Runaway Heart

by Jane Peart

  "I got an interesting letter the other day," he began, picking up his cup and studying the amber contents. "It seems I've won some kind of award."

  "An award? How wonderful, Ad. What kind of award?"

  "A rather nice one, and it has a bonus attached." Ad's voice betrayed a little of his own pride and excitement. "The series of articles I wrote about Riverbend during the smallpox epidemic and about how we survived it, about the extraordinary heroism of some of the people—" He let this sink in for a moment, gazing at Holly. "At any rate, it did have the effect of touching people and resulted in much of the help the community got—as you know, medical supplies came from the city, along with nurses and nuns to help with the sick." He shrugged. "Well, you know all this, but the main thing is that I've been offered a job. Not my old one but a better one, as a feature writer; they've even suggested a regular column, at a lot more money."

  "Well, that's grand, Ad, I'm so happy for you."

  "At least it means my exile is over."

  "You mean you'll be leaving?"

  "Yes. Of course, the job is in Monterey, down the peninsula from San Francisco. A smaller newspaper than the one where I worked before as a reporter in the city—but I'll have more clout and—" He halted. "But that's not really what I came to talk about, although I wanted to tell you that I would be going at the end of the month."

  Holly leaned forward, her expression interested, slightly regretful. "People here will miss you, Ad. Certainly at the paper—we all will."

  "But you're leaving, too, aren't you, Holly? You only meant to stay until the end of the school year, right? Surely you never intended to stay in this backwater town."

  "Well..." Her voice faded uncertainly.

  "That's what I wanted to talk to you about—actually. Why don't we both leave—together?"

  "We? Together?" It was a puzzled echo.

  "Yes, you and I—and Joel," he finished slapping his hand on the table.

  "Joel?"

  "Look, Holly, I'm asking you to marry me. That way there'll be no problem about your keeping Joel. I mean, how can the Town Council refuse to let a married couple adopt a little boy?"

  Holly's eyes opened wide, startled, then softened and warmed. For a moment Ad saw sudden hope leap into them.

  "Ad, what a generous offer," she stammered. "I'm touched— flattered, actually." Ad shook his head as if to deny that, but she went on. "I realize what prompted you to make it and I cannot tell you how much it means to me that you—well, that you cared enough to do so...."

  Holly pushed back her chair, stood up, walked over to the window, and looked out. The last of the snow had melted; here and there tufts of new grass could be seen thrusting through the patches of brown earth, and the faintest hint of green buds were appearing on the trees. Both Vi and Blaine had told her that spring in Oregon was glorious.

  If only Blaine had come to her with this proposal—that would have been easy. She had at last stopped denying her feelings for him. With Blaine, everything would be assured. She could happily stay in Riverbend, continue teaching, and together they could make an ideal home for Joel. They shared the same values, faith, the desire to make their lives meaningful, to count for something. Instead, it was Ad. Dear Ad. Her heart was deeply touched by his offer. It wasn't that she did not appreciate his motives. She did. But if she accepted it—on any basis—it would mean moving with him to California, starting all over in a new place, in a new role, and with a man she couldn't give her wholehearted love to—couldn't, because that love belonged to someone else.

  What Ad was offering was tempting. She knew what he said was true. If she were married, there would be no question of the Town Council's letting her adopt Joel. Alone—there was the risk of losing him.

  After talking with Vi, Holly had felt strong and brave and sure, but now the doubts and uncertainty returned full force, disquieting that hard-earned confidence. Ad, who certainly had his "finger on the pulse" of things in this town, knew how things worked, understood the probable masculine viewpoint held by the members of the Town Council, knew what her chances were. Was it because he had weighed them and found them wanting in this that he had gallantly proposed marriage?

  On the other hand, was Ad's proposal the answer she had been praying for? "God Will Provide." That reassurance of Scripture for every need came into her mind. Was a husband what God was providing?

  "You don't have to give me your answer right away, you know, Holly," Ad said and his voice sounded both hesitant and a little offended. "Take your time and think about it...." He paused, then said, "Holly, how often have you told me that you've worried about going back to Willow Springs? That you thought you might have changed too much to fit back into that pattern?" He let this sink in for a moment, then he demanded: "You want Joel, don't you? And you're not sure the Town Council will permit an unmarried woman to adopt a child, are you? What I'm offering you is the best possible answer, isn't it?"

  "If that were all there were to it," Holly said slowly, then she turned from the window to face him again saying, "But, Ad, that isn't all—"

  A glint of humor showed in his gray eyes as he said, "I felt there was a 'but' coming."

  Holly smiled. "Yes, an important 'but'—"

  Ad's expression was a mixture of chagrin and reproach as he answered for her, "You don't love me."

  Holly hesitated. Her feelings for Ad were almost love. She understood and appreciated what the offer he was making her cost a man like him, to whom marriage meant giving up his cherished freedom. Also, Adam was offering to take her away from a town that she had never wanted to come to in the first place, from people who held her destiny in their hands, people she was afraid had too narrow a vision so that they would rather see a little boy placed in an orphanage than with an unmarried woman he loved and trusted. Accepting Adam's offer would give her that chance.

  But did Adam really love her? Her woman's instinct told her Adam found her attractive, intelligent, enjoyable to be with, amusing. . . . But more important, even than that, did she love him? Enough for marriage? No matter what the reason?

  As she hesitated Adam told her, "You know a lot of marriages are based on a lot less than we have, Holly. We're good friends, aren't we?" Ad asked, then got to his feet. "There's no hurry. Think about it—"

  "Vi would say—pray about it," Holly said softly.

  At these words Holly saw that veil drop over Ad's eyes. It was the same silent closure she sensed in him whenever she brought up anything about God or prayer or faith. In that moment, Holly realized she did not really know how Ad felt about the important things of life—at least the things that were becoming more and more important to her.

  A smile touched Ad's mouth. "Whatever—think, pray, make a list of the pros and cons of my—proposal."

  Had he almost said "proposition"? Like a business contract? Holly wondered. Was this that kind of an arrangement to Ad? How did he really feel about her?

  He picked up his hat and moved toward the door, saying, "Well, I better be heading back to town. I have a letter to write— replying to the editor at the Monterey paper, accepting the position they've offered me. They want me by the end of the month. When I go, I'd like you to go with me, Holly—and Joel, too, of course."

  After Ad left, Holly had the urge to rush over to Vi's, tell her of Ad's proposal, and beg her advice. But something checked her. No one could make this decision but she—with God's help. The rest of her life—and Joel's—depended on her choice. If she accepted Ad, Joel's adoption would be guaranteed. If not, his future would hang in the balance. It would be up to her to convince the Town Council that she, a single woman, was capable of raising a child—a male child—by herself.

  Involuntarily, a deep shudder shook her. Her thoughts went back. He had said, "We're good friends, aren't we?" But what was that friendship based upon? She and Ad had been first drawn together by a mutual feeling—the bond of "exile mentality." In a way, Ad had always mentally had "his hand on the doorknob," he was alwa
ys on his way out, he had never allowed himself to put down roots in Riverbend—or anywhere else, for that matter. He didn't want permanence or commitment. And Holly realized this was exactly what she did want.

  Although Ad might provide for her earthly needs, a home, protection, allow her to have Joel—and they could go away together, to a new place, start a new life—was that all that was necessary? And even if Ad thought he wanted that now—was that only temporary? Would that last? Could Ad, in all sincerity, all honesty, promise lifelong fidelity? Was he willing to stand before God and make the vows for an enduring relationship: "for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health"? Was what he felt for her—affection, respect, friendship—enough? For both of them? For her?

  Holly knew it was not. In her heart of hearts she knew what she really wanted in a marriage, in a husband. And she knew Adam was not the one who could fulfill that meeting of mind, soul, and spirit that she knew now was what she really yearned for in a relationship. And she knew that without it, she would never be satisfied. She and Adam would always be "unequally yoked." How could she commit her life to someone who tolerated but did not share her deepest beliefs?

  The following week she sent Ad a note at the Monitor asking him to come out on Saturday.

  She met him at the door. "Hello, Ad, let's go into the kitchen," she suggested, leading the way.

  Ad looked wary as he came into the room. He dragged one of the chairs out from the table, straddled it, leaned his arms on the back, and looked at Holly.

  "I have a feeling the other boot's going to drop," he said with an attempt at humor. "As I remember, our last conversation ended with the word 'but.' I suppose I'm now going to hear the rest of the sentence. I believe I'd just suggested that you don't love me. Am I right?"

  Holly said gently, "Ad, I do love you—but—," here she smiled a little, "it's not the kind of love I believe it takes to marry someone. It's different from that but just as real."

  Ad scowled. "Are we talking about the same thing?"

  "Maybe not, but I think so," Holly paused, then continued, "I know and you know, too, a marriage has to be built on strongly held mutual beliefs. On faith. Some common center." She chose her words delicately, before going on. "I realize you don't share some of the things that are basic to my life, things I didn't even realize meant so much to me as they do. The epidemic was a kind of turning point for me. This whole year has changed me—deeply. You were right when you reminded me that I might not be able to go back to Willow Springs. Maybe I've changed too much—but I can't marry you, either."

  A silence fell between them. Holly's eyes blurred as she looked at Ad across the table where they had sat so often talking, discussing, arguing. Even as her tears distorted his physical image, Holly saw him more clearly than she had ever done before. They had both walked together through a time of testing, and both had seen the realities of life and death, and both of them had been changed by it. Holly saw in Adam the sterling qualities that his old aloof cynicism had hidden before. She knew him now for his true self— strong, caring, fearless in the face of the most terrible possibilities.

  Ad stared at a point over Holly's head as if he could not look at her directly while he absorbed everything she had said. Then after a minute or so, he leveled his glance and really looked across the table at her. The woman he saw was a different person from the person he had seen when he first met Hollis Lambeth, newly arrived in Riverbend. He saw a face, more interesting than beautiful; those eyes he had always found so extra-ordinary—greenish, golden brown—now blazed with honesty. There was no flirtatiousness in them now, no awareness of her own charm, nor artifice in her manner. Here was a true lady, tested in the fire of trials she had never expected to encounter, a woman of gallantry and character.

  With a sudden unforeseen wrenching of his heart, Ad found himself wishing that she did love him. After another minute he spoke, "I got a letter from the editor of the paper in Monterey. They want me sooner than I thought at first. In fact, they want me as soon as I can come. So ...," he said slowly, "since there's really nothing to keep me here now, I guess I'll write them back and then . . . go."

  Ad got up and Holly walked with him to the door. He put out his hand, clasped her small one in both his, and looked long and deeply into that face he had come to admire—yes, love. Something good had come out of their meeting, knowing each other, for both of them. He would not have gone through life without having known her, unaware of what she stood for, heedless of what was meaningful to Hollis Lambeth.

  "Sure you won't change your mind?" he asked, half-teasing-ly, half-seriously.

  "No, I'm sure," she smiled back at him.

  They stood there for a full moment looking at each other, then Ad said almost sadly, "I'll never forget you, Holly. That's a promise."

  "Nor I you," she said softly, meaning it.

  "Good-bye then. I hope things work out for you—about Joel, I mean," he said. He made a slight movement toward her, and for a minute she thought he would kiss her, but he just smoothed back his hair with one hand, put on his hat, and went down the steps and across the schoolyard, where he had left his horse.

  As he mounted his horse, turned, and headed back to town, Ad felt a mixture of disappointment and relief. He understood Holly's reasoning. They did hold different values. Her life pattern was different from the one he had always followed, one of self-sufficiency, independence, uncommitted; he could never follow hers unquestioningly. And yet, he believed with a convinced certainty that hers was the better way. But to his regret it was not his, nor ever would be.

  Seeing him ride away, Holly realized she would always remember Adam Corcoran—debonair, skeptical, soft-hearted, reckless, courageous, all the things that made him who he was— and made him unacceptable as a husband.

  PART 6

  End of the line!

  Chapter 22

  Just as school was closing one afternoon, Matt Healy showed up. "Official business, Miss Lambeth," he said, handing her an envelope.

  Upon opening it, Holly learned that the hearing on her petition to adopt Joel was scheduled for the next Town Council meeting, at which time they would consider and make a decision.

  "What do you think, Matt, will they grant it?" she asked as she replaced the letter into its envelope.

  "I couldn't say," Matt said, but his expression was doubtful. "There's never been such a thing come up since I've been on the Council. There's many would say it ain't fittin' for a—if you'll excuse the term-a spinster lady to raise a child. But then, on the other hand, seeing you're a teacher, used to children—well, I jest dunno."

  Matt's ambiguous opinion did not do much to bolster Holly's optimism. However, she tried to distract herself by finishing up the year's work and issuing "promotion" certificates for the children to take home when school closed for the summer. As she filled in the names of Eliza and Annie Bates, Tom and Michael Healy onto the cards in her best swirly writing one afternoon, she could not help wonder who would be checking them over, planning lessons next fall when school reopened.

  Holly put down her pen, stared pensively out the window. Her own plans were uncertain. It all depended on the decision rendered on Joel by the Town Council. If they didn't allow her to adopt Joel—she thrust the thought away. They had to. But if they wouldn't—the possibility persisted—what would she do?

  Her mind suddenly in turmoil, Holly took up her pen again, determined to concentrate on the promotion cards, when she saw Ned's wagon coming into the schoolyard. But it wasn't Ned driving, it was Hetty! Holly dropped her pen with a sputter of ink and almost overturned the inkwell. She hadn't seen Hetty since before the epidemic. When Ned came to take Aurelia and Teddy home again, he said that Hetty was still very weak but recovering. Of course, that had been weeks ago. Now it was April. Why had Hetty come now?

  Holly watched as Hetty got slowly down from the wagon seat. Holly hurried to open the schoolhouse door just as Hetty was coming up the steps. Under her ar
m Hetty was carrying something wrapped in brown paper. When she saw Holly, she halted; her hand went out to hold onto the railing as if for support. Hetty was pale but evidently unscarred by her attack of smallpox.

  "Why, Hetty, hello. How are you feeling?" Holly greeted her, the surprise at seeing her cousin showing in her voice.

  Hetty seemed to take a deep breath before she replied. "I wanted to come sooner but I wasn't up to it."

  "Well, do come in." Holly realized Hetty had never seen her little apartment behind the classroom, had never come out to see her before. In fact, since the day of that awful confrontation she and Hetty had never been alone. She started to offer to make tea but then hesitated. Perhaps first, she had better wait to see what was the purpose of Hetty's visit.

  Hetty entered the classroom and looked around. She saw the colorful posters, the pictures the children had drawn pinned on the walls, the old glass bottles they had made into vases to hold the wildflowers, the purple lupines, yellow daisies, and Queen Anne's lace they picked and brought in to Holly.

  "It's very nice." Hetty nodded, then added a little awkwardly, "Some of the mothers I know have told me what a good job you've done here."

  "Why, thank you, Hetty," Holly said genuinely pleased at the compliment. "Of course, I love the children, and I've found—of all things—that I love teaching!" she laughed.

  "I thought you'd be good at it," was Hetty's unexpected comment.

  It surprised Holly, remembering Hetty's negative response when she had announced her intention to apply for the schoolteacher's job. Suppressing the impulse to remind her, instead she asked, "Could I offer you a cup of tea, Hetty?"

  Hetty's mouth worked nervously. "I really can't stay, Holly. I left the children at the store and Ned's pretty busy, so I said I wouldn't be long—"

  "You should have brought them. I would love to see them."

  "Yes, I know. They begged to come with me when they knew where I was going, but I needed to talk to you—alone," Hetty said stiffly.