martin there and Caroline’s grave face. Jack crossed the room and put his hands on his wife’s shoulders. “Is something the matter with Leah, then?”

“She’s running a high fever. Jack, will you run round to the surgery and find out what’s keeping Doctor Halstead?”

“Aye, I won’t be long.” Jack hurried out again.

Martin slumped on the kitchen sofa, rested his elbows on his knees and hid his face in his hands. By the stove, Colin and Caroline spoke quietly, their voices too low for him to follow. Then Martin heard the clink of glass, the sound of pouring liquid, followed by Colin’s voice. “Here, Martin, I think you could use this.”

The fragrance of good whiskey made him look up. Colin sat beside him, his thin hand surprisingly strong as it gripped Martin’s shoulder. “Doctor Halstead will be here soon. Don’t think the worst, lad, it won’t help.”

Martin turned away from the sympathy on the older man’s face. He didn’t deserve it. “I can’t lose Leah, Colin. I haven’t had time to get to know her. I haven’t
taken
the time to get to know her.”

Colin swirled the whiskey in his glass, then gave his head a rueful shake. “Sometimes we’re selfish when we’re hurting. I’ve got a son caught up in the war at home when he might have been safely out of it if I’d said or done some things differently. And Chelle might have married if I hadn’t made myself unpopular with my opinions on the war and the Confederacy, but I did, and she and her young man broke things off because of it. Maybe I did the right thing and maybe I didn’t, but what’s done is done.”

So Chelle had been disappointed in love.
Fool, it’s no concern of yours. A glowing young lass like her, with that figure and those eyes—she likely had her pick of the men.
And Martin had no right to be thinking of her that way, least of all now. He fisted his hands in an instinctive response as if he could use them to battle the illness menacing his little daughter.

“Aye, but you were a father to your children when they were small. What if I don’t get a chance to be a father to Leah? I’ve turned my back on her, on Eleanor’s and my daughter.”

Colin downed his drink and gave Martin’s shoulder a bracing squeeze. “Yes, but you’re here now when she needs you. You’re being a father to her right now. Don’t think on it, Martin. Just hope.”

* * *

Jack returned with the news that Doctor Halstead couldn’t leave his current patient and didn’t expect to be home until morning.

“Not that he could do much more than we’re doing,” Caroline said. She filled the kettle and set it back on the stove with a clatter. “We’ll just have to wait.”

Martin rose and climbed the stairs. His shaky hand fumbled with the knob as he opened the bedroom door. Chelle sat in the rocker with Leah, humming quietly as she rocked the baby. Afraid he’d upset his daughter again, Martin stayed in the shadows as he crossed the room.

Chelle looked up at him as he stopped beside her. “There isn’t any change. Is the doctor coming?”

“Not before morning.” Martin laid a tentative hand on Leah’s hot little back. He didn’t want to frighten her again, but he had to touch her. When she whimpered and pulled away, he retreated to the bed against the wall. From there, all he could see of Chelle and the baby was a gently rocking silhouette in the dim lamplight.

“I want to stay here with her.”

He braced himself for an argument. He got simple acceptance.

“Of course you do.”

She humbled him. Whatever she might have thought of him before tonight, she was willing to give him a chance. He’d learned from her father that Chelle had reason to be bitter, too, but he also saw that she had strength, a kind of strength Martin hadn’t been able to find through his own grief. “You’re one who looks for the best in people, aren’t you, lass? Even in me, as a father?”

“Yes, I am.” The silhouette shifted as she ran her hand over Leah’s back. “You might like me to think otherwise, but you aren’t the sort of man who has no feelings for his child.”

“Nay, I suppose not.” In the concealing shadows, the words seemed to say themselves. “When Eleanor found out she was going to be a mother she was beyond pleased, and I wasn’t far behind her. She was an only child as I am. We wanted a big family.” Since her death, Martin hadn’t allowed himself to think of those months when Eleanor was expecting, the happiest he expected ever to know.

Chelle stopped rocking and turned toward him. “Mr. Rainnie, I think you need Leah as much, maybe more, than she needs you.”

“It isn’t that simple, lass. I’ve got a farm to run, and good housekeepers aren’t easy to find.”

Martin knew how hollow that excuse sounded as soon as he spoke. Chelle must know it too, but she stayed silent, waiting while he found his way to the most frightening decision of his life. “Anyhow, I’ll find someone, and as soon as I do, Leah’s coming home where she belongs.”

Holding Leah close, Chelle rose. She took a step toward him, then another, until she could see his face clearly. A smile tugged at her lips. “Get some sleep, Mr. Rainnie. I’ll wake you if there’s any change in her. You’ll need your strength if you’re planning to take Leah home.”

Martin lay down, mind spinning. A housekeeper would solve the problem of caring for Leah physically, of course, but what about emotionally? How would she cope with being taken from the only family she’d ever known? Jean was needed at home, but perhaps Chelle could be spared for a few days while Leah settled in and he learned to deal with the memories of Eleanor that his daughter would surely stir up. Would having Leah in the house only make him miss Eleanor more?

It didn’t matter. If Leah survived, and she would survive, she had to, Martin would live with whatever pain she brought him. It couldn’t be worse than the regret he’d face if he let her go again.

* * *

Caroline, Jean, and Chelle took shifts tending Leah through the night, bathing her, giving her sips of agrimony tea to settle her digestive tract and replace the fluids she’d lost. By dawn, Chelle could hardly keep her eyes open. Her anxiety hadn’t allowed her to sleep when she wasn’t with the baby. Finally, she drifted off in the rocker with Leah in her arms, but the harsh cawing of a crow jerked her back to wakefulness.

She blinked and looked around the room, its furnishings clearly visible now in the growing light. She must have slept in spite of herself. And Leah…

Leah slept deeply, her little face pale, her bare skin damp with cooling sweat. Her fever had broken. “Oh, thank God.” All night Chelle had tried to face the possibility of losing the little girl and failed. As for Mr. Rainnie, she’d never forget his stricken eyes when she’d gone to fetch him. He really did need Leah as much as she needed him.

The baby didn’t wake while Chelle changed her, laid her in her crib and tucked a blanket around her. Mr. Rainnie lay on the bed, his hair rumpled, a shadow of a beard on his jaw. He hadn’t moved since he’d stretched out there last night, but she had no idea if he’d slept. Chelle tiptoed over to him and laid her hand on his shoulder. “Mr. Rainnie, Leah’s better this morning.”

His eyes snapped open. Relief seemed to strike him like a blow. The color drained from his face as he sat up. “She is?”

His whole face lit up as the news sank in. Chelle wouldn’t have dreamed he could look like that. Dizzy with relief herself, she nodded toward the crib. “Yes. Look for yourself.”

Just as Mr. Rainnie carefully lifted his daughter from the crib, Caroline entered the room. Her hands clamped on her hips and her brows lifted. Chelle shot her a pleading glance and held a finger to her lips. “She’s better, Aunt. I was just going to come down to tell you.”