Love's Awakening (The Ballantyne Legacy Book #2): A Novel (20 page)

She set off beneath a half-cast sky, clouds tumbling across the expanse of endless blue. A vast meadow stretched before her, dotted with black merino and Leicester longwool sheep, the shaggy briards her father preferred moving amidst the flocks.

When she was small, they’d had a briard pup who’d thought her a lamb, herding her this way and that when she toddled about, and barking and trying to right her when she fell, much to everyone’s amusement. Da had always rescued her and carried her on his shoulders back then, tending his sheep as he’d done as a boy in Scotland.

She found him in a far meadow standing with his farm manager and a few tenant lads who minded the flock. His handsome features were seasoned by the sun, the set of his
shoulders and line of his back as straight as the younger men alongside him. In the stark light of day, the edges of his russet hair were silvered, a detail that till now had escaped her notice. She felt a hitch of sadness at the passing of time.

Oh, Da, I’ve been away far too long.

She moved across the cropped grass in his direction, pausing to pick some milkweed, wishing she was little again and could run to him and feel the exhilaration of old, when he’d swing her up on his wide shoulders.

Why did he keep mostly to home when endless business awaited in town? No doubt the trouble she’d encountered had left him deeply shaken. And she was to blame . . .

When he swung round to face her, his eyes lit with such delight her melancholy vanished. “For a wee bit I took you for your mother, come to call me home.”

She smiled up at him beneath the brim of her wide straw hat, savoring the unintended compliment. “I was remembering when you used to carry me on your shoulders across this very meadow—and our old sheepdog would accompany us.”

“
Och
, Sebastian! Those were the days.” He linked arms with her. “I’d gladly turn the clock back if I could. Or move it forward.”

“Forward?”

“To tote my grandbairns round.” With a sly wink, he helped her across a low stone fence, righting her when she stumbled.

“Speaking of grandbairns . . .” She looked down at the petals in her hands, heat touching her cheeks. “I’d hoped you and Mama would have a few by now.”

“In time, mayhap,” he said matter-of-factly. “Some matters you have little control over. Love is one of them.”

She sensed his disappointment, and it matched her own. Was that why Mama spent so many hours at the orphan home
in town? Had she given up on Peyton and Andra entirely? Even Ansel?

He eyed her with a telling intensity. “I ken you didn’t come all this way on so
sweltrie
a day to talk bairns and weddings.”

“I thought a walk might do me good. I’m feeling . . .” She softened the Scots word with a smile. “
Pernickitie
.”

“You want to return to teaching.”

She nodded, relieved to have it confessed. “I can still be of help at home in the mornings. And Andra should soon be back.”

“Very well.” He picked up a stone and skimmed it across the surface of a small pond they skirted. “There’s a vacant building on Race Street. Small and respectable. Or you can take the room over the confectionery near the boatyard. It has plenty of light, a sound floor for dancing lessons. Either place should suffice for a day school.”

“Truly?” ’Twas more than she’d hoped for. Casting aside her flowers, she threw her arms around him, too moved to speak.

He held her close. “We can go in this afternoon and look around. Take stock of what you’ll need.”

“I’ll ask Mama to come too.” Her delight reached so deep she couldn’t stop smiling. “Opening the school in town will be far easier than taking all my teaching supplies from place to place. And since all but one student lives in Pittsburgh,” she said, thinking of Chloe, “’twill be no trouble for them.”

They were heading the other direction now, toward the house. He was regarding her in that bemused way he had, as if trying to reconcile the little girl she’d once been with the grown creature who stood before him. She sensed he might even be thinking of Andra, who, with typical Scots stoicism, never gave way to such a frivolous emotional display.

Suddenly beset with misgivings, she pulled her hat free and
used the brim to fan her flushed face. “Sometimes I feel I’ve rushed headlong into the day school with little thought or prayer. What is it you want for me? You and Mama?”

“We want you to follow the Almighty’s leading. Talk about what’s in your head and heart, just as you are now. A day school is a worthy endeavor. But your mother and I hope that someday you’ll want to settle down and know the joys we’ve had. ’Tis heaven’s best gift, ye ken. Leaving a legacy of family. Faith.”

Was he thinking of the Camerons? She ventured carefully, “Is it true what Mina said? Did Daniel come to you . . . ask about me?”

“He did.”

“And . . . ?” She stopped walking, on her tiptoes inwardly.

“It wasn’t what I’d hoped for.”

She met his eyes in question. “Did he not ask for my hand?”

“Aye. But not your heart.”

The regret in his eyes bruised her. He had such high hopes, wanted her to make a good match. Daniel had always seemed a fine choice. But now . . . They resumed walking, his words of minutes before returning with sudden poignancy.

Some matters you have little control over. Love is one of them.

She felt a flicker of insight.
Oh, Da, you are right. You cannot make someone love you . . . nor can you predict who you’ll lose your heart to.

“Once I nearly wed a lass I did not love to gain a fortune faster than I did.” His voice was low and reflective. “But God Almighty intervened.”

She darted a look at him. Did he mean Jack and Chloe’s mother? Her heart tugged at life’s twists and turns, how entire futures sometimes hinged on the most unpredictable, unlikely things.

They were nearing the rear veranda now, and Ellie’s gaze settled on Mama sewing at one end of the wide porch. She was humming a hymn, unaware of their approach, pleasantly lost in her task. Everything about her bespoke grace . . . peace. She was the essence of a woman well loved.

Oh, Lord, please let me be like Mama.

Chloe held the ivory invitation in a hand soiled from digging worms, and her fingers seemed to shake. From excitement, Jack guessed.

“Look, Jack, your name is on it too! The Ballantynes are having a ball later this month—and we’re invited.” She dropped the elegantly sealed paper on his desk and leaned down to blow away the dirt, but the stubborn smudge remained. “Dash!”

He scanned the invitation, every engraved word fueling surprise—and fresh misery. Something was obviously afoot with the Ballantynes. Some pending announcement or celebration. Pushing his spectacles atop his head, he rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Invited and welcomed are two different things.”

Chloe stared at him in consternation. “What do you mean?”

Feigning indifference, he returned to the notice of sale he’d almost finished. “We’re not going.”

“What?” Her protest was a strangled wail. Dirty hands forgotten, Chloe snatched up the summons from New Hope and held it to her heart, as pitiful a ploy as he’d ever seen. “I just have to see Miss Ellie again, Jack!”

“I’ll be heavy into the harvest come then, as will you. Everyone at River Hill is needed for the work, even Sol and Ben. No one is exempt.” He needn’t remind her that they, along with the tenants, were in the fields before dawn and often worked by moonlight to bring the harvest in. The prospect of a dance filled him with dread, the gleaning with
elation. He would extract the thought of Ellie from his mind with the sweat of his brow and every swing of his scythe if it was the last thing he did.

“But Jack!” Her lower lip trembled. “One ball?”

Immune to her antics, he signed a document and moved on to the ledgers. “Another word and I’ll send you back to Broad Oak.”

She threw the invitation down and fled, slamming the study door behind her. Glad to be alone, he reached into his breast pocket and withdrew a letter, delivered that morning and addressed solely to him. For a moment he fought returning it to his pocket, sure Ellie had penned her goodbye, severing their tie.

Studying the familiar writing, he wanted to groan. How was it that the mere slant of her pen turned him inside out? He could no longer deny he missed her. Her lemon-lavender scent. The graceful way she moved across a room. The wistful way she regarded him. He even craved the sound of her voice.

With a sigh, he broke the indigo seal with a swipe of his thumb.

Dear Jack . . .

He leaned back in his chair, softening at her lack of formality. No “Mr. Turlock,” at least.

I’ll soon be opening a day school in Pittsburgh above the confectionery at the corner of First and Water Streets.

So her father could keep a close eye on her? After the trouble on the road, he wasn’t surprised.

My wish is for Chloe to continue lessons two afternoons a week if agreeable to you both.

Two afternoons? He set his jaw against the elation he felt. It was time for Chloe to put her matchmaking plans to bed.

I’ve missed your sister and hope she’s missed our time together too.

His resolve thawed. He’d have to be made of ice to refuse her.

Fondly, Ellie.

Fondly.
He felt a hitch of regret. He supposed that to expect
Love
was asking far too much.

 20 

I love thee, I love but thee

With a love that shall not die

Till the sun grows cold

And the stars grow old.

W
ILLIAM
S
HAKESPEARE

Ellie pulled off her gloves and stood in the middle of her second-floor schoolroom. The polished maple floor was pleasing, the furnishings mismatched but adequate. Most delightful of all was the smell—not beeswax and books, but the overwhelming aroma of delicacies wafting up from the confectionery just below.

Marzipan and lemon custard and candied orange peel stormed her senses, begging her to hurry downstairs and shun her books and grow thick-waisted before her time. She took a deep breath, feeling the pinch of her stays. She’d already eaten two lemon tarts since resuming teaching yesterday. Perhaps it would have been wiser to occupy the vacant building on Race Street . . .

She moved to the south-facing windows, admiring the
expansive view of the Monongahela waterfront. If she tarried long enough, she was sure to see Da or her brothers going from office to mercantile to warehouse. The
Elinor
was docked like a queen amidst the less regal packets, its giant paddlewheel idle in the swift current. She felt a sense of contentment despite the levee’s endless scuttle and the pungent swirl of pitch and brine. ’Twas the landscape she’d been born and bred to. It seemed right to be near her family.

Opening a window, she was thankful the July wind was leeward, gently stirring the petals of the lilies one of her students had brought her. Beside it was a wicker basket filled with Mamie’s finest. Biscuits layered with ham. A small wheel of cheddar cheese. Sugared almonds. Berry tarts. Jars of lemonade. And her father’s midday meal. She’d asked Mamie to pack extra, hoping to take a picnic to the point, just her and Chloe.

Ansel had ridden in with her at noon, well ahead of her one o’clock lesson, before going to the boatyard. As the clock ticked nearer to the appointed time, her spirits began to sag. Jack hadn’t responded to the note she’d sent to River Hill saying she was resuming teaching. In light of his painful silence, the day school did seem silly, a frivolous means for a privileged girl to fill her hours, just as Andra said. Her time seemed better spent in the attic, which was now occupied again since the cupola had been lit.

If Chloe didn’t come, she’d tote the basket across the street and take the midday meal with her father, then wander up the street to the orphan home and find Mama. She reached for her bonnet and began tying the chin ribbons, trying to ignore the disappointment carving a hole inside her. Her fingers stilled at a sudden sound on the stair.

Such a
clomp
,
clomp
,
clomp
could only be Chloe. Her hopes soared along with every ungracious step. She tried
hiding her glee, but her rush to the door revealed everything, as did her breathless words when she flung it open. “I didn’t see you on the street.”

Chloe stared back at her, clearly exasperated. “Jack brought me down the back alley.
Sidesaddle.
”

The word was spat out with such disgust Ellie laughed. “A young lady should always ride so, especially about town.” Her gaze slid from Chloe to Jack as he came to an abrupt halt on the landing behind her.

Beneath his shock of sunny hair, his gaze was tremendously stormy. She groped for something more to say and came up woefully short.

Fortunately, Chloe flew past, pronouncing the room a wonder. “Oh, it smells heavenly! Whoever would have thought you’d be over a sweet shop? You even have our sewing by the windows so I can better see my stitches.”

Ellie turned back to Jack. “Won’t you come in?”

“Nay, I have business elsewhere.” He broke their gaze to watch Chloe as she wandered about the room. “I’ll be back at four o’clock.”

“Four is fine, plenty of time to finish our lessons.” She hesitated, wanting to keep him longer, though he was clearly ready to leave. “Thank you for bringing her.”

“I’d get little peace otherwise.” His expression remained cold, distant, denying her the spark of warmth she craved. “We’re good till autumn. After that she returns to Broad Oak.”

Her gladness at seeing them shattered. Did Chloe know? She sensed there was far more to his terse words, but now wasn’t the time or place to delve deeper.

“Till autumn.” She stated their new terms, trying to keep the dismay from her tone.

With a nod, he turned and started down the stair, erasing
the memory that he’d ever been tender with her in River Hill’s dusty parlor. Had she only imagined it, then?

She turned back to Chloe, forcing a smile. “It’s such a pretty day, not too warm. I thought we’d have a picnic at the point.”

“Down by old Fort Pitt?”

Ellie nodded. “The King’s Garden, or what’s remaining.”

Chloe was poking around the basket now, her delight contagious. “Is all this food for us?”

“Some is for my father. We’ll stop by the boatyard on our way.”

Her eyes rounded. “I’ve never met Silas Ballantyne, only seen him.”

“Come along then. It’s getting late, and I need to have something to show for our afternoon besides stuffing ourselves. We’ll have some sewing for dessert.”

Chloe made a face. “Marzipan sounds better.”

Till autumn.
A bittersweet sense of urgency spurred Ellie on as she held out her hand. Chloe took it, catching up the basket with her other. Pleasure softened the solemn slant to her features. Had she never been on a picnic? Ellie felt a tug of sympathy for her—and Jack. He’d likely never been on one either.

The front door to Ballantyne Boatworks swept shut in their wake, heralding their arrival by the ringing of a bell. Ellie smiled at her father as he pulled himself to his full height and faced them, coming out from behind his desk. “Miss Chloe Turlock, I presume.”

Chloe eyed Ellie fiercely and hissed, “Am I supposed to curtsy?”

“Not necessary for an old Scotsman,” he said with a smile, sparing Ellie an answer.

Ansel eyed them with amusement before returning to the plans spread upon the drafting table by a window. All was still, expectant. Ellie hoped Chloe wouldn’t misspeak, but there was no guarantee . . .

Chloe roamed the cluttered office with curious eyes before alighting on Da once more.

“So you’re the man my mother almost married.”

“Chloe!” Ellie’s tone was far more forceful than she intended, but her father simply chuckled. Ansel winked at her, obviously enjoying her disquiet, while Chloe studied Da without apology.

“If I had done so, neither you nor my daughter would be standing here,” he returned with his usual aplomb. “So all’s well that ends well, aye?”

With a smile, Chloe showed him the basket. “I didn’t eat your dinner, though I had a mind to.”

Ellie took the wicker container and began unpacking items, laying them atop her father’s desk. “We’re going to have a picnic at the point,” she announced, anxious to be on their way. “Mamie has packed a feast for us all.”

Behind them, Chloe moved to a window, clearly awed at her view of the crowded levee. “I’ve never ridden on a steamer.”

“Nor has Ellie,” Da replied, coming to stand beside her. “They’re a wee bit dangerous. When you’re older, they’ll likely be less so.”

“It must be grand to have a boat named after you.” She regarded him openly, her chin firming in calculation. “If you build another, perhaps you can call it
Chloe Isabel
.”

He smiled down at her. “Mayhap I will.”

Ellie intervened, glancing at the wall clock. “Come along, Chloe. Ja—your brother will be back for you this afternoon, and we don’t want to keep him waiting.”

“Oh, you needn’t worry about Jack. He’ll just go up the alley to one of the gin roo—”

Ellie stepped on her toe to silence her. “Goodbye, Da, Ansel.” She didn’t listen for their reply, just swept Chloe outside among roustabouts as plain-speaking as she.

Linking arms, they headed west along the Monongahela toward the point. Lombardy poplars and weeping willows softened the street’s rough edges and provided welcome shade as carriages and wagons lumbered past.

“Your father’s handsome, even if he is an antique,” Chloe exclaimed.

Caught between a sigh and a chuckle, Ellie fixed her attention on a street marker denoting the latest flood stage of the river.

“Do you think Jack . . .” Chloe gave her a sidelong glance. “Handsome?”

The question wrenched her. Truly, today Chloe was at her candid best. “Yes,” she admitted reluctantly, wishing an end to the matter.

A look of near triumph graced Chloe’s face. “You’re always honest with me, Miss Ellie. You never tell a lie. Lies are wicked things, Sally says.”

“Sally?”

“Ben’s granny. She’s our cook at Broad Oak.”

“’Tis always best to be truthful but never hurtful,” Ellie told her. “There are ways of saying things, sparing people’s feelings. We’re to speak the truth in love.”

Chloe’s expression grew shadowed. “Then I need to tell you the truth about Jack.”

Ellie kept on walking as her mind began a precarious whirl. Was Jack ill, in some trouble? Why did she always feel so raw at the mere mention of him?

Sidestepping a mound of horse droppings, Chloe looked
as if the confession might choke her. “The truth is Jack never wanted you at River Hill. I lied and said he did. I-I didn’t even want you to teach me at first. I just wanted you and Jack . . .”

Ellie’s steps slowed, her disbelieving gaze resting on Chloe. “You mean he never agreed to our time together? But in the note you wrote—”

“I made it all up after he told me no.” Her expressive eyes were a wash of gray. “I hoped—if you came to River Hill—he might fall in love with you.”

Ellie resumed walking, face aflame. She felt a breathless bewilderment at such scheming. Did Jack know Chloe’s true intent? She prayed not.

Chloe’s voice dwindled to a thread of misery. “Jack told me a Ballantyne would never settle for a Turlock.”

Had he?
Oh, Jack
 . . .

“I-I just want him to be happy—to have someone who’ll be good to him and love him. Someone like you.”

Intent on some trees on the Allegheny side of the river, Ellie headed for an iron bench in their shade, the picnic forgotten. Chloe was crying now, not in the sly, manipulative way she sometimes did, but openly, drawing notice from the near street.

Gently, Ellie drew her down on the bench and put an arm around her slumped shoulders. “Your motives were good. But your methods were lacking.” It was something her father sometimes said, though she’d never felt the truth of it so keenly till now.

“Th-there’s m-more,” Chloe stuttered.

“More?”

“Jack’s leaving . . . selling River Hill. I-I found some papers on his desk. Come the next fall run—”

“The fall run?”

“The whiskey-making come September. When that’s done,
he’s going downriver. He plans to open a distillery in Missouri—do business with Indians and traders and frontiersmen.” Chloe was crying again, sending Ellie searching for a handkerchief. “But it’s wild and dangerous in the West, Wade says. I-I’m afraid he’ll never come back.” She fisted the hankie, regret in her gaze. “Don’t tell Jack I told you. He’ll be angry that I was snooping through his papers and talking.”