Where The Heart Is (Choices of the Heart, book 1)

by Jennie Marsland

  Martin’s pulse started racing. “No, it isn’t. I learned that the night Leah was ill.”

  Colin glanced at the stairwell again and lowered his voice. “Aye. As for Chelle, I can’t read her mind or her heart, and maybe I’m talking out of turn, but I’ve seen how she reacts when your name is mentioned. The lad she fancied at home was a rich man’s son, with generations of blue-blooded Virginians behind him. Chelle is a plain farmer’s daughter. I think she might be happiest as a plain farmer’s wife.”

  Martin’s voice failed him. Since the dance, he couldn’t doubt that Chelle found him attractive, but to have her father see it and give his blessing knocked the breath out of him. “I don’t know what to say.”

  Colin laughed. “Don’t let me rattle you, lad. I’m only saying that life’s too short not to take a chance on happiness when it comes around.”

  Happiness. Martin was still getting used to having Leah at home. That was all the happiness he hoped for, and Chelle had given him that. The possibility of more, of having a lifetime of evenings like this, full of laughter and music and the family he’d dreamed of, came to life inside him like a lamp being lit, but it carried a price. Risk. Eleanor wasn’t the first young woman to die giving birth, nor would she be the last. “I need another drink.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chelle woke to the sound of Leah chattering to herself in her crib. It didn’t seem strange at all, waking up in this room again with the now-leafless branches of the old crabapple tree screening the window. It felt as though it had been only days since she’d stayed here.

  She changed Leah, left the little girl in her crib and went downstairs and out to the privy. Gyp moved from the doorstep to make way for her. Martin had said at supper last night that since his injury, the old dog wouldn’t sleep in the byre. He knew something was amiss and insisted on keeping watch over the house.

  This promised to be a golden day among the usual lead coinage of late autumn. Over the byre, the eastern sky was flushed with the pink of sunrise, and a few stars still glowed in the west. A heavy frost coated the cobbles in the yard and climbed the stalks of the brown, wilted perennials in Eleanor’s flowerbed. The sight gave Chelle a pang of homesickness. Her mother’s garden would be lying lonely and dormant now, too, its summer bloom come and gone, unappreciated, with no one to put it to bed properly for the winter. Or was the house already gone and the garden plowed up?

  She pushed the thought away and stood on the step, letting the peace of the place settle around her. She missed this, missed the quiet routine of mornings at home, missed seeing the flash of the creek from the kitchen window and hearing the sounds of the animals waking in the barn. She shivered and scolded herself. Gerry would be arriving soon to do the milking and barn chores. She’d better wash and start breakfast instead of standing here waiting to catch her death of cold.

  She brought Leah downstairs, put her in her high chair, another family relic Martin had pulled from the attic, and made porridge. When it was ready, Chelle heard footsteps on the stairs. “Morning, Dad,” she said without turning around. That quick, light tread couldn’t be Martin’s.

  Her father came up behind her and put a hand on her shoulder. “Morning, lass.”

  Chelle turned to face him. He’d always been a morning person, but it seemed that for the last few weeks, he’d looked better rested in the mornings than he had in over a year. Another sign of how much his wife’s illness had worn him down. “You look like you slept well. Did you and Martin sit up late?”

  “We talked for a little while after you went upstairs, that was all. Does Martin keep coffee on hand?”

  “Yes, in the pantry cupboard.”

  Her father added water to the chipped enamel coffee pot and set it on the stove next to the porridge. He sat at the table, waiting for the water to boil and watching Chelle as she fed Leah. “You do that like you’ve been doing it for years.”

  It did feel natural, looking after Leah. Thinking back, Chelle realized it always had. “Do I? I guess this one wormed her way into my heart while she was at the forge. I still miss her.”

  Her father reached for one of the little girl’s hands and grinned when she caught his thumb in a sturdy grip. “You’ll be a good mother someday, Chelle. And twins run in families.”

  Chelle rolled her eyes and grinned back. “Have some porridge, Dad. Martin had better come down soon, before it gets lumpy.”

  Her father hesitated, shifted in his chair. “Martin and I were talking about you last night. Chelle, I’m sure it’s no surprise to you that he fancies you.”

  She felt herself blushing fiercely. Again. She’d guessed that her father had picked up on the attraction between her and Martin, but to have him say so in plain English was another matter. “I know he does, in a way.”

  “And how do you feel about him?”

  Chelle turned back to Leah. “Confused, but that’s neither here nor there. Martin isn’t ready for a second wife, and I’m not ready to be a wife. I found that out before we left home.”

  Her father gave her one of his penetrating looks. “What do you mean? Rory failed you. You didn’t fail him.”

  “Maybe, but I was mistaken about him. I thought I loved him and that he loved me, but that wasn’t true. If we’d really loved each other, we would have worked out our differences. This feeling between Martin and me might not be real, either, and there’s Leah to consider. Her grandparents despise me, and I’d never forgive myself if they managed to get custody of her.”

  Her father’s gaze turned challenging. “There are never any guarantees in life, lass. As for the Paxtons, I think they’d probably have objected to any young woman who was friendly with Martin. That’s what they’re like. And since when have you cared what people think?”

  “I care what I think.”

  “Chelle, just remember to be honest with yourself. Martin comes from the same background as you, and you seem to understand each other.”

  The stairs creaked again, louder under Martin’s heavier tread. He stepped into the kitchen, tousled and with tired smudges under his eyes. Chelle’s heart lurched. Had his burns kept him awake?

  He was quiet during the meal. Chelle felt the tension in him. Her father must have felt it too, because as soon as he’d finished eating, he stood. Did this have something to do with their conversation about her last night? “Gerry’s here. I’ll help him with the milking.”

  Martin hadn’t quite finished his breakfast, but Chelle needed some distance between them. She rose from the table, put water on to heat for the dishes and busied herself scraping them, keeping her back to the table.

  She heard Martin get up and step toward her. She felt his hand on her shoulder and froze, her legs threatening to turn to jelly. When he turned her around, she didn’t dare look up, but he tucked his hand under her chin and forced her to meet his gaze. It seared her to the bone.

  “Chelle, can you look me in the eye and tell me you don’t care for me?”

  Her voice faltered. She couldn’t think with him looking at her like that. “No.”

  Martin drew her closer, rested his bandaged arms at her waist and bent his head. Over the frantic rush of her heart, Chelle heard him sigh. His lips brushed hers, just a whisper of contact. “You’re so sweet, lass.” His mouth feathered over hers again, then he took her lower lip between his and sucked gently. Aching, tingling pleasure shot through her, melting Chelle’s bones and drugging her mind, just as it had the night of the dance. Her arms reached around Martin’s neck, her fingers threading into his hair. When he released her lip, her tongue slipped into his mouth to tangle with his. As if from a distance Chelle heard herself make a soft, breathy sound, but it barely registered. There was nothing in her world but Martin, his taste, the solid feel of his body pressed against hers.

  When the kiss ended, she stood in his arms, afraid her legs wouldn’t hold her if he let her go. “Martin, this is…I have some thinking to do. And I’m going to need time to do it.”

&nbs
p; “I need time too, Chelle. When I lost Eleanor, I didn’t think I’d ever feel like this again.”

  Leah held out her arms and squealed to be let down from her chair. Chelle lifted her and held one baby hand out to touch Martin’s cheek. “I’m afraid. Afraid of hurting Leah, and of hurting you.”

  “Why should you be afraid?”

  “I’ve followed my heart before, Martin, and it didn’t end well.”

  So Colin had told him. Martin couldn’t have cared less. He didn’t need to know the details, didn’t need to judge. He only needed Chelle to trust him. Just a little at first, if that was all she could give him. “You’re hardly alone in that. Chelle, all I ask is that you give me—give us—a chance.”

  He sensed her fear, but she gave him a determined smile. “That isn’t too much to ask.”

  * * *

  Jessie got back to the farm shortly before nightfall, looking ruffled. “Charlotte’s daughter has finally arrived. I see you folks have managed. I asked four different people if they could come out here, and every one of them had someone sick at home or some other reason why they couldn’t leave. Chelle, Colin, I’m grateful to you for stepping in.”

  Jessie’s appearance took some of the glow out of the day for Martin. He wasn’t ready for Chelle to leave.

  Never mind, lad. You’ll be seeing a lot more of her from now on.

  Chelle took Jessie’s coat. “We were glad to help. There are sausages and potatoes in the oven for supper. They’ll be ready in about half an hour. Leah’s already eaten, and we changed Martin’s bandages this afternoon.” For Martin, the most painful part of the process had been seeing how much it hurt Chelle, though she didn’t flinch or falter. It felt like a lifetime had passed since she’d done the same thing for him yesterday.

  They’d kept their distance through the day, both shying away from the tension that lingered between them, waiting to be sparked by any accidental contact. Martin had buried himself in the farm’s accounts, still keenly aware of every sound and movement as Chelle worked her way through small chores and kept her eye on Leah.

  He’d dreamed of Leah’s birth last night, for the first time in months. Only this time it was Chelle’s face he saw lined with pain, Chelle’s eyes that lost their light as they looked at him, her hand that slipped from his.

  The dream shook him, but what he felt when he kissed Chelle, when he danced with her, when he saw her with his daughter, shook him more.

  Brace up, lad. Colin is right. Martin had already lost enough time to grief. He wouldn’t let fear of his feelings hold him back now.

  Chelle and her father stayed for supper. Afterward, Jessie took Leah up to bed, and Martin walked with his guests as far as the lane to see them off. When they reached it, Colin went on ahead, while Martin took Chelle’s hand to keep her with him. “Somehow, right now the Paxtons don’t matter at all.”

  Chelle took both of his hands in hers. “Martin, what did Dad say to you last night? You really took me by surprise this morning.”

  “Colin said that life was too short not to take a chance on happiness when it comes along. We have as much time as it takes, Chelle. I’ll be here.”

  “Like a bad penny,” Chelle said softly. “Do you remember saying that to me, the day after the fire?”

  The light in her eyes made him desperate to kiss her again, but he’d promised to take this slowly. With an effort of will, Martin pulled his hands away. “No. I don’t remember much about that day, but I remember you being there.” He ran his knuckles over the softness of her cheek. The contact alerted every nerve. It was time he went in. “I’ll see you soon, lass.”

  Chelle hurried to catch up with her father, who was waiting halfway down the lane. Martin watched them out of sight, then returned to the house and got his fiddle. He closed his eyes and let his feelings find release through his fingers. The melody they drew from the old instrument had an undercurrent of sadness, but overall, it sounded joyful and young.

  Jessie came downstairs as he played the final bars of the tune. “Leah’s asleep. I haven’t heard you play that before.”

  “I haven’t played it before.”

  Jessie’s rather stern mouth usually resisted grins, but a hint of one tugged at it now. “Chelle told me once that I had an imagination, but I don’t need it to see what’s happening between the two of you. My eyes are enough. I wish you luck, Martin. She’s a good lass and a bonny one, and she’ll stand no nonsense from you.”

  “You’re getting ahead of yourself, Jessie.” With worry settling on him again, Martin put the fiddle away. “I should tell you the Paxtons were here again today. Of course, they found Chelle and me here alone. They threatened to sue for custody of Leah.”

  “Did they?” Jessie’s face flushed with angry color. “Drat my loose tongue! They were in the store while I was telling Mrs. Bingham what happened to Charlotte. I should have said naught.”

  Martin dropped into his chair by the fire, stretched out his legs and let himself sink into the time-worn upholstery. “It’s not your fault, Jessie. They were bound to make trouble on one excuse or another. I just hate to see Chelle dragged into this, and she will be.”

  Jessie vented her feelings by bustling about, getting ready to set bread for the next day. “Let’s not borrow trouble. The Paxtons may come to their senses, and Chelle’s well able to fight back if they don’t.”

  That was for sure and certain. It was one of the things Martin loved about her.

  Love. He rolled the word around in his mind until he started to get used to it. Yes, he loved Chelle. Loved her warmth, her temper, her way with Leah. Loved her taste, the feel of her in his arms.

  Eleanor, my darling, it’s time.

  * * *

  November 15, 1861

  Dear Trey,

  We’re having a regular autumn gale here today. Do you remember Maman’s favorite line from Shelley? “If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?” It doesn’t seem possible that the year is growing old, or that it’s been eight months since Dad and I left New York.

  We’ve been able to keep up with the war news, thanks to our minister who has a cousin in Boston who sends him copies of Harper’s Weekly. Reverend Nelson knows you are in the army, so he passes the papers on to us. At last we’re getting something more than the nondescript dispatches they print in the papers here. Dad and I pounce on those out-of-date issues like starving cats on a mouse. The news may not be comforting, but having no real news is ten times worse.

  From what we read, it seems certain that you will have to fight come spring. As I told Martin yesterday, the Confederacy is fighting for its life with all the force of desperation behind it. Of course, you have no idea who Martin is. He’s—

  “Chelle, you have company,” Jean called from the foot of the stairs. Chelle put her pen and ink away and hurried down. Martin stepped into the kitchen with a gust of cold wind behind him. Chelle joined him by the stove and took his chilled hands in hers. “You’re half frozen, lad.”

  She loved that she’d learned to imitate Martin’s broad Yorkshire, while his attempts to mimic her drawl hardly sounded like English at all. He shrugged out of his coat and looked down at her with a light in his eyes that warmed her from the inside out. “That wind feels like it’s blowing straight down from Greenland.” With a gentle tug, Martin brought her closer. With his arms just out of bandages, he couldn’t hold her the way she knew he wanted to, which was just as well, with the whole family sitting at the table except for Jack, who’d gone to the store for the mail.

  “There’s plenty left of the raisin pudding I made for supper, and it’s still warm. It’ll stick to your bones for the ride home later,” Caroline said.

  “You don’t have to ask me twice, Caroline.”

  Brian pushed back his chair. “Take my seat, Martin. I fancy the fireside at the Crow tonight, along with a pint of Harry’s bitter. Jean, will you come along?”

  “Nay, you go on. I’ve a bit of a headache. I think I’ll go upstairs.”


  Chelle caught herself rolling her eyes. Did the whole family have to be so obvious about disappearing? Her father stood and put on his cap. “I’ll join you, Brian.”

  Caroline set a bowl of golden-topped, cinnamon-scented pudding on the table and left the room without bothering to make an excuse. In less than five minutes, Chelle and Martin were alone.

  In the two weeks since they’d decided to keep company, they’d spent three evenings here in the kitchen. Already Martin seemed to belong in the house as much as Chelle did. She stood on tiptoe for a slow, sweet kiss that left them both wanting more. She couldn’t doubt any longer that the attraction between them was real, but would it be permanent?

  The wind rattled the kitchen window. A picture flashed into Chelle’s mind of those gusts shaking the tent where Trey would sleep tonight. Martin noticed the sudden change in her attention and took her hand as she joined him at the table. “What’s troubling you, Chelle?”

  She caught a glimpse of the web of scars that began on the underside of his wrist and disappeared under his shirt cuffs. Scars he’d accepted without a trace of bitterness. Chelle would have loved him for that alone if she’d been sure she was capable of real love. The love Martin and Leah deserved. “I was writing to Trey when you arrived. With winter coming, I worry about him.”

  “I know, but from what you’ve said of him, he’s well able to take care of himself. Hold on to that.” Martin tucked a lock of Chelle’s hair behind her ear and lingered to draw a lazy circle over the sensitive skin there. “If you’re going to worry, I’ll just have to see if I can distract you.”

  He proceeded to do just that, with another blindingly sweet kiss. Chelle leaned into him, shutting out the world with Martin’s taste until the sound of Jack closing the yard gate brought them back to reality.