by Laura Frantz
“Ellie, I’m not very good at this.” Slowly he reached out and placed his hands on the soft slope of her shoulders. “But since it’s your birthday . . .”
She waited, breath held. Her whole world seemed to hinge on his next words.
“One dance,” he said gently.
Something melted inside her. Like a woman drowning, she reached for him, admissible for the waltz, though her thoughts were far from dancing. She wanted to fall headlong into his arms, feel the scrape of his whiskers against her flushed cheek, breathe in the very essence of him.
Become his.
“Elinor, is that you?”
They drew back, the tender moment lost. Daniel loomed by the garden gate. Lights from the house revealed his blatant displeasure. He stepped onto the brick pathway as if to come between them.
“Are you all right, Elinor? Any trouble here?”
There was a painful pause. For a moment Ellie feared Jack, given the intrusion, might lash out. But he simply turned away without a word, leaving through the gate Daniel had left open.
“Isn’t that a Turlock?”
The contempt in his tone sent her reeling. “Yes, that’s Jack Turlock. You might have greeted him, made introductions. He was simply saying goodbye—”
“Out here? In the dark?”
She knotted her hands. What was innocent now seemed tawdry. “’Tis not what you think. His sister is my pupil. He’s a friend—”
“Friend? Come now, Elinor. Everyone knows his reputation—”
“His family’s reputation, perhaps. You misjudge Jack.”
“Jack, is it?”
“What of it? I call you Daniel.” She stood her ground, voice fraying with fury and fatigue. “You—he—we’ve been acquainted for years, ever since childhood. Calling either of you ‘mister’ seems ridiculous, at least in private.”
“You can’t possibly feel the same level of familiarity for the both of us. Equating a Cameron with a Turlock?” He came closer and she took a step back. “I hate to say it, but you seem testy as Andra tonight.”
The barb stung, though there was truth in it. She managed a brittle reply. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to return to my guests.”
Relief washed through her when soon he and Mina took their leave without his claiming the last dance. Whatever Daniel Cameron had to tell her could wait.
Forever, if needs be.
26
Let men tremble to win the hand of woman,
Unless they win along with it the utmost passion of her heart!
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE
Dawn lit the eastern rim of the horizon, promising another clear, if sultry, summer day. Ansel moved through the house, having just left the attic. Ellie and Peyton were abed, the staff resting before the house was set to rights again. The last guest had departed and all yawned empty, the only sound coming from the immense case clock chiming six in the foyer—and muted voices in his father’s study. Thinking a guest remained to discuss some business matter, Ansel looked through the open doorway and found his parents at the bank of windows facing the sunrise.
For five and twenty years he’d come upon this scene—his mother standing in front of his father, her back to him, his arms wrapped around her and his chin resting atop her head as they looked out the sparkling glass. Still in formal dress, they seemed oblivious to everything but each other.
His mother’s quiet voice held a lament. “She’s in love with him. As in love with him as I was with you at first.”
“Was?” His father’s brogue thickened playfully. “D’ye mean to tell me ye love me nae longer?”
A slight smile. “Hush. I love you even more.”
He kissed the russet curls at the back of her head, his mouth near her ear. “You fear he’s Turlock to the bone and will break her heart.”
“Yes . . . ours too.”
“He well may, though he told me in good faith that he’s leaving.”
“Leaving?”
“Aye. Selling River Hill. Going west to Missouri come autumn.”
“Does Ellie know?”
“She’s made no mention of it to me.”
“You don’t think—” She turned round to face him, her lovely face haunted. “You don’t think she’d go with him? Elope?”
“Nae. I ken Ellie doesn’t even realize she loves him—or he her.”
“Love her?” There was a breathless pause. “Oh, Silas, ’tis not love I fear but—”
“I ken your thoughts. You’re remembering your own misfortune at the hands of a rogue.” He took her in his arms again. “Try to set your mind at ease. Jack Turlock is more like his grandfather the judge than his own father. True, there were years past when he went awry, as many a lad does. But he has more mettle than his brother and none of Henry’s ruthlessness. You forget he was reared mostly at River Hill.”
“Yes, but . . .”
“Last night he was careful with Ellie, respectful of her. Not once did he ask her to dance. Surely that speaks to his self-restraint.”
Ansel marveled at the conclusions his father was drawing yet couldn’t refute them. He’d observed the same yet had seen Ellie and Jack alone in the garden together and remained unsure of what to make of it.
His mother was clearly at sea with the subject. “Still, I fear . . .” She seemed too awash in dismay to continue.
“I’ve sensed no collieshangie when I’ve talked with him. The man certainly knows the measure of hard work.” A slight smile softened his seriousness. “Och, if you could see him lay low a field of grain.”
She laid her head upon his shoulder. “If it was Andra, I’d not worry. Andra would be more than a match for any Turlock. But Ellie . . .”
“Ellie is your lamb.”
“And the jewel of your heart.”
“Aye, and since the day she was born we’ve asked heaven to guide and protect her. We have to trust the Almighty to do just that.”
She nodded. “And while we’ve prayed for Ellie her whole life, I’ve often neglected to pray for Jack or any of the Turlocks, all but Chloe. I suppose . . .” She hesitated as if grieved by the admission. “I suppose I’ve seen them as a lost cause.”
“They’ve oft been in my thoughts and prayers, especially the boys, ever since they were small and wrangling at the creek. Mayhap we need to renew our petitions with a vengeance.” His expression when he looked down at her was reassuring, if careworn. “For now our Ellie is safe in her bed and has lived to be one and twenty. ’Tis enough.”
“Perhaps. Yet I long for the day when she’s settled and we have grandchildren running about . . .”
Ansel moved away, knowing his mother’s wish was for more than Ellie. It seemed everyone was awaiting news of his own engagement and was now nursing dashed hopes he’d not announced it at the ball. He’d read the expectation in Mina’s expression and seen it ebb as the night wore on. Not wanting to hurt her, resigned to the fact he needed to wed, he’d nearly stood during the midnight supper to formalize the engagement, but his resolve had vanished.
Regret now seemed to follow him down the hall to the music room. He opened the violin case resting on a corner table, wishing it was the lost Guarneri instead. There was no worry about disturbing anyone’s asleep, not with walls two feet thick. When the house was built, his father had replicated Blair Castle in Scotland and created a sound barrier that couldn’t be breached.
How many nights had he spent here after everyone was abed, confident he couldn’t be heard? Forgetting the time? It was his own fault he couldn’t concentrate at the boatyard or anywhere else with the hours he kept. Between running fugitives and seeking solace in his music, he led a strange double life.
“I’m sorry, Elinor. The hour was late, my temper was short.”
You should be apologizing to Jack Turlock.
The thought remained unspoken, though Ellie meant it with all her heart. She was seated beside Daniel on the garden bench in the shade of a giant willow, a bed of blue Michaelmas daisies at th
eir feet, her thoughts far from forgiveness and making amends this morning.
A stone’s throw away was a sparkling fountain similar to River Hill’s, though New Hope’s masonry wasn’t chipped, nor the pool dry. Ellie was again reminded, unwillingly, of Jack. She’d thought of little else since the ball’s end. And now this . . .
In her lap lay two letters. From parents withdrawing their daughters from lessons on account of her Turlock connections. They hadn’t penned as much, of course, just politely declined further schooling, but Ellie had read their reasons between each and every line. She felt numb. Shocked. Even though Jack had warned her weeks ago it might happen.
“You’re forgiven, Daniel,” she said absently. “Let’s not speak of it again.”
He nodded, plucking a daisy and handing it to her. She took it, uncovering the letters in her lap.
He glanced down at them. “Is that news from Andra?”
“No . . . friends.” The irony was bitter. She’d thought them friends. Fair-weather friends they’d proved to be. She didn’t want Daniel to know lest it affirm his low opinion of Jack.
“I’d meant to talk to you at the ball, tell you I have a few days more of helping my father at the farm before I begin at the glassworks. I was hoping we might have a look at that untilled acreage to the south.”
She fixed her gaze on the splashing fountain, reluctant to meet his eyes. “The land that borders New Hope?” She knew it well enough, lovely as it was. Mina had told her he meant to have a house there.
“It’s a good site, newly cleared with a creek running through. I’m trying to decide whether to build in stone or brick.”
She stayed silent lest she encourage him.
“Your father has recommended a good carpenter.”
Oh, Da.
“I thought you might look at the plans with me beforehand or ride over and see how the foundation is coming.”
She checked a sigh. Was he asking her to marry him or help build his house? Why was it that she was smitten with a man who didn’t want her, while the man who did went about it with hammer and nails, not kisses and compliments?
“I’ve spoken with your father.”
Who said you asked for my hand, not my heart.
She looked at him, saw the blighted hope in his eyes, and willed herself to respond. He did care for her. Just not in the way she’d imagined. “I’m honored, Daniel.”
“I’ve never been good at expressing my feelings, but by now my intentions should be plain.” He reached for her hand. “We’ve grown up knowing each other, Elinor. There’s always been a sort of unspoken agreement about the future between us. It’s no secret I want to have a life with you . . . marry you. With your father’s approval. But he’s not yet given his blessing. I suppose he’s waiting for me to prove myself further, become more established at the glassworks.”
Inwardly she wilted. Somehow he’d missed the root of her father’s reluctance. Da wasn’t concerned about business prospects or patents. He merely wanted to know Daniel loved her.
“There’s plenty of time yet, isn’t there?” she asked softly. “I’ve only just come home . . .”
His fingers tightened about her own. “Yes, you’ve just come home. And everyone is now aware of that fact. I watched no less than a dozen men vying for your attentions at the ball, all of whom would leap at the chance to wed you if you’d simply look their way.” The jut of his jaw underscored his determination. “Do you honestly think I’m going to stand by and let someone else cut in front of me?”
He meant Jack, of course. The vehemence in his tone left little doubt.
“You flatter me. I-I don’t remember being the center of so much attention.”
“Then you’re blind, Elinor. Or naive.”
“I wonder just who all the men you speak of want to wed?” She felt the same needling exasperation she’d felt when being pursued by the Matrimonial Society, her dowry on display. “Me? Or my fortune?”
“You needn’t worry overlong about that.” He gave a knowing chuckle. “Some might be smitten with such matters at first. But you have your own charms aplenty.”
She could feel his eyes on her, tracing her features before falling to the loose lines of her gown. Her gaze remained locked on her lap, on the disturbing letters, awkwardness gaining the upper hand. “I need time to ponder it all . . . to consider things prayerfully.”
Paying no heed to her words, he pulled her toward him in a firm embrace, kissing her full on the mouth.
“Daniel, I—please—” Stunned, she gave a push to his shirtfront, revealing her distaste.
“There she is!” The strident voice, oddly unfamiliar after so long an absence, held a trill of excitement. For once Ellie thrilled to the sound of Andra. “Elinor, come and meet your aunt Elspeth!”
Clearly irritated at the interruption, Daniel stood abruptly and she followed, stepping from the shade into bright sunlight. Andra was coming toward them, a voluptuous figure trailing behind. The stranger looked to the right and left as if taking in every inch of the lovely garden.
Surprise stole Ellie’s tongue. Her lack of a bonnet left her squinting in the light when she so wanted an unhindered look at her unknown aunt. She tried to speak, but the memory of her father’s terse words chased the slightest syllable away. What had he said?
Elspeth . . . I have no words for it.
“Is no one home?” Andra’s tone held a hint of exasperation. “I suppose Mama is at the orphan home and Peyton and Ansel are in town. I spoke with Da briefly at the boatyard before coming here.”
“Oh?” Ellie mulled what might have been said about Elspeth’s arrival. She embraced Andra, unsure if she should hug Elspeth as well.
“You must be Elinor.” The voice was cordial and far more sonorous than Mama’s, suggesting strength of will to match.
“Hello . . . Aunt.” Ellie rocked back slightly on her heels as if buffeted by her misassumptions. This wasn’t the dour, sour spinster she’d suspected.
“I’m Daniel Cameron, a neighbor.” Beside her, Daniel gave a little bow.
“Oh, don’t be coy,” Andra chided, taking in the spot where they’d been sitting. “Daniel is more family than neighbor, or soon will be.” Her keen gaze returned to Ellie. “So, sister, how was your birthday? The ball?”
“You were missed,” Ellie said, managing an awkward smile, thinking of all Mama had had to handle in Andra’s absence. “Ansel and I managed not to mangle a duet, and Daniel kept me dancing through the wee small hours.”
“Well, we’d hoped to arrive in time for the festivities, but things in York took a turn . . .” Andra linked arms with Elspeth, her voice trailing off in sympathy.
“How is Grandmother Lee?” Ellie asked hesitantly.
“Buried the twelfth of July,” Elspeth replied with unnerving calm.
“Oh,” Ellie and Daniel said in tandem. “So sorry.”
Neither Andra nor Elspeth wore black. Elspeth, clad in gray, had on the loveliest hat Ellie had ever seen—a rich peacock-blue with a pluming feather, as if in outright defiance of death.
Elspeth took out a handkerchief and dabbed at a dry eye, or so Ellie imagined. “We didn’t want to come to Pittsburgh in mourning. Besides, black is such a ghastly color. What happened in York must stay in York.”
Ellie schooled her surprise. What could she possibly say to this? Thankfully, Daniel said it for her. “How long will you be in Pittsburgh?”
“I’m unsure,” Elspeth replied, fingering her beaded reticule. “It all depends on my welcome.”
Andra’s smile was decidedly stiff. “Da has made arrangements for Elspeth to stay at a hotel in town.”
“The colonel’s establishment on Wood Street?” Daniel asked.
At Andra’s nod, Ellie felt a keen relief. So Da had taken care of the matter after all. Quietly. Discreetly. Though not to Andra’s satisfaction, nor Elspeth’s, obviously. But the combination of fugitives in the attic and an aunt who couldn’t be trusted was hazardous indeed
.
“I’ll ask Mamie for refreshments,” Ellie said, gesturing to the back veranda and inviting them to sit. “The raspberries are still bearing and make wonderful ice.”
“Ah, that sounds welcome on such a sweltrie day.” Andra began tugging off her gloves. “After that, we shall take the chaise into Pittsburgh and get Elspeth settled.”
“I’ll ride in with you, as I’ve a meeting at the glassworks,” Daniel volunteered, making Ellie wonder if he was part of some prearranged plan.
“The glassworks?” Andra’s interest heightened. “What of this patent I keep hearing about?”
Ellie turned toward the summer kitchen, her mind more on Elspeth than refreshments. This new aunt bore no resemblance to Mama in the slightest, perhaps because they were but half sisters. Elspeth’s father had been a common blacksmith while Mama’s was . . . what had Da said? Landed gentry? The laird of York County? How had that happened?
She sensed Andra couldn’t wait to tell the rest of the story.
27
It is wise to disclose what cannot be concealed.
FRIEDRICH SCHILLER
Ellie sat at her dressing table and pulled a brush through her unbound hair, wincing as its tight bristles caught in a tangle. Working it free, she set the brush down, her customary one hundred strokes forgotten. She noted the tea Mari had left for her on the tilt-top table while listening for the telltale clamor of horse and carriage.
Since Andra and Elspeth had arrived that afternoon, New Hope seemed to hold its breath in anticipation. Andra hadn’t yet returned from town, nor had Da or Peyton. Only Mama had come home with Ansel, seeming slightly preoccupied, though she’d greeted Ellie warmly.
Supper had been a small affair with just the three of them at table, and then Mama and Ansel had disappeared to the attic. One of the fugitives was ill. River fever, Ansel said, confining Ellie below stairs. The cupola wouldn’t shine again till the malady was dealt with.
Ellie glanced at the dark windowpanes, wondering if any runaways were across the river, watching their backs, breathlessly awaiting the light. With such matters as life and death, freedom and slavery at play all around her, her personal concerns seemed very small. She simply had to deal with disgruntled parents and withdrawn daughters. An unknown future. Daniel.
