The Heart Does Whisper (Echoes of Pemberley Book 2)

by Cynthia Ingram Hensley

  “But…how?”

  “Because the man Willie bought the balloon from took his new found riches directly to the Green Man and bought several rounds of stout for everyone.”

  “‘Mind yer tongue, for naught stays within these walls fer long,’” both women quoted at the same time, looking stunned at each other.

  “Is that quote still on the beam just as you cross the threshold?” Annabelle asked incredulously.

  Catie laughed. “Yes, yes it is.”

  “Well at least there are some things that never change.”

  “What did Granddad do? I was only a small child when he died, but Ben said Grandfather Geoffrey was old school…a ‘children are to be seen not heard’ type.”

  “In your grandfather’s defense, he—like my own good father—had lived through the Great Depression and two world wars. It hardened men. Going soft on a son wasn’t an option in the unpredictable world they had lived in for most of their lives.”

  “I’ve never thought of it that way,” said Catie thoughtfully, her mind instantly going back to Ben and his annual march to the cemetery. Her brother had also lived in an unpredictable world of loss and grief. Annabelle was right: it hardens a man. In many ways, it had hardened Ben. What Sean considered morbid was most likely Ben’s way of accepting the unacceptable.

  “Your grandfather saw purchasing and flying that balloon as a show of extravagance and a slap in the face to Pemberley’s hard-working field hands and their families.”

  “He didn’t mean it that way,” Catie said defensively as if her grandfather were there to hear her.

  “No, he didn’t mean it that way. But as I told you, he was young and still had much to learn. All of us did, but we didn’t yet realize it.”

  Wincing, as if she didn’t really want to know, Catie asked, “Did Granddad give Dad a thrashing?”

  “No.” Annabelle chuckled, shaking her head. “However, he did give him a proper upbraiding in front of God and everybody. Then he had the circus owner summoned to Pemberley where he secretly gave the man an extra ten pounds to make a great show of leaving town with his brightly colored balloon in tow. It was the principle of the matter to Mr. Darcy, not the money.”

  Catie smiled at that. “Principles—as important as bread, water, and air to my brother.”

  Annabelle stared at her for a second then said, “You know, Catherine, your father once told me that Bennet was much more the son his father had wanted. He was speaking in jest of course, but there was a mark of sincerity in his eyes when he said it.”

  “Annabelle,” Catie asked curiously, “when did you last see Daddy?”

  Studying her hands, the woman quietly replied, “I traveled to England a few years after Margaret died to see…to see if I had any chance of rekindling the romance your father and I started in the summer of 1946.”

  “What about mother? I thought Daddy fell in love with her.”

  “The only girl your father loved in 1946, Catherine, was me,” Annabelle snapped. “It was your grandmother, Mrs. Darcy, who loved Margaret—not Willie.”

  There was a long silence until Sean appeared at the door. “Good afternoon, ladies!”

  At first, neither woman spoke. Then, turning her gaze to the window and away from Catie, Annabelle replied, “I’m glad you have come, Sean Kelly. Your wife has quite worn me out this afternoon.”

  Taken aback, Sean looked at Catie and mouthed, “You okay?”

  She nodded then asked him, “Darling, will you give us a moment? I shall be along directly.”

  “Right. I’ll just be in the parlor.” Sean stepped out, but Catie could tell by his footfall that he was waiting protectively just beyond the door.

  She stood, went over to Annabelle Montague’s chair, and kneeled before the older woman. “Annabelle,” she said, her voice reedy. “Are you telling me that my dad never loved my mum? Are you saying theirs was a marriage of arrangement—the wishes of their parents rather than their own?”

  Annabelle’s eyes met Catie’s and found Margaret staring back at her. Oh, Margaret. She swallowed, and a tear cascaded slowly down the bony cheek. “Six months ago, I might have said yes…that is exactly what I am telling you. But I was a lesser woman then. That might shock you looking at my weakened frame.”

  “Please, Annabelle, I’d like to know the truth.”

  “William loved Margaret, Catherine. Not then, but he did…he came to love her.”

  Catie closed her eyes in relief and found she was fighting her own tears. She asked, “Did you ever see Margaret again?”

  “I did, but that story is for another day, child. Please go now. I don’t wish to speak to you any longer.”

  “May I come back?” Catie asked, unwilling to be put off. “May I call again in a few days?”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, if you wish to come, I shan’t stop you.”

  “Thank you.” Catie smiled then asked, “May I…may I kiss you good bye?”

  By the expression on Annabelle Montague’s face, she might have smacked her. “Young lady, I haven’t been kissed since my father died!”

  “Then maybe it is time you were,” Catie declared as she leaned forward and softly pecked the woman on the cheek.

  Annabelle’s hand was still touching the kissed cheek when Robbins came in to clear the tea things. “I believe you have made a friend, Miss Annabelle,” he said, grinning.

  “Oh, bugger off, Robbins!” she barked, making his grin increase…significantly.

  ***

  Struggling with two large canvas totes filled with children’s books, Catie met Sean at the kitchen door.

  “Ready?” she asked in her most practiced nonchalant tone.

  “What are you doing with all these books?”

  “I’m retuning them to Norbury’s library.”

  “But why — ”

  “Because, Sean,” she interrupted, purposefully stopping his question, “when a person borrows books from a library, they return them. Now, are you going to offer to help me with these bags, or shall I carry them down the steps by myself?”

  One of Sean’s eyebrows arched suspiciously. Evasiveness was not a skill his wife pulled off too cleverly. “Sure, mo chailín,” he told her with a big smile, knowing that getting Catie to tell him something before she was ready was like whistling a jig to a millstone. He picked up the bags. “Get the door then, will you, love?”

  “Sean,” she asked, inspecting him curiously as he sat the books in the backseat. “Why are you dressed in track clothes and shoes?”

  “I wish I knew. Dr. Middleton rang earlier and told me to dress this way.”

  “Without saying why? That’s odd.”

  “Aye.” Sean cut his eyes to the bags then back to his wife. “Seems catching this mornin’. Eh?”

  “Must be the cooler temperatures,” she quipped, quickly shutting her car door.

  They had not yet reached the highway when Sean glanced over at his wife, who was staring meditatively out the window, and asked, “Penny for your thoughts.”

  She smiled. “Is that all they’re worth to you?”

  “Catie.” His admonishing tone told her he wasn’t in the mood for repartee.

  Sighing greatly, she said, “I was thinking of Annabelle Montague.”

  Damn! Again, Sean glanced at the books. Clearly, he was going to have to use a more direct approach. “What about Miss Montague?”

  “Each afternoon I visit her, she seems feebler. She must be about sixty-one, the age my parents would have been, but she seems much older. I’m dreadfully afraid that Annabelle is sick and not telling me.”

  “Shall I ask Dr. Middleton if he knows anything? Would that make you feel better?”

  “Certainly if he knew that Annabelle wasn’t well, he would have told me already. I can understand Robbins being so bloody tight-lipped, but not Dr. Middleton.”

  “Catie, maybe you should stop visiting Miss Montague for awhile.”

  “I shan’t stop seeing her as long as she
’s able,” was the blunt reply his request received. “Sure, I’m concerned for her health, but Annabelle has given me so much of my mum. I feel as if I know her now.” Forgiven her. Catie’s throat prickled tight, but she swallowed and continued, “Plus, I realize you don’t understand, but…I like Annabelle.”

  “You’re right, I don’t understand. As far as I’m concerned, Annabelle Montague has few, if any, redeemable qualities.”

  “Do you know what she told me last time I saw her?”

  “I might know.” Moaning internally, he flashed a forced smiled over at her. “You’ve told me so many lovely stories already.”

  “I see right through that smile, Sean Kelly, and you can stop worrying. This one is short.”

  “Ah, go on then.”

  “Annabelle told me that at the end of their first summer together she, Mum, and Dad cut locks of their hair, tied their favorite color ribbons around them, and sealed them in a jar to pledge their friendship to each other. Then the three of them buried the jar next to the large stone that sits beside the boat ramp. You know the one, don’t you, Sean?”

  “Aye.” He smiled again, genuinely that time. “The one that looks sort of like a treasure chest.”

  “Yes, that’s it. Now does that sound like a person with unredeemable qualities?” she asked. “Even crabby old Annabelle Montague was once young and innocent.”

  He shrugged. “I reckon.”

  “Why are you so pessimistic this morning?”

  Sean glanced at his watch. “Because Gabriel and Tess should be getting married about now. I don’t mean to be pessimistic but…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

  “What are you so worried about? Tess is pregnant, yes, but theirs isn’t the first marriage to start off under such circumstances.” Catie’s eyes widened. “Unless you know something else—something you’re not telling me.”

  He looked over at her, his blue eyes almost clear in the morning sun that pierced the windshield. Though it was only the two of them, he spoke quietly, as if he didn’t want to be overheard. “Gabe told me he slept with Delia Reynolds.”

  “What?” she gasped. “Oh, Sean, it’s my fault. Isn’t it?”

  His face scrunched. “How’s that?”

  “Do you not see? I arranged it all. They never would have met had it not been for me. Oh, I could just kick myself for letting Delia talk me into it.”

  “Whether he behaves like one or not, my brother is an adult—capable of making his own decisions and mistakes. I don’t blame you, and you shouldn’t blame yourself. Delia certainly didn’t force Gabe into her bed.”

  “You might be surprised what sort of powers a woman like Delia has. I’ve met her kind before. Hussy.”

  “Catherine Kelly!” Sean exclaimed, chuckling.

  “Don’t Catherine Kelly me.” She turned in her seat to face him. “I’ve seen your eyes bulge at those short skirts she wears.”

  “I never did!” he denied vehemently, his neck turning a deep scarlet.

  “Whatever.” She made a great show of flipping back towards her window. “You men are all the same.”

  Taking a moment to consider his options, Sean wisely decided to step wide and around the last comment. “Er, Catie, would you kindly tell me why you’ve brought home all those books?”

  She gave him a brief, narrow look then blew out a soft puff of air that told him she didn’t want to quarrel over Delia Reynolds. “I borrowed them so I could familiarize myself with the vocabulary of Jamal’s reading level.”

  “Why?”

  “Because those readers are pure drudgery, plain and simple, that’s why. Tell me, Sean, how is a child supposed to learn to read if he doesn’t enjoy the story?”

  “Catie, experts in education wrote those readers,” he argued.

  “Pooh on the experts! I bet you not one of them has actually sat down and read with a child.”

  Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, Sean rubbed the side of his face. It was just too early in the morning to try and sort out Catie’s notions. “You still haven’t told me why you borrowed the books.”

  “You’ll not laugh?”

  “Cross my heart.”

  “Well, all right.” She leaned over, unzipped her purse, and retrieved some folded papers. “I’ve written Jamal a story—one I think he’ll like. It’s on his reading level and is filled with knights and castles, witches and warlocks. Jamal has a brilliant imagination, and those blasted readers are too dull for a boy like him.”

  He glanced down at the folded papers she held in her lap. “You borrowed all those books to better understand Jamal’s reading level so you could write a story that he would enjoy reading?”

  “Ridiculous, eh?”

  They were almost at the school, so Sean pulled off the road and turned off the engine. “May I see?” he asked.

  She nodded and handed them to him.

  Sean unfolded the papers and flattened them out on the steering wheel. He gave her one of his teacherly looks then began reading. After a long minute, he flipped the first page over, expelling a small grunt as he did so. Whether it was a complimentary or derisive grunt, she couldn’t tell.

  “What does, ‘Hmmph,’ mean?”

  He put up a hand to her question and continued reading. When he finished, Sean neatly refolded the papers and handed them back to her.

  “Well?” she asked, sounding annoyed. “What did you think?”

  “What I think”—he leaned over and kissed her tenderly on the lips—“is that you will make an excellent teacher, Mrs. Kelly.”

  “Oh.” Catie looked down and rubbed her thumb fondly over the pages.

  “Oh? Is that all you have to say, woman? Would you like me to stand on the street holding a placard that says I was wrong for telling me wife she shouldn’t be a teacher?”

  She laughed—the small hiccupping laugh that he loved. “I’d like to see that.”

  He cupped her face in his hand. “What is it, darlin’? There’s something I’m not gettin’ here.”

  “Sean,” she said, her smile fading as she stared into his eyes. “I no longer fancy the idea of being a teacher. I’ve spent hours—days really, trying to come up with clever ways to get Jamal interested in reading. And he’s just one pupil! And furthermore, you were right…I’m no disciplinarian.”

  Sean’s brows drew together. “Has Jamal given you trouble? Shall I have a wee word with him?”

  “Heavens no! Jamal is a darling child. You know that. It was another boy. He became terribly belligerent with his teacher. At first, I thought that someone should give him a good smack. But then I saw the look in his eyes, and it dawned on me…someone had probably already given him a good smack or two or more. Sean, I believe someone has been cruel to that poor boy.” She sighed, resigned. “You were right; teaching is a gift. More than that—it’s a gift I don’t possess. I can’t imagine how I should know whether a child is just being cheeky or…or something far worse.”

  “The truth is you don’t know—you can’t know really.”

  “Sean, are you”—Catie lowered her eyes, unable to look at him any longer—“are you disappointed in me?”

  “Of course not. Don’t be silly. Now look at me.”

  Though reluctantly, she did as he asked and was both thankful and relieved when she met with a sincere, kind expression.

  “Catie, I could never be disappointed in you for trying. Quite the opposite: I’m proud of you.” He took her hands in his and delicately asked, “Now tell me true. Do you want to quit tutoring? And know…I shan’t think any the less of you if you say yes.”

  “No. I’ve made a commitment to Jamal and shall fulfill it. I just thought you should know that I’d gone off the idea of being a teacher.”

  He chuckled. “All right then, let’s go. Dr. Middleton sounded like a man who got up on the wrong side of the bed, and I don’t fancy being late if he’s in a foul mood.”

  Catie’s hand tightened around Jamal’s story. Now’s not the time, sh
e told herself and slid it back inside her purse.

  Chapter 18

  After dropping Catie off at the library, Sean drove to the athletic field, where Dr. Middleton had ask him to come first thing that morning. He bounded down the concrete steps that ran between metal bleachers to Coach Stevens, who stood to greet him.

  “Morning, Kelly.”

  “Coach,” Sean returned, looking around curiously. “Did Dr. Middleton ask you to be here this morning as well?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did he say why?”

  Coach Stevens shook his head. “No. But I’ve a pretty good idea.” Before Winn Stevens could enlighten Sean further, Dr. Middleton appeared at the top of the bleachers. “Uh-oh.”

  “Uh-oh?” Sean echoed questioningly.

  “Yeah, uh-oh. Dr. Middleton is wearing his Georgia Bulldogs’ cap.”

  “So, what does that mean?”

  “It means he’s in coaching mode. This is not looking good, Kelly, not good at all.”

  “Who is it he plans on coaching?” Sean lowered his voice and asked.

  Winn looked at him impatiently. “Kelly, do you have a few too many yards between the goal posts? Look around you, man!”

  Sean glanced around the empty field and then expelled an illuminated, “Ah.”

  “Listen!” Stevens whispered excited and fast as Dr. Middleton was almost upon them. “I’ve been in hot water with Coach Middleton before. Keep your answers short — yes, sir; no sir. Got it?”

  Sean nodded. “Got it.”

  “And whatever you do…do not interrupt him.”

  Sean nodded again, remembering Prissy Middleton’s humorous descriptions of her husband during his coaching days. According to his wife, Coach Middleton was legendary around Savannah. He was called “the Carpenter,” because he was tough as nails and had no qualms about bringing down the hammer. Sean looked at Hugh Middleton and saw there was a scowl under the Bulldogs’ cap. Suddenly, Prissy’s descriptions didn’t seem so humorous. He swallowed.

  “Good morning, gentlemen,” Dr. Middleton said with a feigned pleasantness.

  “Morning, sir,” Sean and Winn replied in unison.

  “I guess the two of you are wondering why I asked you out here this morning.”