As to confirm her plan, the baby kicked her soundly. Marla gave the top of her stomach a loving pat and looked at the clock. Noah would come to relieve her in fifteen minutes, and if Hickory minded her, he should be back any second.
He didn't know about Natalie's disguise, or the reason. But he would recognize his Natty instantly and demand to know what was going on.
Natalie was about to have unexpected company, and Elliot was about to meet the woman of his dreams.
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CHAPTER TWO
"Natty! Natty!"
Heart pounding, Natalie stepped away from the upstairs window before the little boy barreling up the walk could see her. She drew a deep, calming breath.
Hickory's appearance meant that Elliot Montgomery had arrived.
Could she go through with the farce? Could she fool Elliot Montgomery? Convince him to keep Ivy House open? She grabbed her throat and swallowed hard. She had to succeed ... for the children.
For herself.
Natalie frowned, remembering how she'd prayed as a child for a loving couple to take her away to a home of her own. When had Ivy House become a haven she fiercely defended instead of the temporary shelter she despised?
Footsteps pounded up the stairs, interrupting her thoughts. Natalie gasped and stepped behind the bathing screen, fearing that Hickory had managed to slip by Jo or the boys. She couldn't let him see her like this; he wouldn't understand.
Jo's freckled, gamine face appeared around the door frame. A hank of her short dark hair had fallen over one long-lashed brown eye, but the bashful young girl made no move to push it away. “Hickory—"
"I heard.” Natalie smiled in reassurance, hoping Jo hadn't noticed her trembling hands. She casually put them behind her in the pretense of adjusting the ridiculously large bustle she'd donned for her disguise. “Did you convince him to go back to the store?"
Jo nodded, her mouth quirking in a half-smile. “I had to give him one of those fancy cakes I made this morning. That boy's got a nose like a bloodhound! I also had to promise to take him fishin’ Saturday."
She laughed. “He misses you—and your cooking. Are you sure you won't wear a dress, Jo? Something of mine, perhaps?"
The girl's smile vanished instantly. She glanced down at the boy's clothing she wore and shook her head, just as Natalie knew she would. Still ... it didn't hurt to try. Someday she hoped to restore Jo's confidence and make her realize becoming a woman was nothing to be afraid of—or ashamed of.
"I won't. I told ya, I don't care what that highfalutin’ man thinks about me. I ain't wearin’ no sissy clothes for nobody."
"They're not sissy clothes, Jo. It's what young women your age are supposed to wear.” Her lecture fell on deaf ears. Jo was as determined as ever to deny her sex, despite Natalie's constant reassurances. Whatever had happened to Jo in her childhood remained locked away.
Jo began to back away in the direction of the stairs and escape, mumbling, “Gotta make sure the others keep their grubby paws off the cakes. Done chased Brett clear to town and back over eatin’ more than his share. He thought it was funny. Well, he didn't think it was funny when I caught..."
Her voice drifted away downstairs. Natalie moved to the mirror beside her bed to check her appearance one last time, praying the children behaved themselves during Mr. Montgomery's visit. Mrs. Boone hadn't been much on discipline these past few years and without it, the children had grown a little wild. The housemother had kept to herself, preferring a bottle of cheap whiskey to the rowdy antics of the orphans and Natalie's disapproving stare.
She had gradually taken over Mrs. Boone's duties until she felt quite competent in the role of housemother. Well, most of the time. It hadn't been easy.
Now all she had to do was to convince Mr. Montgomery of her ability to run Ivy House. She wasn't particularly fond of duping people, but she thought God might forgive her this one small deception. If she succeeded, she might consider telling Mr. Montgomery the truth and throwing herself at his mercy.
Perhaps he was a kind man, an understanding man like his grandfather had been. Natalie bit her lip as she made her way downstairs, bustle swaying unsteadily with each careful step she took in the cumbersome shoes she'd found among the things Mrs. Boone's had left behind. She couldn't forget Gill Montgomery's letter, and his ominous hint that his grandson might not share his sentiment for Ivy House.
Laughter exploded as she stepped off the last step into the foyer adjacent to the spacious parlor. A wide, arched doorway separated the two rooms, giving the children a clear view of her. At the sound of their laughter, she attempted to look haughty, but her lips twitched in response. She'd studied her reflection in the mirror; she knew how ridiculous she looked. But that was because they—and she—knew how she really looked.
Moving to the doorway, she scrutinized each one, skipping Jo, the oldest of the orphans Nelda Boone had left behind. As rehearsed, Cole, a gangly thirteen year-old with thick black hair and eyes to match sat on a stool by the cold fireplace, surrounded by gardening tools he intended to sharpen or repair during Mr. Montgomery's visit. She hoped their new benefactor would be impressed by how self-sufficient Ivy House was.
Brett, Cole's brother by a scant year, knelt on a rug at the opposite end of the fireplace. He held a carving knife and a piece of wood; the beginnings of the fourth chair leg that would complete the chair at his side. Mr. Montgomery would have to be a blind fool not to be impressed. Natalie took a moment to admire his amazing craftsmanship before moving on.
At only eight years of age, Lori was the youngest of the orphans now that Hickory had been adopted. A year ago, Natalie had given the young girl a shirt to mend and discovered that Lori possessed an amazing skill with the needle. Her thin face framed by a mass of red curls, Lori sat on the sofa, poised with needle in hand. In her lap was a nearly completed cushion for the chair Brett was making, a beautiful piece of work the pickiest of homemakers would covet.
Marla's mother-in-law, Mrs. Thompson, had already agreed to make an even exchange; the chair for a bolt of material she had purchased and never used so that Lori and Natalie could make shirts for the boys and Jo for the coming winter.
Finally, her proud gaze landed on Jo as she fussed with the small table filled with dainty iced cakes, two glasses, and a jug of cold apple cider. Delicate lace napkins, compliments of Lori's skillful needlework, graced the small chipped plates.
Since Natalie could remember, Jo had managed the meals. The tomboy looked incorrigible standing beside the fancy table dressed in breeches and a man's shirt, arranging and rearranging the items, but no one knew more than Natalie how creative she could be in the kitchen. When Jo shot her an anxious glance, Natalie softened her smile, hiding her trembling hands in the folds of the stiff black taffeta. The heavy dress was hot and scratchy, and she couldn't wait to get out of it.
"The table looks wonderful, Jo. I'm sure Mr. Montgomery will be impressed.” She wasn't sure at all, knowing Mr. Montgomery to be a city man, but she saw no need to increase Jo's anxiety by sharing the thought.
Jo re-stacked the plates and inspected the glasses for spots, groaning when she found one. She rubbed vigorously at the spot with her shirt tail. For a breathtaking moment, she juggled the glass in her hands. “A-are you sure? What if—"
"Everything is fine, Jo. Mr. Montgomery will love the cakes, and I'm sure he'll recognize those glasses are real crystal. Mrs. Boone was so kind to leave them behind, although it's strange that she did. They came from her wedding chest."
"If the old cow was ever really married,” Cole muttered, picking up on Natalie's faint sarcasm in reference to Mrs. Boone's kindness. “We just got her word, and we all know what that's worth."
Lori glanced up from the sewing material in her lap, her brows drawn together in a pensive frown. “Mrs. Boone'll be fired up if she comes back and finds out we used her glasses."
"I don't think she's coming back,” Natalie announced softly. She hated to tell
them the news, but the hopeful light in their eyes tore at her heart. She couldn't allow them to keep believing Nelda would come back. The woman hadn't been the best example to her orphans, but she was stability. From the moment the children realized the housemother had deserted them, they'd talked of nothing else. Although each time they mentioned her it was in a disparaging way, Natalie sensed an underlying hurt she didn't know how to assuage.
Drunk, indifferent ... Mrs. Boone had been their only anchor in a cold world.
Now Natalie was their anchor and she was fiercely determined not to let them down. So much depended on this portending visit from Mr. Montgomery—
A distinct rap at the door interrupted her thoughts and sent her nerves skittering.
Jo whirled around, nearly upsetting the refreshment table with her hip. “Lord, he's here!"
Natalie calmly quieted the sudden babble of voices. “Everyone take their places and please be on your best behavior.” She nodded at Jo and moved to stand before the staircase which faced the door. “Get the door."
Jo tripped to the door, stopped, hastily stuffed her shirt tails into her trousers, then reached for the knob.
Natalie gripped her hands primly together and stood tall and straight. The moment of truth has come...
Cole and Brett bent to their tasks, but their identical black eyes remained locked on the door.
As if she couldn't stand the suspense, Lori began plying the needle, her red hair covering her face so that the sharp point of her reddened nose—due to a summer cold she couldn't seem to shake—remained the only thing visible. She began humming a happy tune that made Natalie want to laugh hysterically.
It was too perfect.
Jo pulled the door open and Natalie stepped forward, a polite smile literally plastered onto her face. Her first sight of Mr. Montgomery shattered the image in her mind of the older, distinguished gentlemen she'd been expecting.
The man's broad shoulders filled the doorway. He held a dark gray overcoat casually over one arm. She quickly assessed his rumpled white shirt and gray vest, and noticed the way the dark gray trousers fit snugly over his taut thighs. He had tucked the trousers into knee-high boots that might have once gleamed with shine, but were now covered with dust.
He looked travel-weary, she thought.
Early afternoon sunlight highlighted his wavy blonde hair as he stood poised, waiting for an invitation. Natalie lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the sun's unexpected glare and cleared her throat. She wanted to see his face, to know if her prayers had been answered. Was there a kind face to match his impressive form? She dearly hoped so.
"Please, come in Mr. Montgomery. We've been expecting you.” She swallowed hard, her nerves stretched taut. She was hardly aware of the hushed silence that had descended the room.
Stepping over the threshold and out of the blinding light, he slipped the coat from his arm and handed it to Jo, turning his head to smile at the awe-struck girl.
Natalie reached behind her and caught the edge of the stair rail, her breath suddenly tight and hot in her lungs, her gaze drawn to the brilliance of his smile. This was Elliot Montgomery?
"You must be Mrs. Boone. My grandfather spoke highly of you."
Guilty heat scorched her face as Mr. Montgomery came forward and shook her limp hand. His low, rumbling voice contained no surprise, no suspicion. Exactly as she'd hoped.
Wasn't it?
Suddenly, she regretted posing as a matronly woman, and it had nothing to do with her guilty conscious and everything to do with the handsome man standing before her. Yet, even had she known, how could she have changed things? Above all, Ivy House must be saved. Besides, she wasn't fool enough to think for a moment that someone of his wealth and social standing would show the slightest interest in an orphan of questionable paternity like herself. A little miss nobody.
With this stern reminder, Natalie met his bright blue gaze with what she hoped was a proper matronly look. Later, when she was alone with her daydreams, she could think about what might have been. “Nice to meet you, and welcome to Ivy House."
* * * *
Elliot dropped the older woman's surprisingly soft hand, hiding his confusion behind a steadfast smile. The woman standing before him was younger than he'd imagined, although her gray-streaked hair, pallid skin and outdated apparel suggested an older woman, as he knew Nelda Boone to be.
Yet ... her voice was that of a much younger woman, and the slim, young-looking hands looked out of place on her bulky, heavy-set frame.
But it was her eyes that held him captive. A deep indigo blue with a sparkle of youth and innocence totally in contrast to her age, they hinted at secrets and mystery, passion and promise. Uncomfortable with his thoughts, he steered his mind in a different direction, embarrassed to be thinking of Mrs. Boone in such a way. Why, she was old enough to be his mother!
"I was sorry to hear about your grandfather, Mr. Montgomery."
There it was again. That soft, melodious voice. It couldn't possibly belong to the matronly woman before him—yet it did. Elliot gave his head a slight shake. Of course this was Nelda Boone. It was ridiculous to imagine otherwise. “Thank you.” His voice dropped an octave. “He'll be sorely missed."
She nodded. “He was a generous man."
"That he was.” Elliot sighed inwardly. So generous in fact, that he had died a pauper and left his grandson with the distasteful task of booting this widow and her orphans out in the cold. He silently cursed the guilty wave of heat that crept up his neck. On the boat his plan had seemed so simple, necessary. Now that he was here, the words stuck in his throat.
How would they take the news? How would this kind, gentle matron react to losing her home? He suspected she'd be shocked and outraged at the turn of events. Horrified, in fact. According to his grandfather, Nelda Boone had dedicated her life to the running of Ivy House and caring for its orphans.
She startled him from his thoughts by waving a hand in the direction of a wide, arched doorway. The parlor, he presumed, glancing inside the room. He could see several more children seated about and recognized the girl who had answered the door as she hovered near a table.
"Won't you have some refreshments? Jo's fixed—er—prepared cakes and apple cider. She does all the cooking."
"I—"
"Please,” she suddenly whispered as if she sensed his reluctance. “Jo's feelings will be hurt if you don't.” More loudly, she said, “I'll introduce you to the children. They're anxious to meet their new benefactor."
Had she deliberately placed an emphasis on the word benefactor? Elliot ran a finger beneath his collar as guilt returned. He felt a sudden urge to take the coward's way out and leave. He could always send her a formal letter. “Well, I really should—"
"You shouldn't feel uncomfortable, Mr. Montgomery. Our home is your home."
Did she sound a little desperate? He glanced into her intriguing blue eyes, then quickly looked away again. He had to tell her. Now. It wasn't fair to allow her to keep believing he was going to follow in his grandfather's footsteps and keep the orphanage going.
It was a financial impossibility. Surely she would understand?
"Mrs. Boone, I'm afraid I've got bad news.” He flinched at her stricken look. Her face became even paler. Elliot felt several pairs of eyes boring into his skull from the parlor doorway. Childrens’ eyes, waiting anxiously for him to continue.
He cleared his throat, searching his mind desperately for an alternative. There wasn't one, of course. “It concerns the orphanage.” He was stalling and he suspected she knew it. If only there was another way to break the news—
"Natty! Natty!"
They heard the high-pitched voice just seconds before the front door burst open and the little boy Elliot recognized from the Mercantile came barreling over the threshold. He heard Mrs. Boone gasp, but before he could question her reaction, Hickory slid to a halt before them. He looked from one to the other with huge, questioning eyes, then promptly placed his fists on his
hips and glowered at Mrs. Boone.
Finally, he stood on tip-toe and smacked Mrs. Boone square in her generous bosom with a pudgy fist.
Stunned, Elliot held his breath, waiting to see what the good matron would do. Her eyes widened in shock, but to his further surprise, she did nothing.
"Natty, why you got that stuff in your hair? And what's that on your face? It makes you look old, and you ain't old!” Before she could respond, he darted behind her and gave a mighty tug on the bustle attached to her dress. “And you never wear one of these silly things!"
Elliot heard a ripping sound, followed by another gasp from the shocked Mrs. Boone.
"Hickory, stop that!” she squeaked in a high, girlish voice. “Don't you dare—oh!” She tried to whirl away from the determined little boy, but in doing so, she managed to help him tear the offending bustle completely from the dress, revealing to Elliot's continued shock a patch of her white bloomers visible through the gaping hole in the material.
She tripped over her own feet and lost her balance, teetering backward in his direction. He automatically reached out to catch her, his arms slipping under her breasts. Something shifted to the left beneath his hands, startling him, just as the back of her head connected sharply with his jaw.
The force snapped his mouth shut. He tasted ashes. Bewildered, he stared over her head at the panting little boy gone mad. What in the Heaven's was going on? He knew enough about a woman's body to know that something strange had just happened, and why in the world would her hair taste like ashes from an old fire?
"There you are, Hickory! Come along now."
Elliot turned with his burden, his gaze widening at the sight of the woman from the mercantile—the woman who had lost his letter and had given him the wrong directions—as she stepped through the open doorway. She gave him a pained smile, then beckoned to the boy. Apparently she didn't think it odd to find him holding Mrs. Boone in his arms, which Elliot found very odd.
"I'm sorry, Natalie. I tried to stop him, but you know how fast he can run."
Where The Heart Is Page 3