A Heart Made for Love

by Linda Tillis

  “Good morning, Lady Wellington. What a nice surprise. How kind of you to visit us.” Eleanor smiled as she approached the old lady.

  The lady tore her eyes away from Mae and turned to Eleanor. “Good morning, Mrs. Taylor. I hope I haven’t interfered with your work, dear, but I find I have need of a new hat.”

  “Well, then, you have come to the right place.” Eleanor gestured to Mae. “Mae, this is Lady Wellington, one of my first and certainly one of my dearest customers.”

  “It is a pleasure to meet you, ma’am. Again, I apologize for startling you,” Mae said as she handed the glass to the lady.

  “Mae is my assistant, Lady Wellington, and she will make you a hat you will love to wear.”

  Regaining her color, the woman was able to control her trembling, so the ladies visited for a few minutes. Mae showed the lady some swatches of beautiful pastel silks, along with some of the newest patterns. After some debate, she selected a soft dove gray, trimmed with pale blue and dark purple flowers.

  As the frail woman made her way to the door, she turned to Mae and asked, “My dear, perhaps when you have completed my hat, you could deliver it to my home? I don’t get out often, and it would be a pleasant change to have a young visitor.”

  Mae turned to Eleanor with a question on her face.

  Eleanor smiled and said, “That would be a wonderful outing for Mae, Lady Wellington. Thank you for the opportunity. We will see your hat is finished and to you by the Thursday before Easter.”

  ****

  Mae was excited. She was sitting in the back seat of the luxurious motorcar the lady had sent for her. The smell of fine leather filled the air. The beautiful wood-trimmed interior would have made Samuel smile. The hat was secured in its box on the seat next to her.

  Mae had taken extra care with her appearance this morning. After all, she was a representative of Taylor’s today and had an esteemed reputation to uphold. She had chosen a medium blue, lightweight woolen suit with an attractive light blue blouse ruffled at the neck. She had twisted her dark hair into a French knot at the base of her long neck. To top off her ensemble, Mae had chosen a matching straw bonnet.

  Eleanor had assured her it was all right for her to be away from the store today. They’d finished every single Easter order by noon yesterday, so Eleanor declared she was staying closed today and Good Friday. She wanted to rest up before the holiday weekend. She told Mae the trip to Lady Wellington’s estate would be very enjoyable and prepared her assistant for the visit with the information that the lady and her husband were originally from England and had lived previously in New Orleans, where Lord Wellington had numerous shipping interests.

  Some sort of tragic event had occurred causing Lord Wellington to put all his business connections in the hands of overseers and retire the two of them to Tallahassee. This had been many years ago, and the poor lady had lost her husband to illness only a few years later. She was considered something of a recluse now, attending only the rare charity or musical event.

  Mae sat a little straighter as the motorcar left the main road and turned down a serene, tree-lined lane. The crepe myrtles had just begun to bloom in soft pinks and lavenders. They were a good quarter of a mile down the lane when the trees opened up to a sunlit meadow, showcasing a large, two-story limestone home, with a one-story wing on each side. They approached it and pulled up in a circular drive lined with deep pink azaleas smiling at the morning sun. Mae gazed around the meadow, soaking up a sense of calming warmth. This was a place to rest, to think on life, and to renew one’s goals. This was what Mae wanted women to feel when they first gazed upon the home she would one day build, the home that would open its doors to women of all ages, women who needed comfort and assistance to heal themselves.

  A middle-aged woman with a cheerful face met Mae at the front door. “Good morning, miss. I’m Mrs. Patrick. Let me take that pretty hatbox for you. You just come along with me to the back parlor. Lady Wellington will be down soon.”

  Martha Patrick was a whirlwind. She had scooped up the hatbox and had Mae halfway to the back of the house before she could catch her breath. She barely had time to notice the incredible high ceilings and the wide doorways as she was herded along.

  They entered a large room warmed by the morning sun. French doors opened outward to a terrace lined with large clay pots full of red amaryllis. The room was set up for the obvious enjoyment of music. A large piano stood regally in a back corner. Inviting upholstered chairs and settees were scattered around. Tall floor lamps with beaded fringe brightened the room. Mrs. Patrick placed the hatbox on one of the chairs and turned to Mae.

  “I’ll just pop out to the kitchen and get the two of you some tea and cakes, dear. Please make yourself comfortable. Milady will be right down.”

  Mae set down her gloves and reticule and strolled around the room. The view from the terrace doors was serene. The house was on a slight rise, allowing the back lawn to slope gently down to a small lake. Mae could see several white birds floating along the calm water. She turned back to the parlor and observed a large artist’s rendering of a portrait atop the piano. As Mae approached the piano she began to feel odd. What was that old saying? A rabbit ran across my grave? A closer inspection of the painting caused her eyes to widen in dismay. If she had not known better, she would have sworn the painting was of her. The young woman’s style of dress was from a period at least forty years earlier, but the face, the hair, the dark eyes and long neck—all were Mae.

  Just as she was reaching to lift the painting from the piano, a soft voice spoke behind her. Mae gasped as she turned to the hall door.

  Lady Wellington stood in the doorway. She was staring at Mae with an odd half smile.

  Mae blushed. She was embarrassed at having been caught about to lift the painting for closer examination.

  The lady spoke as she entered the room. “She is lovely, isn’t she? Of course, you can’t answer such a question without seeming to be filled with conceit, can you, dear? You are the spitting image of her, aren’t you?”

  Again, Mae had that odd feeling, as if she was in a play and did not know what it was about. “Who is she?”

  Lady Wellington had seated herself and now gazed out the terrace doors. After a long pause, she began to speak. “Her name was Lavinia. She was my daughter and my only child. She was nineteen when she sat for the portrait. It was a gift from her for my birthday. Lavinia was a kind child. She was always thinking of ways to please someone. She was engaged to a young lawyer. They were planning to be married at Christmas—much cooler, you see, for the reception.”

  The lady stopped speaking, dabbed at the trail of tears on her lined face, and then continued in a voice just above a whisper. “She insisted on riding to her childhood friend’s home to show her the swatches of fabric for the wedding dress. She was supposed to take Shelton, our head groom with her. He asked her to wait a few moments while he attended to a horse with a bad sprain. Lavinia was so excited she told him he could catch up to her when he was finished tending the horse. The poor man rode all the way but did not find her. He was in a panic, heading back to the plantation, when he spotted her horse in the nearby woods.”

  “He found Lavinia, as well. She had been attacked, beaten, and left for dead. Poor Shelton was near hysterical by the time he got her home. He had the field hands send for the doctor as he rode by them.” Lady Wellington paused, shivered, and wiped the tears away.

  “Lavinia broke her engagement. She wouldn’t believe a man could still love her. Oh, Richard tried to make the effort, but she locked herself away from everyone.”

  As the lady spoke, Mae could feel the blood leave her face. Her heart pounded and her skin was clammy. She wanted to scream for Lady Wellington to stop, but she couldn’t make her voice work.

  The lady continued, “Poor Shelton. It was his misfortune to be the one to find Lavinia hanging in the barn.” Lady Wellington heard a gasp and turned just as Mae collapsed.

  Mae became aware of soft
voices and a bitter, acrid smell. She forced her eyes open, only to see a white-faced Lady Wellington, a red-faced Martha Patrick, and a butler who had the look of a condemned prisoner. Mae blinked a few times as Mrs. Patrick began to pray out loud, “Oh, we thank you, dear Lord, for bringing this child back to us, in the name of the Holy Father, Amen.”

  When she became aware she was stretched out on the settee, she tried to sit up. “No, no, dear, just stay there until you have recovered!” Martha Patrick scolded.

  Mae gave a weak smile. “Please, I’m fine. Just let me sit up.” She took Martha’s hand and pulled herself up. “Now, please, all of you go about your day. I am fine. I’ll just have a sip of tea and be right as rain in no time.”

  The butler made a beeline for the door, but Martha tried to linger. It took a sharp word from Lady Wellington to get her attention. “Mrs. Patrick, please go see if the cook has a broth going. A bowl of broth may be good for lunch.” Martha understood that tone. She closed the door behind her as she left the parlor.

  Lady Wellington sat beside Mae and took her hand. “My dear, I cannot tell you how sorry I am. I should have known you were much too young and inexperienced to hear such a story.”

  If Mae had not been so touched by the concern in the dear woman’s voice, she would have laughed out loud at the irony of that statement. To relieve the guilt she could see in those kind eyes, she would have to open a wound she thought had healed. She took a shuddering breath and said, “Ma’am, now I have a story to tell you. I don’t want to upset you, and you should know that no one outside my family, with the exception of Eleanor, is privy to what I am about to say.”

  As Mae spoke, she was aware of the tears wetting both their faces. She was detached from the telling, as if she sat across the room and observed the two ladies holding hands and consoling each other. When she had finished, she turned to Lady Wellington with a weak smile and said, “Do not fear for me, dear lady; I have a purpose in life. My mama was a big believer in the power of prayer, and so I prayed—sometimes while I did my chores, sometimes at night, when I would wake screaming and covered in sweat. And somewhere, during all the prayers, the Lord spoke to my heart and gave me a mission.” Mae looked down at her tightly clenched hands and willed herself to relax before continuing.

  “I will someday, somehow, build a home for women who don’t have the support of a loving family as I had. And for women who find themselves with a child, or those who cannot see past the horror of their particular event. They’ll learn a trade so they can care for themselves and any children they may have. And they’ll learn they are never alone, for the Lord is always with them. I will teach them to live the lives they have been given, without fear and without guilt.”

  Lady Wellington, the dear lady, said, “Your father must be so proud of you. Your mother must have been a gift from the Lord. You are a magnificent young woman, and I am proud to know you.”

  Mae was overwhelmed and embarrassed. She patted Lady Wellington’s hand and said, “Well, you may want to save some of that praise until after you’ve seen your new hat.”

  ****

  Lady Wellington was deep in thought as the motorcar faded in the distance. Mae had been self-conscious after her disclosure. Even though she would have loved to keep her, the lady sent Mae home with a hug and high praise for the stylish creation she would wear to Easter services on Sunday.

  Her mind was rushing ahead as she moved back to the parlor. The doctors had told her it was just a matter of time before her heart gave out. She had no relatives other than one several-times-removed cousin, who visited once a year just to make sure she had not passed on and he had not missed out on what he believed was his. He was a young man, but a possible reprobate and gambler. She had never cared for him even though she had paid for his education and provided him a quarterly allowance. While she would never leave him high and dry, she now knew where the bulk of her estate would go upon her passing. She smiled at the thought of the surprise young Mae would get when she found out just what that bulk entailed.

  Chapter Eight

  It was the first week of June, and Eleanor and Mae were each working on little dresses. The president of the Mainstreet Bank had commissioned them to do a summer wardrobe for his granddaughter.

  They were both enjoying the change from women’s wear to little ruffles and bows, and sweet little embroidered butterflies. Mae was going on about how excited she was to be going home for a visit. Eleanor always closed the shop during the month of July and made a point of spending the whole month with her son, Patrick. Both women were excited at the prospect of the time away from the shop, but for different reasons. Eleanor’s inner voice told her it was time to share something with Mae.

  “Mae, I have something to tell you, and I hope you will be as pleased about this as I am. Do you remember when your father and brothers visited at Christmas? You may not be aware, but your father and I were quite taken with each other. I have a confession to make, Mae. We have been exchanging letters since then, almost weekly. It started with me keeping him informed of your studies but soon progressed to personal notes. Mae, your father has invited Patrick and me to visit with you in your home for a few days. I hope this is not uncomfortable for you.”

  Mae was smiling a sly little smile. “I knew it,” she squealed with joy. “I could tell he liked you, and how could you not like Papa? He is the kindest, most sincere man in the world, and being handsome doesn’t hurt. Oh, Eleanor, I am so happy I could dance!” But then Mae’s face fell. “Oh, dear, our house is smaller than you are used to, and I’m not sure how we’ll all fit in.”

  “Well,” Eleanor drawled, “your father did mention a few months back he may be making some changes to the house.” She did not want to spoil Garth’s surprise, but she couldn’t let Mae worry for no reason.

  “Oh, he didn’t mention it in any of his letters, so maybe he wants to surprise me.” Mae’s smile grew again. “Oh, what fun we will have! The boys will love showing Patrick around the farm, and you’ll get to meet Hansu. You will love him. He is so kind and wise.”

  Eleanor appreciated Mae’s excitement at having her in their home, if even for a short while, but she was not going to allow herself to make more of this than what it was: just a visit. She would not set herself up for pain, in case this friendship did not mature into a relationship. But if ever there was another man she could let herself fall in love with, it would be Garth Hinton.

  ****

  It was the first of July, and Mae was on her way home. She stared out the train window. She was going home after a year away, and she was taking Eleanor and Patrick with her. With the train line now running all the way to Bell, it would be just a short truck ride to the farm.

  She turned to look at Patrick. He had his nose pressed against the window of the train car. Mae was glad to see his excitement. He was a tall boy for his seven years. This was a gift from his father, along with the sandy blond hair and the sprinkling of freckles across his nose. He had been very close to his father, and the murder had taken the joy from his childhood. He was much too quiet, by Mae’s measure. She was used to her younger brothers being boisterous and curious about everything. She was glad to see Patrick show some enthusiasm.

  Mae turned her gaze to Eleanor. She was thumbing through the pages of the latest pattern book from New York. Eleanor could have stepped off one of those pages. Her copper hair was styled in a twist with a tortoiseshell comb holding her curls in place. She had worn a crisp traveling suit of lightweight linen. The color looked like ripe cantaloupe and complemented her beautiful hair. Mae was filled with a deep sense of peace when she looked at Eleanor. She believed this visit home was a beginning for Eleanor and Garth. Mae was happy for them both. They were good people, each of whom had been forced to deal with one of life’s greatest trials: the loss of a mate.

  They deserved to have a second chance at happiness. If Mae’s wishes had anything to do with it, they would find happiness with each other.

  ****
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  Garth yelled across the yard. “Cyrus, those chickens can wait till you get back home! We can’t leave the ladies standing on the platform.”

  Garth had taken great care to clean his truck inside and out. He looked back at the house. He hoped Mae would approve of all the changes. Garth had built onto the kitchen, combining it with the dining room. He’d put large windows on three walls to allow airflow to cool the rooms. The back of the house now had two additional bedrooms. It was time the boys had their own rooms. A bathing room was added as an extension to the washhouse. There was a woodstove to warm water, and the hand pump eliminated all the carrying of buckets to and from. If there was ever going to be another woman in the house… Garth couldn’t think beyond this point. He did not want to dream of something that might not come to pass. He would just let these next few days flow naturally. If they grew to be something wonderful, then so be it.

  As Mae and Eleanor stepped out on the platform, the afternoon sun reminded them it was July. Mae spotted her father walking toward them. In that moment, she was no longer the mature and sedate young businesswoman. She was the little girl who hadn’t realized how much she missed her papa. She threw herself at her father, locking her arms around his neck. “Oh, Papa,” she cried. “It’s so good to see you! I have missed you so!”

  Garth struggled to keep from falling. “Girl, you’ve grown a good inch, and who would have believed you could get any prettier,” he said with pride.

  Mae laughed and turned to Cyrus. “Mrs. Peters’ cooking must be great, little brother, ’cause I’m not going to be able to call you my ‘little’ brother much longer! You’re as tall as me now. Come and say hello to Patrick.”

  Before Cyrus could answer her, Patrick had grabbed him by the hand and said, “Mae claimed you would show me all the animals and take me fishin’ and teach me to swim and we could pick berries and…”

  “Whoa, there, partner!” Cyrus interrupted. “You’ve gotta breathe, little buddy.” They all laughed as Patrick jumped from one foot to the other.