Family of the Heart

by Dorothy Clark

  Lightning flickered its white brilliance through the room. Thunder rumbled in the distance, from somewhere over the hill. She went rigid. The storm was coming.

  “Would you remove my tray, please?”

  Sarah whirled, walked to the bed. She lifted the tray and carried it to the table by the stairs. The stairs. There were no windows in the stairwell. Perhaps she could sit—

  “And if you would close the shutters, please?”

  She glanced his way, read the understanding in his eyes. She forced a smile. “Thank you. You are very kind.” She hurried from window to window, focusing on her task, trying not to see the storm outside.

  Lightning flared. Thunder cracked. She winced, jerked away from the last window. It was coming closer.

  “Come sit down, Miss Randolph.”

  Sarah glanced at Clayton and walked over to perch on the edge of the rocker, unable to relax—ready to run.

  “While you were down in the kitchen fetching my tray, I heard a tale of four kittens.”

  “Oh?” What did kittens matter?

  “I had told Quincy to take them to the farm.”

  Oh. Had she gotten Quincy in trouble? “I apologize, Mr. Bainbridge. I asked Quincy to allow Nora to play with them. I hope any displeasure you may feel will be directed at me, not Quincy.”

  Something flickered in Clayton’s eyes. “You are very quick to throw yourself on the sacrificial pyre, Miss Randolph. But you need have no concern for Quincy.” A smile played with his lips. “I inherited him along with the property, and Quincy has his own quiet way of running things around here. I am quite certain, should I confront him with the situation, he would remind me that I did not tell him when the kittens were to be removed to the farm.”

  Light flashed through the cracks around the closed shutters. Thunder crashed.

  Sarah gasped, jolted to her feet, clasped her trembling hands. How could Nora sleep?

  “You see, Quincy worked for my grandparents and he considers it his ‘boundin’ duty’ to ignore any orders I give that fall contrary to what he deems is best for this place. And Eldora—”

  She could not listen any longer. Sarah took a breath, faced him. “Mr. Bainbridge, I realize what you are doing. And I thank you for trying, but distraction does not work.”

  “Nor does hiding.” He glanced at the corner, looked up, caught her gaze and held it with his. “There is no place to run to—nowhere to hide from a…nightmare, Miss Randolph. And it seems we must both face ours today.” She tensed as he drifted his gaze over her face. “What has made you so frightened of storms?”

  Sarah looked away from the concern in his eyes. He had been so understanding of her moments of panic. And she was caring for his daughter. She owed him an explanation. She hid her trembling hands in the folds of her skirt and looked up at him. “When you were a child, did you have a dream for your life, Mr. Bainbridge?”

  His countenance changed, became guarded. For a moment she thought he would not answer, but he nodded. “I wanted to be a soldier—like my father. But, having listened to stories of Indian attacks all my life, I wanted to be an army engineer so I could build strong forts that would keep other soldiers and their families safe.”

  There was disappointment in his voice. She forgot her own tale. “What happened to your dream?”

  He took a long breath, looked off into the distance. “I became an apprentice to a highly respected engineer who became my mentor and friend—more so after my grandparents died.” The muscle along his jaw twitched. “A short while before I was to leave my position with him to go in the army, he became ill. I delayed my departure and took over his work. His health failed quickly, and I promised, on his deathbed, to give up my dream of being a soldier and instead—” He shook his head. “I am going astray. We were speaking about childhood dreams. Mine did not come to pass.” His gaze came back to her. “What was your dream?”

  Sarah took a breath, forced out the words. “My father owns a shipping line and I grew up listening to talk of faraway places. My dream was to marry the captain of one of Father’s ships and sail with him around the world on—” her voice broke “—on our honeymoon.”

  “And you found your ship’s captain.” Clayton’s face went still.

  She nodded. Lightning glinted. Thunder cracked. She gave a soft cry, hid her face in her hands and whirled away from the bed. Clayton’s quick grasp on her arm stopped her from running for the stairwell.

  “You have nothing to fear, Miss Randolph.” His calm, deep voice washed over her. “You are with me, and—”

  “And I was with Aaron also!” She yanked her hands from over her eyes, stared at him. “We were betrothed, and I felt safe with him. But—” She stopped, drew a long quivering breath and sank into the rocker. “We were to have married last Christmas. And to have set sail on our honeymoon voyage shortly after the first of the new year.”

  “But that did not happen.”

  How calmly he stated the fact.

  “No.” She looked down, smoothed a fold from her skirt. “Last October I went to Boston to visit my friend Elaine and engage her in the wedding plans. Father had ordered a new ship built at her father’s shipyard. It was near completion. Plans were made for Aaron and his crew to come to Boston and sail the new ship home to Philadelphia.” Her throat closed. She rose, walked to the bedside table and poured a glass of water.

  “And he did not come?”

  The words were gently spoken, but offensive nonetheless. “Of course he came!”

  Lightning snapped. A sulfurous light invaded the room.

  Sarah shivered, wrapped her arms about herself and hurried away from the window.

  “What happened?”

  She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Elaine and I were to travel home with him. But Elaine became ill. I had wedding preparations to make that could not await a more opportune time, and so, as it was only a day’s sail down the coast and I was expected home, I joined Aaron aboard ship.”

  Her chest tightened. She could feel her face drawing taut. She turned away from his penetrating gaze. “It was a beautiful day, but as we were boarding a-an elderly sailor on the dock warned Aaron not to sail. He said there was a bad storm brewing.” The pressure in her chest increased. That familiar cold hand squeezed her lungs.

  “And he was right.”

  Another calm statement of fact.

  She turned to face him, to defend Aaron against any blame. “The storm came out of nowhere. One moment the skies were blue and the sun was shining, and the next moment dark clouds rolled across the sky and shut out the light.” Her voice quavered.

  She moved forward, took hold of the bedpost and fought for breath. “Aaron tried to head for the open sea and outrun the storm, but the wind tore the sails to shreds. Waves, high as this house, threw the ship around like—like a toy. It plunged toward huge rocks in shallow water and there was nothing he could do. He—he ordered two of the crew to take me to the dinghy.”

  She stared off into the distance, lost in the horror of that day. “The rain came so thick and fast, breathing was almost like drowning. And the wind—it was impossible to stand. The sailors tried to hold me upright, but the ship was pitching so violently it tossed us about and I was wrenched from their grasp. I…I slid toward the side of the ship. I heard Aaron shout, and then—and then the lightning—”

  A deep shudder shook her. She closed her eyes. “There was a h-horrible crack, and the deck in front of me disappeared. There was only a black h-hole and I could not stop sliding. And then I saw Aaron.” The strength left her legs. She sagged against the bed. “He was clinging to the end of the broken rail and stretching his hand out to me. I…I reached for him but the lightning struck again. Aaron…the deck…everything vanished. I fell into the water. It was so c-cold and dark…”

  She opened her eyes, stared down at Clayton’s hand gripping hers, felt the strength and warmth of it. How had that happened? Had she reached out to him? She sighed, too emotionally spent to be
embarrassed, too needy of his comfort to slip her hand from his, though she should.

  “Thank God you were saved, Sarah.” His grip tightened on her hand. “Forgive me. I should not have asked you about such a harrowing experience.”

  “You could not know.” She gathered her inner fortitude and slipped her hand from his. Her remaining strength seemed to ebb with the broken contact. She glanced at the rocker, took hold of the corner post and started around the foot of the bed. She needed to sit down, before she collapsed in a weary heap on the floor. “When I awoke, I was in the dinghy. The skirt of my gown had caught on a piece of broken deck floating on the water, and two sailors saw it. They pulled me from the water and were able to get the dinghy over the rocks and into a small cove.” Her lips trembled. She sank down into the rocker and closed her eyes. “We three were the only ones who survived. The sailors went on to Philadelphia, and a family who lived in the cove took me in until Father came for me.”

  Tears slipped from under her eyelids and ran down her cheeks. “The lightning struck Aaron, and the sea he loved claimed him. He, and my dream, died that day. But my heart remains loyal to him. I want no other…”

  Clayton lay studying the ceiling over his head. The storm had played itself out. All was quiet, except for an occasional grumble of thunder in the distance.

  He glanced at Sarah, asleep in the rocker. Telling him her story had exhausted her. But she had seemed calmer for having unburdened herself to him. He hoped he had helped to chase her nightmare away forever.

  Clayton shuddered, cold knots forming in his stomach. It had been such a close thing. If her skirt had not caught on the jagged edge of that broken-off piece of the ship…If those sailors had not seen it through the rolling, crashing waves of the storm-tossed ocean and pulled her into their dinghy, she would have been lost forever. Swallowed by the sea along with her fiancé.

  His hands flexed. He ached to wake her and tell her he loved her. But he was destined to remain silent.

  …my heart remains loyal to Aaron.

  Clayton compressed his lips, held back a bitter laugh. His struggles to deny his love for Sarah, to distance himself from her, were all for naught. Even had he yielded to his feelings for her and tried to win her for his own, it would have been useless. She loved another, though he was gone. He had been torturing himself needlessly. He closed his eyes and waited for sleep to claim him.

  Chapter Twenty

  Nora dropped her doll, gripped the windowsill and went on tiptoe. “Me go outside?”

  Sarah shot a quick glance at Clayton. It was difficult keeping Nora quiet all day. But after yesterday’s episode of the toddler’s invasion of her father’s bed, she dared not take the chance of offending him. “Not now, sweetie. Quincy is busy. Shall we look at a book?”

  Nora’s lower lip pouted out. She shook her head. “Me go see horsy.” Her little chin quivered.

  Oh, Nora, please do not cry! Sarah scooped her up into her arms and turned away from the window. “Can you find the horse in the book for me?”

  Golden curls swung from side to side. The little lip protruded farther. Sarah’s heart sank. Nora was not going to be easily distracted from her goal.

  “Go see horsy. An’ kitties.”

  Sarah kissed Nora’s cheek. “I cannot take you outside right now, sweetie. Your papa—”

  “Is fine.”

  Sarah turned toward Clayton.

  “Take Nora outside, Miss Randolph. She wants to see the animals.”

  Nora. He had called her by name. Sarah squelched her elation. “But you may need something, and—”

  “And if I do, I shall call for you. There is a bell on the table by the bed in the bedroom across the hall—bring it to me. The windows are open. You will be able to hear the bell from the garden.”

  Was he being considerate of Nora’s wants—or did he want to be rid of her? Anger stiffened Sarah’s spine. “Very well. I will be a moment. I have to also fetch Nora’s bonnet.” She turned toward the door.

  “There is no need for you to take Nora. You will accomplish your tasks more quickly without her.”

  Sarah froze, her heart in her throat. Had she heard him correctly? She turned back, looked at Clayton.

  “She will be safe here on the bed.”

  His voice was cool, his face impassive. Still…“Of course.” Sarah held her own face expressionless, lowered Nora to the bed and forced herself to walk calmly from the room. She crossed the hall at the same sedate pace, entered the other bedroom and closed the door. The click of the latch set her free. She burst into laughter, spread her arms wide and whirled about the room, unable to contain her joy. “Thank You, Lord. Oh, thank You! You heard my prayers. You are giving Nora her father!”

  Tears filmed her eyes. Sarah blinked them away and stopped her impromptu dance. She had to hurry back. She looked about the room. A bed, garbed in a woven tester and coverlet, the soft-blue color of the room’s plastered inner walls, sat between two windows in the stone wall opposite the door. A brass bell sat beside a lamp on the table by the bed. She picked it up, jumped at its sudden sharp clang, clamped her other hand over it to stop its ringing and left the room.

  The bell. He hated that sound. Clayton closed his eyes, fought an onrush of painful memories.

  “Does your head hurted?”

  “Only a little.” He opened his eyes. The child was on her knees, staring up at him. His heart jolted, just as it had last night. He had not been wrong. She had his grandmother’s eyes. And mouth. In fact, except for her coloring and curly hair—which were Deborah’s—she could be a very young Rose Bainbridge. His heart squeezed, his chest filled. He had always thought of Nora as Deborah’s child—when he was forced to think of her at all—but she was part of him. His daughter. Rose’s great-granddaughter.

  “Me make it better.”

  Before he realized what she was about, Nora placed her small hands against his chest, stood and kissed his forehead. Emotion rocketed through him, too complex, too mysterious to be defined, and he knew he would never be the same. His life had changed forever. This tiny waif in his arms suddenly owned him, body and soul. He pulled her close, kissed the soft, silky skin of her cheek. She slipped her little arms around his neck, hugged hard, then pushed back and looked at him. “Me make it better?”

  Clayton blinked the tears from his eyes and cleared his throat. “Yes, you did. Thank you.” And I promise you, everything is going to be better from now on.

  Nora nodded and plunked down on his lap. “Me gonna go see horsy.”

  “So I understand. Will you give Pacer and Sassy a carrot for me?”

  “Uh-huh. But not the kitties. Me gives kitties milk, an’ soup, ’cause they go—” She stuck out her tongue and lapped at the air.

  Clayton laughed, filled with sudden paternal delight at her precocity.

  “What is so amusing?”

  He looked up. Sarah stood in the doorway, smiling at him. His heart constricted. His mouth went dry. He looked away before she could read in his eyes what was hidden in his heart. His gaze fell on the bell in her hand. Deborah’s bell.

  Everything rushed back. Guilt stabbed his heart, soured his stomach. Clayton shook his head. “Nothing, really. It is only that I am learning what an unending source of information a child can be. For instance—it seems Quincy is feeding the kittens from the kitchen instead of letting the mother cat teach them to be proper barn cats that hunt for their food.”

  Sarah’s smile disappeared. “I found the bell.” She walked to the bed. “I will put it right here where you can reach it.” She set it on the edge of the bedside table, turned and slipped the bonnet she held over Nora’s curls. “Come, Nora, we will go outside and let your papa rest.” She lifted the toddler into her arms and left the room.

  His arms felt empty, his heart desolate.

  Clayton stared down at the bed. This could not go on. Every day ate away at his resolve. He had to get out of this house! He set his mind against the void in his heart and
threw back the covers. He gritted his teeth, braced his palms against the mattress and strained to lift his left leg. Daggers pierced his side, searing heat coursed down his leg. The agony was worth it. His foot had come off the bed. Not far. But it had definitely risen off the bed.

  Clayton wiped the beads of cold sweat from his brow and sagged back against the pillows to gather his strength for the next try.

  The room was barren. The mattress gone from the corner. The rocker and toys returned to the nursery. He had told Quincy to take them away after supper. A mattress on a floor was no place for a child to sleep. And a rocking chair no bed for Sarah. It was the right thing to do. But his heart ached nonetheless. His only connection to Sarah now was the bell.

  Clayton stared at the dim area beyond his open door. The landing at the top of the winder stairs, lit only by the light flowing out from his room and Sarah’s room on the other side—her door open to hear his call should he need her.

  Need her? He was dying inside for want of her in his life. But that would stop now. She would no longer be caring for him day and night. He would see her as little as possible from now on. And when the strength returned to his injured muscles, not at all. Except for that celebration boat ride up the canal on July fourth. But, even on the packet, she would be busy caring for Nora, and he should not find it hard to avoid her company. He would manage some way.

  Clayton scowled, picked up the book he was pretending to read and stared at the printing on the pages.

  Sarah lifted Nora from the tub, dried her off and pulled the nightgown with tiny embroidered flowers on the smocking over her head. She had rejoiced too soon. Clayton Bainbridge had shoved his daughter out of his life as soon as he was able. Well, she would see about that! She brushed the tangles from the toddler’s damp curls and lifted her off the small bench. “All right, sweetie, time for bed.”