Forever Elle (Regency Romance)

by Heather Chapman

  “Wait for me,” Clara said, bending to pick up the basket of eggs. Her golden curls fell down her back, shimmering in the sunlight. “I forgot to feed the goat.”

  “Sure,” I said, leaning a hand against the water trough.

  She retreated to the back of the barn. “You didn’t ask what I’m going to write about for my essay,” she said above the goat’s bleats.

  I smiled, rising to my toes. “And what’s that?”

  “I’m going to write about you—how much fun we have together. You’re my best friend, Elle.”

  Me? I staggered backward, but my hand missed the edge of the trough. I gave a shaky scream and fell in, the shock of icy water washing over me.

  “Elle?” Clara said, rushing toward me.

  I gasped, pulling myself from the metal bin. “I-I-I don’t know what happened.” My teeth chattered.

  “We have to get you out of that wet dress before you freeze,” she said, unbuttoning the back of it. “There’s an extra blanket by the goat pen.”

  I was at a loss. If Daddy saw me like that, there would be punishment—no questions asked. I stepped out of the dress and stared down at my dampened underclothes.

  “It’ll be just fine. I’ll go get you more clothes from the house.”

  I shook my head to keep my emotions at bay. “You can’t let Daddy see the dress.”

  “ ’Course not,” Clara said, wringing out my skirt. “I’ll take in the eggs and milk like always and slip an extra dress in my school bag.”

  The pit of my stomach dropped. “It’s just that Daddy won’t put up with my mistakes anymore. He can’t see you; it will only hurt my chances.”

  “Chances of what?” my sister asked, placing her hands on my shoulders. “What are you so worried about?”

  I should have told her about Daddy’s wish to send us both to boarding school in Virginia, but I couldn’t. Her ankle had finally healed, and I didn’t want to inflict any more pain on her. I kicked my wet shoe against the ground instead of answering her.

  “How about I string your dress up in the back of the barn until it dries? Daddy’s butchering today. He’ll never even know. Now just wait here while I get you a dry dress.”

  “It isn’t ideal,” I said, wrapping the blanket around my shoulders at last. “But it’ll have to do. Be careful. I saw Daddy in the drive. He just returned with the trailer from Al Butler’s place. He’ll be skinning and gutting the cow before taking it to the shop.”

  Clara rubbed her hands over my blanketed arms. “It’ll be fine.”

  I bit my nails, nodding.

  My sister took the dress out back, and the barn door pounded against the frame. Darkness covered me, and I let out a shaky breath. Clara would be back soon, I reminded myself.

  In only five minutes, the door creaked open. I ducked behind a stall and crouched down. It couldn’t be Clara—not that soon.

  Slow footsteps and familiar whistling: George Hughes.

  Panic came as it never had before. I swallowed my breaths, and I trembled. Three breaths in, one shallow breath out. I couldn’t allow George to see me like that—to draw attention to my situation and signal Daddy’s wrath.

  He went from stall to stall, searching. George or Clem were always borrowing tools from the barn. I’d never thought twice of it, until now.

  The shuffling of footsteps stopped.

  I pursed my lips and closed my eyes. If wishing were praying, I’d have been a saint. I wished with all my might that George would leave, that Clara would return with a new dress, and that this moment would pass.

  But dizziness overwhelmed me. How long had I been holding my breath? I gasped.

  “Who’s there?” George asked. His voice spiraled around the barn.

  Three breaths in, one shaky breath out.

  “Elle?” he asked, his voice rising. “Is it you?”

  I glanced toward the barn opening and debated. Perhaps I could make it without being seen.

  “Elle?” he asked again.

  Clasping my knees, I rocked back and forth. Why did he call my name? How did he know it was me?

  I swallowed. “George Hughes, you leave this instant!”

  He laughed, and, to my chagrin, I realized that I had given away my location. “What are you doing?” he asked, approaching my stall.

  I shot up, wrapping the blanket around me tighter. “I think the better question is, What are you doing here?”

  He took one look at me, and his lips split into a smile. “Just borrowing a shovel. Your father said you had extra ones in here, but I can’t seem to find them—”

  “In the corner over there,” I said, pointing toward the wheelbarrow of chicken scat.

  He nodded, his grin still plastered to his face. “I can see that. Now it’s your turn. What are you doing?” He stepped closer, pulling a piece of straw from my hair. “Did you sleep out here?”

  My cheeks burned hot. “It’s none of your business, George. Now leave. And please, I beg of you, please don’t tell Daddy I am here.”

  George crossed his arms, leaning back on his right foot. He was chewing on his bottom lip, but I could see the hint of a smile. “Sounds like you could use a hand, Elle. What’s really going on? Let me help.”

  This was the second time George had come to my rescue, and I couldn’t decide if I wanted to owe him any more favors. “No, thank you. I know how it works with you, George Hughes—always wanting something in return. Well, I don’t have anything to offer.”

  His lips closed into a frown, and his hands flew to his hips. “Who said anything about a favor in return?”

  I dipped my chin in acknowledgment. “You always do.”

  His arms tensed, and I could see the outline of muscles on his stringy arms. “I won’t this time, Elle. What do you need?”

  I motioned toward the opening. “My dress. I fell in the trough. Clara is bringing me a dry one.”

  His eyes widened, and he took a step back.

  “Well, don’t just stand there,” I said, waving him away. “You can’t be here right now. Take the shovel and leave.”

  His eyes locked with mine, a fleck of gold amongst the green shining back at me. “Why don’t you walk back to the house and get a new dress yourself?”

  I shook my head. “I know it’s strange, but I can’t let Daddy see me. He won’t understand—”

  “That you accidentally fell in the trough?” he asked, scratching his chin.

  “No,” I said, refusing to meet his eye, “he won’t.”

  George’s shoulders drooped, but he stepped back. “I’ll be going then.”

  He took the shovel and left, and I sighed, dropping to the ground once more. I couldn’t remember a time when George Hughes had been so kind to me.

  A lone bleat sounded from the barn opening.

  I leaned forward. What was the goat doing outside of the pen? He never left without eating.

  The brown-and-white Alpine stood a few feet from the barn door, my sopping dress trailing from his mouth.

  I whimpered, shooting to my feet. Daddy was across the pasture in the drive. I couldn’t let him see the goat.

  I sprinted, but with the blanket wrapped around me, it felt more like a penguin’s waddle.

  The goat hopped forward but paused, as if goading me on.

  “Psst,” I whispered from behind the barn opening.

  The goat bucked, flapping my dress in the air behind it and dragging it through the mud.

  I groaned, realizing I had to make a run for it. I dropped the blanket and sprinted toward the goat, hoping Daddy and George—and anybody, for that matter—were far from view. I reached the goat and wrapped my fingers around my dress.

  “Give it here,” I said, pulling back like a pup at tug-of-war.

  I should have realized my mistake, but it was too late. The goat resisted, and before I knew it, I was crouched down, leaning back and pulling at my dress. That old familiar sound of fabric fraying caught my hearing.

  I swallowed a sob
.

  The goat took off once more, pulling me behind it, like a trailer hitched to its back, and I screamed. The words flying out of my mouth weren’t anything I was proud of, especially when my cheek scraped against a rock. Farm words, according to Mama—not fit for any lady.

  At long last, I had my dress—or more accurately, the remaining shreds. I clutched it to my chest and closed my eyes, not wanting to see the wreckage I’d become.

  The sounds of feet against the grass, hurried breaths, and shouts encompassed me. I lay there, wishing it were all just a dream.

  “Elizabeth?” Daddy’s voice was drawn up in a question, filled with disbelief. His hand touched my side, pulling me to my feet.

  I hung my head and saw the disaster I had become. My white underclothes were streaked in mud, grass, and manure. I felt blood dripping down my cheek and saw the red prints on my arm where Daddy’s own bloody hand gripped. He was still in his butcher apron, covered in blood from skinning the cow.

  “I-I-I don’t know what—” I stammered, tears bubbling out the corners of each eye.

  He shook his head. “I don’t want to hear it now. Go in the house and clean yourself.”

  His words were soft, gentler than I was used to. I wanted to believe he was worried about me, but the way his brows knit together, the way his eyes glistened, I knew otherwise. He was disappointed, more so than ever before. The sound of resignation in his voice cut deeper than any rebuke could have.

  He had given up on me.

  I knew my fate. There was no explaining this one away, no fighting against his words. I limped to the house, my spirit more battered than my body. I reached the porch with tears flowing down my cheeks.

  George looked on from the fence, his chin resting against the shovel handle. I couldn’t decide what that meant, but I didn’t really care. I knew I was going away.

  “Elle,” Clara said, almost bumping into me from the other side of the door. She surveyed me, her concern etched into her downcast lips. “Are you all right?”

  “Go on to school without me,” I said through muffled sobs.

  The fabric of my bedspread was pale yellow—a color of cheer and ease. Mama had picked the fabric herself when I turned twelve and had said it suited me.

  I felt anything but cheerful, and unease had crippled my spirits. I lay in bed, staring at the slats on the ceiling. How much longer would I see those boards at night? When would my new fate be revealed?

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  “Come in,” I said.

  The tray in her hands shook, the teacup rattling against the plate of toast.

  “Mama,” I said, sitting up.

  Her dark eyes found mine. “I thought you could use a cup.” She set the tray on my bed table and sat beside me. “And perhaps you’re ready to talk about it.”

  “I know about Daddy’s wish to send me away.” My voice cracked, and I placed my hand over my heart, where an unfamiliar pain pulsed against my chest. “I heard him speak as much to you after Clara’s ankle.”

  Her shoulders caved and she sighed, stroking my hair. “Oh, Elizabeth, I don’t want to send you away.”

  “But you’ve considered it?” I asked.

  She bit her lip. “It wouldn’t be a punishment. Your father believes it will change your life for the better. And just think of the possibilities—the benefits of society and becoming a more independent young woman. It wouldn’t be all bad. I quite enjoyed my schooling.”

  My throat ached from sobbing, and my voice grew raspy. “But Virginia? It’s so far. It feels as if Daddy has given up on me, like he’s pawning me off onto Aunt Nora and Virginia society to fix.”

  Mama shook her head. “Elizabeth, it isn’t like that.”

  “I’ll take that cup now,” I said.

  She placed the tray on my lap. “We’ll talk about it when Clara returns from school. Please try to understand.” Her voice rattled with emotion and her eyes pooled, but she left.

  So it was already decided? I gulped the tea. I was being sent off to become a lady. I pulled my journal from beneath my pillow and opened to my list. I added two more, but it was out of anger more than anything else.

  RULES FOR A LADY:

  No climbing trees.

  No childish games.

  Treat adversaries with respect.

  Keep dresses in repair and never stand by a trough.

  Never gulp tea.

  The front room was quiet, and the soft tick of the grandfather clock circled the room. It was the only thing to ground me. It was only a matter of time, after all, and I wished Daddy would get it over with. But he stood there, pacing the room, digging his hands deeper into his pockets.

  At long last, Clara’s boots clicked across the porch and the screen door creaked open. A smile beamed from her face. “Elle, I finished my essay.” She stepped into the house, and her smile faded, her blue eyes filling with concern. “You aren’t hurt, are you?” Her eyes darted to Daddy’s belt.

  I shook my head but didn’t say anything.

  Mama had been crying, and her eyes were swollen and red, her back bent over in defeat.

  Daddy touched Clara’s arm and motioned toward the sofa. “Sit down, please.” His shoulders straightened, as if a weight had been lifted. Maybe that’s all I was—a weight on his shoulders, a burden he had carried for far too long.

  Mama spoke first. “Clara, you remember my sister Nora?”

  Clara’s countenance fell. “Has something happened? Is she all right?”

  “Oh, yes. She is quite well. It’s just that her husband, John, is the director at a boarding school in Virginia,” Mama said.

  Clara lifted one shoulder, confusion evident in her blank stare. “I remember.”

  Mama’s head bobbed up and down again. “Of course you do. Two years ago, Nora offered to sponsor you both at the school—to pay for your education and bring you up as refined ladies.”

  Clara looked to Daddy and me. “But you told her we were happy here in the valley, right, Daddy?”

  He nodded. “I did.” He turned his back to us and glanced out the window. “But it was selfish. After a period of reflection—two years of reflection, in fact—your mother and I believe it best to send you and Elizabeth after the winter.”

  My sister shot up, her mouth falling open. “Daddy, you can’t be serious.”

  “It may seem sudden, but I assure you your mother and I have discussed it at length. The country ain’t the place to raise a lady. I promised your mother years ago that I would raise you right, and I intend on keeping that promise, for your sakes and for mine.”

  “Virginia?” Clara asked. Her question lingered in the silence. Daddy wouldn’t look at her; it was a first for her. When Daddy gave a curt nod, Clara burst into tears. She left the room in a flash, her sobs rising as she reached the top of the stairs.

  Mama broke out in tears too, and Daddy put his hands on her shoulders. “Louisa, it’s what’s best. Clara will get over it with time. She’ll see we are right.” He turned toward me, as if remembering I existed. “Elizabeth?”

  I gritted my teeth and stood. I had known it was coming, and I wasn’t about to let Daddy know it rattled me as much as it had Clara. I met his eyes with an icy glare. “You’ll be rid of me, at last.”

  “Elizabeth!” Mama said, stiffening. “Apologize to your father this instant!”

  I ignored her. “I’m tired of disappointing you, Daddy. I suppose I won’t have to worry about it anymore, and neither will you,” I said, feeling the stab of my words.

  Daddy’s eyebrows knit into one. He opened his mouth to speak, but I ran up the stairs after Clara. And for once, he didn’t run after me.

  Clara was facedown on the bed, the springs creaking with each of her sobs. I lay next to her and put a hand on her back.

  She curled into my shoulder. “Elle, I’ll never be happy away from home. I’ll never be happy again.”

  I sighed. “At least we have each other,” I said, brushing my fingers through her hair jus
t as Mama had done to me hours earlier.

  “At least,” she said, choking on tears.

  I could only hope she’d still feel that way when, or if, she found out it was all my fault.

  Chapter Seven

  I RUBBED MY SLEEVE AGAINST THE FOGGED window. The sun reflected off the snow, igniting the crystals and turning the backyard into a scene from a fairytale. “At least it didn’t snow today,” I said.

  Paul leaned over me. “At least I won’t be clearing a path to the barn today.”

  Winter had rolled in like a lion. By February, we’d been snowed-in twice. It might have been fun if Daddy hadn’t been so worried about the animals. Paul had shoveled a trail from the house to the barn. It took him two days, and we spent the remainder of the week trekking out to care for the animals.

  I tried to remind myself I’d be leaving soon, that I’d even miss the winter, with its stuffy days in the house and the cold nights in the barn.

  The piano from the front room sounded, and an off-key note grated against my ears. Paul and I locked eyes and cringed—piano lessons. Clara sat at the table, seemingly oblivious to the piano or to Paul and me.

  “Another forty-five minutes of Josephine taking a stab at this piece?” Paul asked, shaking his head. “I’m not sure I can stand it.”

  “Poor Mama,” I said under my breath. Her patience with students astounded me.

  “Tell you what,” Paul said, glancing out the window once more. “Why don’t we take the sled out back until the lesson is over?”

  I grinned, remembering the last time we’d sledded. “I thought you’d sworn off sledding ever again.”

  Paul had narrowly survived a tree trunk. He’d aborted the sled at the last minute and acquired a scar on the edge of his chin from the accident.

  Paul’s eyes crinkled near his temples. “Ah, that was just bad luck.” He sat at the table and took another bite of breakfast hash. “Clara, aren’t you gonna come?”

  She shook her head, and I noticed she’d hardly touched her plate. It had been like this since Daddy told her of Virginia. Her face had grown paler, thinner. I missed seeing her easy smile and bright eyes.

  “Come on, it’ll be fun,” I said, touching her shoulder. “We’ll bring the toboggan.”