Secret Hearts

by J. L. Jarvis

  Beth knelt down by the wood box and filled her arms with firewood until it was piled to her chin. With a startled jump, she dropped the armful of logs and frantically swiped at her sleeve, where a black spider crawled toward her neck. It fell to the ground and met its demise beneath her stomping foot. With a shudder, Beth picked up the wood and swept up the mess.

  She wiped her hands on a dishrag and looked about with a contented sigh. Hank was at work. Robin was at the library with Maggie. The house was empty, the solitude welcome. It was the kind of day, rare until later in summer, when the warm day cooled to an evening chill. Beth pulled a sweater around her and sat alone by the empty fireplace. She and Robin might sit here tonight and read or play a board game together. With Hank spending more and more time in saloons, and Maggie so involved with Andrew, there was more time alone with her daughter. Beth told Robin these were their special times, and they were.

  She stood by the window and waited for the teakettle to rattle. She was in no hurry. The view through the kitchen window comforted her. Not far from the house, the hill rose steeply, covered with trees firmly rooted in the solid earth.

  Unaware she was scratching her wrist, she glanced at the cup and saucer that waited so invitingly. As she looked idly out the window, the itching worsened. She examined her wrist and found two tiny red bumps. Her arm was reddening, but she had to scratch it harder. It spread to her neck, which now itched unbearably.

  “The peace and quiet must be too much for me,” she said to herself as she rubbed her neck. “I’m breaking out in hives.”

  She walked toward the mirror to look at her neck, but before she could reach it, her head became clouded and thick. “Air,” she thought, “fresh air.”

  Her head was swimming, her thoughts scattered and confused. “I need help.”

  She grabbed for the doorknob but stumbled. Lifting herself up, she crawled outside and was able to stand with the help of the handrail on the front porch. She struggled to focus her mind on one goal: to get help.

  “Maeve.”

  She battled the thickening fog in her mind, determined to make it next door to the O’Neill house despite her darkening vision. She was halfway to Maeve’s when the darkness engulfed her. There was no more sound, no sight, and no body. She knew only her thoughts in a senseless void. Her thoughts struggled to break through. She fought to get help, to survive, to breathe.

  Chapter 13

  A voice broke through the fog in her mind.

  “It’s all right,” said a man’s voice.

  A hand touched her forehead, then her wrist. He straightened out her legs and body until she realized she must be lying down on the floor—no, the ground. Someone was here—where? Outside on the ground? She sensed the air against her skin, and his hands touching her, lifting her. Still she couldn't move or speak. She barely could breathe as she fought to gasp air through a space like a straw in her swelling throat. She tried to get up, but he said to relax, and she tried to obey.

  The struggle abated. Beth felt herself slip away and float into the air, where she hovered above her own body. It was dark, but she heard the man’s voice speaking soothing words. He was too far to reach.

  “But I’m not finished yet,” pled her thoughts. “Oh, God, help me.”

  “It’s not your time,” said a voice with no sound, yet she knew someone spoke it.

  It wasn't her time. She accepted the words and waited in darkness, still hovering and hearing and knowing what was happening in one world but acutely aware of another. But she wouldn't go there. Not yet. The voice brought her peace, and she knew she would not be alone.

  Now there were voices. She heard them close to her. Once more, she began to feel her body about her. She was back. Her throat was tight, but she managed to draw air to her lungs, although not yet enough to be comfortable.

  “Robin. Where—” Her head throbbed with a tremendous pain. She moaned and tried to sit up but could not.

  “Just lie back.” A firm hand slipped beneath her head and supported her as she fell back, halted by the pain.

  “Robin is fine.”

  Too weak to sigh, Beth gave in to relief and rest. “Hank?”

  “No, it’s not Hank.”

  Beth was weary and confused. Her thoughts were as hazy as her vision as she tried to open her eyes, to see. Then she remembered what had happened.

  “Where?”

  “Shh….”

  Too weak to do anything else, Beth had to trust. Someone was there. He would take care of her or not; she would live or die. How strangely peaceful she felt as she waited. She drifted back to a place that wasn't quite sleep. The pain lifted for a time. She was lifted and carried upstairs.

  “Beth.”

  She heard but was too far to answer.

  “Beth, it’s Maeve. Can you open your eyes?”

  Beth opened her eyes as though facing the sunlight. As her vision cleared, she saw Maeve smiling down upon her. She was lying in a bed.

  “Well, there you are. How are you feeling?”

  Beth looked around. “Where?”

  “You’re in my house. You’re safe.”

  “Maeve. Something stung me—a spider.”

  “You’ve had a time of it, my dear.”

  Beth tried to look about, still feeling disoriented.

  “You’re in my house. We’ll take care of you.” Maeve patted Beth on the hand. “I’ll go get you some tea.” Beth watched her leave the room. A man stood near the doorway.

  “Mr. Wakefield?”

  The man from the revival meeting nodded. His eyes were lined faintly from smiles or from sorrow. She couldn't quite tell. He was really quite good looking, in a subtle way—not the sort of man one might notice in a crowd. His presence somehow reassured her.

  With no warning, Beth’s body began to tremble. Uncontrollable muscle spasms shook her body until she could only breathe in gasps. The spasms came and went for several minutes. Mr. Wakefield found a quilt and pulled it over the bedding that already covered her. She gripped the bedclothes and shook until her teeth chattered. He sat by her bedside and watched over her silently. When the episode subsided, he took a rag from a bowl of water and rung it out. Then he stroked her face and forehead with its soothing coolness until she was calm. The spasms returned and went on in the same way, coming and going several times until Beth lay weak, her head pounding.

  She looked wearily at Mr. Wakefield. She wanted to tell him he had kind eyes. But she had no strength to do so.

  He opened his mouth to speak.

  Maeve walked in with a tray. Mr. Wakefield arose to make room at the bedside. “I’ve brought tea.”

  “Thank you,” mouthed Beth to Maeve.

  “Drink some of this, and then get some rest,” said Maeve.

  Beth managed a slight nod, which caused her to wince. “My head.”

  Her eyes closed, and she drifted off to sleep. She was safe. Beth never heard Mr. Wakefield leave.

  “Sit back down. Now.” Maggie gave Beth a stern look that made Beth laugh. But she sat down obediently, nevertheless.

  Robin grabbed her mother’s arm.

  “Robin, leave your mother alone.”

  “Can I see it, Mommy?”

  “There’s really nothing to see.” But she closed her eyes, shook her head, and extended her arm for Robin to see where the spider had stung her.

  Maggie pulled a tray of cookies from the oven. “I don’t understand. Who is this man who carried you to Maeve’s?”

  “A handsome Prince Charming took her away,” said Robin.

  “To Miss Maeve’s castle,” said Beth, turning toward Robin with a wink. But Robin’s attention was diverted.

  “Aunt Maggie, wait!”

  “Oh! What was I thinking?” Maggie pulled the mixing bowl from the sink and handed it, along with a large wooden spoon, to a relieved Robin. With delight, Robin cleaned the bowl of its remaining dough, while Beth gazed out the window and wondered about Eben Wakefield.

  On a warm
day in summer, Maggie took Andrew to her favorite picnic spot near the lake. The sun lit the pebbles beneath the clear water as the two played like children along the shore, skipping stones across the surface. Lifting her shoes and her skirt above water, Maggie stepped in bare feet across slippery rocks to the opposite side of the Stony Creek, where she took off in a run to the picnic blanket. Andrew caught up with her and tackled her around the waist, falling and pulling her with him to the blanket. There she lay, on her back, amid the strewn remnants of lunch, propped up on her elbows and breathing in the sweet smell of wild grasses.

  Andrew reclined beside her and studied her face. Running had tinted her cheeks. His own color deepened as he watched her inhale the sweet summer scents and exhale until his breathing fell into sync with hers.

  He pulled his gaze to her eyes, which were bright with the vigor of unrealized hopes. So different was she from the cool porcelain figurines of his usual society. She was part of the sumptuous fabric of nature into which he now willingly sank. All around them was beauty, and in the center was this pretty young woman, warm and vibrant, here for him to want, and for him to have.

  A cloud passed over them, the shade from which caused Maggie to shiver. Andrew spread his jacket on her like a blanket and held it in place to warm her.

  His touch took her by surprise, causing her ebullience to melt away. Acutely aware of his presence and their seclusion, Maggie’s heightening senses overpowered her. His face hovered inches away. She felt his closeness, yet did not want to look for fear she’d expose her feelings. But she did both. Grass and trees quivered in the breeze. Their eyes met as wisps of hair stroked her cheekbones. His eyes strayed to her parted lips, and then to her chest as it rose to take in breath.

  “The weather is changing,” said Maggie.

  Andrew’s eyes swept to her face, but he seemed not to hear. Feeling self-conscious, Maggie sat up beside him. He lifted her hand to his lips. She turned to him, her lips parted with a question, but the words were soon lost. His eyes brimmed with unvoiced desires. Thus transfixed, he stroked his knuckles down her neck. His lips brushed her chin. As though she would find there the breath now so scarce, her lips flew to his. From her shoulders, his palms slid to her waist as he guided her down to the ground, and she let him. He rolled onto her.

  Maggie felt breathless. “No. Not here.” She pushed away and then stood to escape. She stepped off the blanket and onto the grass in search of equilibrium. Grass rustled as Andrew joined her. He put his hands on the front of her waist, and he pulled her against him. As he buried his face in her hair, he told her in hot whispers what he wanted. She could no longer think. She could only feel.

  “I’m not ready for this.” She pulled away weakly. Andrew brought his hands to her shoulders and urged her to face him, which she did, knowing that beneath his eyes she would burn.

  “It’s not just for now,” he insisted, “I want you forever.”

  “It’s too fast.”

  “Maggie, don’t pull away. Look at me.”

  In his eyes, she saw what she had thought she would want, and yet something was missing. She wasn't ready to give herself to him—not yet.

  “Run away with me, Maggie.”

  All she could do was to stare, stunned by his rash words.

  He dropped to his knees before her and buried his face in her hands, brushing his lips on her fingers. “I want you. I’ll marry you.”

  Maggie was dazed He took her breath when he pressed his face to the folds of her skirts and clutched at the fabric. She drowned in her senses, unable to think. Her body was awake to the insistent pressure of Andrew’s hands on her ankles and calves. Her eyes shut as her face grew flushed.

  She grabbed hold of his shoulders. “Not now. Not like this.” Her voice was not hers.

  “But I want you. Now. Like this.”

  She wanted him, too. With her remaining resolve, she pushed his hands away until they were safely free of the entangling fabric of her dress. She felt no less entangled.

  Andrew stood and faced Maggie and leaned very close without touching. His lips just missed hers on the way to her ear, where his whispered her name as she’d never heard it before. With a husky sigh from his throat he said, “Maggie.”

  She was slipping away, her resolve further gone with each whisper.

  He spoke softly again, his breath’s heat on her neck. “Tell me you love me—you want me.”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes what?”

  With each word, his lips brushed closer to hers, his mouth full and parted and longing for her. “Say it.”

  “Yes…I want you.” And she did.

  Helpless and hungry, her lips parted to meet his mouth. She needed to taste him.

  Several yards in the distance, two fishermen walked by the creek, laughing and talking.

  Maggie watched them disappear into the trees by the creek.

  “We can’t do this. Not here. There are people.”

  Andrew glanced toward the sound of the voices, and then looked at Maggie. He drew her into his arms and closed his eyes to his mounting desire. The voices drew nearer. He cursed. “Tonight, then.” He held her and pressed hard against her. He smoothed Maggie’s disheveled hair and clothing with lingering hands. Maggie inched backward until Andrew took hold of her hands. “At midnight. Be waiting for me.”

  “I can’t just run away with you.”

  His eyes searched hers. Did he know she was helpless to form a clear thought when he did that? “Why not?”

  “Because, it’s not—I’m not—I just don’t do things like that.”

  He seemed about to smile. He held her hand and slid his fingertips from her wrist to her elbow. She stared at his hand on her arm. “But you can.”

  “Well, yes, in theory I could.”

  He gave her another one of those deep looks that muddled her thinking, and left it at that. He said no more about it, which left Maggie thinking of nothing else for the ride home.

  There were too many people about when he pulled up in front of her house. They both knew that a public kiss would scandalize the neighbors, so there was no kiss. Andrew got out and lifted her down from the buggy. Just before he let go of her waist, he leaned close and whispered into her ear, allowing his lips to brush against her earlobe as he said, “I’ll be back at midnight.” Then he walked her to her front door and left her with one deep look.

  Maggie could still feel his lips on her ear as his buggy pulled away from her house. She felt hands on her waist and remembered his body against hers. Every place his hands touched was burned into her memory.

  When had she agreed to go with him? She hadn’t. But at some point during the ride home, she knew that she would. They would have each other completely, forever and soon. Maggie MacLaren was eloping, and not with just anybody. She was to marry Andrew Adair, a rich gentleman from the lake. Her head spun with excitement. No doubt tongues would wag when news spread of their marriage, it being so sudden and all. She could hear them already. She sat on the porch swing and grinned at the thought of the nasty old biddies running out of fingers as they counted the months after the wedding.

  A movement drew her attention to the sidewalk. Jake was walking toward the mill, in the opposite direction. She called out to him, but he seemed not to notice. Again she called to him. “Jake!” He must have heard. She stepped down from the porch steps and waited for him. How could he not hear her? Maggie opened her mouth to call once more but instead ran after him. She caught up with him and grasped his arm to stop him. She stood panting to catch her breath. Now that she had caught up with him, she was unsure of what to say.

  As Jake looked at Maggie, not even his anger could mask how he felt. He had seen her come home, and had keenly noticed how different she was. He knew he had lost her, and, for all of his physical strength, he couldn't walk away. Not even his pride could rescue him from the wounds that Maggie would unwittingly inflict.

  She was relieved to see the old warmth in Jake’s eyes, but it
weighed on her heart to see that warmth mixed with pain. She was drawn to his friendship. She wanted to warm herself in it, and share her happiness with him. It never crossed her mind that doing so might cause him pain.

  When she told him her news, he said nothing.

  When his silence stretched beyond what she could bear, she said, “Can’t you be happy for me?”

  “I’m sure you’ll be happy enough for the both of us.” Jake’s words were harsh but not as caustic as the feelings behind them. Either to soften the impact, or hasten his own pain, he asked, “Does he love you?”

  “Of course he does.”

  Jake forced the words from his throat. “And you love him?”

  That seemed to annoy her. “Would I marry him if I didn’t?”

  He took that as a yes, which he had expected. The light in her eyes he had not, and the blow landed hard. Jake nodded and made his best attempt at a smile.

  Maggie watched him walk away, then turned and walked into the house, fixing her mind on her impending wedding. How she wanted to tell Beth of her wedding plans, but Hank was planted in a kitchen chair. She had no desire to hear anything Hank would have to say on the matter. She would wait until Beth was alone, and then tell her.

  Instead, she went up to her room and began to make plans. They had agreed to elope the following night. Maggie had convinced Andrew to wait one day so she could make arrangements for someone to take her place at the library. She wrote a letter of joyous explanation, which she would leave for Beth to find after she had gone.

  “Mrs. Andrew Adair,” whispered Maggie. “Maggie Adair. Mrs. Adair.” Maggie laughed and began to pack her bags.

  The next morning the sun shone solely for Maggie as she awoke to the warmth of the new day. Birds may well have warbled melodiously, so idyllic was her life at this moment. It was the dawn of her new life. Her best dreams lay before her.