Secret Hearts

by J. L. Jarvis

  “When?”

  They stood at the threshold and observed the people inside. Powell now laughed and chatted with her parents, who adored him as they had her husband. And why shouldn’t they? He was the picture of a well-bred gentleman.

  The fourth of July brought more than a holiday. It was Maggie’s first visit to the lake. She soon lost herself in a blur of pastel frocks and parasols, linen suits, lemonade, croquet and sailing.

  “You see that man over there?” Andrew nodded discreetly.

  “The short one?”

  “Henry Phipps. What he lacks in height, he makes up for in money.

  And the man approaching him—that’s Henry Clay Frick.”

  “He appears rather stoical.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that. Severe, yes. Ruthless perhaps.”

  As two men approached Mr. Frick, the younger said something, softly, and then the three of them laughed.

  “That’s Judge Mellon, with his son, Andrew. If there’s business in Pittsburgh, you can bet that they know about it, and—if it shows any promise—they most likely have money in it.”

  They walked along the boardwalk and nearly stepped in front of a friend of Andrew’s who was taking a photograph with his new Kodak camera.

  “I’m so sorry,” said Maggie.

  The amiable photographer offered to take Andrew and Maggie’s picture together.

  “I’d like a copy of that. When will it be ready to see, Mr. Wakefield?” Andrew asked.

  “It depends on the mail.”

  Andrew looked puzzled.

  “This Detective camera uses a new kind of film. It’s flexible—comes on a roll. When I’ve used all the film, I just send it to Rochester, and they’ll mail the finished photographs back to you.”

  “Really?” said Andrew.

  The men nodded in amazement. They surely did live in a marvelous time.

  As they continued to stroll, Maggie was awed. From far away, she had observed such gatherings, but now here she was, as if she had stepped inside a picture she had never believed could be real.

  Maggie, Andrew, and a gray bearded gentleman stood looking out across the lake from the boardwalk. The gentleman said, “How do you like our mountain, Miss MacLaren?”

  “We, in the valley, like to think of it as our mountain, sir,” said Maggie.

  He regarded her with a smile. “Yes, but we hold the deed.”

  Maggie smiled back and said, “Then, in deed, it is yours.”

  “Andrew, you’d do best to keep on your toes with this lass. She’s too clever for you.”

  “Miss MacLaren is the librarian of the Johnstown Library.”

  “Ah, now that’s noble work.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Carnegie. But it pales in comparison to what you have done. I shudder to think how many towns and cities would be without libraries but for your generosity.”

  “Well, I’ve worked hard to make money. It’s now my pleasant duty to work just as hard to give it away.”

  In the late afternoon, Andrew took Maggie sailing. It was her first time, and very different from what she’d imagined. It had always looked so quiet and effortless, but she had not anticipated how loudly the wind caught the canvas. She watched Andrew handle the boat masterfully and her heart swelled with pride to be with him here, in this place. Both the sailing and Andrew exhilarated her. He turned and, catching her staring, smiled back with a row of white teeth and his light bronze hair bright in the sun. The moment was brief, but she would always remember that look.

  The event of the evening was a Promenade Concert at the club, which Maggie discovered wasn't altogether different from any other dance. She was dressed more simply than most, yet she managed to garner admiring glances from several men present. She enjoyed the attention, but when Andrew looked at her, the world stopped. It was so different from anything she had experienced before. Jake looked at her and saw who she really was, but in Andrew’s eyes she was more. He adored her. And with Andrew she could go places where she never had been, and see a life she never had seen. For Andrew viewed the world with the boldness of one who had never faced challenges.

  The song ended and they left the dance floor.

  “You and Maggie dance wonderfully together,” said Allison, standing before them like a vision with her auburn hair against a cream colored dress. After nearly three years, Allison had finally put away her widow’s weeds.

  “And look at you,” said Andrew.

  “I can’t mourn forever, can I?”

  “Welcome back,” said Andrew as he took her hand and held it in both of his for a moment. Their parents had begun to worry about the length of Allison’s mourning, which she had prolonged far beyond what was customary.

  Music continued to fill the night air as Andrew and Maggie left the dance to stroll idly alongside the lake. Lillian Adair stood beside her husband and watched.

  “That girl is in love,” she said without taking her eyes from the pair.

  Charles Adair cast a cursory glance toward the couple. “She’s a pretty girl. Unsuitable but really quite pretty. It’s no wonder he wants to spend time with her.”

  “You don’t suppose he’s serious about her, do you?”

  “Andrew? No. He’s just enjoying a little flirtation before he settles down to a proper match.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” But she continued to watch them.

  Maggie and Andrew walked until the music grew faint and the party lights blurred.

  Maggie broke the silence. “You can see the stars in the lake. It’s like glass, it’s so still.”

  Andrew viewed the wonder in Maggie’s eyes through the yearning in his. The sky exploded in a spray of fireworks reflecting on the water with distorted shimmers. From the nearby club, muted unison moans of delight followed each eruption like thunder after lightning. Andrew stood behind Maggie with his hands on her shoulders, watching. Each burst of color took her breath. She leaned back into Andrew’s chest. He held her shoulders, and then lowered his hands along her arms until his arms surrounded her waist and his hands covered her fingers. Their world became small, and they were the center. The sky exploding with color made it enchanted. His mouth grazed her cheek, and came to rest against her neck. With a shudder, she tilted her head toward him with an imperceptible gasp. Andrew whirled her around, but Maggie’s world was already spinning. Her heart was near bursting. Andrew’s mouth was on hers as his hands lightly slid from her hair down her neck to her shoulder. Colors and sounds filled the air as the thrill of his kiss spread through her body.

  “I love you.” Her words escaped in a whisper. She hadn’t intended to say it. The words had rushed out.

  Maggie saw, in his eyes, something she had never seen before. He opened his mouth to speak, but a sound from the periphery broke into the silence. A man’s voice came from a shadowy figure. “Allison?” Maggie turned toward the voice.

  “No,” said Andrew, a little too gruffly.

  “Well, Andrew, how nice to see you,” he said, staring at Maggie.

  “Maggie, you remember Mr. Sutton.”

  Maggie smiled and nodded, as Powell nodded back with a hint of derision. “Miss McLeary.”

  “MacLaren,” corrected Andrew.

  “I beg your pardon,” said Powell. “What brings you up to the lake, Miss MacLaren?”

  Maggie smiled. “Mr. Adair.”

  Powell forced a haughty smile as his eyes traveled downward in unmasked disdain. “I see. But surely these are unfamiliar parts to you.”

  “No, not really.”

  “That’s odd. I don’t recall having seen you at the club before.”

  Maggie was oblivious to the disdain beneath Powell’s gentility. But Andrew was not. He knew better than to tarry in Powell’s company.

  “Miss MacLaren, we’re monopolizing Mr. Sutton.”

  She looked at Andrew and detected annoyance but did not understand it. Andrew offered his arm to Maggie, which she took. And then, with a curt nod to Powell, he led he
r away.

  “Andrew, is something wrong?” Maggie was too kind and trusting to recognize Powell’s affront. She took Powell’s remarks as conversation rather than condescension. However, she began to view the whole encounter as a fortuitous check on her soaring emotions.

  Andrew said, “Don’t mind Mr. Sutton. He’s just got a unique personality.”

  “I don’t mind him, really,” said Maggie, bemused.

  Allison slipped away as the dance was near ending. Some couples danced their last dance while others meandered along the boardwalk, but Allison chose the roadside, hoping for solitude. As she came within sight of the cottage, she could still hear fading music and conversation. At times, muted laughter soared over the murmurs. She walked in no hurry. Refreshed by the night air, she enjoyed being alone with her thoughts. As she distanced herself from the gathering, she thought of how different this year felt from the last. She had come through a dark time. Now, for the first time in years, she looked forward to her future—their future.

  “It’s not safe to be wandering alone out here.” A voice from behind pierced the darkness.

  An instinctive gasp was all she could manage, for she knew the voice. From the shadows, Powell emerged.

  “You gave me a fright!” Although Allison acted relieved, knowing it was Powell didn't ease her concern. She couldn't help but suspect that he’d followed her here. He had always seemed harmless, but lately his behavior had become rather strange. She was forced to admit that his feelings for her were behind it, and yet she’d done nothing to encourage him. She had shied away from confronting him with the blunt truth. Instead, she hoped he would realize on his own that there was no future for them. She looked toward the cottage and wished she were in it.

  “You ought to be more careful,” he said, as he walked by her side toward it.

  Her light laugh sounded uneasy. “I felt perfectly safe until you came along and scared me to death!”

  Powell got into step with her and offered his arm, which she pretended not to see. He looked at her with a helpless frown. “I didn't mean to scare you.” His voice was soft and controlled.

  “Sneaking up on a person in the dark tends to have that effect.” As they rounded the corner of the carriage house, Allison was relieved to be nearing the door. “Well, here we are. Good night, Mr. Sutton.”

  “I was hoping to talk to you,” Powell explained.

  “Yes, of course. Perhaps tomorrow. It’s late and I’m awfully tired.” The cottage was dark. Of course, no one would be home. She had been the first to leave the club. She hesitated by the carriage house, reluctant to lead Powell any closer to the empty house. At least outside there were people, although none were nearby at the moment.

  “Allison. Please. I wanted to…” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet covered box, which he opened. “I saw these and thought of you.”

  Allison looked long enough to see a pair of earrings. More than that, she did not care to notice. “Mr. Sutton, I can’t accept those.”

  “I want you to have them.”

  “No,” she said in a voice that was soft but firm.

  “But you must. I insist.”

  “It’s too…” She exhaled and looked over his shoulder. They were quite alone. “It’s a personal gift. To accept might give an impression that’s simply not true.”

  He thrust the gift toward her.

  She shrank back. “I’m so sorry. If I’ve led you to hope we could be more than friends—well, you’ve been a dear friend. And that is what we are—friends.” Even that was tenuous. Linked only through her deceased husband, their friendship survived by obligation. Nevertheless, she felt guilty for being sickened by his attentions. Surely it was unkind to react so strongly against a person who had done so much for her, and solely for caring for her and expressing admiration. Even now, she worried that she had seemed cruel.

  He stepped closer to her and with so odd an expression that she found herself watching his eyes and his mouth. His ominous calm put her on edge. If she moved toward the house, he would follow. The road was worse, darkened by shadows. He was lifting her hand, and the gift was soon in it. The presence of the gift forced a response. She tried to conceal her revulsion, which she tried to believe was mere pity.

  “No, I can’t.”

  “Just let me see them on you.” Powell’s voice was edgy. She shuddered to feel his hand clamp round her arm. He moved closer until she felt his moist breath upon her neck. From the tiny box, he took one of the earrings and brought it to her ear, while he pulled her insistently closer. His fingertips traced the outline of her ear, and then he snapped the clasp of the earring. She flinched. His hand tightened about her arm.

  “Powell, please.” She pulled steadily away.

  His sharp eyes bore through her.

  She said quietly, “Please, let me go.”

  Powell seemed not to notice her anxious resistance. His fingers strayed from her ear to her neck, as he opened his hand to grasp hold at the nape.

  “Allison,” he said with a husky whisper that stuck in his throat.

  The other earring slipped from her hand as she pulled one hand free to remove the earring from her ear and press it into his hand. Then she tried to step back, but his fingers were clamped on her arm and his other hand caught her free wrist, so she couldn't pull further away. He held fast with a resolute look. “Just a small thank-you kiss. You owe me that much.”

  “No, I can’t. I’m expected inside.”

  “By whom?” She knew he’d see through her excuse, but a gentleman would have honored her wishes. He drawled, “Allison, honey, I’ve waited so long.” His eyes were lit with unnatural fervor. He locked his arms around her and forced her against him.

  Chapter 10

  “No. Mr. Sutton!” She turned her face sideways and felt halting breaths against her throat as she struggled against him. Her voice came out too soft. “Stop! Powell, please leave me alone.”

  He spoke between devouring kisses. “We are alone.”

  “No you’re not.”

  Like thunder, Samuel’s voice filled the air as he grabbed Powell’s collar and pulled him from Allison.

  Powell flew to the ground and looked up with wide eyes. Shock, fear, and loathing crossed over his face while he fought to regain his composure. “This doesn’t concern you.” He rose to his feet. “So run along, boy. Mrs. Kimball and I have some unfinished business.” Powell turned his back to Samuel and slid his palm about Allison’s waist to lead her away.

  With a swift and heavy hand, Samuel grabbed Powell’s arm, until he was forced to release her. Samuel then clamped his hand on Powell’s neck until he cast pleading eyes up at Samuel.

  Samuel glared. “Any business you think you had with the lady is finished.”

  Facing defeat, Powell cowered like a cornered animal, plotting his next move, while Samuel put himself in front of Allison. There the men stood in arrested hostility.

  Lighthearted laughter rang through the air as the Adairs rounded a corner and encountered the three.

  “Well, good evening!” Charles Adair’s cheerful voice cut through the arctic stillness.

  With his wife on his arm, he approached the trio. Andrew and Maggie, still laughing, followed close behind. With astonishing sangfroid, Powell walked over to greet them. Allison thought she heard Andrew make some flippant remark about suspicious characters lurking in the shadows, but her mind was racing too far ahead to absorb anything that was happening. Samuel distanced himself from Powell Sutton but remained at Allison’s side.

  With her usual warmth, Lillian Adair said, “My dears, what are you all doing out here in the night air? Let’s go inside!”

  They advanced toward the cottage, with Powell beside them, and Andrew and Maggie close behind. Samuel lagged behind long enough to whisper something to Allison, and then the two followed everyone inside.

  Allison wouldn't speak of the incident with Powell to her parents. He would twist things around to his advant
age. What had he done, really, but give her a fine gift? No, to discuss the incident would only bring more attention, and pressure, upon her. Powell had managed to wheedle his way into their good graces since Edmund’s death. With admiration they had watched him fulfill his promise to Edmund by looking after Allison. How they adored him for it. Powell had established himself as the heir apparent to Allison’s affections, creating the insidious illusion of an engagement, the formality of which was delayed only by the duration of Allison’s grief. Now that her mourning had ended, Powell behaved as though his time had come. Too late, Allison wished she had been more adamant in making her feelings clear early on. Perhaps then she might have disabused her parents—and Powell—of the notion. Instead she had chosen, with more instinct than calculation, to hide from her grief and avoid any conflict that threatened to destroy the new peace she had at last found.

  Her marriage had not been the sublime union everyone seemed to assume. Her husband’s wealth and position had not compensated for his cruel nature. Yet when he fell ill, she dutifully cared for him through his illness and honored him in his death. She refused to address the innuendo of gossips, for there was a cloud over the source of his illness and cause of his death. Nor did she stoop to confront their remarks with the truth. She had convinced herself that she was taking the high road, but in truth, she was simply too weary to resist. She let people think what they chose to think and insulated herself by avoiding the offenders and, eventually, everyone else.

  Having retreated from the world, Allison found herself in the company of Samuel, who, not by choice, had been exiled from his proper place in society. He and Allison were friends, and had been so for years. Allison never knew she was falling in love. She just found herself there, in a quiet and startling way.

  Allison stood at her window, waiting. Powell’s behavior had shaken her. Now, in the stillness, she was hesitant to venture out of her room. She looked through her window into the night sky. Powell must be asleep by now. She shuddered to recall his eyes, chillingly intense with thoughts she dared not imagine. But she wouldn't let that deter her.