Where Love Dwells

by Delia Parr

  Emma swallowed hard and offered a silent prayer for guidance. Trusting He had led this woman here to Hill House through Wryn, she also trusted He would lead the way He meant for Emma to follow. “I’m not a lawyer, Morning. I couldn’t be a lawyer, even though I’ve always wanted to be one, but I can certainly be a good listener. Sometimes, I think just talking to another woman helps more than anything else.”

  When Morning managed a smile, Emma knew she had said the very words He had wanted her to say, although it would have been easier all around if He would help her to do the same with Wryn.

  Half an hour later, after listening carefully to the young woman tell her tale, Emma drew in a long breath and let it out slowly. “Let me see if I understand this correctly. Your name isn’t Morning Drummond after all. It’s Josie Matthews. You’re not from Candlewood but from Bounty, and you’re married, not single, and you want to get married again to someone else,” she said, certain no one but Wryn could bring home someone with such a convoluted story.

  The young woman blushed. “Yes. When I left Bounty two years ago, I was worried that someone . . . I wanted to leave everything behind me when I moved to Candlewood. I was . . . I was so stupid to agree to marry Thomas in the first place. But his mother had been very kind to me when I was working for her, and since it was her dying wish that her son end his days of bachelorhood, it seemed like the right thing to do. She passed away the following day, and Thomas told me to leave. Since we never celebrated our union as husband and wife in . . . in the flesh, I just assumed the marriage wasn’t valid, but now that I’ve met someone I’d like to marry, I need to be certain.”

  “How much of this have you told this young man who wants to marry you?” Emma asked.

  “Everything, including my real name. But he’s the only one who knows the whole truth, except for you, so please call me Morning.”

  “Your husband, Thomas Harrison, whose name you’ve never used at all, knows,” Emma murmured before she let out another long breath. “I’ll talk to Mr. Breckenwith as soon as he returns, but at some point he’ll want to speak to you directly so he can tell you exactly how this matter can be resolved,” she offered, hoping Zachary would confirm her suspicion that this young woman’s marriage would have to be legally dissolved, perhaps with an annulment of some kind, before she would be free to marry again.

  Morning dropped her gaze. “When I speak to him, you’ll be there, too, won’t you?”

  “If you want me to be there, I will be,” Emma promised.

  When Morning looked up again, her eyes were filled with tears. “Thank you. I don’t know what I would have done if you didn’t offer to help me get my problem resolved.”

  “You’re a bit far away from fixing the mistake you made,” Emma cautioned. Intrigued by the legal quandary the young woman found herself in, she opened the top drawer of her desk, took out a tablet of paper, and placed it on top of her desk. “I’m going to the kitchen to fix a pot of tea for us. While I’m gone, I’d like you to write down all the details, including exactly when and where you were married. That way, Mr. Breckenwith will have all the facts at hand when he actually meets with you,” she suggested without mentioning the possibility that she might be able to investigate what this young woman had told her on her own.

  “How will I know when he’s ready to meet with me?” Morning asked.

  “I can send word with Wryn to Mrs. Sweeney’s,” Emma said.

  “No, I-I’ll get in touch with you next week, if that’s all right.”

  “That’s fine,” Emma replied and headed to the kitchen. Whether or not Zachary would approve of her getting involved seemed almost irrelevant, given his mood when he left last night. Emma had been far too independent all of her life, however, to be intimidated into changing her nature or her interests by a man who was supposed to love her and cherish her for the woman she was, not the woman he thought her to be.

  Unless he was not the man she had assumed him to be after all, which was something she needed to discover before she actually married him—even if it dashed all of the hopes and dreams his courtship had resurrected from the deepest recesses of her heart.

  * * *

  Two days later, blessed with an unusually warm day, Emma left Candlewood at first light with plans to be back home before sunset. To avoid gossip, she chose not to take a packet boat; instead, she chose to ride to Bounty on Mercy, the mare Zachary had given her. The scowl Mother Garrett was wearing when Emma left was still fresh in her mind, but so was the respect she had seen in Wryn’s expression when she learned where Emma was going and why. Mark, as always, was supportive, and Emma’s only regret was that she was missing a full day with her grandchildren.

  Hopeful she would not run into Zachary, if only to avoid facing the possibility of yet more of his disapproval, she arrived in Bounty at midday, tired but exhilarated by the challenge of actually trying to help the young woman Wryn had brought home to her.

  Two hours later, with little information that was helpful to Morning, Emma was ready to admit that her trip to Bounty had been a total failure when Mercy added to the day’s frustration by throwing her shoe. Due to the local blacksmith being called away to a nearby farm, Emma’s horse would be forced to stay overnight in the livery.

  Frustrated and upset with herself for not planning on such an ill-fated eventuality, Emma had no provisions for herself to spend the night. With only a few coins in her purse, which would barely cover the cost of having Mercy reshod, Emma accepted the fact that she had no other choice. She had to seek out Zachary Breckenwith and ask for his help, which undermined any hope she might accomplish her goals today without running into him.

  Following directions to his home that she got from the blacksmith’s wife, she managed to find it easily enough. The single-story house itself was much smaller than his home in Candlewood. A redbrick structure, it was surrounded by towering trees about to burst into full foliage and appeared homey and inviting, although she had no idea of what kind of reception she would receive once he learned her purpose for traveling there.

  She set her reticule on one of the benches on either side of the narrow porch, paused to shake the dust from her cape and riding skirt, removed her riding gloves, and wiped her face with her hands before taking a huge breath and knocking on the door. When no one answered, she knocked again. And again. Still no answer.

  With no place else to go and no idea how to find him in a strange town, she sat down on one of the benches to wait for him. Rather than waste time thinking about what he would say when he finally arrived home or how worried her family back in Candlewood would be when she did not arrive home tonight, she folded her hands and did what seemed like a much better idea—she prayed.

  * * *

  “Emma? Is that you?”

  Startled, Emma turned about in her seat, saw Zachary approaching his home, and waved. “Yes, it’s me, I’m afraid,” she called, the sight of his striking image causing her heart to gallop.

  He quickly covered the distance between them and set down the package he had been carrying on the bench across from her. “What are you doing here? Is something wrong?”

  She smiled, hoping to ease his troubled expression. “Other than the fact that Mercy threw a shoe earlier, which forces me to stay in Bounty overnight because the blacksmith can’t re-shoe her this afternoon, everything is fine.”

  “You rode here from Candlewood? All alone?”

  She stiffened her back. “I often ride alone, although I much prefer your company on an outing. Might I trouble you for a cup of tea?” she asked, mortified when her stomach started to growl the moment she caught a whiff of something delicious coming from his package and realized she had not stopped to eat anything since she had left that morning.

  He frowned before unlocking and opening the door. “Apparently, you need more than a bit of tea,” he noted, snatched up his package off the opposite bench, and ushered her into the house. “I don’t keep a live-in housekeeper here. Mrs. Lott comes b
y once a week or so to freshen up the place, so it’s always tidy enough. Fortunately for you, I planned on eating at home today instead of taking my meal at the hotel. There’s more than enough for us to share. The kitchen is straight ahead. I’ll lead the way.”

  She followed him down a narrow hallway past rooms closed off from view and into the kitchen. Although the room itself was quite small, several curtainless windows offered lots of afternoon light. A yellow-and-white checkered tablecloth on the table added a warm touch, but she was far too nervous about his reaction over why she had come to Bounty to be able to relax.

  “There’s a peg over by the back door for your cape and bonnet,” he offered as he set his package on the table. By the time she had hung up her outerwear, he had laid out two plates and utensils and had a pot of water set to boil on the cookstove.

  “What can I do to help?” she asked, impressed by how self-sufficient he seemed to be here.

  “Nothing at all,” he replied, pulling out a chair for her. “Would it be too much to hope that you rode all the way to Bounty to see me?” he asked as she took her seat.

  She drew in a breath and held it for a moment. “Why would you say that?”

  He sat down across from her, caught her gaze, and held it. “In all truth, after how poorly I behaved when I left you at Hill House, I wasn’t certain what type of reception I would receive from you when I returned to Candlewood,” he said.

  Reaching across the table, he took her hand. “I’m sorry. I should have been more supportive of your efforts to help Mark with Wryn, but I must warn you that I am not particularly patient when it comes to anything that might interfere with our plans to marry as soon as possible.”

  Moved by his apology, she swallowed hard and squeezed his hand. “I thank you for your apology, which I accept,” she whispered, reluctant to spoil the moment by telling him of the plan she and Mark had set into motion, because she sensed he would most definitely not approve.

  “Why did you come to Bounty?” he asked, typically direct as he usually was, before he started opening the package he had set at the end of the table.

  “Actually, I came because of Wryn,” she admitted. While they shared a hearty portion of the veal stew he had brought home, along with a pot of tea she fixed once the water had come to a boil, she detailed the general purpose for her journey here without mentioning the specific names of the parties involved, including Morning’s. “Although I was able to find out that the minister is deceased, I’m afraid I didn’t have enough time to learn anything about the man she married,” she said in conclusion.

  He shook his head. “I’m not certain I understand why you got involved at all. The woman clearly needs the services of a trained, experienced lawyer.”

  Stung by his words, despite the fact they were gently spoken, she tilted up her chin. “There are some things women feel uncomfortable discussing with a man, especially a stranger,” she argued.

  “That may be, but a lawyer—”

  “Is always a man,” she interjected. “That said, I rest my case. In any event, since I’m forced to stay the night, I’m hoping to find the man she married tomorrow. I didn’t come here to seek your legal advice on her behalf, at least not yet. Unfortunately, I didn’t plan on Mercy throwing a shoe. I only came here to ask if you’d be willing to loan me the funds I need to secure lodging for the night. Obviously, I can’t stay here. We’re not married yet.”

  He gave a sly smile. “No, but we could change that easily enough.”

  She drew in a deep breath. “Without my family here?”

  He smiled. “It was worth suggesting.”

  She did not return his smile. “Perhaps, but I’d rather have had you offer to help me find Mr. Harrison.”

  “Did you say Harrison?”

  She nodded. “Yes, why?”

  “Because I came to Bounty on behalf of one of my clients in Candlewood, William Harrison.”

  “Oh,” she whispered. “This woman’s husband’s name was Harrison, too. Thomas Harrison. Do you think they might be related?” she asked as her heart began to race.

  Zachary’s eyes widened. “Thomas Harrison is, or I should say was, my client’s brother. He lived in Bounty until he died some months ago.”

  Stunned, Emma clapped her hand to her heart. “H-he died?”

  “After some kind of accident. It’s the terms of his will that are at the center of the problem I’m trying to resolve for his brother. I’d been having a difficult time locating the man’s widow, until now, it seems. He was married two years ago to a woman named . . .”

  “Matthews. Josie Matthews,” Emma murmured. “That’s the name of the woman Wryn brought back to Hill House, although she calls herself Morning Drummond now. She said she used to work for Thomas Harrison’s mother. I think her name was Esther.”

  Zachary nodded. “Yes, it was.”

  “Then they are the same. The widow of Thomas Harrison you were looking for is the same woman Wryn brought home to see me. Wait,” she said and retrieved the accounting Morning had written down. “This is what she wrote down for you.”

  She returned to her seat while he read the paper, anxious to know what he thought. “Well? Is Morning the woman you’re looking for?”

  “Apparently,” he admitted, nodding his head.

  Emma grinned. “Then Morning’s problem is solved. She doesn’t need a divorce or an annulment. She’s free to marry again, isn’t she?”

  “Yes, she is, but only if I can confirm everything she’s written down, which is what I could have done if she had entrusted this to me in the first place instead of coming to you. Both you and Morning should leave this now in the hands of a trained lawyer,” he noted firmly as he set the paper down on the table.

  “I believe we just did,” she murmured, without bothering to remind him that she had been able to give him the very information he needed to help his client. Instead, she tucked his rebuke, however gentle it had been, next to her growing concerns that by agreeing to marry this man, she may have made a mistake after all.

  14

  THREE DAYS AFTER RETURNING home to Hill House from Bounty, Emma walked calmly out of the library and into her office without saying a word to Wryn. She climbed the stairs to her bedroom, opened the tin of licorice root, and popped two small pieces into her mouth.

  She sat down on her bed and chewed them very slowly and cringed as the distinctive flavor filled her mouth. One quick glance at the packages sitting in the corner next to the scarred wardrobe that had belonged to Emma’s grandmother told her she had another problem. Although Wryn had been tight-lipped about her plans for the remaining gifts, it hardly mattered who was going to receive the two boxes of Belgian chocolates. To get rid of the awful taste of licorice root in her mouth, Emma had managed to eat her way through one box and was nearly halfway through the other.

  “If I could develop half the taste for licorice root that I’ve discovered for chocolate, I would be happy,” she grumbled, although she was not sure how she would explain to Mother Garrett what she had done.

  Although she was satisfied now that she would be too focused on the unpleasant taste in her mouth to be baited into responding to Wryn’s most recent taunt, she resisted the urge to slip a piece of chocolate into her pocket. She returned to the library holding tight to the slim strand of patience she had left. She also tried to keep her concerns about marrying Zachary in the back of her mind. The fact that she expected him to return to Candlewood in the next day or two made that almost impossible, since she knew he would definitely not approve of her making herself Wryn’s guardian any more than he had approved of her helping Morning.

  Wryn, however, was no longer there.

  The ladder she had been using was leaning up against one of the paneled walls. The bucket of water and the beeswax she had been cleaning and polishing the walls with were still there, right where she had left them.

  “But she’s not here. Again,” Emma grumbled, gripping the licorice root between her te
eth and marching into the center hall in pursuit of the wayward young woman. When she reached the center staircase, she met Liesel, who was just getting to the bottom of the steps carrying a basket of soiled bed linens, and tucked the licorice root behind her cheek. “Wryn didn’t pass by this way, did she?”

  Liesel blushed. “I didn’t see her, and I’m . . . I’m sorry, Widow Garrett. I know I should be using the back stairs, but I was so preoccupied I was halfway down the steps before I realized where I was,” she gushed and shifted the basket from one hip to the other.

  “Please don’t give it a second thought,” Emma replied, hoping her answer would ease the frown on Liesel’s face. Although Liesel was only a year older and perhaps an inch or two taller than Wryn, they both had the same slender build, but they were direct opposites in temperament. Liesel was hardworking, anxious to please, and always respectful, which was how Emma could only hope Wryn might be someday.

  When Emma’s response did not ease the frown on Liesel’s face or completely erase the guilty look in the younger woman’s gaze, she cocked her head. “Is there something else bothering you?”

  Liesel’s eyes darted around the hallway at doorways leading to the two front parlors, as well as the dining room. “I know how busy you are, but I was hoping to speak to you. Privately,” she whispered, still looking about as if worried they might be overheard.

  “I think we’re alone, so you can speak freely now, unless you’d rather come into my office,” Emma whispered back.

  “No, I . . . I suppose here is fine,” she murmured and leaned closer. “It’s just that . . . I don’t mean to tattle, but Ditty and I both got ourselves in trouble last fall because we were lying to you and . . . and even though Ditty doesn’t think this would be a lie exactly, she thinks . . . that is, we both think we should tell you so we don’t get in trouble again.”

  Emma immediately took a slow chew on the licorice root. “Tell me what?”