Love's Awakening (The Ballantyne Legacy Book #2): A Novel (30 page)

Ellie heard footfalls, and her breathing thinned, gaze riveted to the parlor door. It had taken all the courage she possessed to come here, knowing Jack had never wanted her at River Hill. Likely he’d see her as just another interruption today.

Behind her was the mysterious glass armonica. In the few minutes it had taken Solomon to fetch Jack, she’d let curiosity lead her to the corner, where she lifted a dust cloth and admired the antique instrument. How she wished she could play it. That same sweet poignancy returned as she took in the beautiful, neglected room. She half expected Chloe to bound in and throw open the shutters, transforming the darkness to light.

But it was Jack who appeared in the doorway, shoulders squared, his gaze stony.

“Ellie.” His low voice sent a tremor through her. “What brings you to River Hill?”

No proper greeting. No forced small talk. Leave it to Jack to come straight to the heart of the matter. She swallowed past her awkwardness and met his eyes. “I—Chloe didn’t come for lessons this week. Is she ill?”

He took a step into the room. “She’s back at Broad Oak. She was supposed to send you a note.”

But she didn’t.

Embarrassment faded to confusion. Had Chloe hoped she’d come to River Hill and meet Jack instead? The obvious slid into place, but it no longer mattered. She was here, whatever the reason, her nerves on end simply standing five feet away from him. He was heartrendingly handsome in that roguish, careless way he had, shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, tousled hair looking like windblown straw.

Go
, came a whisper of warning.

As she thought it, he took another step into the room, surprising her, crossing some invisible, forbidden boundary.

Rattled by his nearness, she let a burning question spill out of her. “Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?”

He hesitated, locking eyes with her. “Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about Daniel Cameron?”

“Because there’s nothing to tell.” Her voice shook when she said it, as if she’d crossed some forbidden threshold herself.

Reaching behind him, he shut the door.

Oh, Jack.

Longing cut a wide swath through her. She felt as light-headed as she had the day she’d fainted at his feet. Only today she stayed standing, her heart so full she felt it would shatter. He closed the distance between them till they were a handbreadth apart. Even the dimness failed to disguise the sweetness in his gaze, so at odds with his storminess of moments before.
This
wasn’t the Jack who didn’t want her . . .

Ever so slowly he brought her arms around his neck till her fingers grazed his linen collar and the silken fringe of his hair. Her resolve to keep her distance slipped away. His long, lean fingers threaded through her upswept curls, tilting her head back to receive his kiss. He tasted warm, almost honeyish, his mouth exploring hers as she melted beneath his hands.

“Ellie . . .” He paused, sounding a bit breathless. “I’m in love with you. I’ve long been in love with you. Do you believe me?”

Did she? At the moment she couldn’t think . . . couldn’t breathe. “I came here—I meant to see—about Chloe.”

“For once I’m grateful for her conniving.”

She shut her eyes, the swirl of longing too strong. “Yet you’re leaving.”

“Aye, at first light.”

“Chloe needs you, Jack . . . I need you.”

He stilled. “I wonder what your father would say about that.”

“My father . . .” She paused, trembling slightly, her skin like fire where he’d touched her. “He’s never spoken a bad word about you.”

“He well might, knowing I’ve kissed you, compromised you—”

“With my consent.”

“Aye, but it’s another matter entirely to make you a Turlock.”

“Not if I want to be one.” The breathless admission, hard won as it was, set her free. All her hopes and dreams, so long denied, gathered in one heartfelt plea. “I’d be proud to be your bride, Jack.”

A shadow crossed his face. “Sweet agony, Ellie. If I had my way, I’d marry you here—now.”

“Then summon a judge or magistrate.” Her voice came soft but sure. “There’s time enough. We’ll have tonight.”

He drew back slightly, though he held both her hands to his chest. “Would you do as my mother did, then? Forsake a good life, her family name, and wed a man like Henry Turlock—”

“You’re nothing like your father, nor Wade.” She touched his cheek, felt the rough scrabble of beard, and fought down her dismay. “You’re the image of the judge.”

He shook his head, misery clouding his eyes. “I need to go, Ellie. You need time. Becoming a Turlock isn’t something to be decided in an afternoon . . . if ever.”

Her voice broke. “Take me with you, Jack.”

For a moment she thought he might heed her plea till he renewed his own. “If you feel the same when I come back . . .” He bent his head, his breath stirring a tendril of her loosened hair. “Then I’ll speak to your father. Bring you home to River Hill. Make you mine.”

Yes.
That was what she longed for. To be his and his alone. Yet in the silence of her heart, she sensed his tender words
were but an impossible, hopeless promise in the face of an unknown future. She bent her head, hating her tears and the gnawing panic that whispered she’d never see him after today.

Taking her face between his hands, he kissed her again, hunger and need and longing in the taste and feel of it. Every brush of his mouth against her own, every caress, drove home the bittersweet truth that he loved her deeply.

“Chloe said that you pray for me.” Wonder warmed his voice. “That must take some time.”

“I ask God to bless and keep you. To bring you back to me whole-souled.”

“Redeemed, you mean.” He smiled, but there was something sad in it. “For as a good old Puritan observes, Christ is beholden to none of us for our hearts. We should never come to Jesus until we feel that we cannot live without Him.”

She held his gaze. “You’ve been doing Chloe’s lessons.”

“Aye,” he murmured. “I’ve always had a bookish bent.”

She took his hands as she’d seen her parents often do, entwining their fingers the way she wished they could entwine their bodies and souls. “Would you . . . pray with me?”

“Ellie, I . . . don’t have the words.”

The vulnerability in his eyes wrenched her heart. “Sometimes words get in the way.”

For a few emotion-laden moments they lowered their heads, the minutes marked by some obscure timepiece she couldn’t see. Their combined “Amen” was hushed, eclipsed by the parlor clock shuddering a mournful five times.

She spoke through her tears. “’Tis your last chance, Jack, to make me your bride.”

“Nay, Ellie,” he said with difficulty. “Next to last, Lord willing. I’ve just prayed that it will come to pass.”

Jack released Ellie, only to take her in his arms again before they left the house. His heart was hammering so hard, it seemed he’d been swimming the length of the river instead of the usual breadth of it. The sweetness he experienced with her was a joy he’d never known. There was something hallowed and hushed in her embrace, a refuge from the storms within and without. A promise of a better life.

He guessed they’d been in the parlor a good hour or better but wasn’t sure. Time melted away at her touch, every second wedding her deeper into his head and heart, making him second-guess his decision to leave. The anguish of it was something he’d not reckoned with.

He looked longingly toward the river beyond the wide, sunburned slope of grass. Aye, a long, cold swim was what he needed, something to wash away the heat on his unshaven face and help him return to reason. Even if he didn’t want to.

He took her by the elbow, and they walked to the porte cochere through a swirl of autumn leaves, the sun unbearably bright after the dimness of the parlor. There her driver waited, the coach at rest. Sweat spackled the back of his neck and dampened his shirt. Surely Sol and the stable hands could see him unraveling.

And Ellie . . . Another glance at her and he almost pulled her into his arms again, uncaring about broad daylight or who might be watching. She looked even lovelier well kissed, her lips made fuller from the brush of his own, her hair threatening to spill free of its pins. His longing collided with raw grief and the half truths he’d told her.

Never again would he touch her, kiss her. Not beyond this day. If something happened to her father at the hands of a Turlock, Ellie would be caught in the crossfire. Fear and frustration left him short of breath. Whatever transpired, he’d not be here to see it play out. She’d soon come to hate
him and his family, their tie and the memory of this moment severed forever.

His heart fisted as he motioned for the coachman, who stood talking with Sol in the cavernous, hay-scented space. Once situated in the coach, Ellie smoothed her skirts, settling back on the seat, her damp eyes seeking his.

He sent up a silent plea to help stem his churning emotions, wanting to reach for her again.

Pray for me, Ellie. Never stop loving me.

He shut the door and the coach rolled away, crushing crisp fall leaves beneath its wheels. He held his breath, waiting, hoping. She turned and looked back at him through an open window, heartache in her gaze.

 30 

Preceded on a jentle brease up the Missourie.

W
ILLIAM
C
LARK

Ellie’s return to New Hope was little more than a haze as she clung to the memories just made in the dusty, bedimmed parlor. Jack’s scent clung to her, earthy and clean, her skin a bit raw from the brush of his whiskers. She’d been a little desperate at the last, wanting something tangible to hold on to—a lock of his hair, some token from his study. But all she had was the fading feel and taste of him, the words he’d whispered and those she sensed he’d held back.

She stared at the landscape without focus, relieved she’d taken the coach and no one could witness her tears. By the time New Hope’s cupola gleamed above the treetops in the dusk, her damp handkerchief had been folded and tucked away. Slipping past the maids to her room would be a formidable feat. Her hopes died when the front door was flung open.

Gwyn welcomed her in, taking her hat and gloves. “Good afternoon, Miss Elinor.”

Ellie tried to smile as Gwyn recited who was at home and who wasn’t. Across the foyer, the study door was open and beckoning, confirming her father’s presence. Indecision flickered through her. From where she stood, she could see him at a window, back to her, the unyielding line of his shoulders reminding her of Jack at the last. He had a view of the orchard and stood stone still, the way he did when pondering something. Might it be Mama? Aunt Elspeth? Some business matter?

Gathering courage, she entered and drew the door shut behind her. He turned, welcome in his eyes. Oh, why had she not simply gone to her room? She felt empty and poured out, too sore for speech, yet unable to hold all the hurt in her heart.

She looked at her beloved father, a catch in her voice, knowing how much her words might wound him but determined to speak them anyway. “I’m in love with Jack Turlock and he’s leaving in the morning.”

There was a breathless pause.

“I ken both,” he replied, opening his arms to her.

She rushed to him like she’d done in childhood, wishing he could take away her hurt. Though she clenched her jaw till it ached, sobs tumbled out of her as his arms closed about her.

“I-I never meant to care for him. I simply wanted to help Chloe. And now I’ve just come from River Hill, hoping to see her again, but said goodbye to Jack instead. My feelings for him are such that I practically threw myself at his feet.”

“I doubt you had to throw yourself far but that he was right there to catch you.” Understanding laced his voice as he smoothed her hair with a gentle hand. “I’ll wager his feelings are as strong as your own.”

“I wasn’t sure till today. We spoke of marrying . . . children. I told him I’d go with him. But he said becoming a Turlock isn’t something to be decided in an afternoon, if ever.”

“Then he’s an even better man than I thought he was. I
don’t know many who could withstand the temptation of a lass like you. I ken he loves you and wants to do right by you. By your family.”

Shamed by her own impulsiveness, she bent her head. “I’d have broken your heart if I’d left with him. Mama’s too.”

“Aye, and then mended it back again by bringing home a bairn or two.”

She pressed her damp cheek against the soft felt of his coat. “Jack has always behaved honorably.”

“I expect nothing less, Turlock or no.”

“If he goes, I’m afraid—” She stumbled on the barest thought of a long separation, sure the West would swallow him whole and her life would be one of waiting, wanting, ever wondering. “I have this terrible feeling I’ll not see him again.”

“Pray for him, Ellie. Pen him letters.” His voice dropped a notch. “Simply love him.”

Love him.

That she could do. But at such a distance?

He tilted her chin up and looked into her eyes. “You need not fear being apart. Your mother and I were separated eight long years, remember, yet nothing could dull her memory nor dampen my feelings for her. When she came back into my life, ’twas as if she’d ne’er been gone. She was even more beautiful to me—and just as beloved.”

“Would you welcome Jack here at New Hope as your son-in-law?”

“I’ll welcome whomever you love, Ellie. Just don’t betray yourself and wed for anything less.”

“I cannot marry Daniel, then.” The admission, so easily spoken here in private, seemed to stick in her throat when she thought of facing Daniel himself.

“D’ye want me to speak with him?”

“No, I—I owe him an answer.” But she wouldn’t mention
Jack. Daniel’s pride might never recover. “I’ll tell him. Soon. For now I’d best go to my room.”

“All right, then.” Looking across the study to the mantel, he made note of the time as she stepped free of his arms. “The
Andra
docked this afternoon with a full load of cargo and a few guests. Since your mother isn’t back from the orphan home yet, your sister could use your help upstairs.”

A full attic, then. She nodded, latching on to being of help and forgetting herself, if only briefly. “Is that why you’re home early today? Did you bring them here? In broad daylight?”

“Aye, one of the coaches has been refitted for the task.”

“Like Dr. Brunot’s?” At his nod, she let the fact take hold, sensing their involvement was deepening. “My, Da, but you’re bold.”

“The Ballantyne steel,” he said.

By the time Mama returned with news that Peyton would be dining with Aunt Elspeth in town, Ellie had managed to bathe, clothe, feed, and cajole twin babies to sleep. Each was nestled in the crook of her arm as the rocking chair glided to and fro in the candlelight. Situated on the third-floor landing by a window, the attic stairs just across, Ellie studied the wee features of her charges, marveling at their uniqueness. One boy. One girl. Not ebony but the hue of coffee with cream, born of a black mother and a white overseer.

They’d had colic, the mother said, and the father had threatened to sell them or smother them if they continued to cry, so one rainy, New Orleans night she’d scooped them up and run. How Da found her, found the other five now upstairs, was a mystery. Once at New Hope, they spoke mostly of the future, not the past, and Ellie was left to guess about their tragic lives before they’d been smuggled aboard a Ballantyne vessel.

As night deepened, the anguish in her heart leapt bright as candle flame. Jack would be having his supper now, she guessed, though she’d been unable to eat her own. He’d likely wander through the empty rooms of River Hill, going from study to bedchamber, packing, checking, remembering, perhaps backtracking to the blue room where they’d kissed, wondering if it was all a dream.

Never had she traversed such heights or depths in one day. She still felt spent, the push of her foot to maintain her rocking tedious, the gentle movement lulling her toward sleep.

A sigh shuddered through her. Oh, to rearrange time . . . drain the rivers dry so he couldn’t leave . . . send for Reverend Herron, who’d surely voice his objections to her wedding a rebellious Turlock when he’d expected a pious Cameron instead . . . become mistress of River Hill in the span of a blessed, passion-filled night . . . have Chloe returned to their care and begin a new life.

Lord, let it be. Someday. If it pleases Thee.

The river was a soft lavender-silver now, spreading out before her from her eagle’s perch, looking endlessly long as it slipped west.

Oh, Jack, come back to me.

Jack met the misty September sunrise atop Cicero, heading not toward Pittsburgh but Broad Oak. Taking an overgrown, neglected trail, he tried not to think of Ellie. His heart pulled him to New Hope, to ask Silas for her hand and savor the feel of her in his arms again. But he stayed steadfast, bent on another place. He’d not come here for years. The memory had always come to him instead—fresh, frightening, relentless as the river at flood stage.

Dismounting, he tied Cicero to a scraggly limb of laurel
that rimmed the little glen like a fence, a trickle of creek cutting through. It had altered little in all that time. He recalled how his father, shrouded in shadows, had stood across the way, having trapped the lawman like prey. Jack remembered the horror on Cyrus O’Leary’s bearded face when he realized he’d not ambushed Henry but Henry would bury him.

In that instant Jack had cried out in terror, and his father backhanded him, sending him sprawling into the late autumn leaves, their brilliance crumbling beneath his boyish weight. It was over in seconds. A fatal gunshot. Smoke. His father had thrust a shovel in Jack’s hand and told him to stop crying and dig like a man. He’d vowed that Jack would share the same grave if he told. Jack hadn’t said a word.

Now the first leaves of fall lay atop the lone gravesite, a bewitching amber-gold. But even beneath a foot of fallen snow, Jack would have known the place, so heavily had it lain upon his heart.

God, forgive my father, my family, for our many sins.

Forgive me.

The rain pocking the pewter surface of the Monongahela reflected Jack’s somber mood. A west wind was kicking up, much to the aggravation of both captain and crew, making ascending the river against the current doubly difficult, even dangerous. The
Independence
, ponderously heavy with cargo and lying low in the water, shuddered as it left the dock.