“I got the other windows battened down before I went to sleep. Sorry, Heather. I should have closed yours before retiring.”
She shook the water from her arms and pushed the wet hair from her face. For what seemed a long time, they stood still and silent, watching each other. Her heartbeat was rapid, and the throbbing in her ears was distracting. Her hands—she needed to do something with her hands, to fight the overwhelming desire to reach up and touch his face. Be sensible, Heather. Guard your heart. Do not risk whatever security this life is offering you.
“The children?” She was soaked to the skin and had to be an absolute sight, standing there in nothing but her wet shift. She clutched her arms across her chest and scanned the room for her shawl, but it was nowhere visible.
Matthew wiped drops of water away from his hair and face. The skin on his bare arms and shoulders glistened in the dim light. “They are sleeping. When I checked on them, I saw no movement.” His eyes, shining, held hers spellbound.
Was it minutes, or only seconds, before she glanced away? “Thank you for fixing the window. I should have closed it, but the fresh air was so welcome, warm as it was.” She began to shake, and finally found the shawl resting on the chest. She slipped it around her shoulders. “I had difficulty sleeping.”
“So did I.” His voice was a hoarse whisper.
She stepped aside. “Well, good night, Mr. Stewart.”
He hesitated. Turning to retrieve the lantern, he brushed against her arm.
She gasped. She saw his lips, smiling slightly, and drawing ever so near.
He brought his hand to her cheek, brushing a tendril of wet hair back off her face. Time stood still as their eyes locked on each other’s. He leaned down and briefly met her trembling lips with his own. The sensation was exhilarating as he held her, caressing her face.
A second kiss, more intense, yet natural. It was pure bliss until she remembered. What am I doing? How could I forget so soon that—
“Where is Mary, Papa?”
Startled, Matthew released her and knelt down to the sleepy boy.
“What do you mean? Is Mary not in bed with you?”
“No.”
Matthew turned and left the room. She followed with Mark in tow as Matthew searched the cottage. The anguish etched on his face was heartbreaking.
“Mary? Mary? She is not here. The door is unbolted. I will search outside. You stay with Mark.” His voice cracked. He grabbed his shirt and slid his arms into the sleeves as he went out the door into the rain.
With her arm around Mark, she walked him back to the pallet and sat with him. Tension seized every nerve. Dear God, please let him find her. She turned to Mark. “Was Mary in bed when you fell asleep?”
“Yes, but when I woke up she was gone. The thunder scared me.” Fear filled the bairn’s face.
She cradled him in her arms. They both needed comfort.
It is my fault. She bit her lip. The child was frustrated when they left the Whitcombs’. Her mother’s absence and Heather’s presence truly tormented the girl. Right when Matthew appeared to accept—she stiffened. Had Mary seen them and felt betrayed somehow? The guilt that germinated in the kiss now flourished like a weed. Mary could not have gone very far—but where could she be?
Matthew returned a short time later, even more drenched. “I cannot find her anywhere. I searched the barn, hen house, cellar, and all around outside. Why would she do this? Where would she go?”
His furrowed brow and worried face brought fresh tears to her eyes. “Mark said she was still in bed when he fell asleep, so it had to be sometime after we retired. You mentioned they were both asleep when you closed my window. Did she, well, see us?”
Matthew shook his head. “It was dark. I did not actually see her, now that I think of it. She was all covered up. I saw what I presumed were the two of them sleeping.” He stooped and hugged Mark, who had crawled away from Heather to attach himself to his father’s leg. “You go to bed now, son. I shall find Mary, and everything will be fine.”
As the small child trudged back to his pallet, Matthew’s eyes searched hers, his face filled with regret. “It was my mistake.”
A shiver traveled up her spine. What does he mean by that? “I think Mary has been very troubled about her mother’s death.”
“Yes, I am aware. We shall have to put these problems to rest once and for all. I will take Honey and search. She cannot have gone far. I will go to the Whitcombs’ first—she may have gone back there.”
“Is there anything I can do?” She got up, wrapped the shawl tighter around her shoulders, and followed him to the door.
“Pray.” At the door, he turned to face her. “This has been a mistake. It was selfish of me to bring them back here. They probably would have been happier at the Duncans’—or in Boston.”
She watched the door close behind him, and a new sadness engulfed her. His comment about it being a mistake—did he mean her being here was a mistake or that it was wrong to bring his children home? His words wounded her, but why? It is not wrong. Families belong together. Does he regret making me a part of this family? She walked to the window, hoping to see some sign of Mary. Realizing there would be little chance of getting any more sleep tonight, she went to her room and dressed.
Within a few minutes, she wandered back to the main room to sit and wait, occasionally glancing out the window at the rain.
Had she offended Mary and driven her off? She had tried so hard to be the girl’s friend. What was she doing wrong? Heavenly Father, please protect Mary, wherever she is, and give her the desire to come home and be at peace with her family. Memories of what had happened earlier in the bedroom confused her, but now confusion was coupled with guilt. Why did she feel the way she did in Matthew’s arms and find pleasure in his kisses when her love had been given to another? Surely it was Robert McDowell who had her heart, though she would never see him again. Despite how it ended, there was still that dull, throbbing ache inside her whenever she thought of him. She searched her mind, trying to remember his face, what his smile was like. As the months passed, it had grown more difficult. Robert was becoming little more than a memory, and one that she had promised herself to put behind her. It was challenging enough to deal with the present.
Her thoughts returned to Matthew and his kisses. Did he regret their brief shared intimacy? Would he address it with her? How should she respond? She had suddenly grown quite warm, so she reached for the Gazette resting on the table and began fanning herself. Would he kiss her again?
CHAPTER 11
Matthew, filled with frustration, strode to the barn. Where has Mary gone, and what possessed her to leave? God, please guide me to find her and help her with whatever is causing her such distress. The thought of going to the Whitcomb home, with all the potential consequences of informing them of Mary’s disappearance, made him shudder. Hannah’s snooping and gossiping ways had been a thorn in his side for years. But it was the most logical place to look. If only it were not the middle of the night.
He saddled Honey and headed up the path that led to the Whitcombs’. As he rode, Heather came to mind. What just happened in the bedroom? He had entered the room to close the window and keep the storm out. He may have provided a remedy to one storm and started another. There was no anticipating what came over him when he saw Heather there trembling. I am attracted to her, but am I ready? Is she? It was foolish to contemplate that now. He needed to find Mary. He shook his head. She did return my kiss. He smiled in the dark.
The rain had slowed some by the time he reached the Whitcomb home. The light coming from the front room this time of night gave him hope.
The front door opened. George came outside and waved to him to enter. “I thought I heard something out here. Mary is inside, Matthew. She is with Hannah. With it being so late, and the weather so bad, well, after she and Hannah had talked awhile, we figured it would be better to let her get some sleep and bring her home in the morning. The way she said she snuck out,
we figured you might not even know she was gone.”
“Thank you, George.” Matthew dismounted and followed George inside. Mary was wrapped in a quilt on the settee. He sat down beside her.
After listening to Mary detail, with some pride, the chronology of her escape, he put his hand on her shoulder. As thankful as he was to find her safe, irritation filled him.
“Running away was a thoughtless and dangerous thing to do, Mary. We were concerned, wondering where you were and what happened to you.”
She peered up at him through brown lashes. Looking into her sad eyes, it was difficult to determine whether she was repentant or not. But this certainly was not the place to discuss the situation. That would have to wait until later.
“George, Hannah, what can I say but thank you for caring for her. I am indebted to you for your kindness.”
Hannah raised her eyebrows and opened her mouth as if she had something to say.
George put his hand up. “No trouble, Matthew. These young ones get some strange notions, and sometimes they act on them before thinking them through. I hope you both can get some sleep. The storm appears to have eased up now.”
Matthew took Mary by the hand and walked outside to where Honey was tied. He placed her in front of him on the horse, waved good-bye to George and Hannah, and turned toward home. “We need to talk about this, young lady.”
“May we do it later?”
She sounded contrite, and he hoped it was genuine.
Heather gazed out the window of her room when the sharp sound of the door opening startled her. She ran out to see Matthew carrying a drowsy, soaked Mary.
“Praise be to God, you found her. Is she hurt?”
“No. She is cold, wet, and tired. Hopefully, she will not take a chill after roaming through the countryside in this weather.” His voice sounded weary and a bit out of breath, but much calmer than it did earlier when they first realized she was gone.
“Take her into the bedroom. I will get her out of her wet clothes. Hopefully Mark will sleep a while longer.”
“Yes, a good plan.” He sounded distant as he gently lowered the yawning child to the soft quilt on the large bed. He took a deep breath, put his damp cap back on, and walked to the door. “I shall see to Honey and be back shortly. At least the rain acts as if it is passing now.”
Heather slipped Mary’s wet clothes off and replaced them with a dry shift. She reached over and caressed Mary’s thick brown hair. Father, only You can help this child get beyond her despair and disappointment. She tucked the child in, then walked to the door and closed it behind her so Mary would sleep undisturbed.
She found Matthew at the kitchen table. His unshaven face and the dark circles under his eyes were a visible reminder of the weariness and stress of the recent hours.
She sat across from him. “Where did you find her?”
“At the Whitcombs’.” His fatigue and frustration were evident in the way he leaned on the table.
“You should try to get some sleep. I am here if either of them awakens.” Her questions could wait.
No words came as he studied her, evidently considering the suggestion. He rose. “Yes, I think I will, but only for a short while. I still have a full day’s work ahead.” He climbed the ladder to the loft as if he were carrying a tremendous weight.
The children slept, and she dozed for a short while in the chair by the hearth. When she awoke, she checked on Mary, fearing a fever might develop. The child was fast asleep.
Heather returned to the kitchen and began to prepare breakfast. When Matthew reappeared, she was able to learn of Mary’s escapade in private.
“I followed a hunch that she went back to the Whitcombs’. Sure enough, when I got there, Hannah and George were awake and not terribly surprised to see me. As soon as I saw she was safe, my worry turned to exasperation. I wanted to swat her.”
She poured him some tea and offered him a bowl of porridge and a plate of ham.
“I talked to her a bit. She must learn she cannot run off like that.”
“Did she mention why she left?”
“No, not yet.”
“When did she leave?”
“Shortly after we put them down, as soon as Mark fell asleep. She slipped out when we opened the windows because the storm had let up.” He took a few bites of his meal. “Fortunately, she arrived at Hannah and George’s before the worst of the storm.”
She watched him, silently digesting all he was saying and relieved that Mary had not witnessed their kiss in the bedroom. “I am surprised Mr. Whitcomb did not bring her back. Surely they must have realized how frightened and upset we would be when we found out she was missing.”
Matthew shook his head and reached for some more ham. “George said that by the time Hannah and Mary finished talking, it was raining too hard, and he did not want to bring her out in it, particularly if we had not discovered her absence. He planned to bring her back first thing this morning.”
She knew she had raised her brows when he mentioned Mary and Hannah talking. Mrs. Whitcomb was probably delighted to listen to Mary’s woes.
Matthew finished his tea and shook his head. “I am sure Hannah gleaned an earful.”
“Aye, that is no doubt true.” She began toying with the food on her own plate. “I will try again to assure Mary that I have no intention of taking her mother’s place and that I only want to be her friend.”
It was a simple, yet straightforward statement, but it brought them eye-to-eye again for a long moment.
“I hope she will stop considering you a threat to her mother’s memory and that you can be friends.” He got up from the table and walked to the door. “When she wakes up, please send her out to see me in the barn. I feel responsible for what happened last night and must make certain that it never happens again. She must be very confused and hurt to run off like that.”
“Aye, hurt and confusion can motivate a person to run away from their difficulties, though avoiding them does not solve them.”
His look suggested he understood her heart.
She watched the door close behind him. Nay, trials have a way of traveling with you until they are dealt with one way or another. She stacked the dishes and wiped the tabletop. So, how do I pass on such wisdom to a child, not quite ten, when, at near thirty, I have not learned how to deal with my own problems?
In the days that followed, there was a civil but tense atmosphere in their household. Mary’s earlier impudence was replaced by a silent and sullen compliance. Heather and Matthew retreated to their previous impersonal relationship, neither referring to their shared intimacy, but the experience continued to creep into her mind. Something had been stirred in her, and it was adding to her distress. Withdrawing, she managed to get through each day’s tasks without engaging the people with whom she lived. She knew her distracted state did not go unnoticed by any of them.
When she reached out to Mary, she was rebuffed. How was she to break through the barrier the child had built? Mary’s independent spirit and self-centered attitude reminded her so much of Eileen. Yet there were also times when Mary would ask questions and seemed open to making peace with her.
An unspoken truce had flowed back into the household within a fortnight after the dinner at the Whitcombs’. One morning, Heather was on her knees cleaning the floor when a shiver traveled up her spine. She got up and went to the bedroom where the children were playing a game.
“What are you doing?” She surveyed the room, walked to the window, and glanced outside.
“Acting out the story you read to us yesterday.” Mary held up a small crate. “I am Noah, and Mark is one of my sons. He is bringing all the animals, two by two, into our ark.” The two children giggled as they arranged small rag bundles on the bed.
“Oh, I see.” She treasured the grin on Mary’s face. “Tell me when you and the animals want a bite to eat, and see that they wipe their hooves well before climbing on the quilt—I mean the ark.”
She returned to t
he main room and resumed cleaning the floor. She was almost finished, and she wanted time to freshen herself before dinner. It had turned pleasantly cool the past few days, so all the windows were open, and the occasional breeze was refreshing. She was pleased with all she had accomplished that morning. The wash was draped on the privet hedge, and the windows were clean. She got up and stirred the simmering kettle of beans and glanced at the window. Is someone there? A chill ran through her again. Was she being watched? She surveyed all the windows. The hair on her arms and the back of her neck were standing on end. “Mr. Stewart, are you there?” No answer.
She resumed scrubbing, keeping her head down for the most part, but occasionally her eyes shifted upward to the silver plate on the hutch. There it was—the reflection of a movement outside. They were not alone.
When she glanced at the window, she saw a retreating shadow, a person. She got up from her kneeling position. Her heart pounded and the anxiety intensified as she reached the door.
“Who is there?” Her voice quivered.
Not a sound.
She tentatively opened the door. It was startling to see a tall, somber man standing there, leaning against the porch railing. Composing herself, she held the door only slightly ajar.
“Sir, may I help you?”
He stood still, eyed her up and down, and glanced past her as if he were searching for someone or something.
“Who are you? What do you want?” If only Matthew were present.
“Is Mr. Stewart here?” His grin revealed poor and missing teeth. “Whitcomb, up the path, sent me.”
“He is over in that field.” She pointed the way and tried to avoid his dark, brooding eyes. Relief and a twinge of guilt followed as she directed him to Matthew.
Without a word, the strange and foul-smelling man turned and walked off in the direction she indicated.
She watched the retreating figure for a while from the window before she moved the furniture back into place. She still needed to get the ham sliced and bread baked.
A Heart Set Free Page 10
