Mary Brock Jones

by A Heart Divided

  “You’re not going back to Campbell’s?” she said first. But then she caught the meaning of his words. “A parson? No. You don’t understand. No, I can’t.”

  “Nessa, we made love last night. I love you, and I think, no, hope you love me. That usually results in a parson and a wedding.”

  “I can’t. I’m sorry. I thought you understood. Last night was… It was very precious to me. I will never forget it. But that’s all it can be … a memory. I am not free to marry you, not yet. Philip needs me. Until he has made his fortune and finished his studies, I cannot marry anyone.”

  “Why not?” He felt like shouting, but it came out strangled as, in one move, all his dreams lay shattered. “Did last night mean nothing to you? That I won’t believe. I know you, know the kind of woman you are. Last night would never have happened unless you loved me. Admit it.”

  She shook her head, pulling her horse back hard enough to jib at the reins and make it prance fretfully. He grabbed at the straps and held the horse firmly to halt it.

  “Don’t do this to us.”

  “I have to.”

  “And if there is a child?”

  She shook her head. “It’s unlikely.”

  “But not impossible. I’m sending for a parson today. You can decide what you want when he gets here.”

  He dropped her reins then and kicked his horse savagely on. He had seen the look on her face, the determined set of her chin. The flaming woman was serious! If Philip Ward had been in reach right now, he would not have vouched for his safety. How could she be so stubborn?

  Nessa was saved from more arguments by the ruckus of their arrival. John had galloped past his own house and on to the Coopers’ without so much as a backwards glance. Part of her was amused as she viewed the stiff set of his shoulders as he rode ahead of her. She had lived long enough with a father and brother to recognise the signs of a man in high dudgeon.

  Part of her was amused. The rest was lost. So much of what he said was true. There could be a child. They had made love last night. She was not a woman to do such a thing lightly, without love. She admitted it. She loved John Reid. But she had put aside her own needs for so long that she could no more contemplate abandoning Philip for a life with John than she could deny how much she longed to be free. She looked her fill at his home as he hurried her past, and was honest enough to know that she yearned to be able to stop there.

  He slowed as he neared the Coopers’ house, and Ada’s welcome was warm enough to cover the signs of strain.

  “Now, I’ve put Sally in with the two little ones, so you’ve a bed all to your own. We’re a mite noisy, what with the little ones, but you’ll get used to it, I dare say.”

  Ada had picked up her bag and Nessa perforce had to follow her or engage in a tug of war to recover it. The older woman had already dismissed John, and Nessa was barely able to quickly bob and give him a brusque “Thank you” before she must hurry into the cottage. She was left with an image of a hand half-lifted to her and a grim frown on his hard face before she was bustled through the door. It shut behind her, and all she could hear was the sound of hoof beats. Madly galloping away from her.

  Chapter 17

  She saw little of John in the coming days. She could almost have believed the night in the hut a dream, had she had not the odd bruise to treasure in remembrance of it. In bed at night, just after she blew out the light, she would tell each precious moment over to herself, remembering each touch, each caress, as of a bright chain of candy on a Christmas tree. It had happened. She might deny it during the day, might greet John with the careful cheer of a mere acquaintance; but she knew what had passed between them, and so did he. It was there in the way he made sure to capture her eyes at least once on each of his brief visits.

  I am here, and I am not going away, those looks said.

  She tried her best to ignore it. Ada made her feel so much at home that, within a day, it was as if she had been there forever. Jacques welcomed her with all the wily effusiveness of his Frenchman’s heart. They bargained happily for two heady hours, finally coming to an arrangement that she was sure he was secretly as pleased with as was she. She agreed to work in his store for three days a week, accepting translation work while there, and for the rest of the time she would take in the packers’ mending, with a cut going to Jacques, for ‘representation’ was his term. He sealed the deal with a Gallic flourish, clasping her hands and kissing her thoroughly on each cheek. The men laughed merrily and cheered him as with a shameless twinkle in his eye, he pulled out a bottle of wine to celebrate. What John would have done had he been there, she dare not guess.

  But he was not. A few days after depositing her in her new home, he disappeared. She did not ask the Coopers where to. She knew. He had gone back to Campbell’s, to settle with the blackguard who had attacked her.

  It should not have mattered to her. She was busy, occupied, her mind supposedly too full with her new duties to think of anything else. But every minute of every day, she was aware of his absence. By the third day, her nerves were stretched to near breaking point. She was worried for Philip, she told herself. Her brother was so young. Who knew what he might feel called on to do in defence of her honour? John should never have put such an idea in his head.

  But in the dark of the night, she could not deny the truth. She needed to see John riding back down the hill, whole and safe. In her heart, she knew Philip was not at risk. John would not let him be. It was John who would confront Fox. John who would be in danger. And it was all her fault.

  The third day after he had left was clear and sunny. It was late autumn, and the air carried the knowledge of snow on the tops in its touch. But the sun was shining and the day too beautiful to sit inside. Nessa had a basket of mending she had brought back from the Chamonix packers the previous afternoon, and she carried it out to the front of the Cooper’s hut. There was a smooth patch of English grasses there, eaten smooth by the sheep and cleared of the longer tussock. It was free of dust and even enough to set a chair and stool on. The cottage faced northeast, and today the breeze was light enough that it touched her skin in a pleasant caress.

  The children were down by the yards, helping their father sort out a flock of sheep brought down from the hills yesterday, and Ada was inside making scones for their afternoon tea. Nessa was, unusually, alone.

  A last cricket of summer called somewhere, and the breeze set up a rustling hum in the long tussocks beyond the shelter of the house. She breathed in deeply, smelling familiar English grasses and the more exotic fragrances of this land: the rich scent of the golden tussock, the warm, dryness of the dusty path, the stone oven aroma of the sun baking the flat limestone rocks.

  She breathed in once more, then again, then out on a harsh pain. It was no use. Her needle dug sharply into the rip in the calico shirt on her lap. It was such a beautiful day that peace should be invading every part of her. But it could not, not against the sharp nag of worry that never left her.

  A horse neighed, then she heard the clatter of hooves on the hard-packed earth of the path that wound round the small hill behind the house.

  Her needle seized. She refused to stand, could not if truth be told. It was only Bob, back from the yards, she was sure. But then she remembered: Bob had walked down that morning.

  They came round the house. A horse she knew so well, and the gentle mare she had ridden here. She tried, so hard, but, despite all, it was the man on the big horse to which her eyes clung, not the younger man on the mare.

  He was alive. He was safe.

  Then she remembered. She tucked the needle into the shirt, set it to one side and rose, smiling, to greet them.

  “Philip, how lovely to see you. I didn’t expect you for weeks. Is everything well at the diggings?” She set a firm smile on her face and did her best to bury the tremor she could feel threatening her voice.

  “Everything is just fine.” The boyish triumph in his grin gave her an unholy urge to box his ears. “It’s all going
along just grand.”

  The smile on her face was so forced she was sure they must see it. She stepped forward. “Come on in, both of you. Ada will want to hear all about it.”

  Amid the clatter of dismounting and the arrival of Ada at the door as she heard the tumult, John came up beside her and spoke quietly into her ear.

  “You’re safe now. Albert Fox is well on his way away from here.”

  “So you didn’t …?”

  “What, murder him? No, Miss Ward, we didn’t. Much as I was tempted.”

  Now there were two men whose ears she would dearly like to box, but she could not stop herself touching his arm lightly in thanks, to be reassured he was whole.

  “And you were not hurt, you or Philip?”

  “I promised that your brother would be safe. He’s a brave young man, beneath it all, and yes, he is unharmed.”

  Which was all she would ever be told of what had happened, it seemed. Philip stayed that night with John, after a long and boisterous family meal with the Coopers, then got a lift back the next day with a packer heading over to Campbell’s. She felt a tear slide down her cheek as he strode out, so tall and so confident. This land had been good to him in some ways. Maybe this time he would find what he sought, this time he would stay long enough in one place and settle to the work of the diggings, instead of chasing rainbows.

  Would grow up, was her secret thought and hope, but after that one night of self-honesty, she refused to now consider why she needed him to grow up and need her no longer, thrusting it to the back of her mind like a glowing ember, now buried beneath cold ash.

  “He will be all right,” said John beside her.

  There was a note in his voice, something not quite right. She turned swiftly, tears forgotten, and studied his face. It was closed in, the smile too hearty.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Now, let’s get you up to Chamonix. Jacques will be waiting.”

  “Don’t change the subject.” She suddenly remembered seeing Philip and John together, just before he left. Johns’ hand had shot out, clasping the younger man’s shoulder. Philip had shrugged it off. At the time, she had put it down to no more than a youth’s dislike of anything that smacked of constraint by an older man. Now she was not so sure.

  “How bad does it get up at Campbell’s when the snows come?”

  John said nothing at first. Then shrugged. “Pretty bad. It’s no place to be in winter. But he has a bit of time yet, and I’ve told the packers to take him some extra rations, just in case.”

  “How much longer?”

  He did not answer her at first. She struck her hands on her hips and glared. He shrugged, looking up to the skyline as if considering.

  “A few weeks at most.” He looked straight at her then. “Remember the flat on the tops, where the snow lies. They call it the Great Glacier round here, and it’s well named. In winter, it’s nine miles long, covered in snow six feet deep and treacherous as all blazes. Not even the packers will cross it then.”

  She paled.

  “I’ve told Philip what to expect and asked the packers to warn him as soon as it looks like getting bad. Winter seems to be a bit late this year, so he should be fine for now.”

  His voice still rang not quite true, but she nodded. There was nothing she could do. Each morning after that, she would look to the top of the ranges on first stepping outside. On too many days, it was covered with a grey cloud, or she would catch a glimpse of sun striking off a shining white face.

  She asked Jacques about it one day.

  He shrugged, with his French carelessness. “Who knows, mam’selle? The snows come when they come. It’s the first winter in this place for me, for all the packers. You should ask Messieurs John or Bob. It is they who have seen the winter here, not us. Their stories, they are not good. But who knows? Maybe they just like to scare the new ones.” He looked at her, and must have seen the trouble in her. “Bah, the English. Do they know nothing? They have been telling you silly stories, mam’selle. Your brother, he is safe. He’s young, yes, but he learns quickly that one. So the packers tell me.”

  “I hope so.”

  “And you want him to stay, to settle and make his fortune? No more traipsing from field to field.”

  In the short time she had been here, the astute Frenchman had come to understand her very well. She had formed the habit of confiding much of her worries about Philip to him. They would speak in his native tongue over a glass of wine as she waited for Bob to collect her for the ride back to the Coopers.

  At first she had protested to John that she did not need a ride. She could walk. But she was coming to know the man she had fallen in love with. There was bland look that came across his face when he had no intention of changing his mind. He wore it that first day, when she told him it was no distance for her to walk on her own. After that, at four o’clock promptly, he would send Bob on his horse to collect her for the short ride back to the cottage.

  Today, Jacques did not even wait for her answer to his words. There was no need. She shrugged and collected both their glasses, taking them out to rinse them and put the precious pieces of real glass away in the cupboard in Jacques’ study. His small reminder of civilisation, he had told her. She had a feeling their afternoon chats in French were the same.

  She came back to the counter. “What if I am wrong? Maybe he should find something else to do for the winter, then go back to the diggings come spring.”

  “What could he do?”

  She fell silent, unable to think of an answer. Without the diggings, there was little work for a man on the fields, unless he chose to become a trader, banker or guard. Somehow she could not imagine Philip holding his tongue enough to flatter his customers as did the traders. And he was too young to be taken on by the banks or armed police.

  A horse clattered outside. Her ride home had arrived.

  To her surprise, she saw it was John tonight. “Bob had to help out with the children,” he said in explanation. He leaned down and caught her as Jacques gave her a lift into the saddle.

  The rest of the trip home was silent. It always was with Bob, too, but that did not matter. The man hardly spoke to anyone, including Ada. With Bob, there was an ease in silence.

  Not with John. He set her before him on the big stock saddle, both arms around her as she sat sideways. If she wanted to, she could lean back into the haven of his chest. If she wanted? Her whole body asked for nothing more. It was her mind that said no. That knew she dared not.

  So she rode back over the rise to the Coopers’ cottage, holding herself stiffly to attention. This close to him, she felt the answering tension in John. His horse felt it too, sidling and jibbing, throwing her back into John’s chest. His arms tightened about her, keeping her safe. She stopped breathing, so ready to stay there, to lean in closer and reach her arms up, but forced herself to pull back instead.

  “My apologies,” he said gruffly, loosening his arms a fraction. She felt the terse anger in him at her continued rejection, but what choice did she have? It was deny John, or abandon the brother she had promised both her mother and father to care for, so many years ago. One day, maybe, she would have her own life, but not yet.

  He stopped at his own cottage. “I have something to take down to Ada. If you would wait a minute?” He dismounted, then reached up to help her down. “Ned here is too strong for you if he should be spooked,” he explained.

  The words were kindly but his voice was as strained and gruff as she felt.

  His hands closed around her waist and lifted her effortlessly, bringing her down to stand far too close to him. They tightened. “Oh, hell,” he said, with no apology. Then his head bent down, he pulled her closer still and his lips captured hers. Or, rather, as soon as they touched hers, she opened to him without thinking and welcomed him in. The distance she had kept between them was defeated by the first touch and lost completely in the magical unfurling of her senses caused by his kiss.

  A very lo
ng time after, he lifted his head again, his eyes as dazed as she felt. “Stay,” he urged.

  From some deep well inside her, she brought up a strength of will she had not guessed at. She was so tempted. “No,” she whispered. Another night like that one in the hut, and she would be lost forever. She drew back, and that was when she saw it: the hurt in his eyes, no sooner glimpsed than his face froze again, hardened in defence.

  “I’m still looking,” he said, his voice now grim and determined.

  He had cast her adrift again. “For what?”

  “A parson. We will be married as soon as I find one.”

  She forgot his hurt in the sudden wave of anger that hit her. “Do I have anything to say in this?”

  “Not since you chose to lie so completely, to yourself and to me. You are in love with me. One day you will admit it, but I cannot wait that long.”

  “And you? If I am supposedly in love with you, what about you?”

  “I love you. Do not think otherwise. I love you, will marry you and will keep you safe all the days of your life. Though right now I would very much like to shake you senseless.”

  She ignored that. John Reid would never raise a finger in anger against her. For the rest, she believed every word he said. But she was not free. “I have still not given you the right to order my life. I choose what I do, not you. You have never asked me to marry you, only ordered, and I tell you again. I cannot. Not yet. I keep the promises I make, whether they suit you or not, and I made a promise to my parents. Philip will win his fortune. Then he will go home and study to be the scholar he was raised to be.”

  John’s hands loosened, forgotten in his anger. He glared at her then swung around abruptly and disappeared into the cottage. He came back shortly, carrying a bundle tied with a cloth, lifted her into the saddle and swung up behind her. He said not a word, but his arms pulled her in close refusing to allow her the distance she had kept on the way here.

  It was only a few minutes more till they reached the Coopers’ cottage. He said not a word until he pulled up outside. Then, just before he dismounted, he leaned forward and spoke into her ear.