Where The Heart Is (Choices of the Heart, book 1) (9 page)

“Being your brother and Colin’s son, I’m sure he had good reasons.” The simple statement brought unexpected comfort. “Is it true, what we read in the papers over here about the American West? All that land, free for the taking?”

“The land is there, but it isn’t exactly free for the taking. The Indians consider it theirs, and they’re fighting for it. It will be a long time before it’s safe for settlers.”

“Perhaps, but it’s one place I’d like to see someday.”

“So would I.”

Silence settled between them. Martin finished his pipe and then, just as Chelle decided she’d really have to go in, he rose. “Now come inside, lass. We’ll have Jessie wondering, the two of us sitting out here like this.”

Chelle got stiffly to her feet and followed him inside. Jessie might well wonder if she was still awake. They’d sat outside much longer than was proper, but neither of them seemed to care.

With the ease of long familiarity, Martin made his way through the dark room to the mantle and lit two candles. “Good night, Chelle.”

“Good night.”

Chelle watched him climb the stairs, heard his bedroom door close. She’d never imagined she and Martin could talk like they just had. She’d never imagined that sitting out in the dark with him would feel so comfortable. Upstairs, she set her candle on the nightstand and faced herself in the mirror before undressing.

Rochelle, it would not be wise for you to spend much time around Martin Rainnie.

* * *

After chores and breakfast, at which Martin was as silent as before, he told Jessie he was going out to the sheep. Chelle gave him a half-hour’s start, then bundled Leah up against the brisk wind and set off for a walk. If Jessie didn’t want her help in the house and Martin wouldn’t let her work in the byre, she’d rather occupy herself out on the hillside.

Without any conscious intent, she turned into the track that led to Martin’s pasture. When she got there, Chelle set Leah down and rested her tired arms while she watched Martin and Gyp cut an ewe and her twin lambs from the flock. Absorbed in their work, neither man nor dog noticed her.

Following Martin’s commands, Gyp maneuvered the ewe and lambs close enough for Martin to get a good look at them. Apparently satisfied, he called to Gyp and let the mother and offspring run back to the flock. Chelle waited with Leah near the bramble bush, now showing a crop of ripening berries, which had precipitated her first meeting with Martin. When she called and waved, he closed the distance between them in a few long strides.

“What brings you here?”

His gruff self again. Perhaps he felt a bit awkward about sitting out together so long last night, too. Chelle held his gaze with a hint of a challenge. “It isn’t too soon for Leah to get to know where you work and what you do, is it?”

“Nay, it’s not.” Seeing Leah’s eyes widen with fear as Gyp sniffed at her feet, Martin knelt beside her. “He won’t hurt you, lass. See?” He ran his hand over the dog’s back. “He’s soft.”

Leah reached out and touched the collie’s head, then squealed and held her arms out to her father. Martin swung her up to his shoulders. “Hold on tight. My word, you’re getting heavy.”

“She’s growing so fast.” Chelle glanced down at the dog sitting by Martin’s side. The two worked so well together. Gyp’s energy belied the gray hair on his muzzle. It would be a sad loss to Martin when his old partner had to retire.

“Martin, how old is Gyp?”

“He’s nearly ten now.”

Chelle bent to ruffle the collie’s fur. “We didn’t have a dog for the last few months at home. Our old Molly died, and we didn’t have the heart to replace her. I enjoyed watching the two of you work back there. Was there something wrong with those lambs?”

“Nay. They were born small, so I’ve been keepin’ my eye on them. They’ve picked up well over the summer. As for Gyp, he’s the best dog I’ve ever had. It’s time I got him some help, but I can’t bring myself to do it.”

“It would break his heart if you replaced him.” Chelle fell into step with Martin as he started back toward the farm, holding Leah’s legs to keep her on her perch. She giggled, fisted her hand in his hair and pulled.

“Ouch! You little monkey, that hurt. Aye, Gyp wouldn’t like giving way to a pup, that’s certain.”

Chelle smiled over a pang of jealousy. After all the time they’d spent together, it hurt a little to see Leah warming up to her father so fast. She seemed to sense his affection for her and respond to it instinctively. “She’s taking to you so quickly. It’s as if she wants to make up for lost time.”

“So do I.” Martin slipped back to last night’s reflective tone. “The night she was ill, your father and I had a talk. I was beside myself, thinking how I’d turned my back on my daughter, on Eleanor’s daughter. He said he wondered if he’d done the right thing himself, coming here, leaving your brother behind and taking you away from your home.” Martin paused. “I admire you for sticking by him, Chelle. A lot of girls would have put themselves first with a war coming.”

Where had that come from? It sounded almost as if he knew about Rory, but that couldn’t be unless her father had said something. Chelle hurried to change the subject. “Martin, I hope you’ll let me visit Leah every so often. I’m going to miss her.”

“Aye, and she’ll miss you, too. I’m not fooling myself about that. I suppose there’ll be no harm in you calling every so often.”

Chelle’s heart sank. He sounded a bit grudging. No doubt he’d expect her visits to tail off quickly once Leah settled in. Of course, if he didn’t want her to be part of his daughter’s life, there was nothing she could do about it. It was Chelle’s own fault that she’d allowed herself to get so attached to Leah in the first place, knowing she would have to lose her.

Chapter Nine

Martin stopped by the open door of his daughter’s room and listened. He heard nothing but the little one’s soft breathing. They’d had a time getting Leah to sleep for a few nights after Chelle went home, but tonight he’d put the little one down without a fuss, and she hadn’t wakened.

After two weeks, Martin couldn’t imagine his home or his life without his daughter. She’d soothed the ache of grief deep inside him, and she’d given him back his music. He had no desire to play in public again, but it no longer pained him to play for himself or for her. He came home every night to Leah’s smiles, Jessie’s good food, and his fiddle, and he counted himself content, except for his thoughts of Chelle.

Images of her invaded his mind at random, when he was working, shaving, eating, playing his fiddle. They would fade. He understood what had happened to him the night they’d sat outside together. After eleven months, was it surprising that his body was waking up again? He’d rediscovered his music and full of all the feelings that released, he’d stepped out to tell Chelle to come inside and… he hadn’t carried through.

He’d gotten caught up in her voice with its soft drawl, her scent, her nearness. He’d seen it happen at dances time and time again, couples under the spell of a summer night. Chelle, with those sapphire eyes and those slender curves, would tempt any man. And he sensed she’d felt the attraction between them, too.

She had substance as well as looks. Not every girl would have put her own wishes aside to stand by her father. She’d already lost her mother, and now without her complete understanding, her brother was at war. Martin prayed she wouldn’t lose him as well. As for her lover, that young man must have been a fool not to appreciate Chelle as she deserved.

He heard the front door open, heard Jessie asking someone to come in. Martin closed Leah’s door and went down to find Eleanor’s parents standing there with Jessie.

Damn and damn again.
He’d intended to call on the Paxtons to tell them he’d decided to bring Leah home, but he’d put it off, wanting to get her settled first. Now they’d heard the news elsewhere, and it was plain that they weren’t pleased.

“Hugh, Margaret, I’m glad you’re here. I was going to call on you this week. You know Jessie Mason.”

“We’ve met.” Hugh sent a less than friendly glance in Jessie’s direction. She held his gaze, undaunted until he turned back to Martin.

“So it’s true then, what we heard at church on Sunday? You’ve brought the baby here?”

“Aye, I’ve brought Leah home.” Martin deliberately stressed the word “home” as he gestured toward the sofa. “Sit down. I’m sorry you heard the news elsewhere, but I wanted to see her settled before coming to tell you.”

“Aye, well, that’s as may be, but we also heard you had that brazen niece of Jack McShannon’s staying here.” Stiff with disapproval, Margaret perched on the edge of the sofa beside her husband. Dressed in black merino, she reminded Martin of a grackle with her grating voice and jerky movements. “I’d have thought you’d have better sense.”

Martin opened his mouth to give her a sharp dressing down, but remembering how he’d felt sitting outside with Chelle in the dark, he couldn’t. He’d been questioning the wisdom of asking the girl here ever since she left. “Aye, she was here for a couple of days to help Leah get settled. Miss McShannon knows the wean as well as anyone. Her father and her aunt were willing for her to come, so I saw nothing improper in it.”

Hugh pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed as if gathering his patience. “Martin, you’re nobbut twenty-six. Any time now you’ll be castin’ your eye about for another wife, and that’s as it should be, but we don’t want our granddaughter taking second place behind your new family. And from what we’ve heard and seen of that McShannon girl, she’s not fit to raise Leah. She has no regard for her reputation, and her family lets her do as she pleases, keeping company with folk she ought not to speak to.”

So this was about Chelle. Of course, the Paxtons had heard the same gossip Martin had heard about Chelle’s friendship with Kendra Fulton, and were all too ready to judge. Martin fought back the same anger that had made him sail into Drew Markham at the pub. He didn’t manage to conquer it completely. “I’m not looking for a wife, Hugh. As for Leah, while she was at the forge Miss McShannon was as good to her as Eleanor would have been. Have you troubled yourselves to get to know the lass at all, or have you just listened to a lot of idle tongues wagging?”

Margaret’s sallow face colored. “There’s no need to get your back up. We have a right to be concerned about our granddaughter.”

Martin took a step toward the door. If he didn’t end this now, he knew he’d say something he’d regret. “Aye, you do, so I’ll tell you. I’ll be raising Leah. I want her to know her grandparents, but if that’s to be, you’re going to have to trust me to do what’s best for her. Now, I’ll say goodnight.”

Jessie was beside the Paxtons with their coats as soon as they rose from the sofa. Visibly keeping his temper in check, Hugh held Margaret’s coat for her. “Very well. She’s your child, of course, but we’ll be keeping an eye on her, Martin. Remember that. Goodnight.”

* * *

Sept. 3, 1861

Dear Trey,

Our birthday today. Happy nineteenth. I wish we could throw a party like we did last year, but I’m sure you’ll find a way to celebrate, if only you’re well and safe.

I know Dad’s written to you since we got your letter telling us you’d enlisted, but I haven’t. I couldn’t. I didn’t want to believe you’d chosen sides against our friends, that you’d cut yourself off from home completely, but I’ve thought about it, and I understand. I’m proud of you. But oh, I hate to think of next spring when you’ll be sent into battle. Do you suppose there’s any hope the war will end before then?

Chelle looked up at the sound of little Peter laughing downstairs. It was good to hear. He’d been out of sorts since Martin had taken Leah home.

Things are much the same here, except that little Leah Rainnie is no longer staying with us. She was sick a few weeks ago and frightened us all badly, but the old bromide about an ill wind proved its truth. The scare brought her father to his senses, and he decided to take Leah home. I spent a couple of days at his farm helping her settle in, and I have to say he isn’t the unfeeling man I took him to be. I think you’d like him.

Trey, we’ve both had difficult choices to make. Do you still feel that you made the right one? I do, though I can’t help wondering if Rory is safe and if he thinks
he
made the right choice.

I’m looking forward to the day when I can visit you out west, and we can celebrate our birthday together again. Until then, I’m sending you a glimmer of moonlight on the creek at home. Can’t you just see it? We’ll always be able to, whether we’re ever there again or not.

As always,

Chelle

Chelle folded her letter, thinking of all the things she wanted to know, but couldn’t ask Trey without annoying him. Was there any sickness in his camp? Was the food decent? How were his fellow recruits treating him as a Southerner in their midst? Did he lie awake at night, thinking of what lay before him?

She looked out at the gray, wet September afternoon. Autumn came much earlier here than it did in Georgia. The nights were already growing cool, the leaves showing a hint of color here and there. If her father hadn’t exaggerated, the winter would be something to reckon with. For the first time in her life, Chelle dreaded the spring that would follow, when Trey would be sent into battle.

Peter laughed again, giving her a pang of loneliness for Leah. Chelle had seen the little girl a couple of times since leaving the farm, and she seemed happy. “As she should be,” Jessie said. “Martin is setting about spoiling the child until salt won’t save her.”

When Chelle repeated that to Caroline, she responded with an indulgent smile. “He can’t see anything but Leah right now, but that’ll change ere long. He’s healing in spite of himself. Give him another year and he’ll be looking for a new wife, just wait and see.”

Chelle hadn’t seen Martin since her stay at the farm. He was never in the house when she visited, but her heart still beat a little faster when she remembered sitting with him in the dark, the scent of his pipe wafting around them, his nearness so palpable they could have been touching. As little time as they’d spent together, Chelle wouldn’t forget him. Would he marry again soon? It would be best for Leah if he did, so she’d have a mother and brothers and sisters… Chelle shook off the loneliness that came with the thought and ran downstairs to help get supper.

The rain continued into the evening. When Chelle went to bed, she lay listening to the soft hiss of water against her window, until it became the sound of the ivy rattling against the front window at home. Then the sound faded, and the familiar room became a farm field, green and peaceful under a bright blue sky.

* * *

Only the field’s peace was an illusion, its silence the ghastly aftermath of battle. Bodies lay piled like cordwood along a pole fence, with others scattered over the land as if dropped there by some obscenely cruel hand.

Rory. You have to find him. Chelle focused all her will on putting one foot in front of the other until she came to the first gray-clad form in her path. A blond boy no older than eighteen, he stared sightlessly up at the sun, part of his face shot away. Chelle fought to quell her churning stomach and moved on. The next man, bearded and forty-odd, clutched a tintype in his hand. She didn’t stop to see the faces of his loved ones. Somewhere in this carnage, she had to find Rory.

The third man in her path wore blue. Dark-haired, he lay on his stomach, his arms flung out to his sides. As she reached him, Chelle saw his back lift slightly. He was breathing.

She stopped, turned him over, sank to her knees with a cry. Trey’s eyes, barely conscious, looked up at her. Blood soaked the front of his uniform jacket.

Choking panic rose in Chelle’s throat. Then she was sitting up in bed in a sheen of cold moonlight, shaking, gasping for breath.

She’d just managed to light her lamp with trembling fingers when the door opened, and her father peered around it. “Are you all right, lass? I heard you call out.”

“Yes, I’m all right. I had a bad dream. I’m sorry I woke you.”

He came in and sat on the end of her bed. The moonlight picked up the decorative stitching on the cuffs of his nightshirt. Chelle’s mother had taught her that stitch while she made the nightshirt, two or three winters ago. Her father put his arm around her. “What was it, then?”

Describing her dream brought back all of its horror. It seemed to touch her father, too. She saw it in his eyes, so like her own.

“Dad, don’t look like that. It was only a dream.”

He held her close for a long moment. “Exactly. Forget it and go back to sleep, lass.” But he still looked troubled when he rose and left her.

Chelle did her best to forget the nightmare, but the images were too vivid. She lay awake until the sky began to lighten, then blew out the lamp and fell into an uneasy sleep.

She woke to find the sun up and voices rising from the kitchen where Caroline and Jean were getting breakfast. Tired and muzzy-headed, Chelle washed and dressed. By the time she took her place at the table, everyone else was already eating. “I’m sorry I’m late, Aunt. I didn’t sleep well. I had a bad dream.”

Jack looked up from his ham and eggs. “What was it, lass?”

Every detail of the dream was still horribly fresh in her mind, but she shrank from the thought of describing it again. “I dreamed I was on a battlefield. I think I’ll go for a walk after breakfast to clear my head.”

Caroline set a plate in front of her. “There’s the butter to go to Martin if you like.”

Jack gave Chelle’s father a thoughtful look. “Mam used to have strange dreams sometimes. Do you remember, Colin?”

He kept his gaze on his plate. “I remember.”

“Aye. She was one of those folk who seem to know things sometimes without being told. We young ones knew better than to even think about lying to her. People said she had a touch of ‘the sight.’”

Chelle’s hands turned to ice. She glanced at her father, but he wouldn’t meet her gaze. He didn’t have to. The way he’d looked at her last night when she described her dream made sense now. He was wondering if she’d inherited his mother’s “sight,” if her dream meant that Trey was destined to be hurt or killed. And Rory, she hadn’t found Rory. Did that mean he was already dead?

The pain that followed the thought took Chelle by surprise. Rory was already lost to her, but…

But somewhere deep in her heart, without realizing it, she’d harbored a hope that someday, they’d be able to bridge the gap between their backgrounds and beliefs and be together.

No, Chelle. It isn’t going to happen. It’s time you accepted that.

Perhaps that was her dream’s purpose, to force her to face the truth. She wouldn’t believe anything else. Chelle worried down a few mouthfuls of her breakfast, then rose. “I’m not hungry at all. I need some fresh air.”

She found Martin’s butter in the pantry and set off. Since Leah had gone home, Chelle had taken over the task of delivering the butter to the farm. It gave her an excuse to see Leah once a week, if only for a few minutes. Until she heard from Martin that he wanted her to, she wouldn’t stay longer.