ROMANCE: His Reluctant Heart (Historical Western Victorian Romance) (Historical Mail Order Bride Romance Fantasy Short Stories)

by Jane Prescott

  They turned down a street that began to curve gently, leading to wide road ending a sprawling home. A small fruit and vegetable field spread out behind the home, and further beyond, a pack of sheep and a few goats grazed on the verdant landscape. The grass turned into a wood a bit further beyond, and Charlotte couldn't see further than that. There looked to be a body of water somewhere in the wood, briefly visible through the trees as they came to a stop in front of the house.

  Douglass got out of the coach first and rushed to her side to help her step down. He handed the driver some money, and led Charlotte up the steps as it drove away. The heavy oak door was polished and smooth, expensive-looking, and the inside was the same: shiny wood floors, plush couches and a bear skin rug in front of an empty fireplace. There was a large kitchen beyond the living room, and a door beyond that opened to a dining room that had an old hand carved table big enough to fit 6 or 8 people.

  "We never eat here," Douglass said. "We use the smaller table in the kitchen unless there's company."

  We?

  "Your bedroom is through here," he was saying. "You have a nice window, a decent closet. The bed is soft, stuffed it myself. We have a privy just off the back. You can also use this chamber pot."

  Charlotte was looking at him expectantly. He was fiddling with the buttons on his suit nervously. What was going on?

  "I guess you better know now," he said miserably. "Jane! Come on out here."

  Charlotte's stomach lurched, and she fought to keep steady. He did have a wife, she thought. She wondered if she could pay for her own ticket home.

  But the woman who rounded the corner wasn't his wife. She wasn't a woman at all, in fact. She was a girl, 12 years old if she was a day. She had sharp cheekbones and a sullen expression. Her black hair was braided into two plaits that hung nearly to her elbows, and they swung as she walked. She was all angles, long and gawky as girls in adolescence tended to be. Most shockingly, she had eyes the exact shade of blue as Douglass'--- but hers were guarded and almost hostile, where his were warm and friendly.

  The two looked at each other for a moment, not moving. Then Jane moved forward and spoke without looking at her.

  "Hullo. I'm Jane."

  Charlotte looked at her beautiful downturned eyes and finally remembered her manners. "Lovely to meet you, Jane." She said, thanking her lucky stars that her voice didn't betray her shock. "I'm Charlotte." She held out her hand, but the girl was already turning away and moving to her room. Douglass watched her go, looking as if he wanted to stop her, but Charlotte was grateful for her departure. She thought she might be sick. She moved to one of the couches and sat down heavily.

  "Charlotte." Douglass' soft voice came from her side, and she looked through the haze of tears in her eyes to see his contrite face, twisted in shame. "I'm sorry. I should have told you before you came. But---"

  "It's fine." Charlotte didn't need to hear more. Of course he'd been frightened of telling her he had a daughter. A nearly grown one, at that. Teenage girls were a handful, as any woman would know, and a young woman like her might have thought twice about coming to marry a man who had a child her age. Charlotte loved children, but she didn't love liars. Had Douglass mentioned this before he brought her across the country, they might have worked it out. It was too late now, though; she felt deceived, and worse, stupid. What was she going to tell her parents?

  She gathered her wits and took a deep breath. "I'd like to be shown to my room now."

  Douglass glanced at her, unsure of how to react. "Okay." He said finally, standing and lifting her bags and rifle from the floor. He didn't look back at her as he led through the kitchen and down a hall to where two doors faced each other. One had large wooden C on the door, obviously hand carved for her. She felt pain lance her heart as the door opened and she saw sheets in deep green with pillowcases to match---she'd told him her favorite color, and he'd taken time to decorate her room to make her feel welcome. Or maybe to soften the blow he knew was going to deliver. The pain was replaced with anger, and she turned to tell Douglass to leave. He was already gone.

  She spent the afternoon napping fit fully on her comforter. Returning home was an option, but she wouldn't be able to stand the pity-filled glances she'd received from her mother and the other women of the town. They'd treat her like a nutter for the first few weeks at least, and she didn't want to go through again. After seeing her brother die, she'd endured months of hushed voices and awkward conversations that suffered from the other person trying too hard to avoid upsetting her. People walked on eggshells, expecting her to burst into tears at any vague mention of Bobby. Instead she'd buried herself in studies, using the months of solitude to become a nurse's aide, and securing a six month position at their hospital. People stopped walking on eggshells then, but it took too long for Charlotte's liking.

  She thought about the girl, her slumped posture and the way she skirted around the room. She was familiar with the type---moody and unresponsive to everyone but a few chosen confidantes, perhaps even her father. She'd said three words to Charlotte, and not a word to her own father when she came out, and didn't seem to care much about appearing rude. Was that why Douglass need help? He never said he'd been married, so perhaps his wife died in childbirth. Or maybe she was simply unfit? In any case, Jane was clearly not happy to be in this situation. They were kindred spirits in this regard. A busy man certainly couldn't raise her on his own.

  Charlotte had made her decision just as a soft knock came at her door. She'd change into a simpler dress, a butter yellow gown with white buttons down the back. She'd gathered her hair into a knot at the back of her head. She crossed the room and opened the door, unsurprised to see Douglass standing on the other side.

  "Charlotte, let me explain. Jane didn't---"

  "I'll be staying," Charlotte interrupted him curtly. "But I'll be taking the non-romantic option you offered in the coach."

  He looked at her then, his careful expression folding into sadness briefly before he composed himself again. "Thank you for staying," he said quietly.

  "Jane needs someone, doesn't she?"

  Douglass only nodded, not meeting her eyes. "Dinner is ready," he told her. "We're eating in the kitchen. Pork chops and potatoes and carrots. Are you hungry?"

  Charlotte simply nodded and followed him out to the kitchen. She'd write her parents and tell them the truth, she decided. It wasn't a love connection, and she'd been naive to assume it was going to be. Jane was already sitting at the circular table, pushing her carrots around with a sullen look on her face. Charlotte wondered what she would have to do to put a smile on her face.

  "Would you like to say grace, Charlotte?" Douglass asked. The warmth had not fully returned to his eyes, but the pain was gone from his voice.

  "Certainly." Charlotte bowed her head and clasped her hands together, reciting one of the few prayers she knew from heart. Her father usually said grace. When she opened her eyes and raised her head, Douglass and Jane were holding hands over the table.

  "Amen," they said after her, releasing each other's hands and reaching for their cutlery. Charlotte felt oddly voyeuristic.

  She watched Douglass sneak glances at her when he thought she wasn't looking. It annoyed her, and she almost wanted to say something, but elected not to in front of Jane. The table was silent as they ate, so Charlotte couldn't even pretend to listen to conversation while she felt herself being watched. The food was very good, she noticed, but beyond that was unable to comment. She wanted to eat quickly and return to her room, where she would be away from those piercing blue eyes.

  Jane finished eating and her fork fell to her plate with a clatter. "May I be excused?" She asked without looking at anyone.

  "Go on," Douglass said. Jane zipped from the table and back to her room, where her door closed with a slam. Charlotte still had half her food left. She wondered if it would be too much to take her plate to her room, but she didn't want to be quite so cold. Despite her anger, she was going to be here at lea
st until Jane was grown. She should probably learn to be cordial.

  "I'm sorry," Douglass said again.

  A frisson of anger filled her chest. "That's quite enough apologizing," she snapped. "You sound like a broken record."

  Pain filled his features again. "I just want to fix this."

  "You can't." Charlotte said shortly, and stood up from her chair. "Excuse me. I'm going to bed. I'll see you in the morning."

  She blew past him before he could get a chance to stop her. Charlotte locked the door to her room and leaned against it, finding herself in tears for the second time that day.

  TWO

  Charlotte woke the next day to find the house empty and a note for her from Douglass.

  Miss Evans,

  I've had an emergency and I am off on a house call. I've dropped Jane off at school early, she will return at two o'clock in the afternoon. Please use this time to get acquainted with the house, and to unpack.

  Charlotte had a feeling that she could have come with the doctor, but that he wanted to give her time to cool off. Secretly, she was glad, but she instinctively wanted to be annoyed at what she felt was a snub.

  She spent the morning sweeping and mopping the sprawling house. She went into Jane's room to find there was nothing to clean. She had a plain powder blue bed spread with the linens tucked around the fat mattress neatly. There were two dolls on a hearth over a small fireplace, filled with books and toys instead of wood. Apparently Jane was not allowed to have her own fire, or else she had a wicked sense of humor.

  Among the books were old medical texts with tiny words scrawled in the margins and next to diagrams. Books about digestion, childbirth, and hysteria. They had the familiar hand of Doctor Owens, and again Charlotte had the feeling that she was privy to something she didn't deserve to be privy to. They had the feeling of books well-loved and read over over and over. The spines were barely holding themselves together, and many a page was slipping out of the binding. Inscribed on the inside cover of one was a dedication: to Janey on her 10th birthday. One day your stitches will be straighter than mine!

  Her heartbeat seemed slow and thick as she turned slowly in the room. There were faded drawings done in fat wax crayon of a short girl with stringy hair holding the stick hand of a man with funny headband and a long coat. His face was clean shaven and he had shorter hair, but the figure was unmistakable. There were newer drawings in fine charcoal of the same girl, now grown and with long hair curling around her waist. She was standing next to the same man, now with painstakingly rendered beards of varying thickness and lengths. In some drawings they were standing with dogs or next to ferris wheels, but they were always together. One lone drawing depicted Jane with a woman that had long, dark hair and piercing blue eyes---the only color in any of the charcoal drawings. It was placed above the hearth, and Charlotte stood looking at it for a long time.

  She left the room with a lump in her throat. She wanted badly to know more about Jane's mother---if she was alive, if she'd ever come to visit,and even (she hated herself for this last) if Douglass still loved her. They weren't together anymore, this was clear, and Charlotte didn't want to be involved with a man who couldn't be upfront with her. But the love between Jane and Douglas was unmistakable, and he seemed too lost and hurt. There was pain here that needed to heal, and Charlotte wasn't helping with her icy silences and sharp judgement.

  She walked to the end of the hall and looked at Douglass' bare door and sighed, wondering if she should go in for cleaning. He didn't tell her to stay out of his room, but she felt like it was common sense to wait for permission. Charlotte never liked to think of herself as submissive or spineless, but she thought it was respectful to go into another adult's room only with prior authorization. She placed her hand against the cool wood hesitantly, then reeled back when the door opened unexpectedly to reveal Douglass.

  He was as shocked as her, although he recovered more quickly.

  "I was just going to clean," Charlotte said, holding up the broom she'd been carrying from room to room. Douglass smiled.

  "I've taken care of everything in here, but thank you."

  She stepped back to let him pass her in the hall, but he stopped in front of her instead.

  "I hope you don't mind me leaving you alone." He was wearing his white coat over a plain brown suit, and there were a few spots of blood around his abdomen. "Had a premature birthing to attend to. I was just about to head back out."

  "I didn't hear you come in," Charlotte admitted, her face blushing. She'd been snooping the whole time, and snooped through his arrival.

  If Douglass had seen her, he didn't make it known. "You have some nursing skills, correct?" Charlotte nodded. "How about you come with me to my office, and help me with a few patients? Then we can see if we'll have a place for you."

  She was surprised, and her face must have shown it.

  "You didn't think I'd hide from you forever, did you?" Douglass smiled gently, but his voice betrayed the bitterness and sadness he felt. He turned to walk to the front porch before she could reply. I'll be waiting in the coach outside, please gather your things."

  She watched his broad shoulders brush through the door frame as he left, wondering if she'd made the right choice.

  Ten minutes later, they were in a clean, cozy office just inside his main examining room. He was only about five miles from the hospital, he was on the southern edge of town. He'd given her a white smock to put over her long blue dress, and a white cap to tie around her hair. He had a huge radio in his waiting room surrounded by ten chairs, and a large mahogany desk where a boy from the high school sat to monitor intake and take payment. The boy had greeted Charlotte shyly but hadn't met her eyes.

  When Douglass first led Charlotte to the room to give her the uniform and brief her, he dropped his voice quietly and looked to make sure Edward wasn't in hearing distance.

  "I haven't told anyone we're to be married, in case you change your mind."

  Charlotte remained silent, turning the pronouncement over in her mind and readying herself to react.

  "What do you mean?" She asked finally, anger beginning to creep under her skin. "Do you think I'm going to run out on you, even after I've promised to stay!"

  "No!" Douglass looked stricken. "I only meant...I know you're staying for Jane, and I don't mean to make you marry me if you're only looking to mother her. Charlotte," he pleaded suddenly, his voice urgent. "I really would like a chance to make this right. You deserve to be happy, and I believe I can help with that. I'll explain everything soon, but for now I just need you to trust me. I don't deserve it," He said hurriedly, seeing the look on her face. "I know. But if you're staying, I'd like to make it right."

  "How am I supposed to trust you after you hid Jane from me?" Charlotte said angrily. "And how am I supposed to know you'll tell me everything? Just what is there to tell? What else have you done that you feel you need to hide from?"

  Douglass looked ashamed. "I've made a lot of mistakes," he said quietly. "But Jane ain't one of them. A long time ago, somebody young and dumb knocked up her young, fiery mother, and I couldn't let her keep the baby. Not with the crowd she runs with." His eyes looked haunted, pained. "I promised myself I wouldn't let Jane end up like her. But her mother's got people who are looking for her, and for me. They want her back, so I try to advertise her whereabouts as little as possible. She goes to a private tutor to be schooled. She doesn't have friends. We moved across the country and I even keep a beard now so I'm not as recognizable."

  Charlotte was stunned, and afraid. All of this was much deeper and more complicated than she thought, and the weight of it all showed clearly on his handsome face. The fissure in her heart deepened and she felt like weeping for Douglass. He was troubled, and that was all the reason more not to get involved. But she couldn't stop herself from taking one of his large, warm hands in both of hers and pressing it suddenly to her lips.

  His eyes widened and were still, watching her carefully as though he were
afraid of scaring her away.

  Her heart was beating like jackrabbit's, and she felt twice as jumpy. Heat spread through her body, and she cursed the reaction she had to him.

  "I can't promise you I'm going to love you," she said carefully. He leaned forward to hear her better, and their faces were inches apart. "But I'm staying, and I'm going to help you as best as I can." She could smell his aftershave and fought the urge to press her lips to his neck, where stubble was already sprouting.

  His blue eyes were full of emotion. "Thank you."

  She gave his hand a squeeze, and he squeezed back, tugging her closer to him until he could wrap both arms around her shoulders. She stood still, surprised, before relaxing into the hug and allowing her face to rest against his chest. She felt the steady pounding of his heartbeat, a little too fast for just standing around. Her senses were so heightened she thought she felt the blood rushing through the muscles in his beefy arms. Charlotte's stomach slowly filled with butterflies.

  Too soon the embrace was over, and Charlotte was stepping away from his grasp. He touched his eyes briefly, and Charlotte turned away politely as he gathered himself. She busied herself with her apron.

  A bell tinkled from the front room, and they both jumped. He met her eyes and walked into the front room without a word, leaving Charlotte to ponder their embrace, and the burning in his eyes when he left the room.

  THREE

  The mystery if his intensity only deepened over the next few months. Eventually, Jane started to open up, too. They often cooked dinner together, and Jane asked her shyly about her studies as a nurse. She had very keen mind, and already knew all the bones in the body. Jane let Charlotte brush and braid her long, wavy black hair, and Charlotte's heart broke to see how childish the sullen girl still could be. She had so much mysterious heartache surrounding her, but she loved singing games and eagerly showed off drawings of animals, stagecoaches, and eventually even Charlotte. Jane grew fond of falling asleep on one of the fat couches next to Charlotte as she sewed or wrote to her parents. Douglass' eyes clouded over in a complicated mixture of emotions whenever he saw the two coloring in their nightgowns or giggling over potatoes, and Charlotte longed to kiss away the confusion. Instead, she threw herself into her work, and being as supportive of Douglass as she could.