by Amy Harmon
Eliza settled next to him. “I don’t think any woman with half a heart could turn away an innocent little boy.” She did wonder why Ruth raised little Jon, but perhaps the woman had compassion buried deep inside. Perhaps she couldn’t reject a little boy who had already been rejected by the town, even though she was angry at his mother.
They sat together as the sun began its ascent in the east. Its rays sparkled against the blue-green sea, and it was difficult for Eliza to comprehend the beauty of the morning after the horror of what had happened. Several moments passed before Jon spoke again. “Eliza,” he said then stopped, looking away. “I cannot abide what you must think of me… I was a coward to send that letter. I should have told you in person.”
She swallowed over the lump in her throat, not knowing what to say.
“I should have come to see you, but I was afraid,” he said. “Afraid of what I had revealed in the letter.” He looked at her expectantly.
For a moment, she remained silent. “Was it true?”
“At the time it was. I was confused, thinking you would be marrying Nathaniel,” he said, looking away.
Shaking her head, she whispered, “Oh, Jon, I told you—”
“I know. But I couldn’t believe it then, not after the way he looked at you.”
Eliza hung her head. He’d said he was confused. He probably hadn’t meant the words in his letter.
“You took my heart with you when you went to France,” Jon said. “I tried to make the relationship with Apryl work anyway. When she broke it off, I was angry because of the sacrifices I had made. I knew I was falling in love with you, but I was still willing to marry Apryl. I didn’t want to be like my father, abandoning my commitments. It wasn’t until you left that I realized exactly what I’d lost.”
Eliza raised her eyes, not daring to believe his words.
“My mother knew that I loved you before I did. She trusted you with the truth, and for that you paid a heavy price,” he said.
Biting her lip, Eliza felt tears begin to form.
“This belongs to you,” Jon said, removing a well-worn handkerchief from his waistcoat. The initials E.M.R. were embroidered in the corner. “I found it in your aunt’s house last year, and I’ve kept it all this time.”
She took the handkerchief, amazed that he’d held onto it.
Jon continued. “Until I met you, I was a self-serving man who cared little for anyone else. My only happiness was found in ambition. But I have changed.” He reached out and took her hand in his. “Being engaged to Apryl, I sacrificed my love for you, Eliza.” He took her other hand and stood, pulling her up with him. “But that has all altered. You have my heart now, if you want it.”
It was all she could do to blink back the tears. Were Nathaniel and Thomas really gone from her life? Could she believe Jon’s words at last? Her resolve melted; and she could no longer remain silent.
With a trembling hand, she touched his face, something she’d only imagined doing again in her dreams. But the flesh beneath her fingers was real—warm and alive. She touched his hair then let her fingers travel around his ear, down his neck, stopping at his shoulder. With each beat of her heart, she surrendered more.
He kissed her slowly at first, gently, his hands pulling her close. Then his kiss deepened, searching and exploring, and Eliza felt as if she’d melt against him. It was as if he couldn’t stop and never intended to.
When he broke away so they could breathe, Eliza clung to him and buried her face against this neck. His arms cradled her, and she felt safe for the first time in as long as she could remember. She lifted her head, and he gazed down at her, the corners of his mouth lifting and his brown eyes warm in the morning light.
“Will you marry me, Elizabeth May Robinson?” he whispered.
“Yes,” she whispered back.
The galloping of two horses reached her ears; her father and the constable had arrived. Everything would be all right. Everything would be taken care of now. Helena would be put to rest, and Jon… she gazed into his eyes and smiled. Jon would finally be hers.
Chapter Thirty-one
Jon’s hand reached for hers, and Eliza threaded their fingers together. The only sound above her pounding heart was the crashing surf a few dozen paces from the grave marker.
Helena Talbot
1798-1819
Rest in Peace
Eliza’s parents, Mr. Doughty, the constable, and several of the townspeople had left the graveside service, and now only Eliza and Jon remained. The headstone stood tall and elegant, like a buttress against the wind off the ocean and any future storm that might come.
Helena Talbot was at last buried properly. Jon had dug a small plot near the lighthouse, the place where he said his mother used to watch for his father’s return. The wind was cool today, and it stirred the cloak Eliza wore over her white dress and lifted wisps of hair about her face.
Gus’s body had washed out to sea, and Ruth was in jail, awaiting trial. Knowing what was in Helena’s journal about Gus Senior, Eliza understood part of Ruth’s motivation—she wanted to protect her brother, as wrong as it was for him to kill Helena before she could leave him. But still, Eliza didn’t understand why Ruth had decided to raise Jon. The only thing she could guess at was that Ruth suffered guilt, or she didn’t blame Jon for his mother’s actions.
Eliza and Jon had both written and signed statements to be read in court so they wouldn’t have to appear and testify. Their involvement was finally over.
He released Eliza’s hand and stepped behind her, his arms coming around her waist. She leaned back against his solid chest and closed her eyes.
“Thank you for staying with me,” Jon said, his mouth close to her ear.
His warm breath sent a tremor through Eliza’s body, and she smiled. “I don’t want to be anywhere you aren’t.”
His hands tightened about her waist, and his lips tickled her neck.
“Do you think she’s happy now?” Eliza said.
“Yes,” Jon said in a quiet voice. “Maybrook feels different. I believe it’s because my mother is finally at peace.”
“I believe it too. The first time she spoke to me, she told me to jump off the cliff.” Eliza turned in Jon’s arms to face him with a smile. She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze. Raising her hand, she smoothed the concern from his face. “Don’t worry. She became more friendly once she got to know me.”
Jon’s expression softened, and Eliza could hardly believe this wasn’t all a dream sometimes—standing here, in Jon’s arms, with him looking at her like this. “If she’s watching, would she be pleased about our engagement?”
One side of Jon’s mouth lifted. “How could she not?” He lowered his head and brushed his lips against hers.
The touch of his mouth was divine, and Eliza wrapped her arms around his waist then laid her head against his chest. “What if she protests the wedding?”
Jon’s hands moved up her back, then to her shoulders. His fingers touched her neck. “We’ll find out soon enough.” He started to undo the bun she’d twisted her hair into.
“Jon, what are you doing?” She drew away, until she could see him properly.
He paused, looking into her eyes; Eliza felt the heat of his gaze envelope her body. His gaze still intent on her, he finished undoing her hair. It tumbled nearly to her waist.
“I think that had my mother lived long enough to meet you,” he said, “she would have fully approved of her daughter-in-law.”
Jon’s fingers tangled into her hair, but Eliza was having a hard time focusing on their conversation. “How can you really know?” She never wanted the nightmares to return.
“Because,” he said, dipping his head toward hers, “she came to you for help. She knew she could trust you.”
Eliza reached her hands up and placed them on each side of Jon’s face. It was remarkable to think that during the night they’d spent in jail, she thought he hated her. But now, she understood. The darkness in his eyes had been
the pain of losing both of his parents and growing up as a lonely soul.
“You look too serious,” he said, brushing his lips against her neck.
Eliza let a smile escape. “I’m so glad you rescued me that night.”
He lifted his head and looked at her, his brown eyes warm and intense at the same time. “You rescued me too. You are everything to me, Eliza.”
She stared at him for a moment. “I love you,” she whispered. Her hands moved behind his neck, and she lifted up on her toes to meet his lips.
His kiss was warm and patient. She knew he was holding back. It would not be much longer before they’d become husband and wife. Eliza released her hold on him and stepped away, then grasped his hands.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
She nodded, tears burning her eyes. She blinked them back and stooped to pick up a basket of cut flowers she’d brought with her to the grave. Jon took several flowers from it then walked to the headstone. He knelt in the newly turned earth and placed the flowers at the base of the stone. He lifted one hand and rested it on top of the stone.
Eliza joined Jon at the headstone. She spread the rest of the flowers at the base of the headstone, then knelt next to him, careful that her cloak covered the white of her dress so it wouldn’t be soiled. The wind stalled, and it seemed for a moment as if nothing moved, that she and Jon were surrounded by the lightest air possible.
“Good-bye, Mother,” Jon whispered. “Rest in peace.” His hand reached for Eliza’s, and together they bowed their heads.
A few moments later, they stood, and Jon led her away from the burial plot, away from the cliffs and the ocean, to the waiting wagon. Jon handed her up to the bench as the wind stirred again, but Eliza welcomed the salty breeze. It lifted her hair from her neck and bathed her face in coolness.
Jon climbed up beside her and flicked the reins. The wagon lurched forward then rumbled toward the road leading into town. Eliza turned for a final look at the gravesite. Three doves had landed among the flowers, settling their snow-white bodies among the petals as if grateful to have found a soft resting place.
Jon turned his head, following Eliza’s gaze. Then he faced forward again, draping one arm around Eliza and pulling her close.
The ride to the Meeting House was quiet. The road seemed to be deserted—everyone must be in their fields or homes. Eliza gazed at each tree and expanse of road with fondness, a lump in her throat at all that had happened—cherished memories as well as things she wanted to forget.
When Jon reined the horse to a stop in front of the Meeting House, he helped Eliza down without a word. His eyes were moist, and Eliza knew that if she said anything, her own eyes would tear up.
Hand in hand, they walked to the open doors. Inside the Meeting House, a hush fell over the gathered assembly. It was a small group, just as Eliza and Jon had wished. Eliza’s parents were there, as were Gina and her parents, Mr. Doughty, and the constable.
The magistrate stood at the head of the room, his expression as austere as his black robes.
Eliza’s father rose from his seat at the front of the room and walked up the aisle. When he reached them, he shook Jon’s hand, then kissed her on her cheek. She slipped her cloak off and set it on the back bench, then linked her arm through her father’s.
Together they waited while Jon walked up the aisle and stood on one side of the magistrate. Then she and her father made their own journey between the pews to the magistrate. Tears burned at the back of her eyes. She heard her mother sniffle somewhere on the side of the aisle, but Eliza only watched Jon as she approached.
His smile was soft, his eyes tender as she neared him. Finally when she stood in front of the magistrate, her father released her and stepped away.
“Jonathan Porter, Jr.” the magistrate said. “Doest thou take Elizabeth May Robinson to be thy wife?”
Her eyes gazed into his.
“Yes, I do,” he said, his voice sure and strong.
Eliza felt the magistrate turn toward her, but she couldn’t look away from Jon.
“Eliza May Robinson, doest thou accept Jonathan Porter Junior as thy husband?” the magistrate said.
She stared into Jon’s eyes, seeing into his soul, knowing this was all she ever wanted and all she ever wanted to be. “Yes, I do,” she whispered.
“By the law of Massachusetts, thou art now husband and wife.”
Jon held his hand out to Eliza, and she placed it in his.
They had married in the very building Jon’s mother would have married his father in, had Mr. Porter come back for Helena. It seemed only fitting that Eliza and Jon marry in Maybrook—in the place they’d met and in the place that Helena was finally given rest.
Eliza didn’t want a high-society wedding, surrounded by the eyes of New York City. Her marriage was to be a private, sacred thing, one only she and Jon, with those they loved most, witnessed.
Jon tugged Eliza toward him, ignoring the solemn gaze of the magistrate. Before anyone could give their congratulations, Jon pulled her into his arms. “I love you,” he whispered into her ear, then kissed her in front of everyone.
When he drew away, her lips practically burned. The magistrate had stepped well out of the way, and Eliza was swept up in congratulations by Gina and her parents. Her mother came forward and embraced her, saying, “It’s not too late to plan a reception in New York. We can keep it as small as you like.”
“Mother, our steamship tickets are already purchased.”
Her mother’s eyes watered as she blinked rapidly, and Eliza drew her into a hug again. “We’ll only be gone through the summer.”
They planned to spend their honeymoon in Europe before returning to New York. They hadn’t decided whether or not they’d settle in the city or purchase an estate in the country, although Jon didn’t want to become too scarce, as he’d recently joined Mr. Robinson in a new business partnership.
Jon moved to her side, and his hand touched the small of her back. He leaned down. “Ready, Mrs. Porter?”
She smiled up at him. “I’m ready.”
“Not before you say good-bye,” her father interrupted.
Eliza laughed and turned to her father, hugging him. Tears budded in her eyes, and when her father released her, she swiped them away. She grasped Jon’s hand, and they retrieved her cloak from the back of the room then walked out of the Meeting House. The clouds had darkened, and the wind had grown stronger.
In the spot where their wagon had been was a sleek black carriage equipped with two horses. A driver climbed down from the seat and opened the carriage door.
“Jon, how did you arrange this?” Eliza asked, as the first raindrops fell from the sky.
He smiled. “It’s one of many surprises you’ll find along the way.”
Eliza wanted to kiss him right there and then, but she turned instead and waved good-bye to everyone. Large drops splashed onto the ground, and Jon ushered her into the carriage.
The ride to Boston Harbor would be long, and an open wagon would have been quite miserable, especially now that it was starting to rain. Besides a closed carriage offered more privacy. The driver shut the door. Instead of sitting on the opposite seat, Jon sat next to her.
It was their first moment alone as husband and wife. Nervousness bubbled inside her. “I can’t believe we’re married,” she said, wondering what it would be like to be with Jon, truly with him.
Jon’s brown eyes were intent on hers. “Thank you for saying yes.” He grasped her hand and turned it over, then brought her palm to his lips then pressed another kiss on her wrist.
Warmth shivered through her, traveling up her arm, onto her neck and face.
“Are you blushing, Mrs. Porter?” Jon said, his tone definitely amused.
“Perhaps,” Eliza said. “Close your eyes, Mr. Porter.”
His lips turned up, his brown eyes steady. “Now why would I want to do that?”
“So I can do this,” Eliza whispered, touching his cheek with her ha
nd, then pressing her mouth to his. She kissed him, a feeling both familiar and new at the same time. They were now married, and that changed everything.
This time his kisses weren’t patient. While the rain drummed outside of the carriage, soaking everything in sight, inside the carriage was like a blissful cocoon, and Eliza knew she would very much enjoy being Jon Porter’s wife.
Author’s Note
Dear Reader,
If you enjoyed Heart of the Ocean, please consider posting a review of the book on Amazon, Goodreads, or Barnes & Noble. Also, please feel free to email me—I’d love to hear from you: [email protected]
Also, You can read Gina’s story in An Ocean Away found in A Timeless Romance Anthology: European Collection
Thank you for reading!
For more romances by Heather B. Moore, visit her Amazon Author page:
http://www.amazon.com/Heather-B.-Moore/e/B007HLYZ6A/
For more historical novels under her pen name, H.B. Moore, visit:
http://www.amazon.com/H.-B.-Moore/e/B001K8942Q/
Other Works by Heather B. Moore
About Heather B. Moore
Heather B. Moore is the author of a dozen historical novels, written under the pen name H.B. Moore. She’s the two-time recipient of the Best in State Award for Literary Arts in Fiction, the two-time Whitney Award winner for Best Historical, and two-time Golden Quill winner for Best Novel (good things come in twos!). Heather is an author of the Newport Ladies Book Club series (2012–2014), the Aliso Creek Novella series, and writes novellas for A Timeless Romance Anthology series.
Heather owns and manages the freelance editing company Precision Editing Group. Heather lives in the shadow of Mt. Timpanogos with her husband, four children, and one pretentious cat. In her spare time, Heather sleeps.