by Laura Frantz
So her father could keep a close eye on her? After the trouble on the road, he wasn’t surprised.
My wish is for Chloe to continue lessons two afternoons a week if agreeable to you both.
Two afternoons? He set his jaw against the elation he felt. It was time for Chloe to put her matchmaking plans to bed.
I’ve missed your sister and hope she’s missed our time together too.
His resolve thawed. He’d have to be made of ice to refuse her.
Fondly, Ellie.
Fondly. He felt a hitch of regret. He supposed that to expect Love was asking far too much.
20
I love thee, I love but thee
With a love that shall not die
Till the sun grows cold
And the stars grow old.
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
Ellie pulled off her gloves and stood in the middle of her second-floor schoolroom. The polished maple floor was pleasing, the furnishings mismatched but adequate. Most delightful of all was the smell—not beeswax and books, but the overwhelming aroma of delicacies wafting up from the confectionery just below.
Marzipan and lemon custard and candied orange peel stormed her senses, begging her to hurry downstairs and shun her books and grow thick-waisted before her time. She took a deep breath, feeling the pinch of her stays. She’d already eaten two lemon tarts since resuming teaching yesterday. Perhaps it would have been wiser to occupy the vacant building on Race Street . . .
She moved to the south-facing windows, admiring the expansive view of the Monongahela waterfront. If she tarried long enough, she was sure to see Da or her brothers going from office to mercantile to warehouse. The Elinor was docked like a queen amidst the less regal packets, its giant paddlewheel idle in the swift current. She felt a sense of contentment despite the levee’s endless scuttle and the pungent swirl of pitch and brine. ’Twas the landscape she’d been born and bred to. It seemed right to be near her family.
Opening a window, she was thankful the July wind was leeward, gently stirring the petals of the lilies one of her students had brought her. Beside it was a wicker basket filled with Mamie’s finest. Biscuits layered with ham. A small wheel of cheddar cheese. Sugared almonds. Berry tarts. Jars of lemonade. And her father’s midday meal. She’d asked Mamie to pack extra, hoping to take a picnic to the point, just her and Chloe.
Ansel had ridden in with her at noon, well ahead of her one o’clock lesson, before going to the boatyard. As the clock ticked nearer to the appointed time, her spirits began to sag. Jack hadn’t responded to the note she’d sent to River Hill saying she was resuming teaching. In light of his painful silence, the day school did seem silly, a frivolous means for a privileged girl to fill her hours, just as Andra said. Her time seemed better spent in the attic, which was now occupied again since the cupola had been lit.
If Chloe didn’t come, she’d tote the basket across the street and take the midday meal with her father, then wander up the street to the orphan home and find Mama. She reached for her bonnet and began tying the chin ribbons, trying to ignore the disappointment carving a hole inside her. Her fingers stilled at a sudden sound on the stair.
Such a clomp, clomp, clomp could only be Chloe. Her hopes soared along with every ungracious step. She tried hiding her glee, but her rush to the door revealed everything, as did her breathless words when she flung it open. “I didn’t see you on the street.”
Chloe stared back at her, clearly exasperated. “Jack brought me down the back alley. Sidesaddle.”
The word was spat out with such disgust Ellie laughed. “A young lady should always ride so, especially about town.” Her gaze slid from Chloe to Jack as he came to an abrupt halt on the landing behind her.
Beneath his shock of sunny hair, his gaze was tremendously stormy. She groped for something more to say and came up woefully short.
Fortunately, Chloe flew past, pronouncing the room a wonder. “Oh, it smells heavenly! Whoever would have thought you’d be over a sweet shop? You even have our sewing by the windows so I can better see my stitches.”
Ellie turned back to Jack. “Won’t you come in?”
“Nay, I have business elsewhere.” He broke their gaze to watch Chloe as she wandered about the room. “I’ll be back at four o’clock.”
“Four is fine, plenty of time to finish our lessons.” She hesitated, wanting to keep him longer, though he was clearly ready to leave. “Thank you for bringing her.”
“I’d get little peace otherwise.” His expression remained cold, distant, denying her the spark of warmth she craved. “We’re good till autumn. After that she returns to Broad Oak.”
Her gladness at seeing them shattered. Did Chloe know? She sensed there was far more to his terse words, but now wasn’t the time or place to delve deeper.
“Till autumn.” She stated their new terms, trying to keep the dismay from her tone.
With a nod, he turned and started down the stair, erasing the memory that he’d ever been tender with her in River Hill’s dusty parlor. Had she only imagined it, then?
She turned back to Chloe, forcing a smile. “It’s such a pretty day, not too warm. I thought we’d have a picnic at the point.”
“Down by old Fort Pitt?”
Ellie nodded. “The King’s Garden, or what’s remaining.”
Chloe was poking around the basket now, her delight contagious. “Is all this food for us?”
“Some is for my father. We’ll stop by the boatyard on our way.”
Her eyes rounded. “I’ve never met Silas Ballantyne, only seen him.”
“Come along then. It’s getting late, and I need to have something to show for our afternoon besides stuffing ourselves. We’ll have some sewing for dessert.”
Chloe made a face. “Marzipan sounds better.”
Till autumn. A bittersweet sense of urgency spurred Ellie on as she held out her hand. Chloe took it, catching up the basket with her other. Pleasure softened the solemn slant to her features. Had she never been on a picnic? Ellie felt a tug of sympathy for her—and Jack. He’d likely never been on one either.
The front door to Ballantyne Boatworks swept shut in their wake, heralding their arrival by the ringing of a bell. Ellie smiled at her father as he pulled himself to his full height and faced them, coming out from behind his desk. “Miss Chloe Turlock, I presume.”
Chloe eyed Ellie fiercely and hissed, “Am I supposed to curtsy?”
“Not necessary for an old Scotsman,” he said with a smile, sparing Ellie an answer.
Ansel eyed them with amusement before returning to the plans spread upon the drafting table by a window. All was still, expectant. Ellie hoped Chloe wouldn’t misspeak, but there was no guarantee . . .
Chloe roamed the cluttered office with curious eyes before alighting on Da once more.
“So you’re the man my mother almost married.”
“Chloe!” Ellie’s tone was far more forceful than she intended, but her father simply chuckled. Ansel winked at her, obviously enjoying her disquiet, while Chloe studied Da without apology.
“If I had done so, neither you nor my daughter would be standing here,” he returned with his usual aplomb. “So all’s well that ends well, aye?”
With a smile, Chloe showed him the basket. “I didn’t eat your dinner, though I had a mind to.”
Ellie took the wicker container and began unpacking items, laying them atop her father’s desk. “We’re going to have a picnic at the point,” she announced, anxious to be on their way. “Mamie has packed a feast for us all.”
Behind them, Chloe moved to a window, clearly awed at her view of the crowded levee. “I’ve never ridden on a steamer.”
“Nor has Ellie,” Da replied, coming to stand beside her. “They’re a wee bit dangerous. When you’re older, they’ll likely be less so.”
“It must be grand to have a boat named after you.” She regarded him openly, her chin firming in calculation. “If you build another, perhaps you can call it
Chloe Isabel.”
He smiled down at her. “Mayhap I will.”
Ellie intervened, glancing at the wall clock. “Come along, Chloe. Ja—your brother will be back for you this afternoon, and we don’t want to keep him waiting.”
“Oh, you needn’t worry about Jack. He’ll just go up the alley to one of the gin roo—”
Ellie stepped on her toe to silence her. “Goodbye, Da, Ansel.” She didn’t listen for their reply, just swept Chloe outside among roustabouts as plain-speaking as she.
Linking arms, they headed west along the Monongahela toward the point. Lombardy poplars and weeping willows softened the street’s rough edges and provided welcome shade as carriages and wagons lumbered past.
“Your father’s handsome, even if he is an antique,” Chloe exclaimed.
Caught between a sigh and a chuckle, Ellie fixed her attention on a street marker denoting the latest flood stage of the river.
“Do you think Jack . . .” Chloe gave her a sidelong glance. “Handsome?”
The question wrenched her. Truly, today Chloe was at her candid best. “Yes,” she admitted reluctantly, wishing an end to the matter.
A look of near triumph graced Chloe’s face. “You’re always honest with me, Miss Ellie. You never tell a lie. Lies are wicked things, Sally says.”
“Sally?”
“Ben’s granny. She’s our cook at Broad Oak.”
“’Tis always best to be truthful but never hurtful,” Ellie told her. “There are ways of saying things, sparing people’s feelings. We’re to speak the truth in love.”
Chloe’s expression grew shadowed. “Then I need to tell you the truth about Jack.”
Ellie kept on walking as her mind began a precarious whirl. Was Jack ill, in some trouble? Why did she always feel so raw at the mere mention of him?
Sidestepping a mound of horse droppings, Chloe looked as if the confession might choke her. “The truth is Jack never wanted you at River Hill. I lied and said he did. I-I didn’t even want you to teach me at first. I just wanted you and Jack . . .”
Ellie’s steps slowed, her disbelieving gaze resting on Chloe. “You mean he never agreed to our time together? But in the note you wrote—”
“I made it all up after he told me no.” Her expressive eyes were a wash of gray. “I hoped—if you came to River Hill—he might fall in love with you.”
Ellie resumed walking, face aflame. She felt a breathless bewilderment at such scheming. Did Jack know Chloe’s true intent? She prayed not.
Chloe’s voice dwindled to a thread of misery. “Jack told me a Ballantyne would never settle for a Turlock.”
Had he? Oh, Jack . . .
“I-I just want him to be happy—to have someone who’ll be good to him and love him. Someone like you.”
Intent on some trees on the Allegheny side of the river, Ellie headed for an iron bench in their shade, the picnic forgotten. Chloe was crying now, not in the sly, manipulative way she sometimes did, but openly, drawing notice from the near street.
Gently, Ellie drew her down on the bench and put an arm around her slumped shoulders. “Your motives were good. But your methods were lacking.” It was something her father sometimes said, though she’d never felt the truth of it so keenly till now.
“Th-there’s m-more,” Chloe stuttered.
“More?”
“Jack’s leaving . . . selling River Hill. I-I found some papers on his desk. Come the next fall run—”
“The fall run?”
“The whiskey-making come September. When that’s done, he’s going downriver. He plans to open a distillery in Missouri—do business with Indians and traders and frontiersmen.” Chloe was crying again, sending Ellie searching for a handkerchief. “But it’s wild and dangerous in the West, Wade says. I-I’m afraid he’ll never come back.” She fisted the hankie, regret in her gaze. “Don’t tell Jack I told you. He’ll be angry that I was snooping through his papers and talking.”
Once again, Ellie felt the ground cut from under her. “I won’t say a word, Chloe. ’Tis none of my business, truly.”
In hindsight, Jack’s terse words an hour before took on new meaning. We’re good till autumn. After that she returns to Broad Oak.
But Broad Oak was not home, not safety or peace. Chloe had no wish to return there, and Jack was obviously more than willing to leave it all behind.
Chloe’s small hand snuck into her own. “I thought—hoped—we could live at River Hill and be a family, just the three of us.”
The plea was so heartfelt Ellie’s own eyes grew damp. With every breathless word, Chloe was revealing the depths of her discontent—and Jack’s. Ellie felt privy to a great many things—family secrets and futile desires that were far beyond her ken.
“Have you ever prayed about this, Chloe? Poured out your heart to God like you are with me?” The sorrowful shake of her fair head confirmed Ellie’s suspicions. “Jack won’t always be here, nor will I. But God never leaves you—and always listens.” She hesitated, wishing for more than words, wanting the vulnerable Chloe to have something tangible to hold on to. “I’m sad about River Hill too. I’d like to see it restored to its former grandeur, the garden especially.”
“You’d have to become its mistress. Marry Jack.”
Ellie looked away. The prospect unfurled like a flower, alluring and sweet. She discarded it as quickly as it came. “Jack hasn’t asked me, and I . . . I couldn’t even if he did.”
Chloe lifted her head. “Because Ballantynes are better than Turlocks?”
“No.” She’d put that notion to rest once and for all. “Because we’re two very different people.” Seeing Chloe’s confusion, she sought a sound explanation. “We value different things, Jack and I. He’s fond of travel. I like being home. My passion is music. Jack prefers . . . ”
“Gin rooms,” Chloe finished.
Ellie sighed. “Not only that. My family—they’re believers, Presbyterians . . .”
“And mine aren’t anything.” The hopelessness in her tone struck Ellie hard. “No one prays or goes to church. The only time they mention God is to take His name in vain. Another vile thing, Sally says.”
“You can change that,” Ellie said softly.
Chloe let out a breath, looking older than her years. “Show us how, Miss Ellie. We don’t know where to start, Jack and I. We Turlocks tend to make a mess of things. If you married him and came to live at River Hill—”
“Jack doesn’t love me, Chloe. He—”
“He does care for you.” Her damp eyes flashed. “He might even love you. I’ve watched the way he looks at you. He even keeps your notes—letters—in his breast pocket. And he reads the books you mean for me, every one.”
Ellie tried to mask her doubt. “Truly?”
“Cross my heart.” She touched her chest. “I won’t lie to you again—or Jack.”
Appetite gone, Ellie began unpacking the basket, hands stilling at Chloe’s next words.
“I might as well tell you all the rest too. Ben hears the gossip at Broad Oak when he visits.” She’d dried her tears, but her lip still trembled. “Rumor is Jack even threatened some bounty hunters—and Wade—over you.”
A chill crept over Ellie despite the day’s heat. Were bounty hunters the men who had stopped her on the road? Was Wade involved in some way? Despite her fears, why did she warm to the thought of Jack leaping to her defense, if indeed he had?
Shaken, she placed a biscuit in Chloe’s open, entreating hand, wanting to give her far more. Ellie bowed her head, uttering a prayer as much for herself as for Chloe and Jack, her heart unbearably sore.
Lord, please fill our needy souls.
21
I have grown to love secrecy.
OSCAR WILDE
The days leading to the ball ticked by with agonizing slowness. Ellie’s gown hung in her bedchamber, so lovely her heart ached inexplicably when she looked at it. Madame had fussed over the final fitting, insisting her rival, Miss Endicott, redye Ellie�
��s slippers to better match the gown’s exquisite coral hue—or order new shoes altogether. A mother-of-pearl fan rested in a case atop her dressing table beside pristine white gloves. There’d even been whisperings about a set of pearls, a birthday gift from her parents.
Despite all the finery and fuss, Ellie’s thoughts strayed repeatedly from the coming event, clinging stubbornly to Chloe’s startling revelation at the point. Chloe’s words seemed pinned to her heart, sore and painful as a wound. She couldn’t quite shake the humiliation she felt over being at River Hill unwanted, uninvited. Chloe’s duplicity stung, but Ellie understood her motives.
Though she dreaded seeing Jack again, she continued to wait at the window on the days of Chloe’s lessons, a fading hope in her breast, wishing he’d appear. But he simply sent Ben to bring Chloe and fetch her home, lending far less weight to what she’d shared.
He does care for you. He might even love you.
Impossible. Chloe had simply been woolgathering. Jack would soon go west. River Hill would be sold. Chloe would return to Broad Oak. Daniel would propose. Ellie felt the certainty to her bones. Thankfully, she had only to look toward the attic to regain a sense of what really mattered.
“Ellie, I need your help upstairs today.” Mama prefaced the request with a smile, despite Gwyn being ill from a fever and the ball drawing near and another fugitive having come at dawn. “’Tis name day. Dr. Brunot will be coming soon.”
Ellie gladly swept up the stairs to the attic, where dormer windows were open wide to relieve the summer’s heat. She gathered slates and pencils from a small corner chest and took a seat as the group gathered in a tight circle, Mama at their heart. Despite the swell of sweat and anxiety that seemed ever palpable, Ellie always found their time together rewarding—and a blessed distraction.
Mama’s voice was clear and calm, never giving way to the pressures and worries beyond the attic rafters. “You’ll soon be leaving New Hope and your old ways behind. Our Quaker friends in the north would like for you to come with new names of your own choosing.”
