Marty paused, cup in hand, and looked up. “But where would you go?”
With a shrug, Leah unwrapped a loaf of bread and sliced several generous hunks, then stacked them on a small plate. She brought them to the table, along with salt and pepper shakers. “I haven’t decided that yet. But there’s really no point in my staying here, is there? Think about it. You and Will deserve a chance to start your life together without the interference of an older sister. An old maid one, at that,” she added with a smirk.
“You wouldn’t be an old maid for long,” Marty said gently, “if you’d show Curtis Randall or Steve Henderson the slightest encouragement. You could be mistress of your own home then.”
Leah turned. “Couldn’t you just picture me married to Curt and those pigs of his? Hmph. And Steve. Now there’s a prize catch for you. I’d have to put up with Mother Henderson always elaborating on my deficiencies and how much better a wife Marietta Perkins would have been, if she hadn’t up and run away with that railroad conductor.” Her voice gentled. “Besides, the only man I ever really wanted chose someone else, if you recall.”
But her friend wasn’t easily put off. “Well, there are other eligible males in the area, you know. And as far as I’m concerned, you don’t have any deficiencies. You’re the dearest, kindest, sweetest—”
“Talkin’ about me again, are you?” Willis said teasingly as he reentered the kitchen. “I do like to hear my gal talk about me that way.” Coming up behind his fiancée, he slid his arms around her slim waist and nuzzled her earlobe.
Leah was in no mood to watch the display of affection. With a pained grimace, she presented her back and went to bring the stew pot to the table.
But after supper, when the house was quiet again and she was alone in her room, she had plenty of time to think about weddings. And being available. About the eligible bachelors she had known all her life, and how far short of her dreams they all seemed. She just couldn’t picture herself married to any of them.
And she thought about how quickly her world had turned upside down.
Laurelwood was the house she had always wanted to be mistress of. It was the only home she had ever known. But it could never, ever be hers.
With a ragged sigh, she went to her bureau and opened the bottom drawer, where she kept her sketches. Flipping through the collection, she couldn’t help noticing how many were of Laurelwood. Even when she had focused on the lilac bush or the orchards or the summer roses, the house was always visible somehow. It was the very heart of all her drawings.
Perhaps she’d find the time to do a real likeness, in oils. A portrait of Laurelwood that would go with her wherever she went. She’d work on it whenever she had a spare minute. At least no one would be able to take that from her.
Chapter 2
Blake Malone shifted in the hard chair, watching Hayden Lane, attorney-at-law, shuffle through a raft of legal documents in the rather small office, its confines made even closer by the blue haze of cigar smoke.
“So, I take it you have no interest in returning to Lehman permanently, setting up residence in your late grandfather’s house?” Drumming stubby fingers atop the cluttered desk, the bespectacled lawyer glanced up, the flickering overhead lights glinting over his bald pate as he looked at Blake.
His attention momentarily on the numerous leather-bound volumes lining floor to ceiling bookshelves directly behind the man, Blake met the shrewd gaze straight on. “None whatsoever. It’s bad enough I had to leave Wisconsin at all, right now. I can’t afford to hang around Pennsylvania indefinitely. The lumber mill’s too much for my brother to handle on his own.”
“Nevertheless, the will did stipulate that you see to the disposing of the property personally. I’ve a friend who happens to be a land agent. Perhaps he’s already received a few inquiries from interested people. Once the sale is completed and you sign the proper forms to that effect, you’ll be free to get back to your… uh… enterprise.” He stood and reached out his fleshy hand.
Getting up to return the polite gesture, Blake couldn’t help but notice how unnaturally soft those pudgy fingers were as he clasped them in his own calloused ones. “Thank you, sir. If you need me, you can contact me at Harvey’s Lake, at the Lake House.”
“Fine, Mr. Malone. I’ll be in touch.” With a nod of dismissal, the lawyer settled his bulky frame into his desk chair once more.
Outside air had never smelled more refreshing. Blake filled his lungs and expelled the breath in an attempt to rid himself of the last remnants of the rank odor. Why had his grandfather inserted that particular condition in his will? Certainly the old man knew he was welcome to come to live in Wisconsin at any time. Blake and his younger brother, Matthew, had invited him more than once. Handy as the old gent was, he might have been an asset to them in the shingle mill, if not in the regular lumber camp, and they could have looked after him, been there for him when the end came.
But Blake surmised that more likely his grandfather’s intent was for him to return to his Pennsylvania roots for awhile… hopefully long enough to feel compelled to stay for good. “Too bad, Gramps,” he muttered, climbing aboard the rented buggy and taking the reins. “It ain’t gonna work.”
Clouds hung low in the sky, but even with the possibility of rain, there was no time like the present for driving past the old place, to see what condition it was in. No doubt it would appear as well kept as ever. Except for the unexpected heart attack which had claimed him, the old man had never known a sick day in his life.
Taking the hilly cutoff that led from the road to the house where he and Matthew had grown up, Blake recognized some of the rocky outcroppings and groves the two of them had designated as forts in their boyhood. He couldn’t recall a single unpleasant memory until their parents perished in a storm during a voyage to Europe. Only fourteen at the time, Blake grew up a lot that summer. Gone were the carefree days of childhood, replaced by the conviction that he’d go after his dreams while there was still time to do so.
The horse emerged into the clearing just then, and Blake drew in on the reins and stopped. Not a footprint or wheel track marred the melting snow on the rolling land before him. The sprawling one-story stone house still crowned the gentle knoll, tall pines and maples still bracketing it on either side. The whole place appeared like a scene from a picture book. He’d almost forgotten how breathtaking it was. He urged the bay slowly forward once more, feeling somehow reluctant to make unnecessary noise.
Blake found everything as Gramps had left it, even inside, where his breath came out in little clouds of vapor. Glancing around the spacious parlor, with its comfortable furnishings and an ample supply of chopped wood waiting to be added to a roaring fire in the hearth, he felt a twinge of sadness. If not for the death notice the lawyer had shown him, Blake could almost have expected to glance up at any second and see the familiar form striding toward him, hear the booming voice, wince at the stout clap on his shoulder. What a shame he and Matt had missed out on the old man’s affection and encouragement these last few years since they’d invested their inheritance in the fledgling lumbering business in northern Wisconsin. But nothing could have dissuaded them from venturing off to worlds unknown, trying their wings, seeing if they had what it took to succeed.
He made a swift tour of the rest of the house, then at the first patters of rain on the roof, returned to the buggy and headed toward Harvey’s Lake. He did not regret deciding to book a room at a hotel. It would have been hard to remain here without Gramps around.
When Sunday came, he followed the inclination to attend the service at the small church his grandfather had helped establish. The man had never gone after his own dearest dreams—of enrolling in theological school and becoming a minister—so he’d done the next best thing by becoming one of the most faithful members of the little flock at Grace Church and teaching Bible study classes. He never missed a scheduled service for any reason. Blake knew it would probably seem strange to walk into the house of worship and not
be able to spot white-haired Gramps occupying the second pew, right on the aisle. For that reason, he purposely arrived a few minutes late so he wouldn’t have to talk to anyone beforehand.
Already the strains of “Rock of Ages” drifted toward him as he mounted the steps of the little white country church in the hollow bordering the township of Huntsville. He chose a space as far back as he could. A young man in the same pew offered him an open hymnal. Blake nodded his thanks and followed the words without singing.
That is, until a curious pause followed the second verse.
“Well, well,” jovial Pastor Milton Burgess said, his hand upraised. “I do believe I see a former member visiting us today. Blake Malone, stand up, so everyone can see you.”
His neck warming under his collar and vest, Blake stood and gave an off-handed wave, recognizing several individuals he’d known, friends of his grandfather’s, plus some new faces. “Greetings, folks,” he muttered. “A privilege to be here again.”
“We were just about to sing the third verse,” the bristling-haired minister went on, his broad sideburns widening with his grin. “How about you doing us that honor instead? It’s been ages since we’ve been treated to that powerful voice of yours.”
“Oh, please,” Blake hedged, but to no avail. A few too many heads were nodding in agreement. Suppressing an inward sigh of resignation, he decided to get it over with and walked to the front. He took the place the preacher had vacated, then gave a nod to the attractive dark-haired lass at the organ, and the music began again.
“Nothing in my hand I bring; simply to thy cross I cling….” The well-known words touched his own heart as he sang, but it still came as a relief when everyone joined in on the last stanza and he retook his seat. The entire atmosphere of the place seemed noticeably warmer after that, and Blake met and returned numerous friendly smiles.
“I’m sure the congregation joins me in thanking you, son,” Pastor Burgess said with a measure of chagrin. “I shouldn’t have imposed on your good nature. I trust you won’t hold it against me, as it did happen to go right along with my sermon this morning: ‘Taking Advantage of a Friend.’ We’re going to examine some instances in the Bible where people took advantage of a friendship. Sometimes for good, sometimes for bad. Turn with me, if you will, to the eleventh chapter of Luke’s Gospel, verse five.
Blake shook his head slightly in disbelief as he flipped open his frayed Bible to a passage he had read so often he’d all but committed it to memory.
Leah felt her sister’s elbow stab her in the ribs when after leaving the organ she came to sit with Nancy and her bookish husband, Tim Grogan, who grinned at her through wire-rimmed eyeglasses.
“Ever hear such a voice?” Nancy whispered under the cover of fluttering pages as people turned to the announced scripture. “But then, with that face…”
Leah frowned at her. They’d only recently started attending this church after the church in the opposite direction from home had burned to the ground when a nearby tree had been struck by lightning. But in dire need of an organist, this congregation had welcomed her whole family with open arms. Now it felt as if they’d always been a part of this flock. Still, the last thing Leah wanted was to have her sister obvious in her attempts to shove her toward some available young man. And in this case, a total stranger.
He was more than a little handsome, she allowed, with sun-streaked fair hair and eyes that rivaled the summer sky. Straight teeth flashed in his embarrassed grin, along with an endearing set of dimples. When he’d first come forward, she’d found herself playing from habit rather than paying attention to the written notes, as her eyes focused on that strong profile and the broad manly shoulders that tapered down to a trim waist on his tall, confident frame. Blake Malone. Must be the grandson of old Hiram Malone who’d been such a mainstay here until his sudden death scarcely a month ago. People mentioned a pair of grandsons who were his only living relatives. Likely the two would have attended school in Lehman. Huntsville was so sparsely settled that it didn’t have a school of its own, so Leah and her siblings had attended classes a few miles away in the larger town of Dallas, where they also did any needed shopping.
Pastor Burgess’s voice droned into her consciousness then, and Leah gave herself a mental shake and reminded herself to pay attention.
“So you see, dear friends,” he was saying, “our guest could easily have refused my request to sing for us earlier. I was taking rather bad advantage of our prior relationship. But knowing Hiram’s grandson the way I do, I counted on the fact that he’d acquiesce and give us that special blessing. I doubt he’ll hold it against me. Remember in your dealings with your own acquaintances not to take unfair advantage of others. Let us pray.”
Leah returned to the pump organ once more and wheezed out the closing hymn and the postlude. She preferred playing music to useless chatter, so she always remained where she was until most everyone had taken their leave. When she stood to gather her music together, she heard only two voices still in the church. They grew stronger as the speakers neared the organ.
The pastor’s voice she knew well. “So you won’t mind singing a special for us next week, Blake?”
Leah’s heart did a flip-flop. She couldn’t keep from glancing over her shoulder. Sure enough, her eyes locked onto a slightly amused pair of the clearest blue eyes she had ever seen.
“This is our little accompanist,” the minister told him needlessly. “Leah Somerville. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind staying a few moments longer while the two of you choose a solo number for next Sunday. Would you, Leah?” The man finally sought her approval.
“Well, my family—”
“I assured Willis we’d see that you got home in short order.”
“Oh. Well then, I suppose I can stay,” she said on a doubtful note. She did her best to appear completely at ease, all the while knowing beyond the shadow of a doubt that once Nancy got wind of this, she’d howl with glee.
“My pleasure, Miss Somerville,” Blake said, his gaze somehow assessing more than just her face as he tipped his golden head.
“Mr. Malone,” she said politely. “Have you a particular hymn in mind?”
“I thought perhaps ‘Jesus, Lover of My Soul’ might go along with the pastor’s upcoming sermon topic. If you know that one, of course.”
She nodded and lowered herself to the organ stool, arranging her jade velvet skirt comfortably about her while the minister retreated to the pews, tidying up hymnals and the like. After checking her own book’s contents, she opened to the specified page.
Blake Malone rested his elbow atop the organ, his gaze still centered on her.
“Do you not have a copy of the lyrics?” she asked.
“No need. I’ve always known this one.”
“Indeed. Well, then.” And without further ado, Leah placed her fingers on the correct keys, gave a few priming pumps to the pedals with her feet, and then began the introduction.
His rich baritone joined in at the first word, and his expression turned pensive as if caught up in the true meaning of each line.
Leah tried not to watch him, but turned slightly away from her the way he was, she could not help but look up to Blake often as she played. She adjusted one of the stops to blend more with his tone and was pleased by the improvement. Particularly when those compelling eyes of his turned to her, a smile tipping up the corners of his lips. It was the first time in her life Leah ever actually listened to the beautiful words penned by Charles Wesley. She was disappointed when it ended.
“Magnificent,” Pastor Burgess said, coming to the organ. “That will fit perfectly with next week’s service. Thanks to both of you.”
“P–perhaps we should go through it once more,” Leah heard herself say and cringed as a silly flush warmed her cheeks.
“Splendid idea,” Blake said casually… and bestowed another breath-stealing smile on her that curled her toes.
Afterward, she was slightly mortified when ever-so-helpful Pasto
r Burgess suggested their visitor see her home. “You’ll find the lad to be a perfect gentlemen,” he assured her. “I’ve known him all his life.”
In no position to refuse, Leah accepted the young man’s assistance into her warm cloak and then up to the seat of his buggy. She knew she wouldn’t think of a single thing to say the entire ride. “I feel guilty that you have to go out of your way like this,” she finally managed.
“I don’t mind in the least, Miss Somerville. It gives me something to do. It would seem I’m on an extended vacation, whether I like it or not.”
She nodded. “I’m terribly sorry, about your grandfather’s passing. I can’t think of a soul who wasn’t fond of him.”
“He was one of a kind. My brother Matt and I will miss him. We tried several times to entice him to join us in Wisconsin. I think he’d have liked it there.”
“You have just the one brother?” Something about his tone, his easy way of speaking, put Leah at ease. She relaxed against the seat’s cushioned back as the gelding plodded along over the rutted road.
He nodded. “The two of us run a lumber mill in northern Wisconsin. Of course, once winter sets in, we switch our efforts to a shingle mill. Keeps us busy all year. Matt up and got married a couple years ago. Took a fancy to a little gal who did most of our camp cooking, she and her aunt, that is, until the lady took sick and died. Now Julie does it all. She’s a fine cook, if I do say so myself. They have one little one and another on the way.”
“Do you have many workers at your lumber camp?” Leah asked, more to keep conversation going than anything. She did relish the rich timbre of his voice.
“During our busy season we hire on three or four others. Otherwise, we handle most of the work ourselves. It’s useless to try to compete with some of the huge lumber conglomerates in the area, but we manage to hold our own.”
“That’s our lane coming up on the right.” Leah indicated a road just ahead.
Where the Heart Is Romance Collection Page 2