Where The Heart Is

by Sheridon Smythe

  With his deep chuckle ringing in her flaming ears, Marla quickly left the store.

  * * * *

  Relishing his small success, Elliot leaned against the counter as he waited for Noah to appear. When he heard the back door to the store open and close, he automatically assumed his relief had arrived. He turned with a ready smile to find Hickory watching him curiously.

  "Hello."

  The boy's face screwed into a fierce frown. “Where's my mama?” he demanded, plopping his hands on his hips.

  Elliot chuckled. The boy reminded him of Natalie, which in turn reminded him of how badly he wanted to share his good news with her. But he couldn't—not yet. Telling her would mean confessing all, including the part about definitely having to sell Ivy House. He hoped that by that time, the children would be happily ensconced in a home of their own, thus eliminating Natalie's reason for wanting to keep the house.

  "She's gone to visit Mr. Smith,” he told Hickory.

  "Who's Mr. Smith?"

  "The one who makes the doll houses,” he reminded him. To his confusion, the little boy continued to look puzzled. Maybe Hickory had never met Mr. Smith. He supposed it was possible, if the old man was that introverted. But the little boy's next words dashed those possibilities from his mind.

  "Natty and Cole and Jo and Brett and Lori make doll houses, Mr. ‘Gomry.” He poked a proud finger at his chest. “Sometimes they let me help.” Suddenly, his eyes grew round. He clamped a dirty hand to his mouth. “Oops,” he mumbled. “Mama told me not to tell nobody. I forgot."

  Too late, Elliot thought, stunned into immobility. Natalie was responsible for the doll houses? But why the secrecy? What possible reason could she have for not wanting him to know? And Marla ... He glanced at the door she had vacated only moments ago, speculating. She had deliberately led him to believe a hermit had crafted the houses, so she was in on the conspiracy.

  He lifted the letter in his hand, the words blurring as his mind continued to work the puzzle. The doll houses were selling, and Natalie was probably counting on using the profits to buy Ivy House. A logical plan—if there were enough time. Warren had asked for three of the miniature houses—a far cry from bringing in the amount of money it would take to buy Ivy House.

  Three months was not enough time.

  Elliot started to curse, caught sight of Hickory from the corner of his eye, and quickly muffled his oath. At least the profits he made would keep the creditors at bay for the time being.

  Long enough to find homes for the orphans.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  CHAPTER TEN

  The occupants of Ivy House were exhausted but triumphant by the end of the week. Moment's after Marla delivered the wonderful news about the order for the doll houses, they had set to work in a frenzy of excitement and hope, heedless of the grueling hours spent in the warm attic.

  Natalie steadfastly ignored the pangs of guilt she suffered each time Brett or Cole ripped away a cypress board from the walls dividing the rooms. It didn't matter, she told herself, for in the end they would own Ivy House and unlike the high and mighty Elliot Montgomery, they wouldn't care if it was cypress or ordinary ole’ pine!

  She caught her lower lip between her teeth and carefully swept the brush over a tiny window sill, then stood back to admire their handiwork. The third and last doll house was finished. After the paint was dry, Cole would fetch Noah with the buckboard and they would take them to the mercantile. From there, the investor would put them on a steamboat and they would begin the first leg of their journey to New York.

  Rubbing absently at dried patch of paint on her chin, she blew an errant curl from her forehead and prayed there would be more orders to follow. Elliot had promised to give them—reluctantly, she recalled with an annoyed sniff—three months to get the money, but she wasn't dense; she knew the profits from these doll houses wouldn't begin to be enough. In fact, in three months the most she could hope for would be to offer a down payment. Oh, it wouldn't be enough to stagger the heart, but maybe it would be enough to appease a greedy, heartless—

  "That dress is ruined."

  She swung around at the sound of Marla's chiding voice. “Oh, you startled me.” She swiped a self-conscious hand down the faded old cotton dress she'd outgrown years ago. “This ole’ thing was ready for the rag pile ages ago."

  Marla stretched and groaned. “What about Jo? I've got a feeling she might be changing her mind about never wearing a dress.” She arched her brows and nodded toward the window.

  Curious, Natalie dropped the brush into a bucket of turpentine and moved to the window. She heard the creak of steps on the attic floor as her friend joined her.

  "Remember Sod Warrick's boy? I believe his name is Jeb or Jake or something."

  "Hmm.” Natalie craned her neck and looked below to the porch, her eyes widening at the sight of Jo lounging against the porch post talking to a tall, gangly lad of seventeen or so with a shock of reddish brown hair that glinted copper in the sunlight. “Well, I'll be,” she breathed, delighted with the scene. “Maybe there's hope for her yet."

  "Yep. Let's just hope he doesn't break her heart. Wouldn't take much to break it, I expect."

  Marla was right, she thought, feeling the sudden urge to race downstairs and yank Jo inside. But she knew she couldn't stop mother nature from taking its course. God knows she had tried to convince her stubborn heart that she had made a mistake about being in love with Elliot .

  She couldn't be. But she was.

  Giving the young couple their privacy, she moved away from the window. She folded her arms and speared Marla with a stern look. She had a bone to pick with her best friend, and now was as good a time as any. “Why didn't you tell me Suetta left town?"

  With a tell-tale guilty start, Marla sputtered, “I thought you knew."

  "Hog wash. What else haven't you told me? When I remember how horrible you made me feel for keeping secrets—"

  "Okay, okay.” Marla sighed, looking obligingly contrite. “I didn't tell you ... well, because I thought it would do you good to suffer a little jealousy."

  Natalie began to tap her foot, beginning to understand and not liking it. “Is that so? Now why would you think I'd be jealous?"

  "I was hoping you'd be jealous. I'm entitled to hope, aren't I?"

  Marla tried a cajoling smile, but Natalie wasn't falling for it. “What else haven't you told me that you think I shouldn't know for my own good?” Tap, tap, tap went her foot on the floorboards. She began to glower as Marla hesitated.

  "Well,” she finally relented, looking like a child caught with her finger in the pie. “I guess I should have told you that Elliot's working for Noah."

  "Working?” Natalie squeaked in disbelief.

  "Yep. He's mucking out stalls."

  "Mucking out—! What on earth for?” She shook her head, trying to imagine Elliot shoveling horse manure and failing. Not that he didn't have the muscle, but why would he? Contrarily, she set her jaw. “It's a trick, and you did exactly what he hoped you'd do."

  "I did?” Clearly, her meaning was lost on Marla.

  Her certainty growing, she nodded. “Yes, this is probably a low-down stab at gaining our sympathy. He wants us to think he doesn't have any money, and he was counting on you telling me.” She darted an accusing look at Marla before adding, “But I bet he wasn't counting on it taking this long. Speaking of which, why did you take so long?"

  "Because I—” Marla clamped her mouth shut. She shrugged and thrust out her chin. “A man's pride is a delicate thing, Natalie. I didn't think it was right to go ‘round telling his business to everyone—"

  "Everyone?” Natalie was genuinely hurt. “You consider me everyone? And here all these years I thought I was your best friend."

  "You are, Natalie Polk, and you know it.” Marla's voice gathered strength as her guilt subsided and her ire rose. “And to prove it I came over to show you this before you heard it from someone else.” She pulled a folded piece of paper
from her dress pocket and held it out.

  Filled with foreboding, Natalie took the newsprint torn from The Chattanooga Express. Marla reached over and tapped a small area near the bottom of the page.

  Natalie read the announcement in silence, growing more horrified with each word. She snapped the paper together and threw it across the room, gasping for breath. She'd never, ever in her life felt such outrage, such stunning fury! For a long moment, she couldn't make her voice work. “He's—he's selling the children!"

  Marla grabbed her arm. “Now, Natalie, I'm sure Elliot thinks—"

  But Natalie couldn't hear over the roaring in her ears. He was offering money to anyone interested in adopting the orphans of Ivy House. Why, it was nothing short of slavery! A—a bribe, plain and simple!

  With an enraged hiss, she began stomping a path across the attic floor, then back again. She clenched her fists and her teeth so hard it brought tears to her eyes. Such impotent rage made her head ache and she wouldn't have been surprised if steam rolled from her ears. “I can't believe it, I just can't believe it. First he declares the children are his responsibility and that he knows what's best for them. Ha!,” she snorted. “He doesn't know the first thing about what's best for them. Why didn't he just stay in Nashville where he belongs?"

  "Now, Natalie,” Marla began in her best soothing voice, “If he had, then you would never have met—"

  Natalie stopped to stare at her, silencing her with a single, eloquent look. Her voice was low and filled with a pain and heartache that mirrored her expression. Tears burned and brimmed in her eyes, but there was nothing she could do about that either. “Don't you understand, Marla? I wish I had never met Elliot Montgomery. I'm ashamed that I could ... that I have these feelings about such a heartless, selfish—"

  "—handsome—"

  "—conniving—"

  "—sensitive—"

  "—ruthless scoundrel!” Natalie's voice ended on a shout.

  A shocked silence fell between them. She took one look at Marla's distressed face and did something she rarely allowed herself the luxury of; she cried. Swiftly, Marla crossed the room and gathered her like a child, crooning nonsense and patting her shaking shoulders.

  Natalie didn't have the heart to tell her that it didn't help. She was afraid nothing would.

  Oh, why couldn't Elliot leave well-enough alone?

  * * * *

  In the shadows of the stairwell, Jo shrank against the wall, blinking tears from her eyes. She had heard everything and was more convinced than ever that Natalie loved Elliot. Natty never cried—in fact, she couldn't recall a single time.

  And Elliot certainly made no bones about his feelings for Natalie, she thought with a blush. Natalie didn't sound anywhere close to admitting it though, which meant that it was up to them to make her see reason.

  Yes, she, Brett, Cole, and Lori had some planning to do if they were going to prove to Natty that they could get along just fine without her. Marla would help.

  With a decisive nod, Jo wiped an impatient hand across her eyes and quietly crept down the stairs. She was convinced that once they were out of the way, Natalie would stop fighting the truth and admit that she and Elliot were meant for one another.

  Why, it was as plain as Jane to everyone but Natalie!

  As Jo went in search of the others, she found herself thinking about Jeb Warrick and wondering if he'd ever kissed a girl before, like Elliot had kissed Natalie.

  And to her great surprise and consternation, she also wondered if Natalie would mind if she borrowed a dress.

  Just to try on, mind you.

  * * * *

  Elliot watched the steam boat until it was nothing more than a speck of white against the brilliant, orange-hued horizon. The dying sun gave a final wink goodbye before dusk stole over the land.

  He turned away and tried to put the doll houses from his mind, knowing it would take weeks for them to reach their destination, and several more weeks after that before he could expect to hear from Warren. These things took time, and he knew success largely depended on the whim of the public. Time wasn't something he had a lot of, unfortunately. He was grateful that Marla had suggested he take the doll houses and pay for them when they sold.

  If they sold, he silently corrected. There was no guarantee.

  So far he'd seen no sign of his grandfather's creditors—his creditors now—but he knew the vultures would eventually bully his lawyer into telling them where he'd gone, or hear the news from someone else. And once they arrived in Chattanooga, they'd discover quickly enough that he'd left out one rather large detail that would go a long way in settling his grandfather's debts; Ivy House, a house his grandfather had built for the woman he loved. A house that was now home to a rag-tag pack of orphans and one very determined little house mother.

  He reached for his pocket watch, then remembered he'd sold it. With a grimace, he quickened his pace. Tomorrow, he planned to hold to his promise and get to know the children before the adoption interviews began. A smile tugged at his lips as he thought about spending the day with Natalie. She challenged and tempted, and he felt a lifting in his soul at the prospect of chipping away at that stone wall she insisted on throwing up between them. Natalie, he was fast discovering, was a unique blend of woman and warrior.

  He wanted to seduce the woman and conquer the warrior, but most of all he wanted to convince Natalie of her worth, force her to look inside her own heart and realize what a fine, special person she was. Maybe if he could convince her, she would no longer feel as if she had to take on the world to prove herself.

  Yes, tomorrow couldn't get here fast enough.

  * * * *

  "I'm gonna use my money to rent a room at Clyde's boarding house, then I'm gonna get a job at the eating place in town. Mrs. Leaven's said she could use an extra hand in the kitchen."

  "That sounds like a swell idea, Jo!” Brett crowed. “I wouldn't mind living on a farm and raisin’ cattle or something, or being a lumber jack. How about you, Cole? Wouldn't that be all right with you? Wanna learn to rope a cow?"

  Lori didn't give the quiet boy time to reply. “I want to live in town and wear fancy dresses,” she stated. “Maybe go to a fancy school like Marla did.” There was a moment's pause, then; “'Course, I want a pony, too. Can I have a pony if I live in town, Jo? Oh, and I want lots of dolls and a doll house like the one with the evator."

  "Elevator, you dolt."

  "El-e-vator,” Lori pronounced carefully, oblivious to Brett's scorn. “Maybe you and Cole can make me one and I can ask my new Ma and Pa to buy it for me."

  Finally, Cole joined the conversation, his voice soft and sad. “You wouldn't have to pay us, Lori. I wanted you to have the last one, but we needed it for the money."

  "I know."

  Natalie, shamelessly eavesdropping outside the parlor, bit her lip at Lori's solemn acceptance. She was reminded of the little girl in the Mercantile that had wailed and stomped until her parents had relented and bought her the doll house. She knew that Lori would never think to demand anything. She just accepted the fact that she couldn't have it.

  "Well,” Jo said, “I just hope we get this over and done with before winter sets in. I'm not lookin’ forward to freezing my butt off all winter."

  "Yeah, we never have enough wood for heating."

  "Or food."

  "Or clothes,” Jo concluded with such gloom Natalie winced. “It's downright humiliating having to rely on folks to feel sorry for us and give us their hand-me-downs."

  Dazed, Natalie pressed her suddenly hot face against the wall. They sounded so miserable, as if they hated living at Ivy House. How had she missed knowing this? Just because she had ... matured and realized how fortunate she was to have a home, didn't mean that everyone else realized the same. They were children, something she had apparently forgotten somewhere along the way.

  She knew why she had forgotten; because they seldom got the chance to be children. It wasn't right. It wasn't healthy.


  Firm hands landed on her shoulders. She jumped in shock and opened her mouth to scream. A gentle hand silenced the sound. The breath from Elliot's soft, amused whisper tickled her ear lobe and sent a shiver of a different kind down her spine.

  "It's only me. I knocked, and when no one answered I tried the door. It wasn't locked, so I came on in. Imagine my surprise to find you eavesdropping outside the parlor."

  Natalie removed his hand and shrugged the other one from her shoulder, ignoring the traitorous leap of her heart. With the newspaper announcement still fresh in her mind her whisper came out more of a hiss. “If I had known you were coming, I would have locked it. And what I'm doing is none of your business."

  "Haven't you heard eavesdroppers never hear good about themselves?” He stroked her neck with his finger, chuckling when she batted it away.

  Well, he spoke the truth as much as she hated to admit it. While the children hadn't been discussing her in particular, the innocent things they'd said hurt to the bone. She'd thought—selfishly, she supposed—that the children were happy with her, here at Ivy House. She was not only selfish, but foolish for forgetting what it was like to view the world through a child's eyes.

  Not so long ago she had hated this place as well.

  And she'd take a bullet before she'd repeat any of it to Elliot. Sighing, she moved away from him. He had a curious way of muddling her thoughts. “What are you doing here? Don't you have stalls to muck or something?” She watched the astonishment come into his face—swiftly followed by a flush. She mentally braced herself. She wasn't falling for his tricks again.

  "I came to see if you and the children would like to go on that picnic,” he drawled, ignoring her reference about work.

  She shrugged as if it didn't matter, which she staunchly told herself was the truth. “I'm sure the children would love to. They've fallen for your tricks. I haven't."

  He took a step in her direction. “You still think this is a game?"

  "Isn't it?” She lifted her chin, recklessly ignoring the sudden blaze in his eyes.