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

by Jennie Marsland

  Chelle shivered. Was it only Martin’s imagination, or did she shrink away from him slightly? The chill seemed to strike Martin’s heart, too. “Now go home before you catch your death. I’ll be fine. I know Matthew well, and he’ll see I don’t want for anything. Go on.”

  Chelle lowered her gaze. “I’ll be back tomorrow, Martin. Goodbye.” She turned away and didn’t look back. The corridor door closed behind her. Martin returned to the bunk and ran his hands over the thick wool of the blanket she’d brought him, thinking of running his hands over the silk of her hair, the satin of her skin.

  It couldn’t be plainer that Chelle still had doubts about him. Smart lass. He wouldn’t push her for now, but as soon as this mess was straightened away, he’d dig in his heels and do whatever it took to put her doubts to rest. Letting her go was not an option.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Out in the crisp, fresh air again, Chelle took a deep breath. Leaving Martin so coldly was the hardest thing she’d ever done and the most necessary. If she’d stayed in that dismal hole of a jail any longer, she doubted she’d have been able to keep her feelings from showing on her face.

  When Martin spoke about doing whatever was necessary to keep his daughter, it had come to her—the only thing she could do to help him. The Paxtons didn’t really want Leah. They simply didn’t want Chelle in their daughter’s place. If she gave them what they wanted, they’d have no reason to follow through with their suit, and they might be persuaded to drop the assault charge as well.

  Martin would be hurt, of course, but the wound would be much worse if he lost his daughter. As for Chelle, she’d never forget Martin’s touch, his kisses, his music, but she already knew she wasn’t the kind of woman who lost her heart completely. Her feelings didn’t run that deep. She’d recover, though right now that was very hard to believe.

  Chelle’s father was waiting for her in the kitchen when she got home. He took her cloak and put his arm around her. “How is he, then?”

  “As well as could be expected. He thinks it’ll be two or three weeks before he’s free.” Weeks spent in a cell meant to hold drunks overnight while they sobered up. For a man used to spending most of his time outdoors, every hour would be hell, and Chelle was about to make it worse. “Martin’s more concerned about the hearing next week than he is about himself. This is going to play right into Mr. Paxton’s hands. People here might not like that man much, but they respect him.” Picturing the light that had flared in Martin’s eyes at the sight of her, she fought to hold on to her resolution. She didn’t dare tell her father what she planned to do. She’d crumple if he tried to talk her out of it.

  He hung up her cloak and turned back to her with a shrug. “Yes, he’s respected, but so is Martin, and the magistrate isn’t a fool. It’ll all be over soon enough.”

  “I hope so. The morning’s gone. I’d better get the mending done like I promised Aunt Caroline.”

  Chelle busied herself with chores for the rest of the day. Everyone else in the house was busy, too, so she wasn’t pestered with questions. By bedtime, she’d tired herself enough to fall asleep, in spite of visions of Martin behind bars. If all went as she hoped, tomorrow he’d be free.

  * * *

  Free. Birds soared above her, dark shapes wheeling in a blue summer sky. When one swooped earthward, Chelle’s eyes followed its descent. The crow landed on the still form of a soldier, sprawled beneath the merciless summer sun.

  The battlefield again. As before, Chelle was driven from one undignified remnant of humanity to the next, until she stopped by a dark-haired man dressed in blood-stained gray. The long, lithe form looked only too familiar.

  She knelt and turned the man over. Rory’s gray eyes stared up at her, wide and sightless. Reeling, Chelle got to her feet. Her vision blurred. The field became Martin’s front room, and it was him she knelt by, his bandaged arms resting on the quilt.

  She shouldn’t be here. It wasn’t right. Chelle heard her mother’s voice, firm and quiet.

  “Ma petite, real love doesn’t die that easily.”

  She smelled jasmine. The sunshine dwindled to the glow of the fire that crackled in the front-room fireplace at home, with the rustle of the ivy against the window in the background.

  * * *

  Then the rustle became the hiss of rain hitting the glass, and Chelle woke to the muted light of a wet November morning, her vision blurred with tears.

  Was this about Rory, or about Martin?

  The image of Rory lying on that field left her sick and shaken. They’d failed each other. She couldn’t risk failing again, not with Martin’s heart and Leah’s future at stake.

  “I know what I have to do, Maman. I just wish it weren’t so difficult. I love him, but I thought I loved Rory, too.”

  By the time breakfast was over, the rain had slowed to a drizzle. Chelle cleared the table, then put on her cloak for her walk to Carston.

  Caroline gave her a quizzical look. “Where are you off to in this weather?”

  “To see Martin. Don’t wait lunch for me.” That wasn’t a lie. She planned to see him on her way home, to say goodbye. She only hoped she could find the strength to do it.

  The five-mile walk to Carston seemed all too short, filled with thoughts of Martin and Leah. How badly was the little one missing her father? How miserable had Martin’s night been?

  Chelle asked the way to the Paxton house from the first person she met in Carston. The elderly woman pointed out a cottage set back from the road. Chelle walked down the short lane, gathered her courage and knocked on the door.

  Margaret answered it. Chelle stepped inside, uninvited, to prevent the door being shut in her face. “Mrs. Paxton, I’m not leaving until I talk to you.”

  Hugh came out of the sitting room, moving stiffly, his face badly bruised. At the sight of Chelle, his mouth set in a grim line. “What are you doing here?”

  Chelle swallowed the choking lump in her throat and found her voice. “I came to make you an offer. If I promise to end all contact with Martin and Leah, will you drop your custody suit and the assault charges?”

  The Paxtons exchanged a glance, then Margaret wiped her hands on her apron, a quick, nervous gesture. “How do we know you’ll keep your word?”

  “You’ll hear quickly enough if I don’t, won’t you?”

  Hugh’s bony shoulders lifted. “You’ve done little to steer clear of gossip, my girl. Why are you willing to do this?”

  Chelle met his cold gaze and held it. “Because I know you don’t really want Leah. What you really want is for me to stay away from Martin, and I care deeply enough for him and Leah to give you that if you’ll drop your suit.” It was on the tip of her tongue to mention Eleanor, but she thought better of it. “If you sue, you’ll have a chance of winning, but only a chance. This way, you’re assured of getting what you want.”

  She watched Hugh weigh her words. Was he still too sore and angry to forego making Martin pay for punching him? Margaret seemed willing to leave the decision up to him.

  He touched the lump on his jaw and scowled. “Martin owes me for pain and suffering, but whether you choose to believe it or not, our main concern is our granddaughter. You’re right about one thing. We don’t want you near her. I daresay Jessie Mason looks after her well enough, otherwise. I’m inclined to accept your offer. The child has already been uprooted once, and we don’t fancy uprooting her again if it isn’t necessary.”

  He was going to say yes. Chelle’s relief mingled with sharp regret. It can’t hurt this much for long. “I agree.”

  Hugh nodded stiffly. “Very well, then. I’ll drive over to Mallonby this afternoon and see to it. But remember this. We’ll be watching to be sure you keep your part of the bargain.”

  “I keep my word, Mr. Paxton. Goodbye.” Chelle turned on her heel and left as quickly as she could. Knowing the Paxtons would be watching her from the window, she made herself walk down the lane at an even pace, without looking back. She waited until she was o
ut of sight of the house to stop and give in to the pain overwhelming her.

  It’s for the best. He’d be lost without Leah. But how long will I be lost without him?

  * * *

  Martin slid his empty plate and used cutlery under the cell door, grateful for one thing at least: Matthew’s wife Liza was a decent cook. She might not rival Jessie, but he wouldn’t go hungry while he was locked up. A small mercy, but not one to be taken lightly.

  He returned to the bunk, lay back and fixed his eyes on the patch of hazy blue showing through his window. As he’d done all morning, he let his imagination take him out to his pasture with Chelle walking beside him, the wind whipping color into her cheeks, a smile on her lips. Martin held onto the vision until the corridor door creaked open.

  “Visitor for you, Martin.”

  He sat up. Matthew came down the three steps into the corridor, with Chelle behind him. Martin’s breath left him in a rush. What was wrong with the lass? Her face was as pale and set as if she were facing the gallows.

  Matthew picked up the plate and retreated. Martin came to the bars and reached for Chelle’s hands, but she kept them down, fists clenched. “What’s the matter, Chelle? Something’s happened. Tell me.”

  She swallowed, obviously struggling to speak. “Yes, something’s happened. I called on the Paxtons this morning. They agreed to drop the custody suit and the assault charge. You’ll be free before the day is over.”

  His relief faded as quickly as it surged. Plainly there was more. “I don’t know how you managed it, but thank you. Thanks aren’t enough.”

  Chelle’s eyes brightened with tears, but her voice didn’t falter. “You and Leah need each other. I couldn’t let you run the risk of losing her. I promised the Paxtons I would stay away from you if they dropped the suit, and they agreed.”

  “You what?” In that instant, all Martin could feel was rage. He would have reached through the bars and shaken her if she hadn’t stepped back. “Chelle, you know how I feel about you. I thought—”

  “That I felt the same. Martin, I care deeply about you, but since the Paxtons decided to sue I’ve been thinking about us, and I have to be honest.” A tear rolled down the bridge of her nose. She wiped it away and looked him in the eye. “I don’t care enough to marry you. Not enough for you to risk Leah’s future. I’m sorry, but it’s for the best.”

  “You’re talking nonsense, lass. Every time I kiss you, it’s… It’s the same for both of us, I know that. These last few weeks with you… I never thought I could feel like that again.”

  Her voice dulled with sadness. “I know. I know there’s a pull between us, but there has to be more. Martin, the last thing I wanted to do was hurt you.”

  Martin’s anger dulled to the numbness of shock. He’d sensed her doubts, thought he could overcome them, but here she was, telling him the plain truth. She didn’t care enough to saddle herself with a ready-made family, and she was honest enough to say so. How could he blame her?

  Chelle moved a little closer. He reached through the bars and took her hand in both of his. “You gave me my daughter, Chelle. I’ll never be able to thank you enough for that. I’ll never forget you.”

  “And I’ll never forget you or Leah. Find a good mother for her, Martin. Goodbye.”

  She gently pulled her hand from his and walked away. Martin stood there, frozen, and watched her go.

  He understood shock. He’d been there before. The pain would come later.

  You’ll survive it. You did before, and now you’ve a daughter to raise. She has to be the only thing that matters now.

  * * *

  Chelle knew she was in for a terrible time with her family when she broke the news. She wasn’t mistaken. It surprised her that quiet, easygoing Jean took her to task most severely. “Chelle, how could you? Martin isn’t one of the boys you tormented at home. He really cared for you! There’s a time and place for flirting, but I’ve no patience with girls who take it too far.”

  Caroline chimed in. “If I’d had any idea what you had in mind when you went out this morning—”

  “You wouldn’t have let me go. That’s why I didn’t tell you.”

  Brian left the house in disgust. Uncle Jack said nothing, but his expression said it all. The worst was her father’s disappointment. “Chelle, I thought you were happy with Martin.”

  Oh, if you only knew. “I know, but I just didn’t care enough. It’s one thing to risk my own happiness, but I couldn’t risk Martin’s and Leah’s. Dad, I think when the war’s over and Trey is settled out west, I’ll go to him. He’ll need help, and if I keep learning from Aunt Caroline, I’ll be able to work as a midwife. We’re a family of movers like you said. Perhaps I’m not meant for a settled place like Mallonby.”

  “Perhaps not, but it’s hard on Martin. But better now than later, I suppose.”

  “Yes. It isn’t as if we’d been courting for a year. He’ll survive, and so will I.”

  * * *

  December came. The first snow fell, a light dusting that glittered on rooftops and powdered the dales. Mallonby people looked forward to a somber Christmas, with the mill closed and most families living on relief.

  Chelle threw herself into her work with Miss Westlake and turned a deaf ear to what little criticism reached her. The mill families could hardly cast slurs when she was helping to feed them, and she had little contact with anyone else.

  She heard nothing of Martin. That, Chelle told herself, was a good sign. If he’d acted slighted, gossip would have run riot, but he didn’t. He and Leah would be fine. She’d done the right thing, though she was still waiting for her heart to feel it.

  * * *

  Kendra tucked the quilt around her son and crept from the bedroom. The little lad was teething, and he’d fussed for the last three nights, but he’d fallen asleep at last. She lit the lamp and sat in the rocker, looking out into the darkness of the winter night. Her mother had gone out to call on a friend, but she should be home within an hour.

  Who would have thought motherhood would be so lonely? Oh, for a visit from one of her old girlfriends, or Davy… Christmas was getting close. When would Davy arrive on her doorstep? What would she do when he did?

  His letters were friendly but no more than that. Of course, Kendra’s had been the same. The money Davy sent was keeping the wolf from the door, and she owed him for that. After all, he didn’t owe her anything, not when she’d refused to be his wife.

  The peace in the house felt wonderful. Kendra had stoked the small stove with coal before putting the baby to bed, and now it threw a comforting heat into the room. A good night to be counting her blessings.

  Little Davy would be weaned soon, giving Kendra more freedom. She’d be able to take in more work, and there were a few families in Mallonby and Carston who didn’t care if the woman who did their laundry or sewing had a baby out of wedlock. Then, a few years down the road, when her son was in school, things would be easier. She’d do whatever it took to give him a chance at a good life.

  The stove’s heat made Kendra drowsy. She felt her eyelids droop, blinked and shook her head. She’d better get supper started if she was going to have it ready by the time her mother got home.

  She was slicing bread when someone knocked on the door. Chelle, perhaps? Kendra hadn’t seen her for a week. A chat before supper would help rub the dullness from a tired day.

  She opened the door and stepped back in shock. “Davy! I wasn’t expecting you yet.”

  “Uncle decided he needed me back right after Christmas, so he let me leave a bit early.” Davy shifted his feet awkwardly and looked past Kendra into the warm room. “May I come in?”

  He looked older, and oh, he hadn’t lost his appeal. Hard work had filled out his chest and arms, and he had more color now than when he’d been at the mill. He’d let his sandy hair grow a bit longer, and it suited him. The hazel eyes he’d passed on to his son held an uncertain light that threatened to melt Kendra’s heart again.

&nb
sp; She stiffened her spine. She wouldn’t turn to mush in front of him. “Aye, come in out of the cold.” Oh, why couldn’t he have given her some notice? This wasn’t fair. Davy took a seat in the armchair, and Kendra returned to the rocker. The silence stretched between them like a taut rope.

  “I suppose the little one’s asleep.”

  “Aye. I just put him down. He’s teething now and getting him to sleep isn’t easy.”

  “What’s he like?”

  “He’s a good baby, for the most part. He’s quick to laugh, and doesn’t get out of temper easily.” Kendra looked down at her hands. “Davy, thank you for the money you’ve been sending. I know you aren’t earning a lot, and—”

  “Kendra, you don’t have to thank me. He’s my son.”

  “Aye. I suppose you’d like to see him.”

  “Can I? Now?”

  “Yes, if you’re quiet and don’t wake him. Come with me.”

  They walked into Kendra’s bedroom. She turned up the lamp a little, then joined Davy by the crib. Looking down at the baby, he let out a deep breath.

  “He’s real now. That Sunday afternoon up on the hill, we made him.” Davy reached into the crib, then pulled his hand back and turned to face her. “It was a warm afternoon for autumn, wasn’t it? Do you remember, Kendra?”

  “Aye, I remember. You can touch him if you want to, Davy. He won’t wake. His tooth came through this morning, and he’s tired.”

  He reached into the crib and ran a finger over one of his son’s tiny hands. “Kendra, I let my parents send me away and left you here to bear my child alone.”

  “You offered to marry me, remember?”

  “I said the words, yes, but I hadn’t a clue what they really meant, and you knew it. I think I have a better idea now.” He turned back to Kendra with his lips in a determined line. “I had a long talk with my uncle yesterday before I left. There’s a future for me in his business if I work hard. I’ll be able to give our son a better life than he’d have growing up here, fatherless. Maybe I still don’t know much about being a husband, and I know less about being a father, but I’ll give it my best. Will you give me a chance?”