Family of the Heart

by Dorothy Clark

  She? Clayton frowned, rose and shrugged into his suit coat. Whoever it was, he would get rid of her quickly. He had work to do. Three long strides took him across the hall to the drawing-room doorway. A slender, dark-haired woman sat in an upholstered chair, facing away from him. He fixed a polite smile on his face and strode into the room. “Good afternoon. I am Clayton Bainbridge, may I help you?”

  The woman rose, turned and held out her arms.

  “Victoria! My dear friend.” Clayton rushed forward and gave the older woman a hug. “I am astounded by your visit. I had no idea you were back home. When did you return?”

  “Charles resigned his post in England two months ago. But we only arrived in Cincinnati last week. I would have come sooner, but my mother is ill. Let me look at you.” She drew back and studied his face. “You are handsome as ever, Clayton.”

  “And you are just as lovely as I remember.”

  “Flatterer!” She laughed and took hold of his hand. “Now that the polite niceties are out of the way—” She pulled him toward the settee. “Come and talk to me. I have not had a chance to catch up on all that has happened since we left, and there is so much for you to tell me. Do you realize I have been gone over three years?”

  “Yes. I know.”

  She stopped arranging her skirts and looked up at him. “That sounded grim.” She studied his face so intently he wanted to squirm. “Are you not over Deborah’s death?”

  “There are some things you do not get over, Victoria.”

  “Bosh. Deborah was beautiful, Clayton, but it has been almost three years since her passing. She would want you to marry again. Especially as your marriage was…well…chaste. Except for that one time.”

  He went rigid. “You know of that?”

  “Now do not go all offended on me, Clayton. I am old enough to be your mother, and you know my reputation for boldness.” She placed her hand on his arm. “Of course I know. I was the closest thing to a mother Deborah ever knew. She confided everything to me.”

  “I see.” Clayton surged to his feet, stepped to the fireplace and looked up at his grandparents’ portraits so he did not have to face Victoria. “I am surprised you treat me with such affection.”

  There was a small gasp behind him. “What an astonishing thing to say. There has always been fondness between our families. Why would I not?”

  He turned to face her, the muscle along his jaw twitching. “Because if Deborah told you everything, you must know I am responsible for her death.” It was the first time he had said the words aloud. The first time he had spoken with anyone about his wife’s death. It was painful, but there was something freeing about it.

  “I know no such thing!” She peered up at him, gave his face a close perusal. “I do not follow your reasoning, Clayton. Please explain.”

  “How can you not understand, Victoria? I am the one responsible for the baby that took her life.”

  “That is preposterous, Clayton. Many women die of childbirth. Do you hold that their husbands are responsible for their deaths?”

  “Of course not. But that is different.” The bitterness and self-loathing poured out of him with his words. “Deborah had a weak heart and I knew it. I knew having a child could kill her.”

  “And so did she.”

  “Yes. But Deborah was innocent of such things. I knew that birth precautions often fail.” There, he had admitted it all. Victoria looked stunned. He braced himself for her disgust.

  “What birth precautions?” The words were quiet, reflective.

  “The ones Deborah got from Dr. Anderson.”

  Victoria drew in a breath, released it. “She never told you.”

  Clayton scowled down at her. “Never told me what?”

  “Deborah lied to you, Clayton. She knew you would never agree to treat her as a real wife because you were afraid she would become with child. But that is what she wanted.” Victoria rose and came to stand facing him. “When Dr. Anderson told Deborah she had only a year, perhaps a year and a few months left to live—”

  “What?” Clayton stiffened. “I never—”

  Victoria touched his arm. “Listen, and you will understand.”

  He stared at her, gave a curt nod.

  “Dr. Anderson told Deborah she was soon to die, and she decided the only way she could live on was through a child. She had nothing to lose but a few months’ time. Either way she was going to die. So she planned, and she lied.” Victoria took a breath, exhaled. “She swore Dr. Anderson to secrecy about her limited time to live and tried to convince you to treat her as a wife. I know how long you withstood her pleas, Clayton. But Deborah was nothing if not inventive when it came to getting her own way. You know that better than anyone. So she lied to you. She begged you to treat her as a real wife for once—only once—because she knew if she said once you would be more likely to yield. And she told you Dr. Anderson had given her birth precautions and assured her it was perfectly safe. She won.” Victoria’s gaze locked on his eyes. “Deborah knew exactly what she was doing and the risk she was taking with her life in doing it. You are not guilty of Deborah’s death, Clayton. She is. It is all in the letter she wrote me.”

  Victoria turned and walked back to the settee, opened her purse and pulled out a letter. She came back and held it out to him. “I saved the letter because I thought your daughter—when she is grown—would like to know her mother wanted her so much she was willing to give up her life for her.”

  Deborah’s death was not his fault. Clayton shook his head, lit the lantern and walked to the door in the upstairs hall. He could not grasp it. He had blamed himself for so long. But it had been Deborah’s choice. Dr. Anderson had said her frail heart was about to stop beating, even without her having a child. It was only amazing that she had lived long enough to give birth. But Victoria believed that God had granted Deborah the desire of her heart, and part of her lived on in Nora. And he agreed. For the first time he understood why Deborah had named her baby Nora Blessing.

  The sadness that had been with him all evening swelled. A cleansing sorrow. For the first time he was able to grieve Deborah’s passing without guilt and anger. He only wished she had not lied to him. But that, too, he understood. He had been so determined to honor his promise to Andrew to keep Deborah safe, he would not have agreed to shorten her life by even one day.

  Clayton set aside his musings, held the lantern high and climbed the attic stairs. The child’s bed he wanted for Nora had to be up here somewhere. He ducked beneath a half-log rafter and swung the lantern to his right. The circle of golden light flowed over dusty trunks and pieces of furniture. Old toys.

  He stopped, shoved a large crate aside and moved the lantern closer to a bench with a broken armrest, stared at the toy that sat on the seat. Noah’s ark. His father had made the ark and carved the animals for him. He had forgotten all about it. He set the lantern on the bench seat, squatted on his heels and picked up one of the animals that crowded the deck of the ark. A deer.

  A smile tilted his lips. His fingers had remembered what he had forgotten. The deer had been his favorite—which probably explained the missing antler. He put it down and picked up the bear, the fox, the beaver and otter. He looked inside and found the buffalo and horse, squirrels and rabbits. Crows, turkey and grouse perched on the flat roof, a cat and dog nearby. He grinned, blew off the loose dust and carried the ark over to the top of the stairs. Nora would love it.

  Nora. He had Deborah to thank for Nora. It had been her choice to have a child. And if she had not lied to him about the birth precautions, Nora would not exist. The truth settled deep in his soul. He was not guilty. And all the torment he had suffered over the past three years had been self-inflicted. It had come from him—not God.

  Clayton’s heart almost stopped. Sarah was not some sort of punishing test from God, as he had believed. He frowned, brushed the dust from his hands and walked back to get the lantern. Even at his most angry moments, he still believed in God. Still believed in His so
vereign power. And that He controlled the things that happened to those who accepted Him as their Lord. That truth had been ingrained in him by his grandparents from the time he could walk and talk. So what was God’s purpose in bringing Sarah to Stony Point? To care for Nora because he had turned his back on his own flesh and blood?

  Clayton reached for the lantern, glanced at the small chest the ark had sat on and opened it instead. Small balls of multicolored fine wool rested on a folded piece of fabric. He touched them, tears filming his eyes at a sudden flash of his mother, sitting in a chair by the hearth working needlepoint. He lifted out the fabric, stiff and yellowed with age, unfolded it and smoothed it out across his knee. A green vine with purple flowers formed a border around a needlepoint verse.

  For thou wilt light my

  candle: the Lord my God

  will enlighten my

  darkness. Psalm 18:28

  Joann Bainbr

  A length of black wool trailed from the r in his mother’s name. She had never finished the sampler. Clayton blew out a breath to release the pressure in his chest and read it again. And again. A sureness grew in him. Sarah had not been a test from God, she had been a gift sent to enlighten the darkness he carried in his heart. A darkness of his own creation. And in his hurt and anger and pride, he had sent her away.

  Clayton’s chest and throat ached. How many mistakes he had made. He closed his eyes and cleared the lump from his throat. “Forgive me, Lord. Forgive my arrogance…my pride…my anger. Forgive me for blaming You, instead of seeking Your wisdom. For holding control over my life, instead of yielding to You. I made a mess of things, Lord. And I thank You for Your mercy in waking me up before it was too late and I lost my daughter forever. Please help me not to make those mistakes again. Amen.”

  Clayton opened his eyes. Lamplight glowed on the sampler. He stared at it, smiled, then folded it and put it back in the small chest. A quick search discovered a small trunk that would hold all his treasures sitting on the floor beside the bed he was seeking. He placed the chest and the Noah’s ark inside, tucked the trunk under his arm and picked up the lantern. Light flowed around him, soft and golden, as he walked down the stairs.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  She missed Nora. So much. Sarah tugged a leaf off a boxwood and pulled it apart strip by tiny strip as she walked down the brick path to the pavilion. She had not realized how deeply it would hurt to leave the toddler. But Nora had conquered her heart so completely it felt as if a part of her was gone. It was.

  Sarah sighed, threw away the bit of stem that remained of the leaf and tugged off another. Her heart was back in Cincinnati, at Stony Point. She missed Eldora and Quincy. And the house. It was not grand like Randolph Court, but it was…home. She blinked, swallowed and thought of something else. The carriage house. How she longed for the carriage house, and Pacer with his welcoming nickers and head nudges. And Sassy. And Wiggles and Happy, Fluffy and Bundle. Tears overflowed. A sob caught in her throat. Who ever heard of naming a kitten Bundle? It was an absurd name for a cat.

  Sarah threw away the leaf and wiped the tears from her cheeks. Crying did no good. She simply had to wait for time to take away the horrible hollowness inside. That empty place that only—she jerked her mind from the name it wanted to utter and searched for an acceptable substitution—that only Stony Point and all it stood for could fill.

  She rounded the curve in the path and paused, looking at the garden bench that sat in its own little nook, created by the brick paving and the hedges that surrounded it. It was there, right there on that bench that Elizabeth had broken through all the hurt and fear harbored in her little girl’s heart and become her mother. She had been only a little older than Nora at the time. And Elizabeth had been showing her how to make a tea set for her dolls from clay. And then that woman with the cane had come around this very curve and frightened her. Elizabeth had taken her in her arms and she had felt loved for the first time. What had the woman called them? Urchins. Yes, that was the word she had used. Urchins.

  Sarah smiled and walked on to the pavilion. That woman had been her father’s good friend, Abigail Twiggs. And she had grown to love her—after she had discovered the warm heart beneath the stern exterior. Aunty Abigail. She would have loved Nora.

  Sarah gripped the railing, lifted her long skirts with her free hand and climbed the steps into the pavilion. This is where Justin Randolph had become her father, not her guardian. He had brought her a puppy—in a wicker basket with a lid. And he had hugged her close and kissed her cheek and she had felt safe at last. That was the day she had spoken for the first time since her mother had died. She had named the puppy Mr. Buffy. He was a wonderful dog that had been her constant companion from that day on. And now Nora had a puppy—Rogue. And she would not get to see Nora grow up with him. And she would never know the sort of love that existed between her mother and father because the man she loved cared nothing for her. He did not want her.

  Tears spilled from her eyes. The pressure in her chest broke into sobs that clawed their way up her throat and gained freedom in painful gasps. She covered her face with her hands and rocked to and fro, giving vent to the pain she had been holding inside until she could be alone where no one would see her cry.

  “I have found you.”

  Sarah turned and smiled at her younger sister. “I did not know I was lost.” She sobered. “Did Mother send you after me? I fear I have caused her great concern since I arrived home.”

  Mary’s lips curved in a wry smile. “You should have seen her and Father while you were away.” She climbed the steps and sat on the bench.

  “Oh, dear.” Sarah let out a long sigh and leaned back against the railing that enclosed the pavilion. “Was it very bad for them? I tried to ease any concern they may have felt in my letters.”

  “Well, let me see…Father and James wanted to rescue you from Cincinnati and bring you home where they could make sure you were safe and well cared for. And Mother, though she talked them out of doing so, has spent hours praying for your safety and well-being, and that you would return to your faith in God.”

  Sarah exchanged a look of sisterly understanding with Mary. “I feared as much. Well, it seems Father and James have gotten their wishes. And Mother’s prayers have been answered—as always.”

  “Truly? Is that why your eyes are all red and puffy? Because of your well-being?”

  Sarah stared at her sister, shook her head. “You are circumspect as always, I see.”

  Mary smiled. “You have not been gone long enough for me to change. I fear that would take a lifetime.” Her brown eyes darkened. “I am still as bold and forthright as ever, and it is very off-putting to young men. Especially since I have little physical beauty to overcome my character flaw.”

  “Mary!”

  “I am only speaking the truth, Sarah. It is a fact of life you have never had to be concerned about, as men fall willing victims to your beauty and charms.”

  The words stung like salt in her wound. “Not all men.” She spun around and gripped the railing, stared out at the garden, willing back tears. She had cried enough.

  “Forgive my blunt and hurtful words, Sarah. I did not—” Mary sighed. “I thought you were sad over the child.”

  “And so I am.” Sarah pasted a smile on her face and turned to face her sister again. “Nora is absolutely adorable and I miss her dreadfully. Now, shall we go in and find Mother and have some tea? It has been a long while since I have talked about fashion and the latest styles.”

  Clayton sat in the chair in front of Justin Randolph’s desk and waited for his answer.

  “And why should I grant your request to court my daughter and seek her hand in marriage, Mr. Bainbridge?”

  “Because I love Sarah, and I want to care for her and share the rest of my life with her.” Clayton met Justin Randolph’s gaze squarely. “And while I am not as financially prosperous as you obviously are, Mr. Randolph, I do quite well. I own a farm, in addition to my home. And I h
ave invested in several growing businesses in Cincinnati which are prospering. I am well-respected and on the rise in my field of endeavor, and have recently accepted the position of head engineer for the northern Miami Canal extension to Lake Erie.”

  Clayton watched Sarah’s father’s face, tried to gauge his reaction to his litany of assets. There was not so much as a flicker of an eye to betray what the man was thinking. Please, God, grant me favor in this man’s eyes.

  “On the personal side, my home is solid and comfortable, not large but of adequate size with property enough for any additions we would choose to make in the future. I have a housekeeper, who is also my cook, and a maid to keep things tidy, so Sarah would not be overburdened in running our home.

  “I also have a toddler daughter, Nora, who loves Sarah, and whom Sarah loves in return. I want only the best for Sarah, sir, and I believe I can make her happy.” Nothing. No reaction. Clayton took a breath. “And last, because, though I want to do this right, want your blessing and that of Sarah’s mother—if you withhold that blessing and refuse me the right to court her, I will defy you and climb the very walls of this brick mansion to see her and beg my case before her.”

  “I see.” A smile broke across Justin Randolph’s face. “That is the reason I was waiting to hear, Mr. Randolph. I wish you well in presenting your petition to Sarah.” He rose and extended his hand.

  Clayton grasped and shook it. “If I may ask a favor, sir?”

  “Already?” Justin’s eyes narrowed. “You are not in the family yet, son. My daughters will choose their own mates.”

  “I ask nothing more than that, sir. It is only—” Clayton cleared his throat. “I have some explaining to do to Sarah, and if you could arrange our meeting without mentioning my name it might be helpful.”

  Justin stared at him. A grin slanted across his mouth. His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Got yourself in trouble with her, did you, son? Well, that’s easy to do with women. Do it myself on a regular basis.” He chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder. “You stay here, Mr. Bainbridge, and I will arrange the meeting.”