The Keeper of Her Heart

by Stacy Henrie

  Helena’s eyes brightened. “I am glad to hear it. Now, for the other matter . . .”

  “About not taking responsibility?” Even saying the words out loud made him flinch. Duty and responsibility were as ingrained in him as boot making.

  She gave a light laugh as if she could read his thoughts. Hugh didn’t doubt there were times when she could. “I am not asking you to stop being responsible. That is an honorable trait in any man or woman. What I am asking is that you allow others to develop that trait for themselves by not swooping in to help all of the time. We learn best when we experience pain, my boy, or when we have to flounder a bit. Because of God’s great love for us, He does not prevent discomfort or consequences. We need to do the same with others.”

  Hugh fingered the letter, his mind awhirl. “Then I suppose,” he said at length, “that I shall not be going to London. At least not now. I will ask Ada, again, if there is something I might do for her. And in the meantime, I will wait and pray.”

  “That, my dear Hugh, is the mark of a truly extraordinary, responsible man.”

  The compliment filled him with warmth and gratitude and made him wonder if he’d misjudged his mother’s favoritism of Harry. Perhaps their bond had come because, unlike Hugh, his younger brother had often been more concerned with seeing and being with people rather than assuming responsibility for them. He felt a pang of regret at the realization.

  “I am sorry, Mama.” He glanced down at his half-eaten meal. “I have been so busy trying to care for everyone and to prove myself that I haven’t taken as much time to understand them or to simply sit and talk like this.”

  She reached across the table and covered his hand with her own. “You don’t have to prove yourself to anyone, my boy. You were needed here,” she added with keen perceptiveness. “And my feeling is you still are, though I don’t know all of the reasons why.”

  Her words dropped into his heart and gently swept away the lingering shame there. “Thank you.”

  “You are most welcome.” She pushed back her chair and stood. “I believe I’ll go put flowers on Maud’s grave this morning.”

  Hugh sensed how much she missed her good friend. While Helena still visited regularly with Ada’s mother, she’d found a kindred spirit in Maud, even if the two of them had come from starkly different backgrounds. It was a friendship that would be difficult to replace.

  “I’ll come with you,” he offered, rising to his feet as well. He could afford to be a little late to the factory today, especially if it meant spending more time with his wise mother.

  She looked momentarily surprised, then pleased. “I would like that very much.”

  • • •

  Maidenhead, July 1917

  From her spot on the picnic blanket, Ada watched Rosemary throwing stones into the meandering river. The three older O’Reilly children were doing the same, while Minnie attempted to keep two-year-old Molly from running headlong into the water. Their two-week holiday in Berkshire—courtesy of the generous donations to the convalescent fund for the families of the schoolchildren—was nearly at an end.

  “Don’t know that I’m wantin’ to go back,” Minnie murmured with a sigh, voicing Ada’s own thoughts. “Neither do the children.”

  The calm and quiet of the countryside had been the perfect balm to all of their shattered spirits after the bombing. Rosemary still had nightmares about the awful event, but the bad dreams had been less frequent during the time away from London.

  “I feel the same.” Ada ran her hand across the blades of grass. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed the rural scenery until leaving London behind for the first time in seven years. If only they could all stay here forever. “I wonder how much one of those little cottages costs to rent.”

  Minnie chuckled as she steered Molly back toward the blanket. “I don’t ’ave a clue, but we’d be clambering over each other if we shared one like we’ve done ’ere.”

  A smile lifted Ada’s mouth. They had been rather cramped at times with two women and five children in one cottage, but it had also been nice to have more people around. A wave of missing Ned washed through her. He would have enjoyed this holiday. It would have reminded him, as it did Ada, of Yorkshire and home.

  Her smile drooped. Why had she thought of Stonefield Hall and home as being together? Wasn’t London home? She didn’t have a ready answer for the former question, but she did the latter. While she loved much about London and the life she’d built there, since Ned’s death, the flat had felt less like a home and more a place where she and Rosemary lived.

  Thoughts of Stonefield morphed to ones about her parents. How were they faring? Ada couldn’t help wondering. Hugh never mentioned them in his letters. Her grandmother periodically did. She’d even mentioned recently that Ada’s father had been ill several times.

  Ada hadn’t written them since Rosemary had been a baby. Doing so had helped her grieve and make peace with everything, though it hadn’t stopped the occasional longing for what could be. But did she wish to see her parents again, even after all this time?

  A deep ache in her heart told her the answer. Charles and Victoria were still her parents, and whether they acknowledged it or not, she was still their daughter. And she did want to mend this rift. If letters wouldn’t do it, was there any other way to contact them? To see if they’d softened their position after seven years?

  Turning her attention to Rosemary again, she felt renewed relief that she hadn’t lost her daughter to the recent tragedy. Her little girl was growing up, as Rosemary often professed, into a person of compassion, friendliness, and faith. Gratitude filled her. She and Ned had accomplished what they’d hope for with their family.

  If only her parents could see that. Could see how Ada herself had grown and changed while in London, to see how she was raising her daughter. While their values may differ from hers, she still wished to give Rosemary a full life, and that included one with extended family relationships as well as dear friends.

  A sudden idea had her sitting up straight and made her pulse race with equal parts anticipation and anxiety. What if she took Rosemary to live in Yorkshire? There was little left for them in London, except for memories and reminders of loss. She could live with her grandmother and find a job somewhere nearby to support them.

  But she knew the real reason she wanted to go back—to see if she could finally reconcile with her parents. Perhaps a personal visit would accomplish what her letters hadn’t.

  “What’s that look in your eye, Ada?” Minnie studied her shrewdly. “I know that determined glint.”

  She gave a light laugh. How many times through the years had Minnie been there to comfort, support, and cheer her? Far more than she could count. She would only go forward with this plan of hers if her dearest friend agreed to join her in the countryside.

  “I want to go to Yorkshire.” When Minnie’s eyes widened in surprise, Ada hurried to explain. “I’d like Rosemary to know my grandmother better. And truth be told, I want her to know my parents too.”

  The expression on Minnie’s face registered understanding and a touch of dismay. “It’s a grand idea, really. ’Ow long would you be gone?”

  Ada shook her head. “I don’t want to visit. I’d like to stay there.”

  “Ahh.” Minnie glanced down at the grass, frowning. “I suppose this day ’ad to come eventually.”

  “No, Minnie.” She rose to her knees, eager to help her friend understand. “I want you to come too. You and the children.”

  “What?” Minnie hopped up and grabbed the runaway Molly once more. “We wouldn’t be welcome at that big ol’ fancy ’ouse of yours,” she said, talking over Molly’s protests. “Not me and mine.”

  Ada extracted Molly from her mother’s arms and placed Rosemary’s neglected doll into the girl’s hands to entertain her. “I’m not even sure I’ll be welcome at Stonefield. Which is why I’d like to see if Gran would be willing to let all of us live with her for a while.”

&nb
sp; “But ’ow would we get on? We can’t rely on your gran’s charity.”

  She smoothed back Molly’s red hair. “I know. We’d likely need to find employment at some point. But think of this: The children can attend school in the village and run free around the countryside, just like they’ve done here. No more bombs or smelly streets or constant noise.”

  A wistful look settled onto Minnie’s face as she looked at Janey, William, and Alroy, laughing and playing by the river. “That sounds downright ’eavenly, but you still ’aven’t said what we’d do for work.”

  “Now that I think about it,” Ada said, remembering something she’d read in her grandmother’s most recent letter, “Gran is looking for a new cook. And you, Minnie O’Reilly, are the best cook I know. She may even have work for Thomas to do when he returns home.”

  Minnie’s reflective demeanor deepened. “Do you really want to see your parents again? You’ve told me ’ow they don’t value what you do.”

  “It won’t be easy,” she admitted as some of her apprehension crept back in, “but I don’t think it’s impossible. I won’t give up what is important to me—and that isn’t wealth or status anymore. It hasn’t been for a long time. I plan to keep teaching Rosemary about love, and friendship, and God, regardless of where we live.”

  Minnie nodded encouragingly. “I know you will.”

  “Thank you.” Her confidence eased some of Ada’s trepidation. “What about you? Will you come to Yorkshire?”

  She held her breath, waiting for Minnie’s answer. If it wasn’t what her friend wanted to do, Ada would likely still go through with her plan. But she hated the idea of no longer living by Minnie.

  “Do you really think your gran would take in me and my bairns?”

  Was she considering it? “I know she will,” Ada said, letting her breath out in a rush. “Does that mean you’ll come with me then?”

  “Aye.” Minnie smiled. “We will.”

  “Wonderful!” Ada hugged Molly as she gave Minnie a smile. “Because I am determined not to have any more goodbyes in my life for a very long time.”

  Chapter 15

  As she stared up at the ornately carved front door of Stonefield Hall, Ada drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. She clutched Rosemary’s hand tightly inside her own. Minnie and her children were happily ensconced at Gran’s home, where the seven of them had slept the night before. The past few days had been a whirlwind of activity—returning to London from Berkshire, packing up their trunks, and taking the train north.

  Now it was time to face her parents.

  “You used to live here, Mummy?” Rosemary’s awed tone drew a brief smile from Ada.

  She gently squeezed her daughter’s hand. “I did. And this is where your grandmother and grandfather live.” She’d been prepping Rosemary for this meeting, so her daughter would be prepared if Ada’s parents refused to see them.

  Has it really been seven years? she thought, shaking her head. The last time she’d stood in front of the Georgian-style, red-brick house she’d been young and very much in love. Now she was twenty-five, a widow, and a mother.

  “Should we knock?” Rosemary glanced up at her.

  Ada chuckled. “I suppose we should.” Squaring her shoulders, she gave the door a self-assured knock, though inside she felt far from confident.

  An older man she didn’t recognize opened the door. Where had their dutiful butler gone? Off to war, perhaps. The change in staff saddened Ada. Had her maid Hetty left too? Life hadn’t stayed the same at Stonefield, even if Ada had imagined over the years that it had.

  “I would like to speak with Mr. Thorne,” she said politely.

  The man shook his head. “I’m afraid the master is feeling poorly today and is not receiving visitors.”

  Ada frowned at the troubling news. Her grandmother hadn’t mentioned that her father was ill yet again. “I am sorry to hear he’s not well. However, I am hoping he will be able to speak to his daughter.” Was this as far as they got? Or would the butler allow them entrance?

  His bushy gray eyebrows shot upward as he eyed them with barely veiled curiosity. “I apologize, Miss Thorne,” he said, stepping back and opening the door for them.

  “It’s Mrs. Henley.” Relieved at gaining admittance into the house, she guided her daughter inside. “This is my daughter, Rosemary.”

  “Miss Rosemary.” The butler nodded.

  Ada was pleased to see that the furnishings and marbled floor of the spacious entryway were just as she remembered them. “Is my father in the library?” She glanced at the door on their left.

  “No, Mrs. Henley. He is in his sitting room.”

  It was her turn to feel surprise. Before she’d left home, her father had rarely used his sitting room during daytime hours. “May I go up then?” Though it felt strange to ask, this was no longer her house.

  “Of course,” the butler said with a half bow.

  “Thank you.”

  She and Rosemary moved toward the staircase. The polished banister felt familiar beneath Ada’s gloved hand as she guided her daughter up the steps. The wall paneling and paintings, the window seat on the landing, all of it was etched in her memory. And yet, in many ways she was a stranger here. She’d lived a good portion of her life outside these walls, and the time away had changed her. She was no longer the bright-eyed, untried young woman she’d been back then. For which she was grateful, whatever her parents might think.

  The upstairs carpet muffled their footsteps as she and Rosemary made their way down the hall to her father’s sitting room. Outside the partially opened door, she stopped.

  “You wait here, pet,” she said, crouching beside Rosemary, “while I go in. All right?” If her parents rejected her visit outright, she wished to spare her daughter as much of the unpleasantness as possible.

  Rosemary gave a solemn nod, her eyes wide as she continued to take in the lavish surroundings. Ada saw her situated on a tufted armchair in the hallway, then she turned to face the sitting room door. Her heart tripped faster and faster, her palms turning clammy inside her gloves. She’d prayed again and again the past few days about her decision. Each time she felt a sense of rightness about moving to Yorkshire, though she recognized that didn’t necessarily mean things with her parents would go splendidly today.

  Exhaling slowly, she pushed open the door and entered the room. Her mother was bent over some embroidery in a chair drawn up beside the sofa, where her father sat.

  Victoria Thorne glanced up first. When she saw Ada, the color drained from her face and her sewing dropped to the floor as she covered her mouth with both hands.

  “Hello, Mama.” Ada crossed the room, keeping her back straight and her steps unrushed. Even if she wore a dress that was long past new and shoes that were well-worn, she still believed in conducting herself as a lady.

  Charles Thorne looked at her next, and Ada fought a gasp. His cheeks were sunken and his dark eyes appeared overly large in his gaunt face. He seemed to have shriveled into himself since she’d last seen him. Clearly whatever ailed him wasn’t a temporary thing as she’d thought. The realization stirred her compassion.

  “Ada?” he said, his voice hoarse. The anguished plea in that one word was her undoing. She rushed forward, no longer hesitant or afraid, and dropped to her knees beside him.

  “Yes, Papa, it’s me.” She clasped his wrinkled fingers in hers.

  Victoria moved to kneel beside Ada, her cool hands smoothing back Ada’s hair, her eyes full of shock and happiness. “Whatever are you doing here, my dear? Has something happened?”

  “Ned is gone,” she stated in a matter-of-fact tone. And while the words still hurt to voice aloud, the pain of losing her husband no longer cut as deeply or intensely as it once had. “He was killed last year in France.”

  A flicker of what might have been regret passed over the faces of both her parents before it disappeared. But Ada had seen it, and it gave her hope.

  “You’ve come home then?” her
father asked, his tone wary.

  She swallowed hard but nodded. “I think I would like to.”

  “Of course, dearest.” Her mother crushed her in a tight embrace. “We’ve wanted that for so long.”

  Would they have accepted her so willingly if she’d brought Ned with her? Ada didn’t know for sure, but she wouldn’t waste time and energy questioning something that was no longer possible.

  Victoria eased back and regarded Ada fully. “Look at you. My girl is more beautiful than when she left.”

  Words and stories rose to her tongue. She wanted to tell them that any difference in her appearance had everything to do with the state of her heart and the peace she’d found in her faith. But she couldn’t bear the thought of her mother’s skepticism if she tried to explain. So the moment passed by.

  As she studied the now-older faces of her parents, her thoughts became crowded with painful memories. The returned letters, the tears, the decision to stop writing. How many times had she cried over their refusal to accept her husband and the life she’d created away from Stonefield Hall? And suddenly she needed to know why.

  “Why did you return my letters?” She addressed her father, maintaining a level gaze, even as his narrowed in defense. A gasp from her mother disrupted the tense silence that accompanied Ada’s question. Had Victoria not known about the letters Ada had sent them, sent her? A glance at her mother’s shocked, pale face confirmed her suspicions.

  “I tried to make amends. And yet you rejected every attempt. You pretended as if I had died.” Her voice choked on the last word as recollections of nearly losing Rosemary flooded her mind. The years of frustration and pain at her parents’ silence rose fresh inside her. “Why, Papa? Why, Mama?”

  Her parents exchanged a cryptic look, but surprisingly it was Victoria who spoke instead of Charles. “We only wished what every parent desires for their child—that they grow up to be happy.”