Rebecca's Heart (3 page)

“I come from a long line of whalers, as well.” For some reason he didn’t want their conversation to end. The table was finished. There was nothing holding him here except one thing. “I’m Luke Hutton, by the way.”

“Rebecca Johnson.” She shook his hand then brushed back a wisp of her coal-black hair. “I’m related to Philip Macintosh by marriage. Actually, it’s a bit complicated. He’s the brother-in-law of my stepmother.”

“So you have a big family?” He picked up the small table and tried to tell himself her answer didn’t interest him. But it did.

Rebecca laughed again. “You could say that. Three brothers and two sisters. Then Anna was adopted into our family, making it seven.”

Luke let out a low whistle. “I’m an only child. My father passed away, so now it’s just me and my mother.” He needed to go, but something about her urged him to stay and prolong their talk. “Have you lived here long? I’ve been in the shop once or twice before. I don’t remember ever seeing you.”

“I recently moved here from Cranton.”

“Cranton.” He searched his memory for information on the small town in western Massachusetts. “That’s not too far from the Connecticut River, I believe?”

“Yes. It’s a beautiful place. Lush farmland, lazy brooks, apple orchards … I loved it there.”

He caught the look of sadness in her eyes again. Maybe she was simply homesick. He knew from experience that Boston could be an overwhelming city. Hadn’t he felt the same way on his last return from sea? The bustling metropolitan area was a stark contrast to the seclusion of life on deck. And Cranton was nothing more than a sleepy little farming community.

“Would it be too bold if I ask why you left?”

She started for the front of the shop. This time he matched her stride and walked beside her. “Caroline, Philip’s wife, decided it might be good for business to expand beyond tables and chairs and start offering custom-made slipcovers to their patrons. Business was growing so quickly that she needed the extra help. I thought Boston would be a nice change.”

“Slipcovers?”

Rebecca paused at a well-crafted mahogany sideboard and turned to him. “I know they don’t take nearly as much skill as fine furniture, but they do seem to be the rage right now—”

“No, it’s a great idea.” Luke hoisted the table against his hip. “Expanding on the clientele you already have. In fact, my mother mentioned just last week how she thought slipcovers would be perfect in the parlor.”

Her hand traced the carved inlay atop the sideboard. Long, slender fingers. Skin the color of cream—

“You could bring your mother by tomorrow if you’d like,” Rebecca said, putting a halt to his wandering thoughts. “I could show her samples of what we can do.”

He shouldn’t. He should turn and walk out of the shop and forget ever meeting Miss Rebecca Johnson. Instead he caught her gaze and smiled. “That’s a wonderful idea.”

Luke placed his mother’s table carefully in the back of the buggy, all the time wondering why he’d just told Miss Johnson he’d be back. He knew his return had nothing to do with showing his mother samples of slipcovers and everything to do with seeing her again.

He flicked the reins, urging his palomino to hurry home. His last whaling voyage had taken three and a half years, and considering he was weeks away from departing on his second trip, it made no sense to pursue this unexplained—and unwelcome—attraction to Rebecca Johnson.

It simply wasn’t possible. Problem was, he did yearn for a wife and a family. Yet by the time he returned from sea, he’d be close to thirty years old—and no closer to marriage than he was now.

two

Rebecca pulled out another piece of brightly printed cotton and held it up for Patience Hutton to examine. It was the fifth sample she’d shown the older woman in the last hour. Up to this point nothing had been acceptable.

“What do you think about this one?” Rebecca waited as Mrs. Hutton fingered the fabric.

In Rebecca’s opinion the color combination was perfect for the stylish parlor. The shades of light green, delft blue, and sunny yellow would make stunning slipcovers without overpowering the classical style of the room.

Rebecca leaned forward on the elegant Grecian sofa, watching the older woman’s reaction. She’d been disappointed when, instead of a visit from Luke Hutton, she’d received a message from his mother requesting her to come to their home. No matter how hard she tried, she hadn’t been able to forget those penetrating brown eyes that reminded her of the syrup her brother Adam made each winter from his sugar maple trees. Luke’s gaze had caused her heart to tremble, something she hadn’t expected—or wanted. Still, the thought of seeing the broad-shouldered, muscular shipbuilder again had kept her dreams flavored with the sweetness of his gaze.

Taking the sample of fabric from Rebecca, Mrs. Hutton walked toward the window, smoothing back a loose strand of silver hair that had fallen from the neat pile atop her head. The bustle of her elegant silk dress rustled as she turned to Rebecca and smiled. “This one is perfect.”

Rebecca let out a sigh of relief. After arriving at the Hutton home, she’d learned that not only did Patience Hutton have a stunning place as Caroline had told her, but she was also a woman who was hard to please. No doubt keeping her happy throughout the project would be a challenge.

“And what about the windows?” Mrs. Hutton held the fabric up to the light.

Rebecca nodded at the suggestion. “We could easily hang panels from a cornice using the same fabric.”

“Simple but elegant. I like that.” Mrs. Hutton sat back down on the sofa, still holding the fabric sample. “Funny, something about the colors reminds me of my childhood home. My mother was Dutch, and our home was filled with delft blue pieces of earthenware from Holland.”

“I believe I saw several of them in your curio cabinet?”

“Yes.” Mrs. Hutton smiled, obviously pleased Rebecca had noticed.

Those decorations hadn’t been the only thing Rebecca noted. In a brief tour of the downstairs, she’d studied the numerous pieces of furniture. Most of them, she judged, had been fabricated prior to the Revolution. A Baltimore clock with its fine inlaid design of vines and leaves, a Sheraton-styled secretary with painted-glass panels, and a number of ornately carved tables. The walls were filled with tapestries, portraits of family members, and a number of detailed needlework pieces.

“Have you always lived in Boston?” Rebecca began gathering the samples she’d brought with her, pleased that having chosen the fabric she could begin making the slipcovers.

“I spent most of my life on Nantucket Island. My late husband and I came to Boston only eighteen months before he died. For some reason I’ve never wanted to move back. Too many memories, I suppose.”

Rebecca’s eyes widened with interest. “My mother’s parents lived their whole lives on Nantucket Island.”

“Really? What were their names?”

“Edmund and Margaret Stevens, but only my grandmother is still alive.”

Her face beaming with delight, Mrs. Hutton clapped her hands. “I knew your grandparents well when my husband and I lived on the island. In fact, I still stay in touch with your grandmother.”

“Unfortunately, when my mother married my father, it caused a rift in the family.” Rebecca placed the last square of fabric, a blend of dark purple and gold, into her large tapestry bag. “I haven’t seen my grandmother since I was a little girl.”

“I admit, she rarely talked about her family but did mention your mother a few times.” Mrs. Hutton let out a soft laugh. “I truly am sorry to hear that you never got to know her, but Margaret always was stubborn. To be honest, it doesn’t surprise me one bit.”

“My mother used to tell me stories of my grandmother’s beautiful flower garden and my grandfather’s whaling ship, the
Lady Amaryllis
.” Rebecca smiled at the memories. “I’d love to hear more.”

“I have an idea. Why don’t you stay for lunch?” Mrs. Hutton patted Rebecca’s hand. “That will give us time to talk. I believe we’re having Irish stew.”

Thrilled for the opportunity to learn more about her grandparents, Rebecca nodded. “I’d like that. Thank you.”

“First, though, come with me. I want to show you something.”

Rebecca stood at the window of Mrs. Hutton’s bedroom, admiring the view of the blossoming gardens from the large windows while the older woman rummaged through the bottom drawer of the secretary. Massive oak trees rose up from the green earth, tall and proud, their leaves blowing in the soft wind. Flowers spilled across the edges of the manicured lawn, a stunning mosaic of yellows, oranges, pinks, and reds. Inside, the room was like the rest of the house, full of beautiful furniture, thick carpets, and heavy drapes.

With a large folder in her hands, Mrs. Hutton sat on a padded ottoman and motioned for Rebecca to join her. “I don’t even remember the last time I looked at these.”

“What are they?” Curious, Rebecca sat down beside her.

“My late husband, Isaac, was quite an artist. He never tired of drawing portraits of friends and family.” One by one she pulled out the illustrations, each full of remarkable detail.

“Here. This is what I wanted to show you. These are your grandparents.”

Rebecca’s breath caught in her throat as she took the drawing and held it. “When did he do this?”

“I’d say about twenty-five years ago. I remember this picture in particular. We’d just celebrated your grandmother’s fortieth birthday. Isaac sketched this portrait of them in the garden.”

Tears welled in Rebecca’s eyes as she ran her finger across the bottom edge of the paper. In the hands of a true artist, the charcoal pencil had managed to capture every detail of their expressions—including the mischievous twinkle in her grandfather’s eye.

“Grandfather looks as if he’s up to something.”

Mrs. Hutton laughed. “He always did have that Cheshire grin, and yes, he was a prankster, too. You’d think that being the captain of a whaling ship he’d be a bit more serious, but not your grandfather.”

“And my grandmother?” Rebecca studied the drawing that had captured the curves of her full face and the soft curls that framed her hair. “What is she like? She’s beautiful in this picture.”

“And still is. She was always the serious one, though.”

Rebecca looked back to Mrs. Hutton. “Do you know why she cut off contact with my mother?”

“Knowing Margaret the way I do, I’d have to say it was her pride.” Mrs. Hutton shook her head slowly. “When your father moved your mother away from the island, it broke her heart. She never learned how to love and let go.”

“She sent us a piano for Christmas one winter, thinking it would help us become more cultured.” For the first time Rebecca caught a glimpse of what she’d missed all these years, and it filled her with a sense of regret and longing. “I think that was the last time we heard from her. She didn’t even come for my mother’s funeral.”

“If only your grandfather had been alive. He would have talked some sense into her.”

“I’ve thought about going to see her. Nantucket Island’s not too far from Boston. I don’t know why I’ve put it off so long.”

“She’s not on the island right now.”

Rebecca raised her brows in question. “Where is she?”

“The last time I saw her, she was preparing to leave for England.”

“England?” Rebecca frowned. Had she lost her grandmother just when she’d finally realized what she’d been missing?

“Your grandmother came to America when she was only seventeen. She’d always wanted to return to the village in which she grew up.”

“When is she coming back?”

“Late fall at the earliest. She promised to contact me on her return.”

Rebecca didn’t understand a number of things about her parents’ relationship with her grandmother. Nevertheless, as soon as she came back from England, she would make a point of visiting her on the island.

Rebecca thumbed through the rest of the drawings, stopping at a picture of a young boy. “Is this Luke?”

“You can tell?” Mrs. Hutton’s wrinkled hand touched the edge of the drawing. “He was only seven years old when his father drew this.”

“He has the same eyes and dark full brows.” Trying to cover her interest, Rebecca turned to the next page. “Luke was a handsome child.”