Heart of the Ocean (12 page)

Glancing about the room, Thomas said, “You know where to
reach me, Mr. Porter, if you decide to change your mind. I’m sure we can agree
on a price we’ll both be happy with.” He rose awkwardly and lumbered across the
floor. “Good evening, sir. I’ll see myself out.”

The door shut behind him, and Jon stared at it for some
time. He’d just been grossly insulted.

Eliza spent the day showing her mother the sights of
Maybrook. It was a strange time. Eliza was still young, yet her station had
risen, but the cutting remarks from her mother said she was somehow jealous of
Eliza. How could her mother envy a run-down cottage, crumbling lighthouse, and
fallow farmland? But her father had told her that the property was valuable,
especially to non-Puritans who were encroaching on every side of Maybrook,
buying up land where they could.

On the third morning, Eliza and her mother sat at the
kitchen table with a list between them of all the items in Maeve’s house and
their approximate value.

A light scoff came from her mother. “There’s nothing of real
worth, except for the land. Your father said it might be best to sell that right
away.”

“Wouldn’t he rather wait until the scandal has died down?” Eliza
tried to keep the edge out of her voice.

Her mother looked up sharply. “We want to do what’s best for
you. This town is becoming smaller and less desirable. You’ll only get decent
money out of it from an investor.”

“I don’t think Maeve would have wanted it sold off that
way,” Eliza said.

“Then sell it to some foolish Puritan who values the
secluded farm life.” She said with a wave of her hand. “How about the Prann
family? You seem to be on friendly terms with them.”

Eliza was sure that Nathaniel would be more than delighted
to take over the property, if a bride were to be thrown into the bargain. But
she doubted he could afford to buy it.

The sound of an approaching wagon caused both women to rise
and look out the window.

“Speak of the devil, Mother. It’s about time you met one of
the Pranns.”

Eliza hurried to open the front door before her mother could
answer. “Nathaniel, come in and meet my mother,” she called out brightly.

Nathaniel tipped his hat and climbed down from the wagon.
His face glowed with pleasure, no doubt at the friendly greeting. Eliza felt a
twinge of guilt. He looked even younger than he was, now that Eliza saw him
through her mother’s eyes. He also looked completely unsophisticated.

“I’ve brought some fresh vegetables from my mother’s
garden,” he said.

Introductions were made, and Nathaniel was invited to stay
for tea. Eliza inwardly smiled at the way her mother appraised him. By New York
standards, he looked like a common country boy—uneducated, with only the price
of cows on his mind. In reality, Nathaniel was well-versed in Greek, Latin, and
Bible study. Eliza watched the pair with amusement.

“Your father’s been a farmer all his life, and his father
before him?” her mother asked.

“Yes, ma’am. It’s in our blood and has been even before my
great-grandfather came across the ocean in 1620,” Nathaniel explained and
gulped down some tea.

“He farmed in England?”

Eliza could have pinched her mother. She acted as if no one
respectable farmed.

“Yes, ma’am, in a village near Portsmouth.”

Mrs. Robinson nodded as if she were familiar with the
regions skirting London. “And you’ll be a farmer too, I presume? Take over the
family property?”

Nathaniel looked a bit uncomfortable at the direct question.
“In our town, when the parents pass, the children divide up the inheritance
equally. I’m not one for squabbling with my siblings over land. My father is
set on me going to Cambridge and replacing the Reverend someday.”

Mrs. Robinson’s mouth rounded. “Cambridge? Well, who would
have suspected?”

This was news to Eliza—he’d never talked about college
before. Her mother’s sting eluded Nathaniel, and he smiled in response.

“Would a reverend be able to care for a property such as
this?” her mother asked.

Nathaniel’s eyes widened, and he looked at Eliza. Her mother
could hardly know what sort of ideas she was giving him.

Her mother continued with a few more questions, and by the
time Nathaniel took his leave, Eliza saw that her mother was very satisfied with
herself, thinking Nathaniel a potential buyer.

As the two women stood on the porch waving goodbye, Eliza
turned and said, “Mother, you don’t understand.”

“What do you mean?” Her hand rose automatically to her hair,
checking for flyaway strands.

“Nathaniel is only interested in this land for one reason.”

Her mother’s hand stopped mid-primping. She settled her
steady gaze onto Eliza. “What reason is that, dear?”

“He’s asked me to marry him.” She watched the expression on
her mother’s face register her words.

“What did you say?” her mother asked faintly, her face
draining of color.

“I told him we were too young.”

Mrs. Robinson grabbed Eliza’s arm and pulled her close. “You
didn’t make any promises, did you?”

“Of course not. You know my record of turning down
proposals.” She turned away and stared at the roof of the barn. She felt her
mother’s stare penetrating from behind her.

“Do you think the Pranns might purchase this land without
you becoming Nathaniel’s bride?”

Eliza bit her lip to keep from crying out. It was so typical
of her mother to think only of money. “I don’t think the Pranns know of their
son’s intentions towards me. I’m sure they’d be as horrified as you.”

Mrs. Robinson began to protest, but Eliza went back into the
kitchen and started clearing tea from the table.

***

Later that night, after her mother had retired for the
evening, Eliza lit two candles at the kitchen table. With Helena’s journal
opened, she continued to read the turbulent events.

April 5, 1815. I’ve been locked in the high constable’s
barn for three days. Goodwife Wheyland has brought me quilts and food. I see
pity in her eyes when she looks at me. I loathe that pity. When I asked
Goodwife Wheyland what’s to happen to me, she told me about the whipping post
and the pillory. But she thought both punishments would be too harsh for a
woman in my delicate condition.

Oh, I long for Jonathan and his warm brown eyes and
strong embrace. He would take me away from this horrible place and care for me
and our child. I would give anything to send word to him, to tell him what has
happened. I know that he would leave his post immediately and come reinstate my
honor by marrying me.

Why can’t my mother be as compassionate? She has not been
to see me yet, although my father comes twice a day.

Oh, God, I ask thee for forgiveness. How can something so
beautiful be a sin? How long does thy punishment need to continue? I am in the
depths of despair and feel like I’m already in hell.

Eliza’s hand trembled as she turned the page—reading the
words felt as if she were looking into the very soul of another. She felt
unworthy to read such honest and tormented words. But she couldn’t tear herself
away.

April 9, 1815. Yesterday was my trial before the town
magistrate. My sentence seemed too light to the brazen onlookers, but it was
the worst I could have imagined. I am to live in seclusion in my parents’ house
until the birth—the most awful jail imaginable. No one is allowed to see my
growing form, lest it be a bad example for the other girls. I’ve become a
prisoner in my own house. My mother won’t speak to me. Her silence pierces my
heart.

May 1, 1815. I spend all day in bed, regardless of the
sharp words my mother uses. Yes, she is talking to me again, but only to
reprimand. I cannot exist without Jonathan’s love any longer. Where is he? Why
hasn’t he come for me? I am leaving tonight and moving into the abandoned
cottage by the old lighthouse—one owned by the O’Brien family, who left for
England and haven’t returned for years. I will leave a note for my parents, but
I’m sure they won’t persuade me to return. I hope they will leave me alone.

Eliza stared at the flickering candles for a moment. So that
was how Helena came to live in her Aunt Maeve’s cottage. Helena had run away
from home, although not far, to escape her mother’s relentless judgment. What a
lonesome life Helena must have lived, carrying a child with no one to help.

***

The next morning, Eliza rose well before her mother to
prepare breakfast. When her mother appeared, she looked surprised to see that
Eliza had already laid the table with an appetizing spread.

“This is a nice final meal,” Mrs. Robinson said.

“Are you going somewhere?” Eliza asked.

“We are returning to New York today. I thought about it last
night, and I think it’s for the best.” She held up her hand when Eliza started
to protest. “I know you wanted to stay longer and that you’re fond of this
place, but there’s nothing here of value except the land. And you certainly
don’t have any promising future in this town. Once we reach New York, we’ll
hire someone to sell the place, and we’ll put the money into a trust fund until
you come of age.”

Eliza looked at her mother in amazement. “What about the
gossip columns? Are your friends ready to accept your wayward daughter?”

“Your status has undoubtedly been raised, Eliza. Remember, you
are a woman of independent means now . . . Well, once we get this awful place
sold and have something to show for it besides dirt.”

How could her mother be so cold? Her mother sent her to this
place to hide her from shame, yet now that she had inherited property, she was
worthy to be among those whom her mother revered?

“I’m not coming with you,” Eliza choked out.

“What did you say?” Her mother narrowed her eyes, daring
Eliza to defy her.

“I’m not coming with you to live among those hypocrites.”

Mrs. Robinson pointed a trembling finger at Eliza. “You’re
still under my care, young lady, and you will obey your mother.”

“Just as I obeyed you and came to this place? You were
embarrassed to have me around, and now that I own property, you are anxious to
show me off.” She folded her arms as angry tears slipped down her face.

Gripping the chair in front of her, Mrs. Robinson’s knuckles
turned white. “We’ll be leaving in one hour.”

***

Eliza loaded her mother’s bags into the wagon and climbed
into the driver’s seat. Her mother’s face was pale and drawn. Eliza settled
next to her and urged the horse forward. Mile after mile they traveled in
silence, until they reached the train station.

Mrs. Robinson alighted and called for the porter to unload
her baggage. She turned and followed him into the station, without so much as a
backward glance at her daughter.

Watching her mother disappear into the train station, Eliza
had mixed feelings. She hated her mother’s remonstrations, but it was better
than hearing them constantly. Besides, Eliza wasn’t ready to face New York
City.

Did Helena have the same mixed feelings when she’d left her
parents’ home?       

As soon as she reached the cottage after delivering her
mother to the train station, Eliza walked into the hearth room and tossed her
shawl onto the sofa. The past three days with her mother had left her drained
and exhausted. She sank onto the sofa and closed her eyes. She’d have to write
Jon again—she hadn’t sent the journal with her mother after all. Eliza hadn’t
been able to finish reading it with her mother around, and she didn’t trust
that her mother wouldn’t open the package out of curiosity.

The sound of footsteps on the porch startled her. When a
knock came, she flinched. Opening the door, she saw the constable standing on
the other side of the threshold.

“Good morrow, Miss,” he said, tipping his hat.

Eliza nodded in greeting. “Can I help you?”

“I’m afraid I have bad news.”

Eliza drew her breath in sharply. “Has something happened
to my mother?”

“Not that I know of. I’ve come to inform thee that we are
reopening the investigation into thy aunt’s death.”

“Why?” A gnawing began in her stomach.

“It appears that the man whom we thought guilty of her
murder couldn’t have done it,” he said. “He happened to be in Hartford,
Connecticut, committing a similar crime.”

“Oh,” was all she could say. She gripped the door frame,
feeling her knees start to give.

The constable’s mouth pulled into a tight line. “Thou hast
better stay somewhere else for a while.”

“But why would someone want to kill my aunt?” she asked
faintly.

“Perhaps they thought she had money or other valuables stashed
somewhere, and when she awoke, they . . .” He stopped.

Tears burned in her eyes.       

The constable’s face softened with compassion. “Is there
someone thou couldst stay with? I don’t think it’s safe for thee to be in this
house alone until we’ve found the murderer.”

In a daze, she nodded. “Yes, I can stay with someone. Thank
you.” Watching him leave, she walked out onto the porch and sank onto the
steps. What did the murderer want? Money? Anyone familiar with Maeve would know
of her simple life. Killing her for money didn’t make sense. The closest
neighbor was Ruth, surely the woman would welcome Eliza for the night. She
decided it was time to pay Ruth a visit. She entered the barn and gathered some
eggs to take with her and was surprised to hear another horse approaching.

Stepping out of the barn, she shielded her eyes against the
sun to see who the rider was. “Nathaniel.”

He climbed down from the horse and took off his hat. “Good
afternoon, Eliza.”

She squinted up at him. “What brings you here?”

“I’ve a business proposition for thee and thy mother,” he
said.

“Have you? You’ll have to write my mother a letter then.”

“Did she return to New York?”

“Yes, this very afternoon,” she said, lowering her eyes. “We
don’t seem to agree on much.”

“Does that mean thou are staying in Maybrook?”

Eliza chuckled. “Not exactly, Nathaniel. I don’t belong to
this way of life. I’ll have to return home eventually.”

But his eyes were still dancing with pleasure.

“All right.” She put her hands on her hips. “Tell me the
proposition.”

Nathaniel glanced around the yard and twisted his hat in his
hands. “Uh, I was hoping to present it to both thee and thy mother.”

Eliza cocked her head to one side. “And why is that?”

Nathaniel reddened and kicked at the dirt.

“So that she could convince me to say yes to the
proposition?”

He stared at her. “H-how didst thou know?”

Eliza shrugged and walked over to the porch. She sat on the
top step and waited for Nathaniel to join her.

He stepped over and sat a comfortable distance from her.
Finally he stole a glance in her direction and said, “Do you really want to
hear it?” But her thoughts were far away. “Eliza?”

She turned and looked at him. “The constable stopped by
today.”

“What did he want?”

“The transient who they thought killed my aunt couldn’t have
possibly been in Maybrook on the night of her death.”

Nathaniel reached across the step and took her hand, but Eliza
gently pulled away.

He sighed. “Thou must come and stay at our house tonight.
Thou aren’t safe here.”

“I know,” she whispered, looking down at her feet. “But I
already have a place to stay.”

“Pray tell,” he said.

“Ruth’s.”

“The spinster? It won’t be any safer than here,” Nathaniel
protested.

“It’s already been arranged.” At least she hoped Ruth would
take her in. Eliza rose and brushed imaginary dust off of her skirt. With her
back to him she said, “Tell me about the proposition.”

The air between them was silent for a moment. Then, “It
doesn’t seem right at a time like this to speak about business.”

“Of course not. It can wait.”

Nathaniel rose and walked over to her, grasping her hands.
Eliza stiffened at the warm pressure of his palms and the scent of sweet hay in
his clothes.

“I hope thou knowest my marriage proposal is still open,” he
said, leaning forward. “I love thee more each day.”

Eliza moved away, and Nathaniel’s hands dropped. She turned
and stared into the distance, seeing nothing. Why did he have to be so
persistent? “I’m sorry, Nathaniel,” she said finally. “I’m not ready to make a
commitment to anyone, especially someone as good as you.”

“But—”

Eliza faced him, her tears brimming. “You deserve someone
who loves you back.”

Nathaniel stood still for a long time looking at her, as if
memorizing every detail of her appearance, sadness in his gaze. Then he walked
past her and mounted his horse.

Wrapping her arms about her, Eliza watched the dust billow
behind him as he galloped away. She blinked until the stinging stopped.

***     

Eliza packed a small bundle of clothing and put the eggs on
the seat next to her. The evening shadows were quickly enveloping the road as
she drove the wagon to Ruth’s house. Before leaving, she double-checked the
locks and made sure the windows were secured.

A candle glimmered in Ruth’s front window like a miniature
beacon in a sea of descending darkness. Eliza had no doubt that she would be
welcomed into the kind woman’s home for the night.

Knocking on the door, Eliza glanced furtively about. She
supposed that Ruth could also be a target, but it was quite well known within
the Puritan community that Ruth wasn’t any better off than Maeve had been. The
door opened with a loud squeak, and the hunched woman appeared with a shawl
clutched about her shoulders, her eyes as round as saucers.

“Hello, ma’am. It’s Eliza,” she said.

“What are thou doing out at this time of night?” Ruth asked.

“May I come in?”

The door opened wider, and Eliza stepped into the dim
interior. The room felt quite different than the last time she’d been inside.
Then it had seemed bright and cheerful in the morning light. “Are thou hungry?”
the wizened woman asked.

Eliza shook her head. “I need a place to stay for a few nights.”

“Thou are welcome to stay here, child.”

“Thank you.” She followed Ruth into the sitting room and
settled next to the fire. Ruth picked up a ball of yarn and resumed her
knitting. She remained silent, waiting for Eliza to speak.

“The constable came this afternoon,” Eliza began.

Ruth nodded as her needles clicked.

Eliza watched the sparks crackle in the fire. “He’s trying
to find my aunt’s murderer.”

Ruth looked up from her knitting. “I thought the murderer
was found.”

“It turns out that it couldn’t have been the person that was
first accused.”

“That’s why thou hast come here then?” Ruth asked. “Don’t
worry about your safety here. We’ll be fine.”

Eliza nodded numbly and stared into the fire. Not until
today did she want to leave Maybrook. The emotion from Maeve’s death, funeral,
and now the reopened investigation, had left her empty.

“Art thou feeling well?” Ruth asked.

Eliza sighed. “I’m wrung out.”

“Perhaps you could read the letter I received from Jonny
today,” Ruth said.

Eliza raised her eyes suddenly.

“Ah, I thought that might interest thee. Thou can read it to
me,” Ruth said.

“Haven’t you read it?” Eliza asked.

“Alas, no. I misplaced my spectacles.” Ruth drew out a
folded envelope from her apron pocket and handed it over.

Eliza took the envelope. The writing on it was now familiar
to her—dark and bold, like the writer himself.             Withdrawing the
letter, Eliza began to read. The words were common enough, asking about how
Ruth was doing and offering monetary assistance. Halfway into it, she stopped
reading.

“Continue, dear,” Ruth instructed.

Eliza exhaled then began.

Apryl spent the weekend at Mr. Thomas Beesley’s country
estate, and I joined her there on my return. It was in a pleasant location, but
unfortunately I wasn’t able to enjoy the visit. Apryl and I traveled home
together, and her parents rode in my carriage. It was nice to have some private
time with my fiancée without her inquisitive parents. I can always feel Mr.
Maughan itching to ask what my father’s estate is worth.

Eliza’s chest tightened. Jon had gone to Thomas Beesley’s
estate? Were they fast friends now? She groaned inwardly. What an unbelievable
coincidence. Had they shared a good laugh about her at the Beesley estate—Jon,
Thomas, the Maughans, and . . . his fiancée? Then the other part finally sank in.

He’s engaged
.

She looked at Ruth. “Who’s Apryl?”

Ruth chuckled. “That’s an interesting question with an
interesting answer. Apryl Maughan is Jonny’s fiancée. But from what I’ve heard
of her, the pair couldn’t be more ill-matched.”

Eliza tried to ignore her tumultuous thoughts and focus on
what Ruth was saying.

“I never thought I’d see Jonny get engaged so soon after law
school,” Ruth continued. “Aye, the boy has always had ambition, and he knows
that to work underneath the public eye, things at home must be in order.”

“What do you mean?” Eliza asked.

“He wants to enter politics . . . mayor, governor, congress,
something like that. And a man who has a high-society wife and a strapping son
or two will rise in leadership. Thou knowest that entertaining dignitaries and
peers is an integral part of a public career. A bachelor can’t accomplish that
on his own.”

“Are you saying it’s to be a marriage of convenience?”

“I can’t say exactly, child, since I’ve never met Apryl. Any
girl in her right mind would fall for a handsome man such as my Jonny, right?”
Her eyes gleamed.

Eliza smiled, feeling flushed. “Ruth, for living in Maybrook,
you sure know a lot about the outside world.”

Ruth placed the knitting needles into her lap and sighed.
“When thou reaches my age, thou wilt realize that every society is governed by
the same ideologies.”

“And what are those?” Eliza asked.

“Money and religious persuasion.”