Romance Through the Ages

by Amy Harmon

  “Father—” Eliza began.

  Two men strode into the Meeting House. Eliza looked over to see Jonathan Porter and another man. Her father crossed the room easily and warmly greeted both gentlemen while Eliza followed behind.

  Jon was still here? He seemed to fill the room with his presence, and Eliza forced herself to look away from him. Had he found his mother’s journal in the lighthouse? She felt his gaze on her—and imagined his brown eyes turned black.

  “This is my daughter, Eliza,” her father was saying to the men, “whom I told you about on the train. Eliza, this is Mr. Doughty and Mr. Porter.”

  Mr. Doughty smiled and extended his hand. Eliza turned toward him and shook it.

  “I’ve had the opportunity to meet your daughter already, sir,” Jon said.

  Eliza met his gaze for an instant. Something passed between them—like familiarity—something Eliza couldn’t quite explain.

  Her father glanced at her, then back to Jon. “Well, then, all for the better. You must join us for supper at the dining hall.”

  Mr. Doughty accepted at once. “Of course.”

  Jon’s gaze went to Eliza. “Perhaps another time. We have business to attend to.”

  “It won’t take long,” Mr. Doughty said, smiling. “We’ll meet you at the dining hall shortly.”

  Something in Jon’s eyes flickered; was he annoyed with his friend’s acceptance of the invitation?

  “Very well then.” Her father shook their hands again. “We have much to discuss tonight. My daughter has become a land owner.”

  Eliza lowered her eyes, avoiding the questioning look from Jon. Her cheeks burned at her father’s openness. But he was always open, honest, and sometimes that was a detriment. As she left the Meeting House with her father, she felt Jon’s gaze on her back.

  Half an hour later, Eliza and her father were seated around a well-worn table, opposite to Jon and Mr. Doughty. The dining hall was one of the modern additions to the town. A pleasant-faced woman approached them with four mugs of ale. “Here thou are,” she said, sloshing the overfilled mugs on the table.

  Eliza listened absently as the men talked, uninterested in the subject of politics, until it turned personal.

  “Eliza has inherited my sister’s estate,” her father said.

  Doughty’s eyes went to her. “And will you take up residence there, Miss Robinson?”

  “Oh no,” Eliza said. “I have no plans to live in Maybrook. I don’t think I could convince my parents to change locations to live with me.”

  Doughty chuckled. “I suspect not.”

  “So you will sell it then?” Jon said.

  Eliza looked at Jon with surprise. He seemed genuinely interested. “Eventually. I’d like to stay here for a few more weeks.” She glanced at her father.

  Her father nodded. “Yes, there are matters at home that are a bit delicate for Eliza right now.”

  She was thankful that neither of the men pressed for more information.

  “How did you meet my daughter, Mr. Porter?” her father asked.

  Eliza froze. How would he answer?

  “Maybe your daughter should tell you the story,” Jon said.

  She looked away from his intense gaze. It was strange to be sitting across from him, having this conversation around her father, as if everything was completely normal. But in truth, she’d just become a land owner. She was sitting across from a man she never thought she’d see again, and she was aware of every movement he made and ever look he gave her.

  “He was visiting Maybrook too,” she said, knowing that wasn’t the whole truth. Thankfully Jon didn’t add anything more.

  Her father nodded. “We have important business to settle tomorrow morning with the town constable.”

  “Oh?” Mr. Doughty asked.

  “When my sister died, the authorities put my daughter into jail. Imagine that. Poor Eliza.” He patted her hand. “A lawyer was able to have her released. If I could thank him…”

  Eliza’s gaze met Jon’s across the table. He was waiting for her to make the first move, she realized. “You can thank him now, Father. It was Mr. Porter who argued my case.”

  Her father looked at them in surprise. “You mean… but, how?”

  Knowing that the whole story would come out sooner or later, Eliza took a deep breath. “On the night that Aunt Maeve was killed, I was desperate for help. I hurried out of the house to saddle the horse, and there was Mr. Porter.” She kept her eyes on the table, not wanting to see Jon’s reaction.

  “What were you doing there?” her father said to Jon.

  “Actually, I was planning a visit to Maeve. I was seeking documents that might have been left by my mother, who used to live in that house.” Jon looked from her father to Eliza. “I was born there, and my mother died when I was very young. Upon the recent passing of my father, I was instructed to obtain a birth record.” He lowered his voice. “When I saw Eliza staggering in the storm, I knew something was wrong. Before she fainted, she told me her aunt had died.”

  The memory of her fear and desperation that night resurfaced. “Jon helped me to a safe house and warm bed.”

  Her father put a hand on her shoulder. “What an awful night! I’m grateful Mr. Porter was there to help.”

  “I awoke in a neighbor’s house,” Eliza said, looking up into Jon’s eyes. She well remembered his anger once they were in jail together. But here, now, his face was gentle, his eyes kind.“The next thing I knew, I was being arrested for the murder of my dear aunt.”

  Jon gave a slight nod then summarized how they both ended up in jail. Their eyes met again.

  “When I was released,” Eliza said, “I discovered that Mr. Porter was the gentleman who came to my aid—a second time.” As she spoke, she realized Jon had come to her aid a third time, at the lighthouse that afternoon.

  “I’ll toast to that,” her father said, raising his mug. “Since Mr. Porter already has experience defending my daughter, would you gentlemen be willing to accompany us to the constable’s office in the morning? I need to make sure the charges against Eliza are cleared and that the investigation into my sister’s death is moving forward.”

  “Certainly,” Mr. Doughty said. “We’d love to help.”

  Jon’s eyes found Eliza’s before he said, “Of course.”

  Chapter Nine

  I’m going straight to hell. At least I would be if I were Puritan. Jon stared at the spreading light on the ceiling above him. He lay in bed with his hands crossed behind his head, welcoming the chill of the morning. He’d barely slept, and what little sleep he did get was consumed by thoughts of Eliza Robinson.

  She’d decided to invade his dreams, no… haunt them. The soulful expression in her eyes when they’d talked about the night of her aunt’s death seemed to burrow into his soul. He wanted to protect her, and wished he could have protected her more.

  Like a brother protects a sister. He shook his head at the notion. She was nothing like a sister, and she was completely different than Apryl. Eliza was like an innocent spring day compared to Apryl’s full summer flirtatious ways.

  It didn’t help that last night, Eliza had looked at him like he was some kind of hero. She’s damned alluring, that’s what she is. And she didn’t even know it. Jon let out a breath of frustration. It wouldn’t do him any good to keep thinking about her. After he returned to New York, he’d never see her again. He’d be busy focusing on his future and planning his wedding with Apryl.

  As it well should be.

  Cracks of light spread across his quilt; dawn was here. This day he must find his birth record. He needed to concentrate on that, and only that. Then he could clear his mind for his future as a wealthy man and husband.

  After Eliza left the lighthouse the previous afternoon, he’d discovered a stair with an unusual angle. It looked like someone had recently tried to repair the step. As he’d fiddled with the wooden plank, it came loose in his hands. Beneath the step was a hidden box. His heart had hamm
ered as he removed it, feeling almost as if his mother were watching him, whispering encouragement.

  But the box had been empty.

  Jon sensed that the contents had been recently taken. Perhaps Eliza had taken his mother’s journal and hadn’t told him about it—was she capable of that? Was her innocence a ruse? Had Gus taken the journal? Jon was determined to find out before the afternoon train. He didn’t want to stay in Maybrook one more night.

  Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to concentrate on his fiancée, her laughing face and smiling eyes. He thought of how she’d pressed against him, demanding that he kiss her, to which he had happily obliged. Then the deep green eyes paled, and the dark hair lightened. What would it be like to kiss Eliza? Did her innocence extend to men and kissing? Had she allowed Thomas Beesley to touch her?

  Jon opened his eyes in exasperation. His thoughts were out of control. Why couldn’t he get Eliza off his mind? The answer was to return to New York as soon as possible. He would never do what his father did to his mother—abandon her and break his promises. No matter how distracted his thoughts were about Eliza, he’d stay engaged to Apryl.

  “Are you awake, Jon?” Mr. Doughty called through the door, lightly knocking.

  “I’ll be ready in a minute.” He’d told Mr. Doughty that he wanted to get going at first light. He climbed out of the covers and drew on his trousers. His shirt hanging over the back of a chair still looked presentable. Peering into the scratched mirror over the basin, he realized he needed a shave. It would have to wait until he returned to New York. Every moment counted now. As he dressed, he caught himself humming as he thought of Eliza. He immediately scolded himself.

  At the breakfast table, Jon listened with half an ear to Mr. Doughty. “We’ll have to search your mother’s home today. The constable might have to come with us if it’s still closed for the investigation. If we can’t find anything, we’ll round up some townspeople who lived here at the time of your birth and get them to sign an affidavit as witnesses.”

  Jon nodded, his thoughts moving again to Eliza. When Mr. Doughty finished his breakfast, Jon pushed away his untouched plate and rose.

  The short walk to the jail house brought back the memories of the night he’d spent there with Eliza. He could have certainly been kinder to her, more comforting. He doubted she’d ever spent a night in such dismal conditions. At the front of the building, Mr. Robinson and Eliza stood waiting. Jon’s pulse involuntarily quickened, and he silently cursed his reaction at seeing her.

  In the morning light, he was struck with how vulnerable Eliza appeared, how her pale skin contrasted with the rich gold-brown of her hair, and how there was a bit of a flush on her cheeks when their gazes met.

  He cursed himself again. He had to stop thinking about her—he should be more concerned about how Apryl was doing. But shadows played under Eliza’s eyes, making him wonder if perhaps she’d slept as poorly as he.

  “Good morning,” Mr. Robinson said.

  Mr. Doughty shook his hand, and they talked as they entered the constable’s office together.

  Jon lagged behind so he could speak to Eliza. “I found a box hidden under the lighthouse stairs.”

  Her eyes flew to his face. “The journal?”

  “It wasn’t there. You didn’t take it?”

  “No.”

  But it was too late to discuss the matter further. They’d reached the doorway where the constable greeted everyone.

  Instead of a grim face, Jon was surprised to see the constable smile at his guests. “Welcome. I have some good news. We’ve found thy sister’s murderer.”

  Jon almost felt Eliza’s shock reverberate through him as she grasped her father’s arm.

  “Aye,” the constable continued. “We received a telegram early this morning in regards to a transient arrested for a similar case in the state of Connecticut. He all but confessed to the murder of Maeve O’Brien.”

  “He’s in custody, then?” Mr. Robinson asked.

  The constable nodded. “He’ll be tried in Connecticut, and, depending on the sentence he receives, he may receive two death sentences. But he’ll probably not need to be hanged twice.”

  Everyone in the room chuckled, except for Jon. It was too easy, too neat. “How can we find out what the sentence will be?”

  “You can read the papers or telegram the Connecticut office,” the constable said. “I’m grateful that it’s over.”

  Jon wanted to question the constable further. Could the case be closed so easily? Was the man not to be convicted in Maybrook also? But everyone around him looked pleased, Eliza included.

  “Well,” Mr. Doughty said amid the congratulations, “I guess that clears Eliza and Jon as suspects.”

  Mr. Robinson laughed, and even the constable chuckled with relief.

  “With that good news, we have another item of business,” Mr. Doughty said. “Could you give us a few names of the townspeople who lived here twenty-four years ago?”

  “Why?” the constable asked.

  “My client, Jonathan Porter,” he said gesturing in Jon’s direction, “needs proof of his birth in this town.”

  The constable surveyed Jon. “What were thy parents’ names?”

  Jon wanted to laugh. Everyone knew everyone in Maybrook. Surely the constable remembered him as well, but instead of arguing, he obliged. “Jonathan Porter and Helena Talbot.”

  The constable’s eyebrows arched. “Helena Talbot was thy mother?” he said in a wary voice.

  “Did you know her?” Jon asked.

  The constable’s answer came rather quickly. “I heard about her tragic ending. It was quite odd. Some said she could swim, so why she drowned is beyond understanding.”

  Jon stiffened. He hated this town. Hated the gossip. Hated that this man was speculating about his mother’s death. He didn’t even notice that Eliza had come to stand beside him until her hand brushed his. He definitely noticed that.

  The constable continued, his tone sympathetic now. “Aye, I could come up with some names. But it does seem strange. That is, if she didn’t drown, why a young mother would leave her only child.”

  Rage pulsed through Jon. It was everything he could do not to knock the man to the ground. The silence in the room was tangible. Jon clenched his hands at his side. Eliza moved closer and touched his arm.

  “Jon,” Eliza whispered. “Come outside with me.”

  Her voice and touch seemed to pour some sanity back into him. He became aware of everyone in the room staring at him.

  Eliza turned to her father and Mr. Doughty. “Please bring the names with you.”

  Jon let her guide him out the door, where they stopped on the side of the jail house beneath a group of maple trees. Eliza kept her hand tucked beneath his arm. Jon focused on his breathing, each moment getting easier. Eliza must think him a silly fool.

  “I certainly don’t blame you if you despise everything in Maybrook,” she said quietly.

  Jon looked down at her, into those watercolor eyes, his trance broken. “I don’t hate everything in Maybrook.”

  The sides of her mouth lifted. “That’s good to hear. Ruth seems like a good woman.”

  “Ruth is,” Jon said, his breath calming, his body warming at Eliza’s nearness. “And the ocean is quite beautiful.”

  A smile escaped Eliza’s mouth. “Very true—in calm and in storm.”

  Jon couldn’t take his eyes from her. Her hair was pulled back into a twist, but a strand had come loose, falling against her cheek. Before he could consider what he was doing, he tucked it behind her ear. “And I discovered another good thing in Maybrook… only recently.”

  Her face flushed, and Jon decided it was one of the most charming things he’d ever seen.

  “Jon…” Her breath seemed to shorten, but she didn’t say anything more, and let his name hang in the air between them. Yet she didn’t move away from him, and he found he liked having her at his side, her hand tucked in his arm. It felt comfortable, natural.
r />   “Maybrook seems to be a nice sanctuary for you though,” he said. “I heard about why you left New York.”

  Her face paled. “I hate the gossip columns.”

  “It wasn’t the gossip columns, Eliza,” he said. “I’m only telling you this because I think you should know. I met Thomas Beesley at a dinner the other night. He told me about it himself, and when I met your father on the train, I put it together.”

  “Thomas is still talking about me?” Her eyes flickered away. “Why does the man persist? He’s already made things difficult for my father.”

  Jon felt something inside his heart stir. Again he wanted to protect Eliza, and the more he learned about Beesley, the more he didn’t like the man. “I don’t blame you for turning him down.”

  Her eyes lifted to meet his, gratitude reflected in her expression. “Really?”

  He nodded, unsure if he should say more. They fell into a silence for a moment. Finally, he said, “I don’t have the answers about my mother, and neither does the town. The constable was right—how could a mother abandon her baby?” He studied Eliza, lost in her closeness. He felt like he could talk to her with frankness, ask her anything. “Would you abandon one you love, Eliza?”

  She blinked and looked away. Were those tears in her eyes?

  “Jon, you can’t think of your mother like that. Whatever happened, I know she loved you and didn’t want to leave you.” Her eyes were back on his, and for a moment, he believed her.

  But how could Eliza know?

  Voices belonging to Mr. Robinson and Mr. Doughty reached them. “We’ve plenty of names to go on,” Mr. Doughty said confidently when he spotted the couple.

  “Very well,” Jon said. Eliza released his arm and folded her hands together. He noticed the distance immediately, like a warm blanket being drawn away on a cold morning. He regretted that their privacy was over. “Let’s go.”

  “It’s been nice to see you folks again,” Mr. Doughty said. “We’re grateful things are resolved with your sister, Mr. Robinson. Perhaps we’ll cross paths again in New York.”