Forever Elle (Regency Romance)

by Heather Chapman

  “George,” Paul said, raising an arm in the air.

  George lobbed the ball to my brother. “You coming to play tomorrow?”

  “Can’t.” Paul sighed. “You know Pops—always needs help with something.”

  George frowned. “I thought so, but see if you can swing it. We could really use you at bat.”

  Paul tossed the ball back to him. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  We ran to wash up for dinner and didn’t give a second thought to Paul’s conversation with George, at least not until the next day.

  Mama sat across the table from me, snapping beans into the bowl. Her hands were cracked and worn. Strands of hair fell across her sun-worn skin.

  She had been raised a proper lady. Grandfather had paid to send her to a lady’s academy. Besides the usual academics and etiquette, Mama had been trained in music. She was one of the few female students accepted under the study of the director of music at Durham University for piano.

  It was difficult to imagine—Mama a lady in England.

  I took another handful of beans from the pail and set them in front of me. “Mama, were you sad to leave England?” I asked.

  Her dark eyes widened. “Sad?” She snapped another bean, exhaling. “Of course the change was difficult. I was only seventeen when we came. I thought I’d marry and live in England forever, so you can imagine it was a shock.”

  Grandfather had invested in the railroad; it was the reason they came west.

  “Please pass me the pail,” Mama said.

  I pushed it across the table. “Are you happy here?”

  Her hands hovered over the beans, a crease forming between her brows.

  The back door crashed against the frame, and Daddy’s heavy footsteps echoed through the breezeway and into the kitchen. “Elizabeth,” he called, coming nearer.

  I flinched. It never boded well when Daddy sought me out.

  “I just spent the last twenty minutes chasing down the milking cows. The chickens were halfway to church by the time I found them.” His face was hot, his words heavy and full of wrath. “Did you leave the gate open?”

  My heart thudded against my chest. “Did you ask Clara?”

  Daddy gritted his teeth. “She’s been working with me this morning.”

  I licked my lips. Paul. He’d left early to play ball with George and the other boys.

  Daddy looked to me. He tapped his toe against the floor. “Well, Elle? What do you have to say for yourself?”

  I couldn’t rat out my brother, not when I knew so much rode on his relationship with Daddy. “It might have been me,” I said, staring at my feet.

  “Might have been you?” Daddy asked, his volume rising. “What do you take me for, Elle? Did you or didn’t you leave the gate open?”

  I was taught not to lie, and yet protecting Paul seemed more important. Daddy didn’t really care who left the gate open anyway. He just needed someone to blame, someone to punish for his added efforts. “It was me,” I said, fidgeting with the cuff on my sleeve.

  Daddy threw his hands in the air. “We could have lost the animals. Elle, when will you learn? If you’re not walking the fence or climbing trees, you’re dancing in your own little world. I’ll make of you a decent lady, one way or another.”

  I doubled over, wrapping my arms around my stomach. It was what he expected. I blinked, trying to keep my tears at bay. “I’m sorry, Daddy. It won’t happen again.”

  His voice cracked. “You’ll stick to the house today and get no dinner. Go to your room.”

  The tears came, like the holy flood of Noah. I ran up the staircase as my mother protested.

  “James, be reasonable,” she said.

  I closed my door and leaned against it, crumpling to the floor. Did my father have so little faith in me? Did he really suppose I could do nothing correctly?

  The sky turned dark, the moon hidden behind the clouds. I was weak from hunger. My stomach ached. Tears had been my only company. The incident with the gate was trivial, but the truth it revealed was a weight on my chest, pressing my heart to pieces. Daddy was disappointed in me much more than I had supposed; I had failed him.

  The silence below both comforted and troubled me. Daddy was asleep, and I no longer had to endure the sound of his voice, his obvious relief at my absence. But the silence also ate at me. I already felt empty, and the silence forced my thoughts to turn. I couldn’t sleep like this. I slipped from my room. A trip to the washroom and a slice of bread were in order.

  The stairs were silent beneath my feet, the wood warm against my soles. I caught a lantern’s glow from the front room and paused.

  Mama sat in the rocking chair, her face resting in her hands. Hushed sobs overtook her, and I started forward to comfort her.

  “Louisa, it ain’t right,” Daddy said. His voice was soft but pained. “She’s almost a woman, and she doesn’t even know how to act the least like it.”

  I froze.

  Mama dropped her hands and shook her head. “It was just a gate, James. A gate. I’m not sending my girl off to a boarding school because of something so trivial.”

  My heart skidded to a halt. Surely I had misheard her.

  “It isn’t just the gate. It’s the climbing trees, swinging on butcher hooks, throwing mud at her brother, Clara’s broken ankle. I could go on and on. You remember last year, how Elle nearly broke her leg falling from the roof? I’m telling you, the country isn’t the place to raise a lady. We’ve been lucky with Clara, and because of that, I kept turning down your sister’s offer.”

  Tears pricked my eyes. How could Daddy talk about sending me away?

  “I’m just saying we should at least think about it,” he said. He knelt beside Mama and placed a hand on her knee. “Can’t you think on it?”

  Mama pulled from his touch and stood. “I won’t send my girls away, not for anything.”

  Daddy sighed, leaning against the empty rocker. “We both want what’s best for her, and Elizabeth needs to see the world is bigger than this valley, that her prospects should reach farther.”

  “And what of Clara?” Mama said. She placed her hands on her hips. “Do you intend to take her away from me too?”

  Daddy’s head fell to his chest. “Perhaps it’s best. I won’t let them be subjected to the same fate as you.”

  “You suppose I’m disappointed again,” Mama huffed. “When will you understand that I chose this?”

  “Chosen or not—you weren’t made for this life. You could have done much better than me.”

  I closed my eyes and leaned against the railing. Eternal silence was preferable to hearing Mama and Daddy speak of sending me away.

  “I love my girls,” Mama said. Her voice grew tender. “And I would choose this again. I’d choose you again, James.” She cleared her throat. “But if you think I am blind to Elizabeth’s tendencies or her influence on Clara, you’re mistaken. I’d help pack her bags if it were best, but please, James, not until I am convinced. Give her another opportunity to prove herself.”

  I shook my head frantically, unable to comprehend. I had long understood my disappointment to Daddy, and even more so after his words that morning. But hearing Mama speak of the possibility of sending me away brought a stabbing pain to the back of my throat. I couldn’t stomach the idea of leaving her.

  I retreated up the stairs.

  I could only assume it was Mama’s sister Nora whom they spoke of. She had married rich and moved out east—Virginia, if I remembered correctly. I was only six years old at the time.

  Virginia. It was so far away, so foreign. I swallowed the sour and bitter taste creeping up my throat. I was no longer hungry.

  Running my fingers over my braids, I pricked my finger on a twig. I plucked it out and threw it to the floor, stomping it into the wooden grooves.

  “First rule: no climbing trees,” I said aloud.

  If Daddy was determined I become a lady, then I would. I wasn’t about to let him ship me away. I pulled the ribbo
ns from my braids, letting my hair fall loose. I would ask Clara to teach me to do my own hair tomorrow. Fourteen was past time.

  Chapter Five

  RULES FOR A LADY:

  No climbing trees.

  No childish games.

  I studied my list, determined to improve upon it. A two-rule list was far from impressive, but it would prove difficult; climbing trees and childish games were two of my favorite activities.

  It was the Fall Harvest Festival—my favorite day of the year and the last event before school started, the last hurrah of the blessed summer. The bazaar spread around Town Hall, with lights and booths lining the walkways. Garlands stretched across the paths, and the band played a lively tune. The bake-off was a large part of the festival, and people came from miles around—some as far as Jackson—to taste the fresh apple cider and fruit pies.

  But it was the games that I enjoyed. I had a running record with the beanbag toss. I stared down at my hands, aware my lips had turned into a frown. Now that I would act the part of a lady, I had decided to give it up.

  “Two more raspberry jams,” Clara said, tapping my shoulder.

  I shoved the list into my pocket. “Two raspberry,” I repeated, straightening my dress. I set the jars on the table without looking up.

  “Well aren’t you looking all grown up tonight,” a voice came.

  I smiled, placing a hand at the back of my neck. My lessons with Clara had proven successful, and I was pleased with my first attempt. I had braided a crown, and the remaining hair fell down my back in waves.

  “Simply stunning,” the same voice said. “It’s a wonder you’re here soliciting nickels instead of dancing.”

  My smile wavered when I met her gaze. Her glance was heavy, the undeniable scrutiny etched into her brows. Beth Foster. “Thank you,” I said, knowing full well she didn’t intend to compliment me.

  She dropped a dime into the can beside me. “Two raffle tickets for my parents, please.”

  My fingers brushed against the list in my pocket. Perhaps I would add another rule: Treat adversaries with respect. I forced a smile and handed her two tickets. “Please send my regards to your parents and enjoy your evening. The drawing will be at seven, and don’t forget—you must be present to win.”

  Her eyes widened, and she took a step back. “I will. Thank you.”

  I swallowed the laughter climbing my throat. I had acted my part, and it had clearly unraveled Beth. Perhaps Mama was right—nothing infuriated someone more than unwelcomed kindness.

  The band stopped, and the dancers cheered, signaling the opening of the festival games.

  “Step right up!” Mr. Lowry said from a podium. “We have three-legged races and log tosses out back, the beanbag toss around the stables, and the chili taste-off at this table. Winners take home a pie of their choice! Step right up!”

  Children ran to the podium, holding their pennies high. Paul and Daddy lined up for the log toss. I looked on with envy, but I stayed at the booth. Being a lady was anything but fun.

  “Aren’t you gonna go?”

  I spun around. George Hughes stood a foot away, grinning like always.

  “Reigning champion of the beanbag throw, isn’t that right?” He laughed.

  I exhaled. I knew what he was doing; George always ruffled my feathers, and I usually fell for the bait. Not this time.

  Perhaps my latest rule was the true test of a lady. Treat adversaries with respect. I curtsied. “Oh, not this year. Care to buy a raffle, George?” I asked in my sweetest voice.

  His smile fell. His eyes canvassed my hair and starched apron. He pulled at a blade of grain in my crown. “What’s wrong with you? Why do you look all gussied up?”

  My face turned hot, and I pursed my lips. What’s wrong with me? You! I wanted to scream. I wanted to write him his own list of rules. It would have included only one item: Never speak. I cleared my throat. “A nickel for a raffle ticket? Daddy’s giving away a roast this year, and I can vouch for it. It’s the prettiest lump of meat I ever did see.”

  George craned his neck to the side, placing a hand against his hip. “The prettiest lump of meat you ever did see? Now I know something’s wrong with you. Did someone spike the cider?”

  I pushed my can toward him. “Well? Are you going to buy a raffle ticket or not?”

  He held up a nickel. “Only if you tell me what’s going on. Why are you acting so strange? It doesn’t suit you.”

  My resolve threatened to crumble. I crossed my arms. “Nothing seems to suit you, George Hughes. And besides, you wouldn’t know a good piece of meat if you saw one.”

  “That’s more like it. I like it better when you tell me how it is.” He dropped the nickel in the can. “Why don’t you tell me what makes a good piece of meat?”

  He was teasing me, testing my limits. I chided myself. I wouldn’t let George Hughes rattle me. I swallowed, my competitive streak flaring. I could beat him at this game. I handed him a ticket. “Oh, that won’t be possible. I have other raffle tickets to sell,” I said, looking in the direction of Clara. She was bent across the booth, searching through the boxes of jams. “Why don’t you ask Clara, George? I wouldn’t want to bore you with my second-rate company.”

  George clenched his jaw and took a step back. “Right,” he said, voice cracking. “I’ll ask Clara then.”

  He walked away, and I pretended not to care. I was used to pretending around George.

  Mama placed her hand on my shoulder. Her gaze followed George. “That isn’t how you get him to notice you.”

  My chest tightened. Notice me—George? I laughed, but it came out weak and forced. “Trust me, Mama, I don’t want his attention.”

  She cocked her head. “He’s a fine boy, Elizabeth.”

  I opened my mouth to speak, but it went dry. Mama didn’t understand; she couldn’t. George cared for Clara, not me. And me? He was far from the blue-eyed boy I dreamed about.

  “Why don’t you go dance with your friends? It’d be a terrible shame to waste your time at this booth. Harvest only comes once a year.” Mama took the can from me. “It’s nearly time for the raffle anyway.”

  I pressed a hand to my chest. I’d never been asked by a boy to dance, and I hoped more than anything I’d get my chance that night. I smiled and patted her arm. “Thanks, Mama.”

  The doors of Town Hall were propped open, and I stepped in, coming face-to-face with Toby Lowry. He smiled at me, and I almost choked.

  “Hi, Elle,” he said, tipping his cap.

  His eyes were warm, and his glance sent my heart racing. “Toby,” I said, suddenly breathless.

  “You finally made it out of your booth. I was surprised you didn’t enter any games,” he said, grinning. Toby’s eyes turned gray in the lantern light, rendering his expression more mysterious.

  “Yes. I wanted to dance instead,” I said, cocking my head.

  He took a step toward the refreshments, pushing his hands in his pockets. “Right. You have fun. I promised Beth a cup of cider,” he said, flicking his chin across the room.

  Beth Foster—the girl with the nasally voice and pretentious smile, the girl who gloried in my misery—smiled from across the room. She waved to me, and Toby joined her side.

  My heart dropped. Bitterness crept up my throat, but I nodded. “You best be on your way,” I said before taking a seat by the door.

  I didn’t make a good lady. I was better off running races with the school kids than trying to get a boy to like me. I pulled the grain from my crown and tossed it to the floor. The only person I was fooling was myself.

  “I hear I owe you for the gate,” my brother said, sitting beside me.

  My eyes widened. “How did you know?”

  “Clara.”

  I shrugged. “Daddy would’ve had your hide,” I said. “I couldn’t let that happen. I want you to stay, Paul.”

  He gave my knee a quick squeeze. “I know, and I’m grateful. But that doesn’t make it fair or right. No more lying for me, yo
u hear?”

  “I understand,” I said.

  Paul nudged me. “Dance with me.”

  I smiled, but my eyes grew misty. It was easy and fun with my brother, and I couldn’t bear to lose him—not in a year, not ever. We were cut from the same cloth, the same fierceness and adventurous blood running through our veins.

  I took his outstretched hand. “I reckon this is my first dance as a young lady.”

  He chuckled. “And far from the last.”

  Chapter Six

  WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO WRITE about for your essay on gratitude?” Clara asked, retrieving the last egg in the henhouse.

  Thanksgiving was only a week away, and our teacher insisted we pen an essay each year. If I were being honest, I was most grateful I remained in the valley. I hadn’t gotten into trouble since the summer. Whether it was my list of rules or the fact that I avoided Daddy like the plague, my chances of staying had increased.

  “Maybe I’ll write about your ankle,” I said, smiling. I still hadn’t told Clara that Daddy wished to send me, and possibly her, to Virginia. “I’ll forever be grateful it healed and that you forgave me.”

  She crinkled her brows. “Forgave you? It was never your fault.” She set the basket down and took my hand in hers. “We better get to school—last day before exams.”

  I squeezed her hand. She was right. I’d taken extra care with my marks this year.

  Daddy was particular about our education. When he met Mama all those years before, he’d promised her a life she could be proud of, daughters she could be proud of. For Daddy, that meant refined ladies—mannered and educated.

  Clara had been kind enough to work with me most mornings, and I was pleased that I could do my hair as well as Beth Foster. I had also worked carefully to take in the waist of my dress, accentuating my now-feminine figure.

  It didn’t make me a lady, but the subtle changes helped remind me of what Daddy wanted me to be. I stayed out of the trees, especially since the leaves had fallen and I couldn’t hide behind them.