You Belong to My Heart

by Nan Ryan

  “Tonight special, Mr. Preble?”

  “It is, Clayton. A very special occasion.”

  Clay took the bourbon, raised the glass, drank, and made a sour face. John Thomas laughed, then drank down his own whiskey in one long pull. He took both glasses, set them aside.

  Acting as if the two were co-conspirators, he winked at Clay, clasped him on the shoulder, and said, “You love my Mary Ellen, don’t you, son?”

  “I do, sir. With all my heart,” replied the well-mannered, handsome eighteen-year-old.

  “Good. Good,” said John Thomas, acting pleased. He stroked his chin and added thoughtfully, “And I know that the death of your grandfather, Admiral Tigart, greatly lessened your hope of an appointment to the Naval Academy.”

  Nodding, then looking down at his feet, Clay said, “Yes, that’s true. I’ve had little luck, even with Professor McDaniels’ help. I’m afraid I no longer have a chance of—”

  “Perhaps you have,” John Thomas cut in smoothly. “What would you say if I told you I might be able to get you an appointment to the academy?”

  Clay’s dark head shot up. His gray eyes widened, and he swallowed convulsively. “You could manage that, sir? You could actually—”

  “Let me see what I can do,” said John Thomas, beaming now. “I may very well manage to get you that appointment you’ve been longing for.”

  “I don’t know what to say. It’s something I want so badly. It means so much to me that I—”

  “I know it does, son. Now it’s not a certainty, you understand.”

  “No, no, of course not,” Clay said. “But when? When do you suppose you could find out if—”

  “I’ve done a bit checking already,” John Thomas said, his smile growing wider. Lowering his voice almost to a whisper, he confided, “Actually, I’ve done a great deal of checking. I’ve been working at it for months now. I have managed—through an old and dear friend with a great deal of political pull and close ties to the academy—to schedule interviews for you.” At the surprised look on Clay’s face, John Thomas laughed heartily, then continued, “I’ve made the traveling arrangements as well. You’re to take an eight o’clock steamer to New Orleans tomorrow morning, where you’ll board the SS Caspian for Baltimore on the eighteenth. I’ve fixed it with your superiors down at the mill, informed them that you will be gone for two or three weeks.”

  Thunderstruck, Clay finally said, “Tomorrow morning? You mean it? I actually leave…I can’t believe it!” His handsome young face radiated joy as he broke into a wide grin. “How can I ever thank you?”

  “No thanks necessary, son.” John Thomas again clasped the younger man on the back. “I’m just pleased that I can be of help to you. And to Mary Ellen,” he added.

  Thrilled, beside himself with excitement, Clay said, “I can’t wait to tell Mary!”

  “Now, Clay, if I were you, I’d wait until we’re sure you’re accepted by the Naval Academy.” Continuing to smile, John Thomas said, “I know my daughter best. She’s spoiled and willful, and it would be better to present her with an actuality than an expectation. And besides, neither of us wants to look foolish in her eyes, now do we?”

  Clay’s smiled slipped a little. “No, but if I’m to be gone for—”

  “Leave it to me. I’ll take care of Mary Ellen,” said John Thomas.

  The two men stayed sequestered in the drawing room for the next quarter hour while John Thomas explained to Clay what he could expect upon his arrival in Baltimore. He laid out exactly what would happen. He helpfully instructed Clay on how he was to comport himself in the all-important interviews with the academy’s selection board and alerted him to the battery of tests, both oral and written, to which he would be subjected.

  Concluding, he said, “Now don’t worry about a thing, my boy. I’ve complete confidence in your ability.”

  “Thank you so much, Mr. Preble. I’ll try very hard to be worthy of your faith in me.”

  “I know you will. Now remember, when we join the ladies, you must act as if nothing has happened. You’ll behave just as always, and when you’re alone with Mary Ellen after dinner, not a hint of this academy business. Promise me.”

  “You have my word.”

  Clay’s mind raced with all the new, exciting plans, but he took great care to hide his elation at dinner. Terrified he would let the cat out of the bag, he was subdued, said little. He was not the only one. John Thomas Preble was so uncharacteristically quiet, Mary Ellen asked her father if something was wrong. He shook his head and made no reply. She glanced at her mother. Julie lowered her eyes to her dinner plate. Mary Ellen frowned, puzzled, and shrugged her slender shoulders.

  When finally the strained meal was over and Clay and Mary Ellen were at last alone down at the summerhouse, he could hardly keep from telling her the wonderful news.

  But he had sworn not to.

  When she came into his arms and asked, “What’s going on, Clayton Knight? Both you and my father are acting very strange. Have you two quarreled? Has he said something to—”

  “No. No, of course not.”

  Skeptical, she said, “What went on at the meeting you and Papa had before I came downstairs. What was that all about?”

  Clay smiled nervously. “It wasn’t a meeting, Mary. You weren’t dressed, so your father kept me company until you came down. That’s all.”

  Mary Ellen’s perfectly arched eyebrows lifted suspiciously, but she said no more about it. To Clay’s relief. His head filled with splendid visions of the glorious moment when he would return from Baltimore to take her in his arms and tell her of his appointment to Annapolis, Clay drew her close and kissed her.

  Sighing, Mary Ellen clung to him, but somewhere back in the far recesses of her mind, she was struck by the notion that he’d had a drink. She could taste it, faint traces of bourbon on his mouth and tongue. She had never known Clay to drink hard liquor. How strange that he would have been drinking tonight.

  His kiss grew hotter, deeper, and Mary Ellen forgot the liquor. She forgot about everything except how much she loved him.

  Finally Clay tore his burning lips from hers. “I better go,” he said. “It’s getting late.”

  “It isn’t late. Besides, tomorrow’s Sunday. You don’t have get up and go down to the mill,” Mary Ellen said, her arms clinging to his neck. “Don’t go. Don’t leave me, Clay.”

  “I really have to go.” He rose to his feet, bringing her up with him.

  “Well, I don’t see why.” She sighed with exasperation. “You’ll come over tomorrow?”

  Clay looked into her dark, flashing eyes and almost weakened. He wanted to tell her the truth. That he was leaving at eight A.M. tomorrow, bound for Baltimore and Annapolis. That he would be back as soon as possible. That if everything went as he hoped, he would get an appointment to the academy and all their dreams would soon come true.

  He thought better of it. He didn’t tell her. John Thomas Preble had assured him that he would take care of Mary Ellen, so Clay trusted the older man to give her a plausible explanation for his abrupt departure.

  Clay kept the secret he had promised to keep. “Kiss me good night, Mary,” he said softly, bent his dark head, and tenderly kissed her one last time. He had no idea that he was kissing her good-bye. Nor did she.

  Clay smiled happily when he entered the roomy cabin on the majestic river steamer Gulfport Belle shortly after seven Sunday morning. He glanced around the lavishly appointed cabin and whistled through his teeth. After dropping his small valise to the patterned rug, he crossed to a curtained porthole and looked out.

  He squinted into the morning sun, anxiously scanning the bluffs above until he focused on the gleaming white mansion of Longwood. His gaze was immediately riveted to a pair of tall second-story windows that he knew were directly beside Mary’s bed. He pictured her there asleep, warm and sweet and beautiful.

  Yawning, he turned away from the porthole, shrugged out of his suit jacket, and flung himself onto the cab
in’s soft bed. He stretched out his long legs, folded his arms beneath his head, and lay there dreaming of the day when he and Mary would be sleeping in the same bed.

  Lulled by the pleasant thought, Clay closed his eyes and soon drifted into peaceful slumber. He never knew when the Gulfport Belle threw off its moorings, backed away from the busy levee, moved cautiously out into the middle of the Mississippi, and headed downstream.

  But John Thomas Preble did.

  Watching anxiously from just inside the open double doors of his book-lined study, the master of Longwood finally relaxed and began to smile. As the twin paddle wheels of the gingerbread-trimmed Gulfport Belle churned up great spumes of water and the big craft maneuvered out onto the river, John Thomas sighed with a mixture of pleasure and relief.

  Hands clasped behind his back, eyes locked on the slow-moving white steamer, John Thomas stayed where he was—where he had been for the past hour—until the riverboat’s tall texas deck finally disappeared around a heavily timbered bend in the wide river.

  Only then did he turn away.

  He dropped onto his tall-backed leather desk chair, clutched the padded arms, and exhaled loudly. His dark eyes beginning to dance with delight, he sat there for a long moment, silently congratulating himself for his cleverness.

  Savoring the moment, John Thomas reached for the carved decanter sitting atop his desk and poured himself a stiff drink of bourbon. He drank it down and poured another. The fiery liquor warmed his insides and gave him the necessary nerve to execute the next step of his plan.

  The hard part.

  John Thomas swiveled his chair about and gave the bell pull a firm yank. Titus appeared almost at once, ready to do his master’s bidding.

  “Titus, is Miss Mary Ellen awake yet?”

  “Yes, suh, Mast’ John. She awake. She sent fo’ her breakfast to be brought up.”

  John Thomas nodded. “Tell her I need to see her here in my study.”

  “Now, Mast’ John? ’Fo’ she eat her breakfast?”

  “Now, Titus.” His tone was somber, commanding. “This minute.”

  “Yes, suh,” said the obedient servant, and hurried away.

  In minutes John Thomas heard Mary Ellen and Titus out in the corridor, nearing the study. The curious Mary Ellen was questioning Titus, who was saying, “I don’ know, Miss Mary Ellen. I don’ know, honest.”

  John Thomas drew a deep, spine-stiffening breath and rose to his feet. Mary Ellen appeared in the open doorway, her white-blond hair sleep-tangled and tumbling down around her robed shoulders. She was barefoot. She looked like an innocent child of twelve.

  “Papa? You wanted to see me?” she asked, her dark eyes wide and questioning.

  “Yes. Yes, I did. Come in, sweetheart.” Her father beckoned to her. “Come inside and close the door.”

  Mary Ellen’s heartbeat quickened slightly beneath the soft batiste of her pale pink nightgown and matching robe. She stepped inside, closed the door, leaned back against it, and looked at her father.

  “Mary Ellen, sweet Mary Ellen,” John Thomas said, a woeful expression on his face. “Come here to me, child.”

  Instantly alarmed, Mary Ellen asked, “What is it, Papa?” What’s happened?” Anxiously gathering her gown and robe up to her knees, she hurried across the room and moved around her father’s massive desk.

  John Thomas took her right hand in both of his and said, “It’s Clayton Knight, sweetheart.”

  “Clay?” Mary Ellen murmured, fear causing her heart to race. “Clay’s been hurt down at the mill? He’s been in an accident and he…No…no…Today’s Sunday. He wouldn’t be at the mill, he…” Confused, she fell silent, withdrew her hand from his.

  Shaking his head in despair, John Thomas gently clasped Mary Ellen’s upper arms and told her, “No. Clay isn’t hurt, Mary Ellen. He’s gone.”

  “Gone?” Mary Ellen stared at him, totally baffled. “Gone where? Clay isn’t gone. He’s coming over in a little while and—”

  “No. No, he’s not.” Her father drew her tenderly into his embrace. “Oh, sweetheart, sweetheart,” he said, stroking the crown of her blond head, “how can I tell you? What do I say to ease the blow?”

  Terrified now, Mary Ellen clung to her protective father and said, “Papa, you’re not making sense. I don’t understand. Where is Clay? I must see Clay!”

  “Shhhh,” her father murmured, “my baby, my child. You must start forgetting Clayton Knight as soon as—”

  Mary Ellen’s head snapped up. She pulled away from him. “Forget Clay? You’re frightening me, Papa. What has happened? Tell me, please!”

  John Thomas looked straight into his daughter’s dark, questioning eyes. “Dearest, I wouldn’t hurt you for the world, you know that, don’t you?”

  “Yes, yes, but—”

  “Darling, you remember Clay came early last evening, before you and your mother came downstairs.” John Thomas drew a tortured breath. “He said he wanted…no needed…to have a talk with me. I assumed he meant to ask for your hand in marriage, so I—”

  “He didn’t?” Mary Ellen interrupted anxiously.

  John Thomas shook his head sadly. “No. I learned to my horror and total surprise that Knight has been…Oh, God, this is so hard…”

  “What? Tell me!” Mary Ellen’s young face was flushed blood red now, and the pulse throbbed madly in her throat.

  “Child, the boy we thought we knew so well is nothing at all like we supposed. Clayton Knight marched in last night and went straight to the liquor cabinet. He poured himself a bourbon, downed it, and poured another. Then he said…he…he…I tell you Clayton Knight is a heartless cad who—”

  “No…no…That’s not true…” Stunned, Mary Ellen protested adamantly, “That isn’t true!”

  “It is true. Clayton Knight has—for years—coldly, cleverly used you, used us all.” His face dark with rage, he said, “That boy is an unprincipled, manipulative, obsessively ambitious swine who finally came to me last evening with a diabolical proposal!”

  “Dear Lord, this can’t be happening! You’ve gone mad! You don’t know what you’re saying, you don’t, you don’t!”

  “I do, darling. That callous bastard held up his whiskey glass as if he were proposing a toast to the future, then said to me, and I quote, ‘It’s time you and I level with each other, Preble. You don’t want me for a son-in-law and I’m not thrilled with the notion of having you for a father-in-law. Help me get what I really want.’ To which I said, ‘Good God, man, you mean Mary Ellen is not what you really want?’”

  Her eyes as round as saucers, disbelief and hurt flashing from their dark depths, Mary Ellen gasped, “Clay doesn’t want me, Papa?”

  Again John Thomas shook his head sadly. “That lowly seamstress’s son smiled smugly at me and said, ‘I’ve tolerated Mary for years. Get me an appointment to Annapolis and I’ll hand your precious daughter back to you.’”

  “No…No…” Mary Ellen shook her head violently, choking on the lump forming in her throat, bright tears stinging her eyes. “No. Clay would never say that. He wouldn’t do that. I know he wouldn’t. He loves me.” Her voice lifted, was shrill. “Clay loves me!”

  Her father again put his comforting arms around his distraught daughter and said soothingly, “I’m as shocked as you, sweetheart. Of course, I knew—we both knew—how much he wants to go to the academy. But, my God, I never dreamed he would…” Patting her trembling back, he said, “Mary Ellen, darling, unfortunately those of the lower classes prey on people like us. There’s nothing they wouldn’t do, nothing.”

  Mary Ellen sobbed heartbrokenly, “Clay’s not like that…He wouldn’t—”

  Interrupting, her father said, “Have I ever lied to you?”

  Ignoring the question, she said, “If he had said those horrible things, you wouldn’t have allowed him to stay and—”

  “I did that for your sake. In fact, I commanded Knight to stay for dinner just as if nothing had happened. I made him swear he would
say nothing to you about any of it.” He hugged her closer to his chest. “I didn’t want that black-hearted son of a bitch to be the one to tell you all this.”

  “No…No!” she sobbed, refusing to believe. “Clay wouldn’t hurt me. He wouldn’t have held me in his arms and stayed…”

  “He didn’t stay long. I heard you come in,” said her father. “Didn’t he make excuses to leave early?”

  Confused, hurt, Mary Ellen thought back to their final moments together. She had tried to get Clay to stay. But he’d gone. For no good reason, he had left her. Had he been anxious to get away from her?

  Suddenly she remembered the faint taste of liquor in his kiss. She’d never known him to drink before. Had he needed a drink to propose his ungodly bargain? Had he known, as he kissed her good night, that he was kissing her good-bye?

  “I’ll ask you again, dear. Have I ever lied to you?” John Thomas said softly.

  “No, but—”

  “And I never will. There, there, my precious baby girl, your papa will take care of you.”

  12

  JOHN THOMAS PREBLE TOOK a seat in his tall-backed desk chair. He drew his weeping daughter onto his lap and held her while she cried. He rocked her just as he had when she was a child, and he cooed to her and promised he would make everything all right again.

  When finally Mary Ellen had cried herself out and was so totally exhausted that she went limp against him, the powerful master of Longwood rose from his chair and carried his pale, heartsick daughter upstairs to her room.

  Gently he laid her atop the high, soft featherbed and murmured, “Rest now, dear. Sleep. Sleep, my baby, and when you awaken your papa will have put an end to this terrible nightmare.”

  Knowing she wouldn’t sleep, feeling as if she would never sleep again, Mary Ellen closed her puffy, red-rimmed eyes. She wanted her father to leave. She wanted to be alone. Alone with her grief.

  Hoping his beloved child had cried so long and so hard she would soon be dozing peacefully, John Thomas kissed Mary Ellen’s smooth forehead, tiptoed from the room, and quietly closed the door.