Where The Heart Is

by Sheridon Smythe

  A perfect opportunity to talk to Noah about his plan, Elliot thought. The sooner the better. “I'd be delighted,” he said, grinning when she blushed again. He suspected she'd thought of the invitation at the spur of the moment to cover her impulsive question about his destination.

  Her friend was certainly one of a kind.

  He whistled as he walked the short distance to the boarding house, shoving his bare hands into his pants pocket to ward off the cold. Snow, he thought, sniffing the wind. Snow was on its way, and snow always reminded him of Christmas. He suspected Chattanooga would be beautiful at Christmas, with snow covering the ground and the white-capped peaks of the mountains forming a picture perfect background. Whether he would be here to see it depended on several things, one of which he was about to determine right now.

  He found Evans in his room. Jules was nowhere in sight. Without waiting for an invitation, he pushed past a speechless Evans and took a seat at the small table near the window.

  "I didn't invite you in,” Evans snarled, slamming the door shut. “What are you doing here? Did you bring the money?"

  Elliot was silent long enough to make the man nervous. Taking his time, he removed his hat and set it on the table. “I came to talk to you about our mutual little friend,” he announced as if he spoke merely of the weather.

  Evans froze in a half-turn. “I don't know what you're talking about."

  "Yes you do,” he countered pleasantly. But Evans must have sensed the steel beneath his words, for he stiffened. “You did know the girl you accosted in the hall—and you knew her mother even better."

  "You're crazy."

  "In fact,” he continued as if he hadn't spoken, “You killed her mother."

  With a gasp, Evans paced to him, visibly shaking. “That lying bitch! She's lying, Montgomery. She's the spawn of a whore—"

  "She identified you, right down to that nasty-looking scar on your mouth.” He paused, then added softly, “Don't suppose that's a coincidence, either. In fact, I know it isn't. Now, I've already talked to the sheriff and he's of the opinion that you might be charged with murder, if Jo's willing to testify."

  Evans made a strangling sound. “She can't prove anything, that lying little slut—"

  Elliot shot out of his chair, his hand on the man's throat. He squeezed a warning before letting the man go. “Hasn't that ugly mouth of yours gotten you into enough trouble?” he chided. Evans backed prudently away, massaging his throat. Elliot got down to business. “I figure we could convince someone else that witnessed the murder to testify, with the right incentive."

  "What do you want?” Evans croaked.

  "I want you to leave."

  "Carnagie will send someone else."

  He shrugged. “All I need is time.” He tapped his fingers on the table. “Hm. Although I can't guarantee Jo won't testify anyway. I hope she does."

  "They won't believe her,” Evans blustered.

  "Maybe. Maybe not. Question is, do you want to find out? There's bound to be a trial, at the very least—"

  "I'll leave."

  Elliot smiled. “Thought you would.” Rising, he put his hat on and strode passed the seething man. He turned before reaching the door. “Oh, and tell Carnagie he'd better send someone without blood on his hands. As for you—don't ever come back to this town again. Next time, I'll make the threat good or kill you myself."

  Outside the boarding house, Elliot paused to take a deep breath. He'd lied about the sheriff's interest. The sheriff had told him it would be next to impossible to get the case reopened. Very few people would want to waste their time on a prostitute, the sheriff had stated bluntly, or believe a child who had lived in a bawdy house most of her life.

  With any luck, Evans would never speak to the sheriff. He chuckled, suddenly very sure of it. Standing on the porch stoop absorbing his success, he reached for his pocket watch to check the time before remembering he'd sold it. But this time, he didn't mutter a curse at the loss.

  He smiled without regret.

  No, he was finished with regrets and useless wishes. He was ready to force fate to bend his way or exhaust himself trying. Getting rid of Evans had bought the time he desperately needed to put his plan in motion.

  His next stop was the bank, and if that went well, a long, detailed conversation with Noah without Marla present. He was very fond of her—which was the reason he'd decided not to torture her with this particular secret.

  She didn't need the added strain, he reasoned, grinning as he thought of her response should he tell her that. She'd probably forget her nice manners and tear into him like she did Noah when he took his smothering too far.

  He reached his hand inside his coat pocket and closed his fingers around the envelope. The contents would give his proposal more credibility, but right now he felt as if he could convince anyone of anything.

  Ah, the power of love.

  His grin widened.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  "I'm serious, Natalie. They're keeping something from us.” Marla had to nearly shout to be heard over the banging of the hammer. Elliot, Cole and Brett were upstairs replacing the walls with new lumber. Not cypress, but good quality oak. She would have traded her eye teeth to know where Elliot had gotten the money for the lumber. She could believe he would use the money from the doll houses ... no, he wouldn't.

  But where...?

  "They might be keeping something from you,” Natalie corrected with a disinterested shrug. She was going through Nelda Boone's things in the small sitting room that the housemother had converted to an office, packing the mountain of papers and books in boxes to be stored away in Marla's attic.

  Marla huffed and crossed her arms, staring at Natalie in frustration. It seemed she couldn't get her friend interested in anything these days. She spent most of her time packing in preparation for the move. Marla didn't think it was healthy. “Natalie, a few weeks ago I saw Elliot come out of the boarding house, then go into the bank."

  "You've told me."

  "And he and Noah have been cleaning out the store room next door to the Mercantile. Noah says he's planning to expand."

  "Then I'm sure he is. Has Noah ever lied to you before?” Natalie wiped her dusty hands on her apron, then bent to retrieve a stack of papers from the bottom drawer of the desk.

  "Well, no, but not more than two months ago he was complaining about not having enough time at home with us. Now he's expanding the store? If doesn't make sense.” And it was driving her to distraction—almost as much as Natalie's disinterest was. “Oh—and last night when I announced I was going to scrub the floors, he didn't stop me."

  Natalie sniffed. “Maybe he's realizing that you won't break."

  She ground her teeth. “Okay, how about this? They keep disappearing at night for hours, and when Noah comes home he says they've been taking inventory at the store."

  Natalie looked at her, her expression blank. She shook her head. “Noah takes inventory every year about this time, doesn't he?"

  "For two weeks?” Marla squeaked.

  "Why don't you follow them and satisfy your insatiable curiosity?"

  "I did.” She finally had Natalie's attention. She even got a smile out of her. Granted, it was a tiny one, a small victory.

  "And what were they doing?"

  "Taking inventory."

  They burst out laughing. Grinning sheepishly, Marla said, “I'm still not convinced that's what they're always doing."

  "Marla, Marla. Give it up. There's nothing going on. Elliot's been working here during most afternoons with the boys, and when he's not here, he's helping Noah take inventory. What's so sinister about that?"

  "Nothing,” she admitted, then bit her lip. “But it's the way they both look at me—"

  "You're imagining things. Stop worrying."

  "Easy for you to say, you don't seem to care about anything these days,” Marla muttered beneath her breath. But Natalie heard. She laid the stack of papers
aside and took Marla's hand.

  "I care, but I'm trying not to think about them."

  "Are you all right—” Marla waved her hand at the boxes scattered around them on the floor, her eyes clouding with concern, “with all of this?"

  Natalie squeezed her hand, then let it go. She sighed. “I have to be, don't I? And Lori, she needs to feel secure. I can't go around crying all the time."

  "No, you save that for nights, don't you?"

  "So you've noticed."

  Marla grimaced. “It's hard not to. You've got dark circles beneath your eyes, you know. Still not sleeping?"

  As if all of her courage suddenly left her, Natalie sank into the chair at the desk. Marla's heart gave a sharp wrench at the sight of her slumped shoulders and shadowed eyes.

  "Not a lot. I'm scared, Marly. Scared of the future.” She shrugged helplessly. “Ivy House is all I've ever known."

  "Maybe Elliot—"

  "I don't want his pity!” she cried sharply. “And pity is what it would be. He doesn't love me, so get that through your thick head, Marla. He—he pities me, and he wants me in a physical way, but—"

  "I think you're wrong.” In fact, she was certain Natalie was wrong. She just couldn't figure out why Elliot was being so stubborn and slow about admitting it. This was the time Natalie needed him the most, right now while she packed away a life time of memories.

  Perhaps in believing it herself, Natalie had convinced Elliot of the same. Or maybe Elliot couldn't get it through Natalie's thick head. Yes, that was probably it. Well, it was up to him to convince her.

  She gave Natalie's hand a sympathetic pat and left her alone with the painful task of packing. Another visit managed without telling her friend about the letter from Warren, she thought proudly. She'd show those two men she could keep a secret. Oh, but she had wanted to—if only to cheer Natalie.

  Outside in the still cold air, she found Jo leaning against the porch post watching Jeb as he disappeared down the lane. Her expression was one of unmistakable yearning and a liberal dose of fear.

  "Fine looking young man,” she offered, pausing near Jo. She could feel the tension radiating from the girl and wished she could help in some way.

  Jo blushed, her gaze steady on Jeb's retreating form. “Yep, he is."

  Marla hesitated, then decided she had nothing to lose by voicing her opinion. Jo was accustomed to it. “Don't let your past ruin your future,” she told her quietly.

  Jo was silent for a long moment. Finally, she looked at her as understanding dawned. “You mean like Natalie's doing?"

  Marla nodded, making a disgusted sound in her throat. “Yes, like Natalie and Elliot are doing."

  "Do you think they'll ever get together?"

  "If we keep working on it, I believe they will.” She flashed her a grin. “They won't have a choice. By the way, I've got an order that needs to be delivered tomorrow. Do you think Jeb would mind making that delivery for me? Y'all could take the buckboard and you could go along with him, show him the way."

  "Well, I don't know...” Jo shoved her hands in her pants pockets, then gave herself away by glancing down at the boys’ clothing she wore beneath a ragged man's coat. “I don't know, Marla—"

  "Say, I think I've got a dress that would fit you nicely.” She hooked her arm through Jo's before she could protest. They started down the lane. “What's Jeb's favorite color, do you know?"

  "Green, I think. But Marla—"

  "Perfect.” Marla gave an inward sigh of satisfaction. “It just so happens that the dress I'm talking about is green."

  "Really?"

  "Really,” she lied without so much as blinking.

  * * * *

  After Marla had gone, Natalie rubbed her tired eyes and rolled her stiff shoulders. She should heat the boys some milk, and take Elliot a cup of strong coffee. Lori, who was comfortably settled in the warm parlor and away from the noise and mess, could probably use another cup of broth, too. Her cold was better, but it sometimes took her weeks before her full strength returned.

  Her overused muscles protested as she rose and went to the kitchen. Jo was nowhere in sight, which was unusual, she thought with a frown. She shrugged and began preparing the coffee and heating the milk. In the meantime, she dipped a bowl of rich beef broth warming on the back burner and took it into the parlor.

  Catching sight of her, Lori hastily dropped her sewing items in the basket beside the sofa and pasted an eager grin on her face. “Oh, is that broth? I'm starved!"

  Natalie froze. Lori always complained about having to drink the broth. Proceeding more cautiously, she cocked an eyebrow as she lowered the bowl to a table. “Lori? Are you all right?” Quickly, she checked her forehead. No fever. In fact, her normally pale cheeks were flushed. She looked healthy for a change—positively glowing.

  Hm. After adding more wood to the fire, she turned to study Lori again. The girl's eyes literally sparkled. Natalie's speculative gaze dipped to the basket of sewing articles. “What are you working on? Can I see?"

  "No!” Lori shoved the basket further away and held her hands over the opening. “I'm working on Christmas presents, so you can't look."

  "All right.” Christmas presents, of course! She should have guessed. “Eat your broth. I'll be upstairs for a few minutes taking the boys some warm milk and Elliot a cup of coffee.” She brushed her hands on her apron and made her way to parlor door.

  "Yes, he needs lots of coffee,” Lori blurted out, then clamped her hand over her mouth. She looked stricken.

  Natalie turned. “He does?"

  Lori squirmed, her face turning bright red. “I mean, he works an awful lot, don't you think? I'll bet he doesn't get much sleep.” Ducking her head, Lori started to reach into her basket, waving Natalie away with her other hand. “Go away—I've got work to do."

  Despite her confusion and bone-deep weariness, Natalie smiled at Lori's bossy tone. Sometimes it was hard to remember she was only eight years old, and other times difficult to believe she was no longer that dainty toddler that forever needed to be carried. This was one of those times when she seemed far older than her years.

  God bless her.

  Arranging the tin cups of milk and coffee on a tray, she added a pile of Jo's sugar cookies, then made for the stairs. Bells jingled overhead with every balanced step she took. She shook her head, smiling faintly. Cole had insisted on decorating the stairs with cow bells, and she hadn't the heart to refuse him. Jo had added holly springs and Lori had fashioned red bows to the bells, turning a monstrosity into a festive, yet noisy and unusual decoration.

  Craning her neck to look at the bells, which Cole had weaved along the banister and draped overhead, Natalie grimaced. He had positioned them too low. It was nearly impossible not to brush into them as she climbed the stairs.

  She shrugged. At least they would know she was coming.

  "Do you think it will snow soon, Natty?” Brett asked before she came into sight, confirming her thoughts about the bells.

  "Possibly.” She paused before the boys to let them grab a cookie and their milk. “Careful—it's hot.” When she finally turned to Elliot, she slowly lifted her gaze to his face. And felt the usual stab of disappointment at his bland expression. He still hadn't forgiven her, it seemed.

  As he reached for the coffee and murmured his thanks, she snatched the opportunity to take in the signs of fatigue around his mouth and eyes, remembering what Lori had said. Yes, he did look tired. It appeared she wasn't the only one having trouble sleeping.

  Perversely, the thought lifted her spirits.

  "About finished?” she questioned softly, craving a smile, a flicker of interest, a look of the old passion that would weaken her knees and make her heart quicken with anticipation.

  He shot her an absent glance, then quickly focused his attention on the wall in progress. “It's going slow. I want every piece to fit perfectly.” His voice, like his expression, held little emotion.

  With considerable effort she managed a
bright smile before leaving. Normally perceptive to her feelings, the boys returned the smile with ease as if they sensed none of the cool tension between the adults.

  Their apathy was the last straw.

  When she reached the kitchen, she flung the tray onto the table in a burst of pent-up emotion and stomped to the office. Once there, she slammed the door and indulged in rare tears of self-pity.

  Everyone around her was cheerful and optimistic, while her world crumbled. The boys ... happy with their new family and content to visit or help; Lori, trusting the adults in her life to take care of her; Jo, once more determined to set out on her own and start a new life as if the incident at the boarding house had never happened.

  And Elliot, obsessed with Ivy House and working with Noah, obviously recovered from his infatuation with her—if he had been infatuated.

  She slumped in the chair and bent her head to her arms, weeping. She was ashamed of herself for envying her loved ones. Ashamed and horrified. Wasn't this what she wanted, for everyone to be happy? Of course it was! Then ... why this terrible feeling of worthlessness?

  Slowly, she lifted her head, her eyes widening as the astonishing truth hit her squarely in the face.

  She wasn't crying because she was losing Ivy House.

  She wasn't crying because the children were going to be happy without her, although she had suffered shameful pangs of selfishness at first.

  She was crying because without Elliot nothing seemed to matter. Not Ivy House, not the potential success of the doll houses, and not her own future, as dismal as it seemed.

  Without him, she felt empty, useless, hopeless. Alone. Keeping Ivy House and the children together wouldn't change that feeling, she suspected.

  She feared nothing would.

  Drained and weary, she used her apron to dry her face. Her gaze fell on the thin stack of papers held together with a faded blue ribbon and now spotted with her tears. Hopefully, it wasn't anything important, she thought, pulling the first page from the stack and moving the candle closer.

  She began to read, recognizing Nelda Boone's handwriting. Within a few sentences, she gasped. Nelda Boone had written the letters—love letters to someone named—she skimmed quickly down the page, her eyes freezing on the name.