Where The Heart Is

by Sheridon Smythe

  Jules nodded vigorously. “Yes, that's exactly what happened. Just like Randal said."

  "Shut up,” Elliot said, and the man did. “You'd lie to your mother, I'll warrant."

  "And if this man pays you to hound people, you'd most definitely lie for him."

  "No, sir, I—"

  "Shut up."

  "Yes, sir.” The man swallowed audibly.

  Elliot regarded Evans as if he were a particularly slimy worm that had crawled out from under a damp rock. “Since I'm certain you'll be staying in Chattanooga, I'm willing to let you live for the moment.” He leaned forward until Evans’ eyes widened in alarm. “But when Jo decides to tell me what you did to her, there won't be a rock big enough to hide you."

  Turning away, he strode to the door and jerked it open.

  "This ain't over, Montgomery. You owe Carnagie a lot of money. I'm not leavin’ until I get it."

  Elliot paused. “So you've said. Seems we've both made promises we intend to keep.” He turned his head slightly. “Ever heard of the expression, ‘you can't squeeze blood out of a turnip?’ I can't give you money that I don't have."

  "Your old man was a fool,” Evans snarled, growing braver now that Elliot was at the door.

  "You'll leave my grandfather out of this.” It was a simple statement delivered with a ton of steel. “Or I'll make good my promise right now.” He wanted to—oh, how he wanted to! But he didn't relish a night in jail, and words were, after all, just words. If it turned out the slime had touched Jo, then that was an entirely different matter.

  "That lawyer of yours said you were here on business,” Evans added just as Elliot started to leave again.

  Reminding himself that Evans was probably only fishing, Elliot forced a casual shrug. “I pay the man to say want I want him to say.” He grasped the knob and opened the door.

  "Rumor has it you own property around here."

  Elliot stifled a sigh of relief. If Evans knew about Ivy House, he'd make it clear. It was obvious he knew something, though, and it would only be a matter of time ... a much shorter amount of time than he'd hoped. He'd have to move things along, tell Natalie, contact the banker and show him the house.

  Without answering, he left Evans to wallow in frustration. He had a terrible suspicion that if Jo started talking, he'd find Evans before Evans had a chance to find him.

  The Nolens were waiting anxiously in the hall.

  "Well? Did those fiends touch our Jo?” Mrs. Nolen demanded, plump fists planted on her hips.

  He shook his head. He had his suspicions, but he had no proof. Natalie had told him that Jo was a troubled young girl with dark secrets in her past. It could have been nothing more than a look, a word, a gesture. Instinct told him it was more, but he couldn't accuse a man on instinct. “I can't say just yet, Mrs. Nolen, but they'll bear watching."

  "That I'll do. Why, if it were up to me, I'd pitch them out on their ears right now—"

  "Now, Mama—"

  "Don't you Mama me, Clyde!” she snapped. “Mr. Montgomery, you let us know if you find out anything, I'll not have those tramps in my house if they're not gentlemen. We run a respectable business here."

  "I'm sure you do,” Elliot murmured sincerely. He eyed the door and considered his odds. Apparently the couple had not resolved their argument and he had no desire to referee.

  "And tell Jo to come back anytime. We'll hold that room for her, won't we Clyde?” Without giving him a chance to respond, she sailed onward, “She's such a precious girl, and right lucky she is to have you looking out for her. Why, you're the best thing that's happened to Ivy House in a long time, ain't that right Clyde?"

  "Of course, dear."

  Mrs. Nolen ignored her husband's sarcastic muttering. “Poor Natalie, the way she's had to look after them youngin's since that no account sot ran off and left them in a lurch! Why, she's hardly more than a babe herself.” She arched a knowing brow at Elliot before adding quickly, “Not that she's too young for marriage, mind you. If it weren't for taking care of the youngins, she'd probably be married by now, don't you think Clyde?"

  "Not if she's smart,” Clyde muttered, winking at Elliot.

  His wife poked him with a sharp elbow. “Clyde Nolen! You rascal, you'll have Mr. Montgomery here plumb scared to death of matrimony! And with you knowin’ how much you love me. Tell him.” She poked him again. “Go on, tell him."

  Elliot kept his expression bland as Clyde turned red with embarrassment. The man had his complete and total sympathy—and a great amount of envy, he was surprised to realize.

  "You know I love you, Mama."

  Mrs. Nolen beamed at Elliot. “See? Ain't love grand?"

  Indeed. He cleared his throat. “I've got to get going, Mrs. Nolen. It's been a pleasure talking to you.” During the course of the conversation, he realized that Jo must have had quite a chat with Mrs. Nolen. He couldn't decide whether he was embarrassed, or amused. He did suspect the entire town would know before the day was out. “Good day."

  "Don't forget to let us know,” Mrs. Nolen said, following him to the door. Her expression, cheerful only moments ago, darkened as she added, “I'll keep an eye on those two."

  Elliot stepped onto the porch and tipped his hat to the good woman. He didn't doubt for a moment that Mrs. Nolen would keep both eyes on the vermin staying beneath her roof.

  * * * *

  Evening shadows darkened Jo's small room as the girl lay huddled on the bed with her back to Natalie. She had changed into her usual anonymous trousers and shirt—presumedly while Natalie was downstairs calming Elliot—and the borrowed dress lay scattered in pieces over the bedroom floor. Natalie frowned worriedly at the ruined dress. She suspected it was a silent testimony to the turmoil that boiled inside Jo.

  Soundlessly, she lighted a lamp before again taking her seat next to the bed, picking up her crochet needle to resume the soothing task of weaving the yarn. She'd been watching Jo and crocheting for well over two hours now, with no change.

  Jo hadn't spoken a word since Elliot had brought her home.

  She had never seen Jo like this, and it scared her. What if she didn't snap out of it? What horrible thing could have happened to make her this way? Surely if she'd been attacked ... by a man ... someone would have seen or heard? Reaching out, she let her hand hover over the girls’ shoulder, then drop away without touching her. She didn't want to startle Jo—

  "It's okay, Natty. Nobody hurt me."

  She gasped at Jo's soft, reassuring whisper. But it was the pain and fear behind the words that made her gasp. She wasn't fooled—she knew Jo too well. Jo would try to protect her. She knew because she would have done the same.

  Forming her words with care, she placed her needlework on the floor at her feet. “Can you tell me what did happen, Jo? Elliot's frantic with worry—we all are. We want to help you."

  Jo was silent so long, Natalie thought she'd either decided not to answer, or she'd gone to sleep. Just as she was about to give up and resume her crocheting, Jo spoke again, her voice soft and curiously devoid of emotion. Natalie suspected she wouldn't have been able to speak any other way.

  "It was my mother's idea for me to wear boys’ clothes and to keep my hair cut short. She wanted them to think I was a boy so they'd leave me alone. It worked, mostly."

  Tears made Natalie's eyes ache. She swallowed hard, watching Jo's shoulder hitch in a sigh or a sob. She desperately wanted to hold her, but instinctively knew Jo wasn't ready for comfort. Right now she needed to talk, to lance the poison.

  "I never told her about that time Mr. Eubanks caught me takin’ a bath. He didn't really hurt me, just tried to—tried to—touch my breasts. I slapped him and ran, and after that he didn't bother me no more.” As if she sensed Natalie's unspoken question, she explained, “Mr. Eubanks worked for Miss Lily. He protected her girls, if the men got too rough. He collected the money, too."

  Natalie bit her lip, suddenly understanding what Jo meant. She had lived in a brothel, and her mother h
ad been a—

  "But the night my mama died, he wasn't there. He'd gone out to get Miss. Lilly some cigars."

  Jo turned abruptly, fixing her diamond bright gaze on Natalie. A slight, disbelieving smile tilted Jo's lips, reminding Natalie of how young Jo was. Sometimes, looking into her worldly eyes it was easy to forget.

  "Can you believe that? A woman smokin’ cigars? My mama said it wasn't ladylike."

  With her heart in her throat, Natalie kept silent. She didn't think she could have spoken if her life depended on it, or explained to anyone why it didn't sound absurd for Jo's mother to sell her body, yet consider smoking cigars unladylike. Maybe it was the reverence in Jo's voice when she spoke of her mother.

  Settling on her back, Jo propped her knees up and focused her gaze on the ceiling. “Anyways, Mr. Eubanks was gone and this man—” She raised her hand and twisted one corner of her mouth into a grotesque shape “—who looked like that, came in and asked for Mama. It wasn't the first time, either. I've seen him go in to Mama's room before, but this time he was mad and yellin', sayin’ Mama took his money. Miss. Lilly tried to stop him from going upstairs, but he got past her."

  Shimmering brown eyes darted to Natalie's face, then back to the ceiling. Her throat convulsed. “Mama was brushing her hair and I was sittin’ on the bed countin’ her earnings like she taught me. When she heard him comin’ up the stairs yellin’ and stompin', she told me to get under the bed and to take the money with me."

  Finally, the tears came. Natalie saw them, a trickle at first running from the corners of Jo's eyes, then a steady stream. She couldn't stand it. “Jo, you don't have to—"

  "No, Natty. You've always told me I'd have to get it all out someday, and you're right; I gotta. Now.” Swiping ineffectively at the tears, she continued. “This man, the one with the funny mouth, came bustin’ in the room. At first he only yelled, but when Mama kept saying she didn't have his money, he started hittin’ her. He kept on hittin’ her and hittin’ her and hittin’ her.” She paused for breath. “I stayed under the bed."

  She looked at Natalie, her eyes huge and filled with guilt and shame and remembered terror. “I stayed there, Natty, while that horrible man beat my mama to death. I didn't do nothing about it. When he dragged me out and started yellin’ at me, all I could do was cry."

  "You were a child, Jo! He might have killed you too."

  She shook her head violently. “Maybe not. Maybe I could have hit him with something—anything—"

  "Don't.” Natalie felt her own tears falling. She knew what it was like to feel ashamed, to feel guilty for something she couldn't help. “Don't blame yourself, Jo. Please don't blame yourself. Your mama wouldn't have wanted you to."

  Jo seemed to consider this. Finally, she sighed. “I know you're right, but I just can't forget about it, thinking about what I should have done, what I could have done.

  "He let me go, I guess when he realized I was too scared to talk.” She fingered a tiny, crescent shaped scar at the corner of her eye. “He only hit me once, but he wore rings on nearly every finger."

  Natalie slowly curled her nails into her palms until she felt the pain. She knew it could never compare to what Jo had felt.

  "Mama was still alive when he left. The other girls—well, they were too afraid to come when he was there, but when he left they came. Wasn't anything they could do by that time.” Her breath hitched on a sob, but she gamely held it back. “Mama told me, right before she died. She said, ‘Jo, don't ever let them know you're a woman, or the same will happen to you.’”

  "No wonder you've been terrified.” Natalie didn't succeed in hiding her anger. “She shouldn't have told you that, Jo. The situation—the place she was in—that's not the same as here, in Chattanooga. At Ivy House."

  Jo shrugged as if she didn't care. Natalie knew it was a lie. “I guess she did the best she could. It was her way of protecting me."

  She couldn't dispute Jo's logic, even if she didn't agree with her mother's methods. “And today? Did something happen to remind you of these memories?"

  After a telling hesitation, Jo said, “I thought I saw the man—that same man that killed my mama—but it wasn't him. It just scared me, that's all."

  "Are you certain it wasn't him?” she persisted, sensing that Jo was lying. Her heart began to pound just thinking of such an evil man existing. And here in Chattanooga? She shuddered. “If he's here, we need to let the sheriff know. He's wanted for murder, isn't he?"

  Jo was silent for a long moment. With a bitter grimace, she finally said, “No. Miss. Lily told the sheriff my mama fell down the stairs. She didn't want no trouble with the law; it was bad for business. I left that night. I didn't even wait for her to be buried."

  The sobs came then, as harsh and deep as the river that cut through the mountain. Natalie scooted to the bed and held her close as Jo poured out years of heartache, grief, anger, guilt and shame onto her shoulder.

  Natalie's tears fell silently as she, too, grieved. She grieved for Jo's horrid childhood, and the bitter memories that were Jo's only legacy from her mother.

  She understood. Oh, how she understood.

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  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Warm summer days were behind them, Elliot decided, watching his breath turned to plumes of smoke as it hit the cooler air. Although it was late in the morning, the early frost still lingered, sparkling like diamonds on the sparse patches of grass and the thick furred trees that sheltered Ivy House from strong bitter winds.

  Not only had his grandfather used the finest lumber, he had obviously chosen the location with care and foresight—Ivy House lay tucked into a hollow at the base of the mountain, surrounded by natural barriers. Isolated—yet comfortably close to town.

  Tethering Rico to the porch post, he dismounted and strode to the door. As he started to knock, Natalie opened it, muffling a startled shriek at the unexpected sight of him. After a brief, unguarded glance, she tightened her mouth and glared.

  Elliot made a quick assessment. She clutched a bundle of clothing in one ungloved hand, and a jar of honey in the other. Along with the frost in her eyes, he had no trouble identifying the militant angle of her chin. Normally such a spirited greeting would amuse him; not today. He felt she had every right to be angry with him. She couldn't be more angry with him than he was with himself.

  "It seems I've caught you at a bad time,” he said, letting his gaze roam over her strained features in brutal self-punishment. There were shadows under her eyes, making him wonder if she had slept at all last night. “How's Jo this morning?"

  The frost turned to ice. Her chin angled another notch. “She's better."

  She might as well have shouted the words, No thanks to you! “Natalie, I—"

  "Excuse me. I've got to get these things out to Brett and Cole before they have to go naked.” She pulled the folds of the heavy gray cloak over her shoulders and tried to step past him.

  He noticed how threadbare the garment was on close inspection. With a silent oath, he covered the hand holding the bundle with his own, ignoring the way she stiffened at his touch. “How did you plan on getting to the Hacket farm? It's too long a distance to walk, and too cold."

  She tilted her face at him, the brim of her bonnet sweeping his chin. Anguish flicked briefly in her eyes, and the sight of it had him muttering another oath beneath his breath. He was the cause of her anguish, and the worst part was he didn't know what to do about it, or if there was anything he could do. He couldn't give her Ivy House.

  The fingers beneath his hand tightened on the bundle. “Not that it's any of your business, but Noah's taking me out in the wagon."

  "I'll take you,” he found himself saying in a tone far more possessive than he intended. “We can ride double on Rico.” When she opened her mouth to decline his offer, he hurriedly added, “I'd like to see the boys."

  "I don't want to ride with you."

  "I don't blame you.” Elliot smiled without humor at the
surprise on her face. “Would it help if I said please? I was about to ride out and see them myself anyway.” He watched as she battled with her emotions, wanting badly to kiss the hurt and anguish away but knowing he couldn't. Not this time. It would take much, much more. A lifetime, if she would give him the chance. He'd made such a rotten mess of things.

  Finally, she sighed. “All right, since you're going that way.” The long, cool look she gave him reminded him that as far as she was concerned their relationship was nonexistent. She thrust the bundle at him and slipped the jar of honey in the pocket of her cloak. “Let's go then. I don't want to be away from Jo for long."

  Masking his triumph, he tied the bundle to the saddle horn, then lifted her into the saddle. He grasped the reins and swung himself behind her onto the back-end of the horse. Rico twitched his ears in surprise, but after dancing sideways a few steps, he seemed to accept the unusual distribution of weight.

  They set off along the lane at a steady pace, the wind cool at their backs, the clouds a gloomy blanket above them. He eyed the taunt line of her spine and resisted the urge to pull her against his chest and force her to remember how she had once—not so very long ago—enjoyed the closeness. He wanted to snatch the prim bonnet from her head and let loose her hair; turn her face around and sear her lips with a long, satisfying kiss. Demand that she remember and stop fighting what was meant to be.

  But what right did he have? None.

  Instead, he attempted a civil conversation. “Have you learned anything new about what happened to Jo yesterday?” He'd already decided not to tell her about Randal Evans and the confrontation he'd had with the vermin, not until he found out what happened. Knowing Natalie, she'd probably stomp to the boarding house and confront Evans herself, and he didn't want her near Evans.

  After a curious hesitation, she said, “She mentioned that someone frightened her, but it was ... because they reminded her of someone from her past."