Natalie knew that sound, because she had heard it from her own lips when he had kissed her.
She stuffed a fist in her mouth and whirled for the stairs, admonishing herself along the way even as she fought tears. Of course they were kissing. They were going to be married.
The kiss she and Elliot had shared in the moonlight had meant nothing, just as she suspected. Elliot was in love with Suetta, and Suetta had just reassured Elliot that she loved him—loudly and clearly.
Undoubtedly.
What a silly, naive fool she had been!
Natalie rushed downstairs and passed the astonished clerk behind the desk. His expression reminded her that ladies did not run. She forced herself to finish the last few feet to the door at a hurried, but dignified walk. As she pushed through the doors, bright sunshine mocked her with its promise and warmth.
If her heart ached, then it was nothing more than she deserved for thinking for a single instant that he was sincere when he hinted he wasn't happy with Suetta. She should have listened to the strong voice of reason inside her when it firmly warned her about his actions.
Humph! She walked briskly in the direction of Ivy House, ignoring her burning eyes. She'd been right all along; Elliot Montgomery had merely been wooing her to soften the blow.
That scoundrel! That rogue! That—that devil!
Well, he wouldn't win this game, she vowed, turning onto the grass-grown lane to Ivy House. She would fight him till the bitter end, and if she lost anyway, then she'd have the knowledge that she'd done her best. If she lost, it wouldn't be because Elliot had made a fool out of her.
Stomping onto the porch, Natalie surprised the children with her forceful entry. The heavy door crashed open.
Three pairs of eyes turned to look at her expectantly. Although her fever had broken during the night, Lori was still abed—Natalie's orders.
She plastered a brave smile on her face.
"You look mad,” Jo said.
Brett nodded in agreement. “Your cheeks are all red. Did you and Mr. Montgomery have a fight?"
"Is he runnin’ us off?” Cole's voice cracked endearingly as he asked the question.
So the smile didn't work. She should have known she couldn't fool them. They knew her too well. Avoiding a direct answer because she couldn't possibly explain to them what did happen, she said, “We've got work to do if we're going to save Ivy House.” She glanced at Cole. “Is the house ready to paint? Do we have another in the making? I'll take them to Nashville by steamboat and beg the stores there to display them, if I have to."
If she could hold Elliot off for a few weeks, then maybe they would have enough money saved to offer a small down-payment. Surely he wouldn't turn them out without giving them a chance?
She couldn't be that wrong about him, could she?
* * * *
Marla could hardly contain her joy as she accepted Suetta's money for the steamboat ticket.
Suetta was leaving Chattanooga!
With difficulty, she kept the happy smile from her face as she counted out the correct change. “Leaving us so soon?” she asked guilelessly.
The woman's mouth tightened, and for a moment Marla thought she wasn't going to answer, but years of practice in the art of proper etiquette finally won.
"Yes, I am. Although Chattanooga is a quaint little town, I'm more accustomed to the city."
When she offered no further information, Marla boldly persisted. “Just one ticket?"
Again, Suetta looked as if she'd bitten into a sour apple. “Yes. Mr. Montgomery is remaining behind for the time being. I may rejoin him at a later date."
This time, she sensed Suetta wanted to add more to the statement, but to her frustration, the woman clamped her lips shut. Marla placed the change in her gloved hand. “Well, we'll look forward to your next visit, then. Although I don't blame you for leaving,” she paused deliberately before dropping her voice to a hushed whisper, “what with the danger and all."
"What do you mean?” Suetta demanded, her attention caught.
Marla feigned surprise. “You mean you don't know? I thought someone would have warned you...
The woman's patience slipped. “Speak plainly, woman!"
Eying the fat sausage curl lying against Suetta's scrawny neck, Marla fought the urge to wrap her fingers around it and give it a good yank to remind the woman of her manners. Instead, she crossed her fingers out of sight and lied blatantly, “I'm talking about the Indians that live in the mountains."
"Indians?” Suetta squeaked, clutching her throat. “There are Indians around these parts?"
Marla nodded solemnly. “Yes Ma'am. Indians. They ain't too friendly, either. We call them renegades, and sometimes they slip into town in the dead of night—"
"That's enough! I've heard quite enough.” She glanced wildly around her, as if she expected an Indian to jump out from behind a ten pound sack of flour. “I've got a boat to catch. Good day."
Pleased with herself and just a tad ashamed, Marla watched her flounce from the store with more haste than grace. Her smile faded, though, when she saw the identity of the man Suetta literally barreled into just outside the door.
With growing anxiety, she watched Elliot and Suetta converse. She couldn't hear what they were saying, but the sight of Suetta's wildly waving hands and bobbing head gave her some indication of what the conversation was about.
Indians.
When Elliot produced a handkerchief for Suetta, she winced. She hadn't meant to make the woman weep with fear, for goodness sake! Finally, to her great relief, Elliot helped Suetta into the waiting carriage.
Then he climbed in after her.
Marla sucked in a dismayed breath. What if Suetta had convinced him of her preposterous story and he, too, was leaving? But no, she assured herself, he hadn't purchased a ticket. She gave a guilty start at the gruff sound of Noah's voice behind her.
"Are you responsible for upsetting that poor woman, Marla?"
Slowly, she turned to face her husband. Apparently he had emerged from the small storage room in the back of the store and had witnessed the scene on the boardwalk. How much had he overheard? “I—I didn't mean to—” To her mystification, she burst into tears.
Concerned, Noah gathered her in his arms and patted her back as she soaked his shirt. “There, there. I'm not angry with you, but this should teach you a lesson. No good can come from you meddling in other people's affairs, you know."
"I know,” she sniffled. Noah was right. Poor Suetta, hysterical because of her meddling. And yes, she had learned her lesson—because now Elliot was consoling his fiancee and she most definitely had not meant for that to happen!
Noah gently took her shoulders and forced her to look at him. “No more meddling?"
"No more meddling."
"Promise?” he persisted gently.
She stared into his loving brown eyes and nodded. “I promise. If it was meant to be for Elliot ... and Natalie, then it will work out."
She prayed that it would work out. Elliot was Natalie's man!
* * * *
The steamboat chugged out of sight around Moccasin bend, the departing whistle a forlorn sound that echoed around him like a coyote's mournful cry. Elliot stood for a moment, feeling sad yet relieved that this part of his life was finally behind him. Although in the end it was a mutual agreement to end the engagement, Elliot still believed that Suetta had not loved him at all—but had loved his money.
What was his excuse? Why had he let things just drift along when he knew they weren't suited?
At the hotel, he'd kissed her one last time to be sure about his non-existent feelings. She'd moaned and kissed him back with more passion than she'd ever shown him, but he had instinctively known it wasn't sincere. Gazing into each other's eyes and sad for the time they had wasted together, they had finally admitted the truth; yes, they were friends, but no, they were not meant to be life-mates.
It was over. She was gone and wouldn't be returning.
/> He turned from the river and began to walk in the direction of town. He had sent the carriage on not only because he needed this time alone with his thoughts, but because he was aware of how little money he had left. Even that small amount for the driver would be money taken from one of the orphans.
What was he going to do about Ivy House? He shook his head and sighed, wishing there was something he could do besides closing the orphanage and selling the house to settle his grandfather's debts.
His own dismal future no longer seemed important compared to four young lives—five, including Natalie.
A cool breeze stirred his hair; the sun beat warmly upon his head. Summer was fading, but the lush greenery around him mocked the season's changing. In the distance, he heard the musical laughter of a child.
The sound increased the despondency in his heart because it reminded him of four helpless orphans and one very determined, spirited, loyal young woman. As if he could ever forget!
He came to the edge of town and moved onto the boardwalk. Head down, he pondered the future. How would he live with himself if he did what he knew he must do? Was he really so callous he could evict a young woman and four orphans into the streets for his own gain?
No. He couldn't, but there was no alternative, either.
As he passed before the Mercantile, the doll house in the window caught his attention. Stopping abruptly, Elliot stared at the unusual creation. Suetta was gone. There was nothing to keep him from satisfying his curiosity, no pressing engagements other than delivering bad news, no fiancee waiting impatiently...
He went inside and seeing that Marla was busy behind the counter, knelt to get a closer look. His first impression had been right; it was a remarkable craftsmanship, right down to the yellow and white checkered curtains in the windows. Doll houses could be bought in Nashville and the larger cities, Elliot knew, but he'd never seen any to compare to this. He couldn't see what manner of lumber was used because of the paint, but he suspected it was high quality. Someone was very talented indeed.
"Interested in buying the doll house, Mr. Montgomery?"
Elliot straightened at the sound of Marla's voice, but his gaze remained on the doll house. The design reminded him of something, but he couldn't quite place it. “No, I don't have anyone—” He stopped abruptly, thinking of Lori sick in bed. A child so deprived would appreciate a gift such as this, if only he could purchase it.
His hands went to his empty pockets, belatedly remembering he'd left what money he had in the hotel room. He let them fall slowly away, a flush staining his cheeks because Marla was staring at him strangely, as if she knew...
"I don't have any children,” he said softly, suspecting she already knew. “If I did, I would definitely buy one. They're exceptional. In fact, I've never seen anything to compare."
"I agree.” Marla darted a quick glance to the back of the store, then focused her gaze on him again. “We've sold four already."
When she began twisting her hands together in front of her, Elliot felt a spurt of suspicion. “And?"
"Well, I was just thinking ... about how well something like this would sell in, let's say, Chicago or New York. Even Nashville. Don't you think?” Before he could respond, she rushed on, “It's a shame Mr.—Mr.—Smith, yes, Mr. Smith, has declared himself a hermit. He lives in the mountains and rarely ventures into town. Yes, it's a shame. He could market these doll houses and make a fortune."
Elliot looked at the majestic little doll house, then back to Marla. Excitement flooded his blood stream, sending his heart on a mad gallop fueled by hope. She was right; they would almost assuredly sell fast in the bigger cities. It was a gamble, but what did he have to lose? If the doll houses did sell, it would buy time—for himself and for Natalie and her orphans.
As if she sensed his interest, she prompted, “Whoever acted as middle man for Mr. Smith would reap a tidy profit as well, wouldn't they?"
Dazed by the whirlwind of ideas and possibilities, he nodded absently. Would his gold pocket watch—he grimaced at the thought of parting with it—bring enough to buy the doll house? If it was, then he could send the doll house to Warren Pemberton, an old school friend of his who now lived in New York. Warren owed him a favor. Warren had valuable connections. Warren would help.
Suddenly urgent, he rasped, “How long does it take Mr. Smith to make one of these?"
Catching his excitement, Marla grinned. “A week at the most. Maybe less."
"Hold this one for me. I'll be back in less than an hour."
"Yes sir!” When he made to leave, she stopped him. “Mr. Montgomery, can we keep this to ourselves? At least until we see how things will work out? I don't want to get Mr. Smith's hopes up, you understand?"
"Of course. It's our secret for now.” Elliot didn't mind her request; he wasn't ready to reveal his sad financial state to the world, and if people knew he was about to embark on such a desperate venture, well, they might make a shrewd guess.
He couldn't risk Carnagie finding out about Ivy House before he had a chance to save it.
They would find out soon enough.
* * * *
Flushed with victory, Marla followed Elliot to the door, peering after him to see which direction he would take. Hmmm. His destination appeared to be the jewelry shop two doors down from the Mercantile. Just as she suspected when she'd seen him pat his empty pockets—Elliot Montgomery was not all he appeared to be. With a satisfied nod, she closed the door and began to hum a happy tune on her way back to the counter.
She spent the next half hour thinking about her discovery. It was a shame Elliot appeared to be have empty pockets, but not a total loss. To her thinking, his lack of money removed another obstacle from Natalie's path. Natalie couldn't complain about him being rich, if she decided to it was wise to tell Natalie what she knew. Lord, if Noah found out—
A noise behind her stole her breath from her lungs.
Slowly, she turned, certain she would find Noah standing with his arms folded, giving her that exasperated, patient look that always made her feel miserable.
It was Hickory, rubbing his sleepy eyes and yawning. One strap of his overalls hung down to his elbow; there were new holes in both knees.
Marla let out a relieved, guilty sigh and held out her arms. “Are you ready for a nap, darlin'?"
He frowned. “I'm Hickory, Mama. Not dawlin'."
Laughing, she gathered him to her and squeezed him hard. Life was good! She couldn't wait to tell Natalie she had found an investor!
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CHAPTER SEVEN
Natalie stared at her friend in open-mouthed shock. “You didn't!"
"I did!” Marla nodded happily, obviously pleased with herself. “I sure did."
"Tell me word for word how this came about.” Shaking with excitement, she grabbed Marla's hands and pulled her through the foyer and into the kitchen. She pushed her gently into a chair. If Marla teased her, she would pull every hair from her head! “Tell me,” she demanded again, scared to hope, to believe that her dream had come true. This could be the answer to their prayers! Ivy House might be saved.
"Where are the children?"
Stifling her impatience, Natalie grit her teeth. “Jo's outside in the garden, Cole and Brett are working in the attic, and Lori is taking a nap."
"How is she?"
"Better.” She gave Marla's hands a warning squeeze.
"Did you know you have paint on your nose?"
"Marla!"
Her friend laughed and relented. “Okay, okay. Well, this man—"
"What did he look like?” She didn't want Marla to leave out the slightest detail. “Old? Young? Rich?"
"Old.” Marla looked away, frowning as if in thought. “Gray hair, with a paunch belly. Nicely dressed. He had on a checkered woolen suit—"
"Enough.” She could contain her patience no longer. She squirmed in the chair, then hopped to her feet to pour Marla a cup of water she didn't ask for from a pitcher on the co
unter. “Tell me what he said."
"Well, he saw the doll house and exclaimed over the craftsmanship, then asked who the carpenter was."
"You didn't tell him!” The thought made her mouth dry. If the man in question happened to run into Elliot—She took a deep gulp of Marla's water, her teeth chattering against the tin cup. “Of course you didn't."
"No, I didn't,” Marla echoed, her voice laced with amusement. “As I was saying, I told him a Mr. Smith was the carpenter, and that he was a hermit living in the mountains."
Natalie stifled a nervous laugh with her hand. “You didn't!"
"I did. And then he asked if I thought Mr. Smith would be interested in making more doll houses. I told him I thought he would and asked him why. He said that he would like to buy the one in the window, and take it to New York City—"
"New York City!” She gasped. All the way to New York City! It was even more than she could hope for! “Go on."
"Well, he said that it might take a few weeks, even a month, but that he would let me know when he needed more. He seemed certain that he would be needing more.” Marla was grinning hugely now.
"And we'll have them ready,” she vowed.
Marla's grin faltered. “What will you do for lumber? You can't keep using the house, Natalie. If Mr. Montgomery finds out—"
"He won't find out.” She swallowed hard, remembering yesterday at the hotel and how close she had come to making a further fool of herself. Elliot and his underhanded ways didn't deserve her honesty. “Right now we have no choice in the matter, but as soon as we start making a profit, I'm going to have Cole and Brett replace the lumber upstairs.” And pray he doesn't notice it's not his precious cypress! But telling Marla that particular information would only make her worry, so she kept quiet. Surely Marla would forgive her for keeping this tiny little secret?
* * * *
After a week of hard work, Natalie declared a day of rest at Ivy House, concerned at how pale the children looked. They needed fresh air, and the day promised to be warm enough for a swim at the creek—possibly their last opportunity before winter set in. Jo packed a lunch, and by eleven, they were gathered in the kitchen ready to head out.
Where The Heart Is Page 8
