Secret Hearts

by J. L. Jarvis

  “It’s awfully late. Perhaps another time.”

  He took her arm and led her away from the door. “I’ve been trying to find time alone with you—”

  “Now isn’t a good time—” she gently protested.

  “Just to be with you.”

  “It’s so late.”

  Powell said, “I know you need time. I’ll wait. I’ve got a great deal of patience.” He reached for her hand, but she pulled it away.

  “I’m afraid it’s too late for this now.” She turned and started for the door.

  Barely louder, he spoke with more force. “We belong together. You may not see it now.”

  “I’m sorry. If I’ve given you the impression—”

  “I love you.”

  “No.”

  “I do and I’ll have you. When you’re ready, when we’re married—”

  “Married?” Allison tried to quell her shock. “We will not be married.”

  He was so calm and sure. “Not right away, but there will come a day.”

  “There will be no such day. Mr. Sutton, please, do not hope.”

  “I hope because I must. You shouldn't be alone.”

  “I’m not alone. I’ve got my family.”

  “But there’s a need which family cannot fill.”

  He stepped so close she felt fearful. He gathered a handful of her skirt in his fist. Allison edged away nervously.

  “I have no such need, Mr. Sutton.”

  “I see. Perhaps I’ve misjudged you.”

  “You have,” said Allison. She moved toward the door with short, nervous steps.

  “Or maybe you’ve already got someone meeting your needs in the dark, lonely nights.”

  Allison stopped abruptly. Carefully, she turned to find him, his mouth twisted in a lascivious grin, and his eyes glowing in triumph.

  “Maybe the Widow Kimball likes to be in the dark, or likes the dark to be in her.”

  Allison slapped Powell hard across the face and bolted for the door, but Powell grabbed her arm and yanked her back. Like a trapped animal, she stared at his devouring grin as her mind raced. Hiding her panic, Allison lowered her eyes and assumed a diffident tone.

  “Mr. Sutton, let me go or I shall scream.”

  As he lifted a hand to cover her mouth, she jabbed her knee into his groin and escaped his grasp. With trembling hand, she pulled the doorknob and ran up the stairs. Revulsion rose within her as she gripped the inside knob of her bedroom door and twisted the key.

  Footsteps crept up the stairs. Through the door his voice whispered, “Do you want to be alone—loveless and childless—for the rest of your life?”

  Through the door his words came to assault her ears.

  “I will not be alone,” she whispered over halting breaths.

  “We’ll see about that,” he said softly.

  The creaking of boards on the stairs followed after. Allison sank to her bed and breathed deeply to calm herself. But the look of his face, as she last saw it, haunted her. Even at night, harsh light shone through his eyes. The memory of it chilled her.

  The next afternoon, Jake met Maggie at the library to walk her home. A sudden rain sent them to shelter inside the general store. They paused in the doorway. Several others were milling about, some of them shopping, others just waiting. A group of men sat in a circle around the potbellied stove and talked in unhurried cadences. From time to time, one would pause and lean over the spittoon, then proceed to talk or nod in agreement. Maggie looked at the shelves arranged in neatly ordered rows and stacks of jars, bottles, boxes and tins, with barrels of flour and sugar in front of the counter. Her mind wandered to fond memories of their youthful walks home from school. She looked up at Jake with a glimmer in her eye. He took her hand, and they went out into the rain, to the alley. They pressed their backs to the wall as they once used to do. His fingertips touched her hand, and their fingers and hands caressed and entwined. A soft smile spread across Maggie’s face as she turned her head sideways and smiled. With a playful tug, she pulled Jake into her arms. They embraced, laughing, rain drizzling down strands of hair unheeded. And then they weren't laughing or smiling. Jake held her to him and kissed her. He guided Maggie two steps backward, until she was pinned against the clapboard building. They kissed well past the point of scandal.

  “We can’t stay here. Someone might see us,” said Maggie.

  “Not in the rain. They’re all inside.”

  “We’ll be soaked.”

  “Then I’ll have to keep you beneath me—to shield you from the rain.”

  With a guilty look, Maggie said, “Lucky for us the rain’s letting up.”

  Jake lifted his face to the heavens. “Why now?”

  People began to emerge from the shops and resume their activity. A friend of Jake’s mother peered into the alley. “Jake. Maggie. You can come out now. The rain’s stopped.”

  Jake smiled at the woman with a twinkle in his eye. “Thank you, Mrs. Bartley.”

  The woman smiled slyly and walked on her way.

  Jake turned to Maggie. “And now, may I walk home the woman I love?”

  Maggie smiled. “And who might she be?”

  “Ah, she’s the prettiest girl in this whole…”

  Maggie’s face began to shine with pride.

  “…alley.”

  Maggie gave him a petulant push. “You’ve a lonely walk ahead of you, Jacob O’Neill, —unless you want to go find your friend, Sophie.”

  “Sophie?” She had caught him off guard.

  “Yes.”

  “Sophie.” Jake looked at Maggie in disbelief.

  Maggie’s eyes widened with exasperation. “Yes, Sophie. The girl with whom—as far as I can tell—you’ve spent every waking hour all spring long.”

  “You weren’t thinking she…and I…” He did his best to look innocent.

  Maggie raised an eyebrow. “You know that I was.”

  He let out a laugh.

  She ignored it. “I know a woman in love when I see one.”

  Jake retorted, “But you can’t recognize a man in love—with you.”

  Maggie couldn't seem to rid herself of the sight of Jake and Sophie, head to head, in the library. “For a man in love—with me—you spent an awful lot of time with that girl in the library.”

  “It seemed as good a place as any—”

  “Yes, well, I think you made that abundantly clear.”

  “—to teach her to read!”

  “To read?”

  “Yes. To read.” Jake feigned impatience, but he knew fully well that he’d allowed her to misunderstand. He knew Maggie, and he was a tease. Most of all, he was in love, and he thought that a little jealousy—which, in his defense, she’d worked up on her own—might help his cause. And it had worked. He felt a little guilty about it, but he would get over that. He explained, “Sophie had to quit school to work when she was a little bit younger than me—” He caught Maggie’s eye. “—I.” Then he sent her a pointed look. He went on, “I guess I felt sorry for her, having been forced to quit school myself. So I taught her to read.”

  “Well, by now you ought to have finished up with English and moved onto another language,” Maggie said dryly.

  Jake couldn't help himself. “Why, yes. We were about to take on the romance languages—one by one, of course. It could take years.”

  Maggie set off in a huff. Jake headed her off at the alley entrance and stood, blocking her way, grinning. She stepped to one side, but he countered. She stepped to the other, but there he was. She heaved a sigh and stared impatiently. But when he stepped so close and looked into her eyes—with his dark and confident gaze—well, she was only human. Still, he was frustrating. “Jake Donnelly!”

  “I love you, too,” he said. Then he kissed her, and leaned his forehead on hers. “Now, may I walk home the woman I love, or shall I be leaving her in this alley?”

  An old man sat in a slat-backed rocker in front of Smith’s Hardware and peaked over his newspape
r with a sly grin as Jake emerged from the alley with Maggie on his arm, and strolled down the street.

  Beth sat on a bench, holding her sketchbook and pencil as she watched Robin skip around the fountain of Johnstown Central Park. Enchanted, she lifted her pencil and continued to sketch in short, deliberate strokes.

  “Mrs. Garvey?”

  With a start, Beth turned toward the speaker, a well-dressed gentleman with a handsome woman on his arm. Her face was soft and thoughtful and framed by soft brown strands of gently curled hair. Beth guessed she might be in her forties, perhaps a few years older than her companion. She recognized him, yet was too shy to acknowledge it. Beth smiled politely.

  “Mrs. Garvey, I doubt you remember me. I'm Eben Wakefield. We met under unfortunate circumstances several months ago when you were taken ill.”

  “Of course. You must be the gentleman who took me to my neighbor’s house.”

  As she looked in his eyes and thought of him carrying her in his arms, the resulting image summoned feelings of intimacy that appalled her. And secretly thrilled her. She lowered her eyes, fearful her thoughts must be evident. Then she mustered the grace to say, “I have wanted to thank you.”

  “Anyone would have done the same. It was nothing extraordinary.”

  As she protested, Mr. Wakefield’s companion leaned over to look at Beth’s drawing. Beth said, “Mr. Wakefield, you saved my life. And I will never forget it.”

  His kind manner pierced Beth’s heart. Once more, she looked away, lest he see the tears that moistened her eyes. When had a man looked at her with gentleness? How odd that a stranger could shower such warmth upon her, while her own husband’s glances were cold.

  A child’s cry broke into the conversation. Beth arose from her seat and rushed over to Robin, who had fallen to the ground. Beth brought her child back to the bench and examined the injury. With a mother’s consoling kisses, she sent Robin back on her way, skipping merrily as though nothing had happened.

  “May I?” Mr. Wakefield’s companion had gently placed her hand on the sketchpad and pencil and was looking expectantly at Beth.

  “Certainly,” said Beth. Nevertheless, she was more than a little embarrassed to have anyone look at her artwork. It was something she did for herself, which she had shared with only with a few close people.

  “This is lovely. Would you permit me?” The woman sought Beth’s permission to turn the page of her sketchbook.

  Beth nodded as her face opened into a warm smile. The woman took the tablet and reached tentatively toward the pencil as she asked, “Would you mind if I drew something?”

  “No, of course not. Are you an artist?”

  “At times,” said the woman.

  “I beg your pardon,” said Mr. Wakefield. “Mrs. Garvey, I would like you to meet a dear friend of mine from Pittsburgh, Miss Mary Cassatt.”

  Miss Cassatt sketched—at times smiling, then squinting, all the while drawing. As she worked, Mr. Wakefield and Beth became better acquainted, with Mr. Wakefield doing most of the talking after his friend instructed Beth to be still. Robin was compliant, more from fatigue than politeness. She had been playing hard and welcomed the chance to rest in her mother’s arms.

  As they spoke together, Beth found herself guessing Mr. Wakefield to be a bit older than she but not by much. But then his age was of no consequence, she reminded herself. Yet it was against Beth’s nature to deceive even herself. In truth, she was drawn to him and the interest he took in her. She confessed to herself that she found him not unattractive, taller than many, and plainer than some. The fine proportions of his face might render him unremarkable in a crowd, except to Beth. For upon close observation, he possessed a quiet confidence that distinguished him from any man she had ever known. And when he spoke, he was forthright but gentle, with a lack of pretense that put Beth at ease.

  “After the war, I went home to become the doctor I was bred to be. It’s a family heritage, you see. Generations before me have practiced medicine. Unfortunately, I was ill-suited for the work.”

  Miss Cassatt looked up from her work. “My friend here is too modest to mention it, Mrs. Garvey, but he has elevated photography to an art form.”

  “Miss Cassatt exaggerates.”

  “Anyone can take pictures, but Mr. Wakefield captures moments of life.”

  Mr. Wakefield was too polite to argue, yet too humble to agree. “I find myself inspired by the people I meet. In the past few years, I’ve traveled through America, trying to capture what I see.”

  “Ah, here we are,” said the artist, holding her sketch at arm’s length for a final inspection.

  Beth’s face shone. “Oh? It’s beautiful!” She shook her head, overwhelmed as she looked at the sketch of herself, with her daughter’s head resting on her shoulder. For in the simple strokes of pencil on paper, she had captured a mother’s quiet and constant love.

  “And now, Mr. Wakefield, I think we must be on our way, or we shall be late.”

  Mr. Wakefield turned to Beth. “Please excuse us, but I must return Miss Cassatt to her hosts at South Fork in time for dinner.”

  “I understand. Thank you so for everything you’ve done, Mr. Wakefield. And, Miss Cassatt, I shall treasure this portrait. You have such a gift.”

  “And you, Mrs. Garvey, have two gifts. Treasure them both.”

  A sunny day found Maggie at work. She lifted her head and smiled as Jake walked in. If there was anyone else in the building, these two didn't know it. He grinned as he walked to the library desk.

  “The library doesn’t close for another hour,” she said.

  “I’ll wait,” he said with a boyish gleam.

  She said in her librarian voice, “Sir, I believe we have something over here you might like.” She looked up from under her lashes with mischief in her eyes and ducked down behind the counter.

  Jake glanced about and saw no one in sight, so he went around to the other side of the desk and looked down at Maggie with perplexed amusement.

  “What?”

  Jake dropped from view, as Maggie gave a sharp tug and pulled him down behind the library desk.

  “Maggie MacLaren, you hussy!”

  “Shh—quiet!” Her eyes were twinkling with suppressed laughter as she grabbed his shirt collar with both hands and pulled him into a kiss.

  A full minute later Jake emerged from behind the desk with a nonchalant nod to an elderly woman of prune-ish demeanor who was nearing the desk. Maggie stood up, brandishing a book she pretended just to have found, and stole a quick sideways glance at Jake before she returned to her work with a blush on her face.

  Jake lingered between the shelves, casually thumbing through books while he stole furtive glances toward Maggie, who did her best to appear absorbed in her work as she stamped books and nodded to the library patron. The books sat stacked and ready to go long before the woman finished chattering. Maggie listened politely with diminishing patience. She began straightening things, filing cards, notes, shifting books from here to there until the woman paused to take a breath.

  “I really must let you go,” said Maggie.

  “Oh, that’s alright—”

  “Does it still look like rain out there?”

  Maggie walked over to the door and stepped outside. “Oh, no. It’s brightened up. Lovely day for a walk.” She bade the woman a cordial, if hasty, goodbye, and closed the door between them. The key clicked in the latch.

  As she walked back toward the desk, Maggie looked around for Jake in the quiet, empty library, but he was nowhere to be seen. Calling his name, she walked between the rows of books. When she reached the wall, there he was in the remotest corner, leaning, arms folded.

  That grin. She walked toward him until she was close enough to touch him. Jake first looked about to make sure no one could see, then he slipped his arm around Maggie’s waist and spun her around and against the wall and kissed her until her arms—and nearly her knees—went limp. He leaned against her and held her. With a deep and fervent s
igh he pulled his lips from hers and leaned both hands against the wall behind her. His breathing was unsteady and warm. For a time, all Maggie heard was the rhythm of Jake’s slowing breath and her own beating heart.

  “Maggie,” he said, his voice so deep it made her yearn. “I waited for you for so long.”

  “It’s my fault we’ve lost so much time.”

  Jake covered her mouth with his fingers, and then replaced them with a deep kiss. Maggie’s feelings rushed out of control. She couldn’t help herself. “I don’t want to waste any more time.”

  “Neither do I.” His mouth found places to kiss that made her heart pulsate.

  Maggie said, “I want—” She stopped. “I don’t know what I’m saying.”

  Jake whispered, “I want you, too,” between breathless kisses.

  “But…” A look of dismay came over Maggie. “I want more—”

  “So do I,” he said, sliding his hands up from her waist.

  With a deep breath, Maggie pressed him away to arm’s length.

  “Maggie,” Jake cajoled, as he wrapped his arms about her waist and pulled her closer. But she resisted. He stopped and looked at her. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  But he knew her too well. He said, “Oh,” as though he had accepted her answer.

  Maggie didn't do a good job of hiding her feelings. Something was bothering her, but Jake knew better than to try to pry it out of her. If he pressed her, Maggie would dig her heels in and refuse to open up. Instead, he touched his lips to her hair, then her forehead, and made a trail to her mouth with light kisses. He heard her breath quicken. Her lips parted. He was prepared to plant a deep head-swimming kiss, when she spoke.

  “Jake, if you don’t marry me, I’ll—”

  “You’ll what? No! Don’t say it. I don’t want to know!”

  Her jaw dropped. “Well…what does that mean?” Maggie exhaled a peevish breath.

  Jake’s mouth spread into a brash smile. “It means—” he looked at her, shaking his head— “that you’re a piece of work, Miss Maggie MacLaren.”

  A worried frown formed as Maggie tried to decipher his meaning.