Heart of the Ocean (25 page)

Jon’s hand reached for hers, and Eliza threaded their
fingers together. The only sound above her pounding heart was the crashing surf
a few dozen paces from the grave marker.

Helena
Talbot

1798-1819

Rest
in Peace

Eliza’s parents, Mr. Doughty, the constable, and several of
the townspeople had left the graveside service, and now only Eliza and Jon
remained. The headstone stood tall and elegant, like a buttress against the
wind off the ocean and any future storm that might come. 

Helena Talbot was at last buried properly. Jon had dug a
small plot near the lighthouse, the place where he said his mother used to
watch for his father’s return. The wind was cool today, and it stirred the
cloak Eliza wore over her white dress and lifted wisps of hair about her face.

Gus’s body had washed out to sea, and Ruth was in jail,
awaiting trial. Knowing what was in Helena’s journal about Gus Senior, Eliza
understood part of Ruth’s motivation—she wanted to protect her brother, as
wrong as it was for him to kill Helena before she could leave him. But still,
Eliza didn’t understand why Ruth had decided to raise Jon. The only thing she
could guess at was that Ruth suffered guilt, or she didn’t blame Jon for his
mother’s actions.

Eliza and Jon had both written and signed statements to be
read in court so they wouldn’t have to appear and testify. Their involvement
was finally over.

He released Eliza’s hand and stepped behind her, his arms
coming around her waist. She leaned back against his solid chest and closed her
eyes.

“Thank you for staying with me,” Jon said, his mouth close
to her ear.

His warm breath sent a tremor through Eliza’s body, and she
smiled. “I don’t want to be anywhere you aren’t.”

His hands tightened about her waist, and his lips tickled
her neck.

“Do you think she’s happy now?” Eliza said.

“Yes,” Jon said in a quiet voice. “Maybrook feels different.
I believe it’s because my mother is finally at peace.”

“I believe it too. The first time she spoke to me, she told
me to jump off the cliff.” Eliza turned in Jon’s arms to face him with a smile.
She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze. Raising her hand, she smoothed the
concern from his face. “Don’t worry. She became more friendly once she got to
know me.”

Jon’s expression softened, and Eliza could hardly believe
this wasn’t all a dream sometimes—standing here, in Jon’s arms, with him
looking at her like this. “If she’s watching, would she be pleased about our
engagement?”

One side of Jon’s mouth lifted. “How could she not?” He
lowered his head and brushed his lips against hers.

The touch of his mouth was divine, and Eliza wrapped her
arms around his waist then laid her head against his chest. “What if she
protests the wedding?”

Jon’s hands moved up her back, then to her shoulders. His
fingers touched her neck. “We’ll find out soon enough.” He started to undo the
bun she’d twisted her hair into.

“Jon, what are you doing?” She drew away, until she could
see him properly.

He paused, looking into her eyes; Eliza felt the heat of
his gaze envelope her body. His gaze still intent on her, he finished undoing
her hair. It tumbled nearly to her waist.

“I think that had my mother lived long enough to meet you,”
he said, “she would have fully approved of her daughter-in-law.”

Jon’s fingers tangled into her hair, but Eliza was having a
hard time focusing on their conversation. “How can you really know?” She never
wanted the nightmares to return.

“Because,” he said, dipping his head toward hers, “she came
to you for help. She knew she could trust you.”

Eliza reached her hands up and placed them on each side of
Jon’s face. It was remarkable to think that during the night they’d spent in jail,
she thought he hated her. But now, she understood. The darkness in his eyes had
been the pain of losing both of his parents and growing up as a lonely soul.

“You look too serious,” he said, brushing his lips against
her neck.

Eliza let a smile escape. “I’m so glad you rescued me that
night.”

He lifted his head and looked at her, his brown eyes warm
and intense at the same time. “You rescued me too. You are everything to me,
Eliza.”

She stared at him for a moment. “I love you,” she whispered.
Her hands moved behind his neck, and she lifted up on her toes to meet his
lips.

His kiss was warm and patient. She knew he was holding back.
It would not be much longer before they’d become husband and wife. Eliza
released her hold on him and stepped away, then grasped his hands.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

She nodded, tears burning her eyes. She blinked them back
and stooped to pick up a basket of cut flowers she’d brought with her to the
grave. Jon took several flowers from it then walked to the headstone. He knelt
in the newly turned earth and placed the flowers at the base of the stone. He
lifted one hand and rested it on top of the stone.

Eliza joined Jon at the headstone. She spread the rest of
the flowers at the base of the headstone, then knelt next to him, careful that
her cloak covered the white of her dress so it wouldn’t be soiled. The wind
stalled, and it seemed for a moment as if nothing moved, that she and Jon were
surrounded by the lightest air possible.

“Good-bye, Mother,” Jon whispered. “Rest in peace.” His hand
reached for Eliza’s, and together they bowed their heads.

A few moments later, they stood, and Jon led her away from
the burial plot, away from the cliffs and the ocean, to the waiting wagon. Jon
handed her up to the bench as the wind stirred again, but Eliza welcomed the
salty breeze. It lifted her hair from her neck and bathed her face in coolness.

Jon climbed up beside her and flicked the reins. The wagon
lurched forward then rumbled toward the road leading into town. Eliza turned
for a final look at the gravesite. Three doves had landed among the flowers,
settling their snow-white bodies among the petals as if grateful to have found
a soft resting place.

Jon turned his head, following Eliza’s gaze. Then he faced
forward again, draping one arm around Eliza and pulling her close.

The ride to the Meeting House was quiet. The road seemed to
be deserted—everyone must be in their fields or homes. Eliza gazed at each tree
and expanse of road with fondness, a lump in her throat at all that had
happened—cherished memories as well as things she wanted to forget.

When Jon reined the horse to a stop in front of the Meeting
House, he helped Eliza down without a word. His eyes were moist, and Eliza knew
that if she said anything, her own eyes would tear up.

Hand in hand, they walked to the open doors. Inside the
Meeting House, a hush fell over the gathered assembly. It was a small group,
just as Eliza and Jon had wished. Eliza’s parents were there, as were Gina and
her parents, Mr. Doughty, and the constable.

The magistrate stood at the head of the room, his expression
as austere as his black robes.

Eliza’s father rose from his seat at the front of the room
and walked up the aisle. When he reached them, he shook Jon’s hand, then kissed
her on her cheek. She slipped her cloak off and set it on the back bench, then
linked her arm through her father’s.

Together they waited while Jon walked up the aisle and stood
on one side of the magistrate. Then she and her father made their own journey
between the pews to the magistrate. Tears burned at the back of her eyes. She
heard her mother sniffle somewhere on the side of the aisle, but Eliza only
watched Jon as she approached.

His smile was soft, his eyes tender as she neared him.
Finally when she stood in front of the magistrate, her father released her and
stepped away.

“Jonathan Porter, Jr.” the magistrate said. “Doest thou take
Elizabeth May Robinson to be thy wife?”

Her eyes gazed into his.

“Yes, I do,” he said, his voice sure and strong.

Eliza felt the magistrate turn toward her, but she couldn’t
look away from Jon.

“Eliza May Robinson, doest thou accept Jonathan Porter
Junior as thy husband?” the magistrate said.

She stared into Jon’s eyes, seeing into his soul, knowing
this was all she ever wanted and all she ever wanted to be. “Yes, I do,” she
whispered.

“By the law of Massachusetts, thou art now husband and
wife.”

Jon held his hand out to Eliza, and she placed it in his.

They had married in the very building Jon’s mother would
have married his father in, had Mr. Porter come back for Helena. It seemed
only fitting that Eliza and Jon marry in Maybrook—in the place they’d met and
in the place that Helena was finally given rest.

Eliza didn’t want a high-society wedding, surrounded by the
eyes of New York City. Her marriage was to be a private, sacred thing, one only
she and Jon, with those they loved most, witnessed.

Jon tugged Eliza toward him, ignoring the solemn gaze of the
magistrate. Before anyone could give their congratulations, Jon pulled her into
his arms.  “I love you,” he whispered into her ear, then kissed her in front of
everyone.

When he drew away, her lips practically burned. The
magistrate had stepped well out of the way, and Eliza was swept up in
congratulations by Gina and her parents. Her mother came forward and embraced
her, saying, “It’s not too late to plan a reception in New York. We can keep it
as small as you like.”

“Mother, our steamship tickets are already purchased.”

Her mother’s eyes watered as she blinked rapidly, and Eliza
drew her into a hug again. “We’ll only be gone through the summer.”

They planned to spend their honeymoon in Europe before
returning to New York. They hadn’t decided whether or not they’d settle in the city
or purchase an estate in the country, although Jon didn’t want to become too
scarce, as he’d recently joined Mr. Robinson in a new business partnership.

Jon moved to her side, and his hand touched the small of her
back. He leaned down. “Ready, Mrs. Porter?”

She smiled up at him. “I’m ready.”

“Not before you say good-bye,” her father interrupted.

Eliza laughed and turned to her father, hugging him. Tears
budded in her eyes, and when her father released her, she swiped them away. She
grasped Jon’s hand, and they retrieved her cloak from the back of the room then
walked out of the Meeting House. The clouds had darkened, and the wind had
grown stronger.

In the spot where their wagon had been was a sleek black
carriage equipped with two horses. A driver climbed down from the seat and
opened the carriage door.

“Jon, how did you arrange this?” Eliza asked, as the first
raindrops fell from the sky.

He smiled. “It’s one of many surprises you’ll find along the
way.”

Eliza wanted to kiss him right there and then, but she
turned instead and waved good-bye to everyone. Large drops splashed onto the
ground, and Jon ushered her into the carriage.

The ride to Boston Harbor would be long, and an open wagon
would have been quite miserable, especially now that it was starting to rain.
Besides a closed carriage offered more privacy. The driver shut the door.
Instead of sitting on the opposite seat, Jon sat next to her.

It was their first moment alone as husband and wife.
Nervousness bubbled inside her. “I can’t believe we’re married,” she said,
wondering what it would be like to be with Jon, truly with him.

Jon’s brown eyes were intent on hers. “Thank you for saying
yes.” He grasped her hand and turned it over, then brought her palm to his lips
then pressed another kiss on her wrist.

Warmth shivered through her, traveling up her arm, onto her
neck and face.

“Are you blushing, Mrs. Porter?” Jon said, his tone
definitely amused.

“Perhaps,” Eliza said. “Close your eyes, Mr. Porter.”

His lips turned up, his brown eyes steady. “Now why would I
want to do that?”

“So I can do this,” Eliza whispered, touching his cheek with
her hand, then pressing her mouth to his. She kissed him, a feeling both
familiar and new at the same time. They were now married, and that changed
everything.

This time his kisses weren’t patient. While the rain drummed
outside of the carriage, soaking everything in sight, inside the carriage was
like a blissful cocoon, and Eliza knew she would very much enjoy being Jon
Porter’s wife.

Dear Reader,

If you enjoyed
Heart of the Ocean
, please consider
posting a review of the book on Amazon, Goodreads, Barnes & Noble, or
Smashwords. Reviews will help spread the word. Also, please feel free to email
me—I’d love to hear from you:
[email protected]

Thank you for reading!

For more romances by Heather B. Moore, visit her Amazon
Author page:

http://www.amazon.com/Heather-B.-Moore/e/B007HLYZ6A/

For more historical novels under her pen name, H.B. Moore,
visit:

http://www.amazon.com/H.-B.-Moore/e/B001K8942Q/

Heather B. Moore is the author of nine historical novels,
written under the pen name H.B. Moore (so men will buy her books). She’s the
two-time recipient of the Best in State Award for Literary Arts in Fiction, and
the two-time Whitney Award winner for Best Historical. Heather is also a
co-author of the Newport Ladies Book Club series (2012), and the author of the
inspirational Christian book,
Christ’s Gifts to Women
. These co-authored
works are written under her real name (so women will buy them).

Heather owns and manages the freelance editing company
Precision Editing Group, just because she isn’t busy enough. Her editing website is
www.precisioneditinggroup.com

Heather lives in the shadow of Mt. Timpanogos with her
husband, four children, and one pretentious cat. In her spare time, Heather
sleeps.

Author website:
www.hbmoore.com

Blog:
http://mywriterslair.blogspot.com/

Twitter: @HeatherBMoore

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