Secret Hearts

by J. L. Jarvis

  She tried not to.

  He beckoned her toward the cutter. “Please, Maggie.”

  He was so tall and so dashing. Who could not find him so? He was perfect in every way—to look at. But he’d treated her poorly, she reminded herself. He’d broken her heart. She had every right not to forgive him, to leave him and never look back, so counseled every bit of logic and intelligence she possessed. Turn and walk away, Maggie.

  She stepped into the sleigh. Andrew covered her lap with a blanket to shield her from the cold. Away the cutter went, through the outskirts of town and into the countryside. Maggie stared at familiar scenes. Stark winter snow dusted the trees and the furrowed fields in white. The world was suspended in time. A tree branch creaked as it labored to support the icy glaze that weighed it down. Crisp air cleared Maggie’s head and quickened her thoughts. It was a romantic gesture to take her up here, and the day was so lovely. He wasn't habitually late. If he had a good reason, why couldn’t she forgive him? Although, he hadn’t offered any. Even so, he had sought to be with her. He could have sent one of the law office letters. The letters. That was a painful thought. But sitting here beside him, she found it hard to refuse him the benefit of the doubt. What harm would it do to hear him out?

  They pulled to a stop along the road crossing the dam. The view of the valley entranced her. From up here, life looked pristine. Bare trees stood starkly simple, stripped to their essence, their trunks dipped in chalk. The air was clearer up here, unsullied by factory soot. A thick layer of ice frozen rough from the wind covered the lake as the snow dust above it swirled gently about.

  His hands were on shoulders, holding her as he leaned his chest against her back. The warmth of his breath brushed her neck as he whispered her name. It made her lightheaded.

  “I had to see you.”

  She took in a shallow breath. Then the memory of his aching rejection weighed her soaring heart down. And yet, even as her mind cried out in defense, his nearness—his warmth and his singular scent—made her weak. She looked down at the valley and tried to appear unmoved, but she was falling. She just hoped he couldn't sense it. He pressed closer. His hands slid firmly from her shoulders, down her arms to her clasped hands, which he opened and caressed as if he owned them. Her body responded.

  “Look at me, Maggie.” He pressed his cheek against her face, and then turned to touch her neck and ear with his lips. “Look at me.”

  A muted warning rang out from her heart. Now, Maggie. Stop him.

  He said, “Did you think I could stop wanting you?”

  Maggie looked at him then. She didn't want him to see her anger or her tender heart. In truth, she wasn't sure which he would see.

  “If I’ve hurt you—”

  “If you have hurt me?”

  “Maggie…”

  “Either you chose your words poorly, or you’ve given too little thought to the effect your actions have had,” she said. The desire to punish him rose to the surface, but she checked herself, fearing she might only punish herself and look foolish by losing control.

  “I have hurt you. I know it. I’m sorry.” He nuzzled closer, his lips caressing away her objections.

  She was caught between desire and despair.

  His lips touched her ear as he whispered a moan. “Maggie. I ache for you.”

  She shivered. Andrew pulled a blanket up over Maggie’s shoulders and tucked it about her to shield her from the cold. This was the time to ask to go home. Please take me home now. But the words never were voiced. Even as she hesitated, Andrew slipped the blanket over himself, as well.

  They pulled together, face to face. His gaze would have melted the snow. He whispered “Maggie,” and drew her into a kiss. His hands warmed her face and neck as he covered her mouth with his lips. They were full and urgent. Under cover of the blanket, Andrew’s hands moved greedily over her body. It made her euphoric. She feared for her heart.

  “Andrew—”

  “Maggie,” he said with pitiable desperation.

  Maggie caught her breath and reclaimed her reason. Gently at first, then more firmly, she pushed Andrew and the concealing blanket away. The sudden cold shocked her.

  Andrew collapsed back against the seat. “I can’t help myself.” He leaned toward her. “I’m overwhelmed.”

  She shook her head. She had been unwise before. She couldn't let herself fall again.

  He leaned back against the seat, shutting his eyes to the torment, and said, “I love you.”

  She went ashen with disbelief.

  He opened his eyes and turned to her. “I’ve tried not to, but I can’t help myself.” He took Maggie’s face in his hands.

  She gently pushed them away. “Why?”

  He looked at her earnestly. “I don’t know. I just love you.”

  She couldn't even be angry. “No. Why did you try not to?”

  “Maggie, please.” He touched her cheek, but she turned away.

  “What sort of love is that?” She looked at him, accusing.

  “It’s the love of a man for a woman.” His eyes melted her anger, and soothed the pain underneath it. His finger traced the edge of her neckline.

  “You once offered the love of a husband for a wife.” Gently, Maggie pushed his hands free.

  Andrew sank slowly back into the seat and said nothing for a long awkward while.

  Maggie waited and stared at her hands until words stopped repeating themselves in her head and she could finally bring herself to speak. “I see,” was all that came out. She nodded a bit, unable to feel what would strike her much later with a staggering blow.

  He stared straight ahead and said simply, “I can’t.”

  She could not seem to move.

  He reached over and took her hand to his lips. She did not resist. He said, “I love you. Deeply. But I can’t marry you.”

  Maggie’s heart clamped shut, with the pain all inside. “I’d like to go home.”

  “If I married you, I’d lose my income, my inheritance. I’d be penniless. I’d have nothing.”

  “You’d have me.”

  “And no way to live. What would I do? Work in the steel mill? What sort of life would that be?”

  Maggie looked at him with open eyes. “The life that I want.”

  Jake’s young brother and sister laughed with glee as he pulled them down the road on a sled. He stopped and looked up to see a cutter pull up to Maggie’s house. He caught himself gaping as he watched Andrew walk round the small sleigh. Jake slowed his pace but couldn't help but cast a furtive glance.

  Andrew extended his hand to Maggie. After she stepped down, he held onto her hand. They stood face to face on the sidewalk. Jake heard them talking but couldn't hear their words.

  Andrew took Maggie’s two hands in his own. “I do love you.”

  Maggie regarded him as she would a stranger.

  “Jake,” cried his little brother and sister. “Pull faster!”

  A somber expression settled on Jake’s face. He shook free of it and glanced down at the children, saying, “Faster?” With a forced smile, he turned and pulled them in the opposite direction, faster and without looking back.

  Maggie felt as though she was observing herself from a distance. Without another word, she left Andrew standing by the sleigh, and she walked toward her house. When she reached the front door, she looked back to find him still standing beside the sleigh, watching her. She closed the door. Through the shirred window covering, she watched him ride away.

  The wintry peace of the passing landscape mocked Andrew as he rode back to the lake. He had lost her. Love had been in his grasp but in the other direction was money. He could only hold onto one. He was left with no choice but to let go of Maggie.

  He turned his attention to things he would do in the days, weeks and months to come. Obligations and expectations directed his actions and enforced structure on his life. It was easier this way to hide from his own hollow heart.

  In the end, he rationalized, he wasn't
to blame. The responsibility lay elsewhere. One simply had to accept the way things were. Individuals must yield to the strictures of society. It was the way of the world. By the end of the return trip, he had resolved matters in his mind. He discounted the nagging sadness in his heart as an understandable emotion that would wane in good time. With a bitter laugh, he said to himself, “God, I sound more like my father than he does.”

  Andrew joined Powell by the fireplace, confident some lively conversation was all he needed to lift his spirits. A servant girl set down a tray of hors d’oeuvres and drinks. After a few drinks, the ache was dulled and the emptiness barely noticeable.

  How odd, coming from Powell, for talk to take a sober turn, just as Andrew was beginning to feel lighthearted again.

  “I guess what I’m trying to say is that it’s serious,” Powell said.

  “You and Allison? Serious?” Andrew asked, his speech by now slurred.

  Powell leaned forward in his chair. “Yes.”

  “You and Allison?”

  “Yes.” Powell’s eyes tightened.

  “Does Allison know?” Andrew erupted into laughter, which he immediately squelched.

  “I should have known better than to confide in you.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s the liquor laughing.”

  Unaccustomed to being on the receiving end of sarcasm, Powell glared.

  Andrew strove to subdue his amusement. “Forgive me. Please. Now, tell me all about it.” He frowned to accentuate his genuine interest.

  “There’s nothing to tell, really. I can’t seem to get through to her. I was hoping you might have a word.”

  “A word? Which word did you have in mind?”

  “Edmund.”

  Now truly serious, Andrew said, “Edmund is dead.”

  “You’re right. Dead is an even better word,” Powell said. “And that’s the point, isn’t it? She’s got to accept that he’s dead, and move on.”

  “To what?”

  “To whom. And the answer is: me.”

  “Allison may not want to remarry. Have you considered that?”

  “No more than I have considered withdrawing my family’s business from your father’s firm.”

  Andrew glanced sharply at Powell.

  Powell met his surprise with level coldness.

  “It we weren’t such good friends, that would sound like a threat.” Andrew eyed Powell cautiously.

  With a frank look, Powell said nothing.

  “You’d bribe your way into my sister’s heart?”

  “Bribe is hardly the word I would use. I'm simply offering to keep giving your father’s law firm the legal work to maintain all of this.” Powell waved his arm to take in all the purchased beauty about, and leaned back in his chair with a satisfied air.

  Andrew stared blankly into the fireplace as the flames licked the logs without seeming to touch. Yet they burned just the same. “What exactly would you have me say to her?”

  “Nothing specific; just persuade your sister what a wonderful fellow I am.”

  “So you want me to lie.” Andrew poured himself another drink and emptied his glass.

  “I hardly think that’s necessary. But if you feel you must…”

  Andrew cast a pointed look in Powell’s direction. “Tell me something.”

  Powell raised his eyebrows with aristocratic condescension.

  “Why Allison? There are dozens of girls who would marry you in an instant.”

  “But Allison won’t.”

  “Yes. That’s my point,” said Andrew.

  “And that,” said Powell, as he set his drink down, “is my point, as well.”

  “Well, I doubt there is anything I can say that would sway her.”

  “Suppose you try. I assure you, I'm not the only one who will benefit.”

  Andrew considered his options. He had already sold his heart. He would hardly miss his integrity. “I suppose I could force myself to voice a favorable opinion.”

  Powell brimmed with self-satisfaction as he poured Andrew another drink and directed his mind toward more amusing thoughts.

  “I don’t very much like the fact that Mr. Sutton’s family fortune comes from cotton,” said Mrs. Adair.

  “Dear, there’s nothing wrong with cotton. It’s a harmless plant, which God put on this earth,” Charles said, with a hint of condescension.

  She looked unconvinced.

  “Lillian, it’s been years since slavery. Certainly the cotton industry can do no more harm.”

  “Slavery may not exist in its original form, but what is sharecropping but another—if subtler—form of slavery?”

  Charles’s eyes simply sparkled with amusement. “Really, darling, I think all those meetings you attend have filled your head with all sorts of political nonsense.”

  Lillian looked to her son for assistance but received a jaundiced glance.

  “Perhaps it’s time we put the past behind us, Mother.”

  “I will put the past behind me but not the present.”

  “The present,” said Charles, “is this: the Suttons’ money is a significant portion of our firm’s business. Without it, we couldn't live the sort of life we enjoy. By the way, my dear, that is a lovely new dress you are wearing. Silk, isn’t it?”

  Andrew sought to soften the tone. “I’m sure the Suttons must have redistributed their holdings into areas other than cotton since moving up north.”

  “Of course they have,” said Charles.

  Lillian was silent.

  Charles continued. “Allison is fortunate to have the interest of someone like Powell Sutton. He could easily have set his sights on some young girl who has never been married. As I see it, this is quite an opportunity for her.”

  “And for us,” Lillian said to herself.

  Andrew said nothing more, having achieved a victory, at least in this battle. With his parents’ support, the wedding would most assuredly happen in due time.

  Later, when Andrew spoke to Allison, he wasn't quite as successful. Despite his encouragement, Allison was distressed by the news of Powell’s interest. She emphatically rejected the idea of marriage, and begged Andrew to help dissuade their parents when the time came.

  He said, “I’m sorry. It’s already been discussed.”

  “I will not marry Mr. Sutton.”

  “He really isn’t such a bad person, once you get to know him.”

  Allison looked at her brother as if he’d gone mad. “As long as you don’t get to know him too well.”

  “Maybe it’s time to let go of Edmund.”

  Allison paused and drew a breath, then said, “I will not marry Mr. Sutton.”

  “Just give it some time. You don’t have to decide right now.”

  “It’s decided. I can't marry anyone because I’m already married.”

  Chapter 19

  Allison nearly smiled with relief to be able to share her secret with someone.

  “What?” Andrew asked her.

  “You must promise not to tell Mother or Father. Swear it!”

  “I swear. But you can’t be serious!”

  “Yes!” Allison’s eyes were aglow.

  “But when? Who?”

  “I can’t tell you. But I love him and I’m happy.”

  “What kind of marriage is this? You live at home. You tell no one.”

  “I can’t explain.”

  “If you won’t tell me, I’ll just have Samuel check the county records for a license.”

  “I suppose you could do that,” she said. The corner of her mouth quirked, wanting to grin. “But he won’t find any. We had our own ceremony—my husband and I—just the two of us,” said Allison.

  Andrew sat stunned. “You know, of course, that it’s not legal with no license, no witnesses.”

  “It’s a marriage in our hearts, and in God’s eyes.”

  Andrew was slack jawed. “I don’t understand. Why the need for such secrecy? What sort of man is he—to ask this of a woman?” Then he thought abo
ut Maggie, and what he had asked of her.

  Allison said, “He’s the finest man I’ve ever known.”

  “I’m sure that will be a comfort to Mother and Father when they hear the news.”

  “Which they won’t from you.” She eyed him sharply.

  “Have you thought this through? What if you become…with child? It does happen, Allison. Will you keep that a secret, too?”

  “We’ll manage. I can’t tell you more. Just be happy for me—and deliver me from Powell Sutton!” She smiled.

  Andrew could not smile back. He would have to find some way to keep Powell at bay.

  The union meeting was over. While the others drank and laughed, Jake stepped outside for some air. He wasn't in the mood for laughter, but he wasn't quite ready to go home, either. It was easier to take comfort in the nearness of others, without the obligation to appear to enjoy them.

  As he stared at the stars, he wished his thoughts could be as distant. But they were Maggie. They were all Maggie. All the thoughts. All the feelings.

  “Who is she?” She sat down beside him.

  Unnerved and in no mood to talk, Jake looked up to see the girl he had once thought looked so much like Maggie.

  “What?”

  She held out a glass of beer, which he took and drank.

  He remembered her name. “Sophie?”

  She nodded. “Who was she?”

  He tossed a confused look her way.

  “Nobody looks like you do, unless it’s over a girl.”

  “Oh yeah? And just what do I look like?”

  “Whupped.”

  Jake tried to smile.

  Sophie studied Jake. “You deserve someone who’ll make you happy,” said Sophie.

  “That’s just something people say.”

  “Not to me.”

  Jake looked at Sophie. Her eyes were a mixture of green and brown, like moss on a fallen tree, surviving. Through her eyes, he caught a glimpse of a good heart. “You deserve someone who’ll make you happy.”